Not Beating The Creature Allegations, July 2020

Gax taking turns with a very needy Lando as a treat for me and @16wheelerhorse

mdni

George has him laughing so hard he can’t breathe.

It starts with a light brush of fingers under Lando’s shirt, a nudge of knuckles along ribs that makes him jolt. But George doesn’t stop there. He’s got Lando straddling his lap, caged in by strong arms and long legs, nowhere to go but closer — and George is relentless. Fingertips teasing every sensitive spot he’s already mapped out, lips pressing open-mouthed kisses wherever Lando squirms to avoid them.

“George—stop,” Lando wheezes, body shivering with overstimulation, but his hands don’t really try to push him away. They’re clinging instead, clawing at George’s shoulders as if it’ll anchor him. His face is flushed, hair a sweaty mess, and there’s this smile — huge, radiant, unguarded — that hasn’t left his lips since the second George pulled him into his lap.

“You’re so cute when you laugh,” George mutters against his throat, nipping at his skin. “I should keep you like this. Every damn day.”

Lando gasps, hips twitching when George’s teeth scrape just beneath his ear. His laughter’s collapsing into soft moans now, quiet and helpless.

He’s falling apart.

And George just holds him closer, one hand flat between his shoulder blades, the other slipping lower—thumb dragging the waistband of Lando’s pants down just enough to feel skin.

He looks across the room, meeting Max’s eyes.

He hasn’t said a word in minutes. Just sat back, legs spread, one hand resting low between his thighs as he drinks in the sight of them. His eyes are heavy-lidded and dark, and George can feel them on his skin just as much as Lando’s body.

Max doesn’t blink. He doesn’t need to. The way his pupils blow wide, the way his tongue drags slow across his bottom lip — that says enough.

“You are pretty too,” George says. “All wrecked and sweet.”

He’s hungry. Desperate. Turned on beyond reason.

And George knows what he’s doing. He’s smug with it. He rocks up once, slow and mean, dragging a moan from Lando that surprises even him. His smile softens, gaze trailing down Lando’s red cheeks, his spit-slick lips, the way his lashes flutter when George brushes his knuckles over the curve of his waist.

Lando’s breath catches. He turns his head, biting back a grin, but he can’t hide the way his hips roll forward again, desperate and uncoordinated.

George presses another kiss to Lando’s cheek, softer this time, letting his hand settle on Lando’s ass with no subtlety at all. He presses his mouth to the shell of Lando’s ear and murmurs, low and slow, “He’s watching us, you know.”

Lando’s eyes flick open. Dazed. Pupils blown.

“Max,” George continues, loud enough now. “Don’t you love how sweet he gets when he’s all tired out like this?”

Max doesn’t answer with words. He just stands.

His steps are slow like he’s savoring every second. George doesn’t let go of Lando—he just shifts him higher, so Lando’s straddling him properly now, chest to chest, thighs spread open around George’s hips. Lando clings on instinct, forehead falling against George’s collarbone.

Then Max is there, sinking onto the couch beside them, hand curling into Lando’s hair. He pulls gently until Lando’s head tips back, exposing the flushed stretch of his throat.

“He’s fucking gorgeous,” Max mutters, thumbing at Lando’s lower lip.

George grins. “Told you.”

Max leans in and kisses Lando, slow and filthy. Lando makes a sound—too soft to be a protest, too desperate to be anything but surrender. George feels the tremor run through his body, feels the way his hips twitch forward like he’s chasing after Max’s mouth.

When they break apart, Lando’s breathing fast, face tilted up, completely dazed. His shirt is bunched under his arms, exposing his stomach, George traces down from the hollow of his ribcage to his navel gently.

“You gonna let him make you cum from laughing, Lando?” Max asks, tone low, mocking and darkly affectionate.

Lando stammers, mouth opening like he wants to answer, but George hums in amusement and palms him through his pants— and Lando gasps, back arching.

“Answer him,” George says into his ear, voice gone rough. “Tell Max how good I’m making you feel.”

“I—I can’t—” Lando whispers, choking on a moan.

Max smiles, sharp and slow.

“Thought so.”

Then he’s reaching for Lando’s face — not gently. Fingers digging into his jaw, thumb dragging across spit-slick lips like he’s testing how pliant he is.

Lando doesn’t pull away. He leans into it. His lashes flutter, and he moans again, softer this time, more pleading.

“Look how pretty he is like this,” George says, eyes still on Max. “I barely have to try.”

“He’s gorgeous,” Max agrees, eyes never leaving Lando’s. “And you’re smug as fuck.”

George laughs, but it’s breathless. Even he’s a little undone now, grinding Lando slowly against his lap like he’s proving a point.

“He deserves this,” George says. “Fucking spoiled.”

