#lando's nipple enthusiast

[answerringg]

mini thread of lando's perky nipples 😼

lando's legs and nipples are my favourite

[fernandopiastri28]

quand c'est? - part 4~ ln4 x op81

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

A red flag is called, and Lando hears repeats of ‘Lando, are you alright?’ in his ear over and over, Will’s fussing over the radio. Will fusses over him, Jon fussed over him earlier, Oscar always fusses over him.

Like he’s some sick, fragile, baby. 

warnings: major illness, cancer, sickness, major angst wc: 1985

Lando bites at the skin around his thumb, his right leg bouncing up and down as he attempts to stay still in his seat. The heat outside is worse than expected, so he has the hem fireproof shirt hitched up to rest just over his nipples in order to cool down before the race. He has a fan on him and a water bottle in his hand- even then, it’s pretty unpleasant. 

Oscar is busy off somewhere skipping, as he usually is just before a race. His stomach is growling, desperate for some food. He doesn't risk it though- he knows eating anything will make him feel nauseous again and he’lll just need to violently throw up.

He’ll tough it out until he gets back to the hotel, then at least he’ll have Oscar by his side while he’s puking.

“Lando,” Jon’s hand plants on his shoulder, Lando moving his head at the interruption from his blank out. “We really need to do some stretches before you get in the car- I don’t want you making one bad turn and fucking up your neck,”

Lando bites harder, a faint metallic taste spreading over his tongue. “Yep,” He pops the p at the end, trying to sound enthusiastic. He stands up, wobbly and shaking knees and ties the sleeves of his race suit tighter around his waist.

He follows after Jon, akin to a small dog, Leo, for example, to behind the motor home. Oscar’s just finishing out his skipping- his cheeks rosy red and his hair standing tall. “Hey Lans,” He fist bumps him as they walk past each other. “Feeling any better?”

Both Kim and Jon know they’re dating, so it’s not as if they have to worry about showing affection to one another in front of their trainers. It’s more that even though they’re somewhat hidden by the motorhomes, they are still technically in the paddock and can be seen by guests at any given moment. 

They’d learnt to not take the risk of being outed to the world for a single kiss when someone had snapped a photo of Max and Daniel kissing after Daniel’s announced break of McLaren contract back in 2022. It was before Oscar had even properly entered the F1 scene, yet he knew better to never take that risk.

“Somewhat,” Lando shrugs, giving Oscar a toothy grin. He still really doesn’t feel good, but he wants to prove to Oscar that he’s safe to drive, that he’s ‘got this under control’. Oscar’s eyes flicker down to where Lando’s tanned stomach is fully on display and his lips quiver, holding back a smirk.

“That’s good,” Oscar smiles warmly, tugging his suit up higher from where it’s been gradually dropping from around his waist to just below his hips, “See you soon, mate,” Lando gets squirmy whenever Oscar calls him mate. It’s fine when they’re at home and just talking casually, but when it’s used in the place of ‘babe’ or ‘love’, it just feels cruel that it’s their reality.

Being gay is difficult enough as it is, being a gay athlete adds a different degree of difficulty. Dating your teammate, who is supposed to be your most similar rival is downright awkward and stupid. All of that while being forced to remain closeted, it’s pretty much a full time fucking job.

Lando shuffles his feet, tugging his shirt down to get ready for the stretches. Usually, he just lays in his driver room and naps- maybe listens to music if he’s in the mood- he’ll have time for that later. 

First up is skipping. Lando bites the inside of his cheeks to stop him from crying out in pain as his brain rattles around in his head. He’ll be done with it soon, he just needs to calm down.

Jon allows him to stop when he looks on the verge of passing out, “Lando? Are you feeling okay?” 

Lando shrugs, weakly passing him the skipping rope, “Let's just go for the massage now,” He’s not up for a talk and based on how much tension has built up in his body, a massage is about one of the only things that he thinks might make him feel better right now.

Lando hitches his shirt back up, enough that Jon will be able to ruin his back with his ‘magical hands’. It’s cringey to call them that, but it’s so true. In another universe, Jon is a professional masseuse. 

He lays down on the massage bed, his face smushed in the head hole. They both just stay silent for the most part, despite a few groans and hisses coming from an over-sensitive and tense Lando. “How’re you feeling about the race,” Jon finally breaks the silence, his thumbs pushing hard into Lando’s shoulder muscles.

“Fu- good, I’m excited,” It’s half a lie. He is obviously excited to race, racing is his biggest passion in life, but he would be enjoying it all so much more if he felt good. Feeling ill after a race and feeling ill before a race are two completely different things- because he knew he would only go downhill from where he was at.

“How’s Oscar feeling about it?” Jon, always the instigator.

“He’s probably more excited then I am- he’s starting pretty high up,” Lando mumbles, the slow unload of relief through his body making him feel better than he has in days.

Lando closes his eyes, studying the red that swirls around on the inside of his eyelids. He’s in the calm before the storm right now- he needs to shut his mind off. It’s a task easier said than done, especially when all his focus is grouped towards just how fucking bad his head hurts.

“Jon?” A knock rattles the door, a pair of shuffling feet in addition. “Is it alright if I just hang out here?” If it was anyone else asking to just hang out In Lando’s driver room, Lando would be telling them to piss off and go to their own room- for Oscar though, anything that is his own is also Oscar’s. 

