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The night Keith and Shiro finally get together, not amidst the stars as Shiro once imagined they might but back on Earth, the sky opens up.
There's no thunder rumbling across a lightning illuminated landscape, just a gentle rainfall. The rain is small, soft but cool, and Shiro shivers as the first drops touch the bare skin on the back of his hand. It's the first rain he's seen since—he can't honestly remember the last time he saw rain. He stops walking and tips his face up to it, watching the drops come sliding down through the air, blinking as some of them weight his lashes. He keeps watching even as he hears Keith's footsteps pick up, even as Keith calls back to him, his tone as light as the rain, "Come on, we—Shiro?"
Shiro keeps his face tilted to the rain as Keith breaks off, as the footsteps come back towards him.
When Keith gets to him, Shiro looks down from the moonrise sky, expecting Keith to be grinning at him for standing wonderstruck in a simple rainfall, getting himself ready to grin back—
Keith isn't smiling. He's just looking at Shiro, in a way that lets Shiro give himself permission to gaze up into the raindrops again.
He feels Keith come to stand beside him. The night breeze is so light, Shiro hears the breath Keith takes. "It was when we were apart, when I was gone for those two years and without you, that I fell in love with you."
The rain is coming down as softly as Shiro's breathing, as steady and lilting as his heartbeat. Time stopped meaning anything to him in the infinite void. The astral plane warped the duration he passed there and his sense of the time that came before it too; he's not sure he's fully caught up with tracking the spin of the universe even now. He does know that he's felt fallen for Keith for a good while, but the actual falling in love—he tries to identify a moment, and can't.
"I fell in love with you in the rain, one night on Earth," he ends up saying.
Keith laughs, easy and sweet and full, and when he does, Shiro looks down and kisses his laughter, kisses him and Keith kisses back—and there it is, the storm, lightning and thunder between them and within them, the rain falling softly all around them.
As they kiss, Shiro feels Keith's hand cup his nape. Keith's palm against his skin is warm, the warmth heightened in contrast to the cool touch of the rain droplets, and Shiro shivers as the heat spreads over his skin, soaks into him, seeping into his bloodstream. His shiver sets off a sigh in Keith, and Shiro cradles his face with both hands, fingertips nuzzling behind his ears, fingers splayed along the side of his neck, inner joint of his thumb stroking the ridge of Keith's jawline as Shiro drinks that sigh down; he drinks down the next one too, and the one after that, and feeds Keith breathy sighs of his own.
The rain is not enough to get them running but the storm sparking through them is, their pulses racing even faster than their feet as they make their way to Shiro's quarters.
They undress each other wordlessly, smiling at each other's lingering glances, indulging and reveling in every lingering touch. There's still no thunder or lightning outside but the rain, which had been light enough that it hadn't penetrated through to their skin while they were out in it, is pouring down now, a sussurous rhythm against the window.
When they're both naked, Shiro runs his fingers though his own hair, pushing back his forelock and letting the barely damp strands slide through his fingers to flop back into place as his hand goes to the back of his neck. He leaves it there and, his body on display for Keith's gaze, asks what Keith wants to do.
Even as he's saying the words, he realizes he knows what Keith will say, and sure enough: "Whatever you want," Keith says, and Shiro already knows it's not just a line even before Keith adds, his voice as steady as his gaze, "I want to know your fantasy, the one you hold the deepest; I want to do that with you."
Those words, the way Keith says them, the way he's looking at Shiro when he does—it all goes straight to Shiro's cock. He has a lot of deeply held fantasies; he has a lot of deeply held fantasies that involve Keith. He doesn't think Keith is ready for all of them yet, especially not the darkest of the deepest, so he picks one he thinks Keith can handle, one Shiro wants now and for some time has wanted with a quiet desperation:
"Come on me."
Keith flickers, blinks but doesn't break eye contact. "Okay." His head tilts; Shiro feels studied by the gaze, and flushes hotter in it. "Where?"
"Your choice," Shiro says, because he always wants Keith to have a say, a choice; and also because it being Keith's choice is part of the fantasy. It's probably going to be his face, he thinks, and he doesn't mind the predictability of that because Keith's come splashing him in the face, painting over the scar across the bridge of his nose, clinging to his lashes, spurt upon spurt coating his cheeks, dripping from his parted lips onto his tongue, slipping along his jawline in a thick wet caress, sliding down over the surface of his throat to pool in the hollow—-that's going to feel beautiful; it's going to make him feel like he's beautiful.
"Okay," Keith says again. "Can you open your legs for me?"
A deep sigh rolls through Shiro at that. He could wish it was a command, but even a request from Keith is enough to quicken his heartbeat, set his pulse to humming. The sigh reaches Shiro's hips, arching him as he spreads his legs for Keith.
Keith shifts his gaze from the space between Shiro's legs to his face. "A little wider, I think?"
It borders on a genuine question, and Shiro offers assurance and obedience in his response, skating his feet farther apart on the mattress, his legs falling open to accommodate Keith's gaze; to accommodate Keith's body as he moves to kneel between them, half-hard cock in hand.
Keith's cock flushes darker and swells more as he starts slicking himself up with Astroglide Natural Feel. Watching him, Shiro pictures Keith using a different natural slick, coating his cock with Shiro's come. He doesn't think Keith would ever ask him to jack off first just so he could use Shiro's spooge as lube, but he can't help wondering if Keith might go for that, if Shiro were ever to dare to suggest it.
Keith shifts, repositioning himself and adjusting his grip as he starts stroking off in earnest, letting out soft grunts of pleasure, lashes fluttering now and then as he explores Shiro's body with his gaze. Each flutter seeps into Shiro, making his pulse stutter and surge, sinking deeper into him and sending out tendrils that make him squirm.