Max’s hand slides down Lando’s chest, fingertips tracing every twitch of muscle beneath the thin fabric.

“You want that, schat?” Max asks, voice quieter now. “You want us both?”

Lando nods so fast it looks like he’s losing balance.

“Please,” he whispers.

Max shifts closer, his other hand brushing George’s. Their fingers tangle briefly, but they focus back on the task at hand. There’s something possessive in the way they both hold him now — not rough, yet. Like Lando belongs between them. Like he’s theirs.

George watches as Max leans in, mouth brushing Lando’s neck, right where George left that bite. He kisses over it, then bites down again, harder. Lando cries out.

“You want us to ruin you?” George asks, voice low and warm. “You want to be good for us?”

George slips a hand between them, cupping Lando through his pants. He’s hard—painfully so—and twitching under George’s palm.

Lando gasps, a bitten-off noise, hips jerking. “Fuck—George—”

Max catches his chin and holds him still. “Look at me when you say it.”

Lando’s eyes flutter open. He does as he’s told.

George moves his hand, slow and firm, and Lando whines. He’s so far gone, trembling in their hands, and the smile that started all of this is still tugging weakly at the corner of his lips.

George cups his jaw, tilts his face back toward him.

“You’re not tired yet, are you?” George asks, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I haven’t even made you beg yet.”

“I will,” Lando breathes. “I’ll do anything.”

“Good,” Max says, already undressing Lando from his shirt. “Because I’m not stopping till you forget your own name.”

George chuckles darkly, lips brushing Lando’s again.

“Not a thought in that pretty head, is there?”

Lando shakes his head — no, nothing — and they both groan, nearly in sync.

 “You want both of us?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

Lando’s voice is a whisper. “I want both of you.”

Max kisses him again, deeper now, as George rocks up beneath him. Lando’s moan is swallowed between them, and he goes pliant, caught between their hands, their mouths, their weight.

George breaks the kiss this time. “Let’s take him apart properly.”

Max’s smile is all teeth.

George lifts Lando, and Max catches him—together they move him back onto the couch, where he falls, boneless and flushed and trembling. He reaches for both of them without thinking, like he needs them, like he can’t be whole without their hands on him.

And maybe he can’t.

Lando lies there, legs parted, chest rising fast. His eyes are glassy, lips bruised from too many kisses, his hair a wild halo from where George had teased his fingers through it while making him laugh. He looks ruined already, but he hasn’t even been touched properly.

George kneels on the floor beside him, hands roaming slow over his hips,  unbuttons his trousers with impatient fingers. His cock is leaking, twitching against his stomach, the waistband of his boxers wet from it. He’s desperate—and it shows. There's no hiding now. Not from George, and certainly not from Max, whose hands are now drifting down the front of his chest, thumbs grazing his nipples, rolling them until Lando gasps and arches into the touch.

“God, you’re so good,” Max breathes against his neck. “You were made to be touched like this.”

George nods in agreement, mouthing at the inside of Lando’s thigh. “Every part of you begs for it.”

Lando’s fingers twitch in Max’s hair, pulling lightly, not even knowing what he’s asking for—just wanting. He’s panting now, lips parted, eyes unfocused. There’s a tremor in his stomach that George loves—the way it clenches when he brushes his knuckles just beneath the waistband again.

Then George hooks his fingers and tugs the boxers down.

His cock rests heavy against his stomach, flushed and leaking, and when George wraps a hand around it, Lando arches—helpless.

“Fuck—George—”

Max watches every twitch of Lando’s body, eyes dark. “So sensitive,” he mutters. “We should take turns. Make you come over and over until you cry.”

Lando whines, high in his throat. “Please. Please.”

George squeezes gently, thumbing over the tip, dragging more slick out. “So polite now,” he says, grinning. “Max, you seeing this? He’s finally begging.”

Max leans in and licks into Lando’s mouth, slow and filthy. “Keep begging, schatje. We’re not done.”

George presses a kiss to the base of his cock, right where it meets his pelvis, and watches the way Lando shakes. Then another, and another, until he’s mouthing up the length of him, tongue wet and slow, deliberate. Lando is keening now, pushing his hips up despite himself, held down only by Max’s hand on his ribs and the firm press of George’s grip at his thighs.

When George finally takes him into his mouth—deep, warm, and unrelenting— Lando breaks. His entire body jerks, hands flying to George’s hair, but George catches his wrists and holds them down, hears the way Lando gasps, the sound raw and open, like he’s coming apart at the seams. Max watches it all over his shoulder, watches the way Lando’s body reacts, trembling and pliant, lips bitten red.

“Fuck, Georgie,” Max mutters, voice breaking slightly with heat. “Look at him. Look what you’re doing to him.”