“F’course Oscar,” Jon hums, not even asking for confirmation from Lando. He doesn’t need it, he knows that it’s a given that the answer would be yes.

Lando pries his eyes open, looking straight down at the ground in front of him. A pair of big brown eyes stare back up at him. What a weirdo Oscar is, getting down and laying on the ground just to be looking at lando.

Lando is so in  love with him.

“Please tell me you’re feeling better,” Oscar pushes himself up on his elbows, his core tensing at the 45 degree angle he’s keeping himself.

“Somewhat,”

“Somewhat my ass. Do you genuinely believe you’re up for this tonight?” Someone’s feisty tonight.

“Yes,” The lie feels almost like the truth by how many times he’s promised it. “I’ll just… I’ll take it easy in the lead up to COTA,”

Oscar puffs out cold air onto his top lip, a wrinkle of distrust forming between his scruffy brows. Lando is not one for taking it easy- ever. “We’ve got a month until then- you better keep that promise,”

“I will,” It’s veering off a lie, but it still is one. He knows just as well as Oscar that he’ll allow himself to get up to 75% good health and then wear himself back out again. It’s just what he does. 

Oscar doesn’t look convinced. “I promise Oscar- on my life,”

“Don’t do that,” Oscar snorts, “I don’t want you dying on me,”

“Oh shut it you mupp-'' Jon shuts him up with an elbow digging into his ass cheek and he yelps out in pain. Oscar looks satisfied by getting the last jeer in.

Lando carded his hands through his curls, pushing them off his forehead to put on his balaclava. Even from inside the garage he could hear the endless screams of the crowd. Fuck, this was gonna be a long race. He was starting in between Stroll behind and Ricciardo in front- a true recipe for disaster.

WIth that combo, he’d be more likely to be getting backshots from Lance than Oscar.

No, don’t think about that Oscar. Don’t think about getting crashed into.

He considers the other thing a positive thing to think about. It’s a pleasant distraction.

He stands still, his feet planted far apart enough to make his stance into an upside down V. He pushes his hips from side to side, limbering up that last bit before he gets into the car. 

He tucks his bottom lip under his teeth, contemplating going and grabbing some painkillers last minute. He knows if he does, Oscar will see him and physically prohibit him from racing. Painkillers are pretty harmless, nothing to not race over, but to Oscar- it’s everything. If Lando feels the need to have painkillers to be able to race, Oscar doesn’t see him as fit to.

So he decides to go without. Clambers into his car, slides his feet in and lifts his hips up, trying to get comfortable. His helmet is put onto him by the help of two members of the McLaren pit crew, his steering wheel from another.

Hot streams of air push through his nostrils, trying to get himself to calm down. Holy fuck, clam down Lando. You’ve done this a hundred times before, you’ll do it a hundred more times- nothing is going to happen. 

It’s going to be a good race, he’s going to prove Oscar wrong. He’s gonna win, or he’ll get a podium.

When instructed to, he begins to drive up to his starting spot. There’s a buzz that starts in his head and travels down to his thumbs, one that isn’t from the rumble of the car. It’s another impending headache, one of the really bad ones. He’s had too many over the course of the past three days to the point that it’s expected- he just needs to remain collected.

First red light turns on.

Then the second.

Third, fourth, fifth.

Then they all go out and his foot stomps down on the pedal. It’s a good reaction, quick, he’s got Will in his ear telling him that. Around the first corner, he watches Daniel slow down, and he overtakes him. Hulkenberg was just in front of the older Australian, and now Lando feels himself just scraping past him. 

It’s off to a good start, and that’s expected. When Lando’s in the car, he’s no longer ‘Lando Norris’- he’s a Mclaren Formula 1 Driver. And that’s just what he does- drive.

By lap seven, he’s up four places, trying to get ahead of Alonso. Once that’s done, Russell is just in front with a quickly decreasing gap to Albon. He can easily take either of them once he’s at that point, both of their car’s pace look awful.

But by God, Alonso is proving difficult to get past. Lando swerves jerkily, trying to get on the inside of Alonso. As he does, it feels like he takes a knife to the head, a sharp pain shooting through the left side of his head. He loses the car, loses control, loses the race. He goes straight into a barrier, his back left wheel flying off. 

A red flag is called, and Lando hears repeats of ‘Lando, are you alright?’ in his ear over and over, Will’s fussing over the radio. Will fusses over him, Jon fussed over him earlier, Oscar always fusses over him.

Like he’s some sick, fragile, baby. 

Like he’s tragic and can’t take care of himself. 

Like he’s just made a silly little mistake for the first time in his career.

Like he’s not just an absolute fuck up who can’t say when. 

His vision goes first, then his hearing, then his ability to move. Then he’s out- like a fucking nightlight.

[answerringg]

Lando and his perky nipples against the world >

we need lando's perky nipples centric fics ASAPPPPPP!!!!

[answerringg]

lando's perky ass nipples <3

lowk wanna nibble

[answerringg]

his perky nipples <33

It deserves more attention in lando fics. They're literally begging to be played with.

[answerringg]

Is it only me or you guys can also see his perky nipples????😖😖