Chapter 1: The Paddock's Pulse
The air in the paddock was thick with the scent of fuel and adrenaline, a heady mix that always got Oscar Piastri’s blood pumping. As one of the rare omegas in the high-octane world of Formula 1—and even rarer for having a pussy—he was used to the sidelong glances, the whispers behind pit walls. But Oscar wasn’t just any omega. He was a force, a driver who could outpace anyone on the grid, and he damn well knew it. His sharp hazel eyes scanned the McLaren garage, catching the glint of something—or someone—watching him.
Lando Norris, his alpha teammate, leaned against a toolbox, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. His gaze was predatory, unapologetic, and it sent a shiver down Oscar’s spine. Not out of fear, but out of something far more dangerous. Desire.
“Oi, Piastri,” Lando drawled, pushing off the toolbox and sauntering over. His voice was low, dripping with challenge. “You’ve been dodging me all week. What’s got your knickers in a twist? Or are you just playing hard to get?”
Oscar turned, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, his race suit unzipped just enough to show a sliver of tanned skin. He met Lando’s gaze head-on, unflinching. “Maybe I’m just waiting for you to stop acting like a cocky bastard and say something worth my time, Norris.”
Lando’s grin widened, his eyes darkening with heat. “Oh, I’ve got plenty worth your time, mate. Question is, can you handle it?” He stepped closer, the space between them crackling with unspoken tension. Oscar could smell him—alpha pheromones, raw and intoxicating, making his pulse race.
“Handle it?” Oscar scoffed, stepping forward so their chests nearly touched. “I’m not some simpering omega waiting to be claimed. If you want a taste, you’d better be ready to beg for it.”
Lando’s laugh was a low rumble, his hand brushing against Oscar’s hip as if testing the waters. “Beg? Nah, I don’t beg. But I’ll make you scream my name before the day’s out. Bet on it.”
Oscar’s lips curled into a smirk of his own, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Big talk for a man who’s all bark and no bite. Prove it, Alpha.”
The challenge hung in the air, electric and undeniable. They were in a quiet corner of the garage now, the hum of mechanics and chatter fading into the background. Oscar’s heart pounded as Lando’s hand slid lower, gripping his ass with a boldness that made his breath hitch. He wasn’t about to back down, though. Not now, not ever.
“You’ve got no idea what you’re asking for,” Lando growled, his other hand cupping Oscar’s jaw, thumb brushing over his bottom lip. “I’ve been hard for you all fucking week, thinking about that sweet pussy of yours. I want to taste it. I want to drown in it.”
Oscar’s eyes flashed with defiance and lust, his body already responding, growing wet with anticipation. “Then stop talking and start doing, Norris. Or are you all rev and no engine?”
That was the last straw. Lando’s control snapped like a taut cable, and he yanked Oscar closer, their lips crashing together in a bruising kiss. It was all teeth and tongue, a battle for dominance neither was willing to lose. Oscar’s hands fisted in Lando’s shirt, pulling him toward a nearby storage room, the need between them burning hotter than the asphalt on race day.
As the door slammed shut behind them, Lando dropped to his knees, his hands already working at Oscar’s race suit, peeling it down with desperate urgency. Oscar’s breath came in sharp pants, his fingers threading through Lando’s hair as he looked down at the alpha, a wicked gleam in his eyes.
“Don’t just stare, Lando,” Oscar taunted, his voice dripping with command. “Get to work.”
And with that, Lando’s mouth was on him, hungry and relentless, ready to make good on every filthy promise. Oscar’s head tipped back, a gasp escaping his lips as the heat built, promising an explosion neither of them could resist.
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