George hums low around Lando’s cock in response, sending vibrations through him, and Lando shatters. His head falls back against Max’s shoulder, mouth slack, eyes shut tight. He’s already close—he’s been close for ages. And Max is whispering, “You gonna be good and come for us?” and George hollowing his cheeks—

“G-George, I’m—” Lando chokes on it, hips twitching, muscles shaking like he’s trying so hard to hold back. “Can’t—oh fuck—”

George lets him go just long enough to say, “Don’t you dare come yet.”

He pulls back, licking his lips, smug and glowing. “You’ll come when we let you.”

Lando groans, eyes squeezed shut. His body is strung tight, like a bow ready to snap.

Max shifts, kisses his chest, biting just enough to leave a mark. “You like this,” he whispers, licking across a nipple. “Like being handled. Like being good for us.”

“I—I love it,” Lando breathes, head tossing side to side. “I want—fuck, I want everything—”

“You’re ready for us.”

Max grins and shifts them, guiding Lando down flat onto the couch and crawling over him like a shadow, caging him in. Lando pulls him down by the neck and kisses him hard, filthy and desperate, tasting himself on Max’s tongue. George moves behind them, watching, hands already undoing his own jeans, his knuckles brushing over the tight line of his arousal as he takes in the view.

Max breaks the kiss, eyes locked with George. “Come here.”

He doesn’t wait—he gets his pants off in seconds, grabbing Lando’s hips and dragging him closer. George helps, lifting Lando’s legs, kissing the backs of his knees, down to the curve of his ass.

“You want him first?” George asks, voice thick.

Max’s hand strokes along Lando’s thigh. “No. You take him. I’ll watch.”

George smirks. “You always love watching.”

“Tell us if you want to stop,” Max says, kissing Lando’s jaw. “You’re ours, but only if you want to be.”

It’s the last thing he gets out before Max kisses him again, Lando’s too far gone to process the words. His fingers are curled tight into the couch cushions, thighs spread, face turned to the side with his lips parted like he’s dreaming it all. And George presses in, slow and patient, working him open with lubed fingers first, then the steady wet slide of his cock, both of them taking their time—watching his face, the way his lips part, the small stuttering moan that escapes him.

“Jesus,” George mutters, hands gripping Lando’s hips. “You feel—fuck, you feel too good.”

Lando’s mouth moves, but no words come out. Just whimpers. Just wrecked, desperate sounds as George begins to move, each thrust slow and deep, designed to make Lando feel it.

“Let him feel everything,” Max murmurs, hand stroking himself slowly as he watches. “Make it last.”

George sets a rhythm, hips grinding down just right, and every time Lando gasps, Max catches his mouth with his own. He tastes like sweat and need, like the kind of pleasure that makes your body go numb.

“You’re taking him so well,” Max whispers between kisses. “So deep. So full.”

Lando nods weakly, tears at the corners of his eyes. “Y-yeah, I—feels good—feels so fucking—”

George leans down and kisses his throat. “Gonna let me fill you up, pretty boy? Gonna take it all?”

Lando moans loud, body arching. “Yes—please—yes—”

Max kisses him, deep and bruising, while George fucks into him harder now, the slap of skin loud in the room. Lando’s body rocks between them, pliant and perfect, and George is close—he knows it, can feel it clawing up his spine.

“Come for us,” Max says, hand wrapped around Lando’s cock again. “Now.”

Lando shatters. His back arches off the couch, body locking up as he spills over Max’s hand, all while George pushes deep one last time and comes with a groan against his neck, clutching him so tight it borders on painful.

For a moment, everything is still.

Then George pulls out, gentle, hands stroking Lando’s thighs like a thank-you. Max leans down and kisses him again, this time soft, reverent.

Lando’s breathing like he ran a marathon. His body is limp, his hair damp, his throat covered in love bites.

George leans against the couch, brushing Lando’s cheek. “Told you I could make him like this.”

Max smiles lazily. “You were right.”

Then he stands, cock still hard, and looks down at Lando with dark eyes.

“Now it’s my turn.”

Lando whimpers, throat wrecked. “Max…”

He’s already spent. There’s come smeared across his stomach, leaking from between his legs, and yet his body thrums under Max’s touch, like it knows what’s coming next and wants it anyway.

Max’s mouth curves into something dark. “Poor thing. You’re hard again.”

And he is. Pathetically so.

George watches from the couch, shirtless, his hair a mess, a lazy smile playing on his lips. “He lives for this. You’ve got no idea how sweet he gets when he’s cockdrunk.”

“I can see it,” Max says, hand wrapping around Lando’s length, already making him shudder. “Look at you. Still greedy.”

Lando gasps, body twitching. “I—I can’t—”

“You can,” Max growls, sliding his hand down to tease over Lando’s hole, pushing George’s release back in with a filthy noise. “And you will.”