He gazes longingly at Keith's hands on his own cock, fondling his own balls. Shiro craves his touch—but more than that, he wants to be the one to touch. He wants Keith to want that: his hands where Keith's are, his mouth there. He parts his lips as he watches, mewls mingling with the exhales that spill out.
"Yeah," Keith murmurs, gaze going heavy lidded, thrusting into the circle of his own fingertips, precome beading at his tip, thumb flicking across the head to gather the glistening beads and smear them along his already slick shaft.
Shiro's cock, untouched by anything except Keith's gaze, aches; the ache swells and vibrates through him.
He glances at Keith's face and then holds himself there as Keith's lips curve up with pleasure or maybe even approval. He lets himself believe, just for a fraction of a moment, that it's approval as Keith looks at him, and his cock twitches in response; Keith smiles more, and Shiro almost drowns on an inhale that should have been an exhale before he pushes it out, the choked sigh low and sweet.
As Keith's gaze continues to roam over him, Shiro stays focused on his face, reading there the arousal building in Keith from looking at his body. His body responds to Keith's gaze almost as if it were physical touch, heating up as his blood is drawn to the surface of his skin, every molecule seeking Keith's attention. Keith didn't tell him to but he didn't tell Shiro not to, so Shiro arches for him, tautening the muscles of his torso and thighs as he displays himself more. The soft pleased, "Fuck yes, oh fuck, Shiro," soaks into Shiro, riding his pulse through his body, making him tremble and thrum.
Then Keith kneels up more and Shiro knows even before he says it, but the actual words from Keith's tongue thrill through him: "Gonna come now."
Shiro's lashes flutter in anticipation. He keeps his eyes open. Getting come in the eye stings, but he will burn for Keith.
When Keith reaches for Shiro's thigh now, Shiro prepares to bring his legs together, expecting Keith to straddle him, seating himself on Shiro's thighs or perhaps getting to his feet on the bed to stand over him. But Keith says, "Can you go wider for me? Hold yourself open?"
Of course he can; he kept his new prosthesis engaged when he was stripped out of his clothes, in case Keith might want him to use it. He cups his hands under his own thighs, shivering at the difference in temperature and texture between the warmth and roughened touch of his callused human hand and that of his cybernetic hand, smooth and cool. Adjusting his grips, he rolls his hips as he bends his knees and lifts his feet off the mattress, pulling his legs wider apart and holding himself open for Keith's gaze—
And for Keith's come, thick warm spurts gushing out onto Shiro's inner thigh, his scrotum, his glutes, spattering his hole. A guttural keening escapes him as he feels himself contract convulsively, futilely, helplessly around nothing; he wants Keith's come inside him, wants Keith's cock inside, and he whimpers at the intensity of his own emptiness, desperate to be filled, desperate and beyond desperate for Keith~
Keith's name tangles with the sigh that falls from him, thickening it to a moan. He moans Keith's name again and he meant to keep his eyes open on Keith the whole while but he must have closed them, because he opens them now when he feels Keith touch him: massaging his come into Shiro's skin, one tormenting, delicate fingertip just tracing the perimeter of Shiro's pucker.
"Keith~," Shiro mewls again, vision hazy, gone soft focus as he gazes at Keith now. What Keith really wanted was to know Shiro's deepest secret; Shiro heard that in Keith's words but he hasn't given Keith what he wanted—until now. He doesn't know if Keith has heard it, but as Shiro shivers and thrills and arches to the touch of Keith's come, the touch of his fingertips, the touch of his gaze, he sighs Keith's name again and pours himself into this breath:
You. You are my deepest, darkest desire, Keith. Deeper and darker than all the things Shiro has never spoken aloud or put into words even for himself, there is this, there has been this, not forever but for all the time that has mattered: To be yours. To own you by belonging to you.
He breathes Keith name again, and Keith breathes back, "It's okay, Shiro. It's okay, come on, you can—can you come for me?"
Shiro can, and he does, every tendril of want and need coiling impossibly tighter—and then unfurling, unleashing him inside himself, surging through him, spilling him out of himself and into Keith's hands.
Spent, going slack inside and out, Shiro tries to remember how to breathe.
Keith kisses Shiro's mouth with his fingertips; Shiro tastes him, tastes himself, and doesn't so much remember as relearns how to breathe as he licks their commingled traces from Keith's skin.
When his heartbeat has found rhythm again, when he remembers language as well as breath once more, Shiro looks at Keith and finds Keith looking at him. "You're smiling," Shiro says, inhaling the pleasure in that smile, feeling it fill his lungs, slip into his bloodstream.
Keith's smile opens. "Because you are," he says, and touches Shiro's mouth, light fingertip tracing the curve of his lips.
"Oh." Gentle laughter threads into Shiro's exhale. He feels himself smile more.
He turns onto his side as Keith lies down next to him, so they're looking into one another's eyes. There's so much Shiro wants to say, but it seems he doesn't fully remember language yet after all, because he can't find the words.
Keith smiles at him again, touches his smile to Shiro's, goes into Shiro's mouth for the unspoken words lingering there; Shiro feels Keith lick them from his tongue, consuming them; his hand has found its way to the side of Keith's throat, and he feels it as Keith swallows down whatever words he found.
Their gazes connect as their mouths part, a gravitational pull that grounds Shiro even as he floats, synching him with the spin of the universe, synching his breathing with Keith's.
"Keith," Shiro breathes.
Keith sketches invisible constellations onto Shiro, on his face, his throat, his shoulder. "Shiro~"
Those are the only words in any human language that Shiro can seem to handle in the moment. In the moment, they're the only ones that matter.
Outside, the rain thrums, a tropospheric lullaby.