Lando moans like he’s dying. George chuckles low and leans in to brush hair from his damp forehead. “You’re gonna take Max like a good boy, yeah?”

He nods. Weakly. Brokenly.

But Max waits for more. “Say it.”

Lando’s mouth parts, breath shaky. “I’ll take you. I want it. I want you.”

That’s all Max needs. He strokes himself, slow, letting Lando watch as he lines up and presses in—slow, deep, a stretch that makes Lando’s entire body bow off the bed.

George hisses, watching every inch disappear inside him. “Fuck. Look how full he is.”

Max groans, his hips grinding down once he’s buried to the hilt. “So fucking tight,” he mutters, voice nearly trembling. “Even after George.”

Lando sobs. Not from pain—he loves it. It’s too much and not enough all at once. Max fucks deep, purposeful, dragging pleasure from the very bones of him. He doesn’t move fast—he savors it. Every thrust feels deliberate, dragging against that spot that makes Lando see stars.

“Yes—” Lando cries, fists tightening in the sheets. “Oh god—Max, please—”

“Taking me so good,” Max pants, sweat dripping down his neck. “Made for this. You love being ours.”

George kisses his temple. “So pretty when he cries. Look at you—so desperate, so sweet.”

Lando can’t stop shaking. Max’s hand curls under his knee, pushing it up to go deeper, and Lando screams—a sound pure and wrecked. His cock’s untouched, leaking all over his stomach again, and still Max fucks into him like it’s the first time.

“You feel it?” Max hisses. “My cock. Right here.” He presses a hand to Lando’s belly. “I’m so fucking deep, baby.”

Lando’s nails dig into his arms. “Can’t—can’t think—fuck—”

“You don’t have to think,” George whispers, hand drifting down to stroke him slowly. “Just feel. Just take it.”

It’s too much. And it’s perfect.

Max fucks harder now, hips slamming forward, each movement forcing broken moans from Lando’s throat. The sound of skin on skin is obscene—wet, messy, raw. George strokes Lando in time with Max’s thrusts, and it’s devastating, how close he is again.

“Come,” Max says, voice rough. “Come for us. Show us who you belong to.”

Lando sobs, his body locking up—and then he’s coming, violently, helplessly, coating his stomach again, mouth open in a silent scream. He doesn’t even feel the wetness on his face until George kisses it away, licking the tears right off his cheeks.

Max follows seconds later, moaning deep in his chest as he spills inside Lando, hips stuttering before he collapses against him, panting, feral with it.

The room goes quiet.

Only their breathing, the slow beat of aftershocks. Lando’s chest rises and falls, his body trembling with exhaustion. Max doesn’t pull out—he stays buried deep, possessive, one hand stroking up Lando’s side.

“You’re ours,” he murmurs, so soft it’s nearly a prayer.

George lies beside them, brushing sweat-matted hair from Lando’s brow. “Look what we do to you.”

Lando can’t speak. He just nods, wide-eyed and ruined, and George smiles.

“We’ll do it again,” he promises, low and dark. “Again and again until you forget what it felt like to be untouched.”

And the worst part—the best part—is Lando wants it.

Craves it.

Already.

he should do more stretching on camera for the greater good

F1 FANFICS - REC LISTS - MASTERPOST

- Winter/Holidays

- AU but one of them is still a drive

- Alpha/Beta/Omega part I

- Kid Fic (no Mpreg)

- Landoscar AU's

- Loscar part I

- Loscar part II

- George Russell (non Galex)

- Highschool / Uni AU's part I

- Highschool / Uni AU's part II

- Magical Realism

Incoming...

Alpha/Beta/Omega part II

Canon Landoscar

Daniel/Lando

Mpreg

Social Media

nyoomfruits masterlist

miscellaneous

drabbles

headcannons/snippets/fic ideas

fic recs

—

fics

already home (lando/oscar, 32k, completed)

Lando takes a deep steadying breath. “I think I might be in love with Oscar.” He says, and hates how immediately when he says the words, he knows it’s true.

“Right,” Max says, nodding. “And?”

“What do you mean, ‘and?’” Lando says, a little outraged. “I can’t be in love with him! We’re married! This is like, a disaster waiting to happen!”

heart held close (charles/max, 8k, completed)

“Just sex,” Charles whispers in his ear, and he’s coming closer closer closer and Max is getting swallowed by the sun, Charles’s smell bright and enticing and all around him.

Max let’s out a heartfelt, “Fuck,” as he feels himself tipping forward ever so slightly, his rut dumb brain taking over, ignoring the little voice in the back of his head that is still screaming at him that this is a terrible idea. “I shouldn’t, I really shouldn’t-“ He tries, but it’s weak at best.

And then Charles kisses him, and it’s all over.

Keep reading

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Like even Oscar made a comment about how the microphones were on and THEY STILL KEPT IT IN????