Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Keith is bleeding.

He’s standing in the hangar surrounded by the paladins, the rebels, a handful of fighters that protected Naxzela. He’s not the only one with injuries so no one pays any mind to the plip plip plip of Keith’s blood landing on the floor. He doesn’t even know where it is coming from.

He wants to shower.

And then he wants to sleep for years, worn thin by the thrill of the fight. His neck hurts as he lifts his head to see the others. Allura’s voice, usually so strong and sweet, wavers with the same fatigue. She is tired. Everyone is tired. Maybe, for this reason, no one will mention what Keith tried to do.

But Shiro is staring at him from across the room.

The weight of his concern is crippling. Keith looks down automatically. He hates disappointing Shiro - it leaves a bitter taste beneath his tongue. Allura dismisses them all and retreating footsteps echo throughout the hangar. As Matt leaves he touches Keith on the arm.

“Don’t scare me like that,” he says, a soft laugh.

But his voice is as worn as his battered clothing and his eyes are glassy. Keith tries to mirror his smile, a grimace, but his mouth is too tired to lie. He just nods, turning his head to watch him go. When he turns back, Shiro is still staring.

Keith’s never seen him look this way before. It frightens him a little. Square jaw. Hard eyes. His chest moving up and down. It’s just the two of them alone in the hangar and Keith’s a rabbit caught in headlight eyes.

“Keith.”

There is no forgiveness in his voice. His name comes like a small, hard stone. Keith takes off, walking right past Shiro with his head ducked. He moves toward the showers, wiping the sweat and grime and tears that collected on his cheek. The last thing he needs is another of Takashi Shirogane’s you’re-better-than-this speeches.

A metal hand grasps his wrist. Keith grunts as he’s jerked to a stop. Shiro tugs him around and he’s so, so tall. A lesser man would wither beneath his six-foot-something stare but Keith just lifts his chin.

“Let go of me,” he warns.

God, he can hear how hoarse his voice is. Its embarrassing - the way he’d sobbed after the barrier fell through.

“I’m not in the mood for one of your lectures.”

Shiro’s nostrils flare. His hand is tight. Tighter than it should be. It hurts Keith. It makes him angry - new tears prickling in his eyes. He pulls back but there’s no fighting Galran steel.

“Keith what you did back th-”

“Don’t touch me!”

He jerks back so hard his hand slips from Shiro’s grip. It stings - the man’s eyes growing large as Keith stumbles backward. He uses that momentum to run, escaping from the awkward echo of his laboured breath.

It’s always felt natural to run.

With his heart pounding and his blood quickening Keith feels at his baseline. He runs, footsteps loud in the castle halls. He doesn’t bother to be graceful. He aches, ignoring the shout that chases him. He’s quick - but Shiro’s quicker.

Keith’s back hits the wall and he cries out. Shiro herds him into the corridor, breathing just as sharply. He feels like he’s been run over by a truck and he goes boneless, letting Shiro bully him until he’s cornered - something vulnerable. A child to speak down to.

“What you did was selfish!” Shiro growls.

Keith laughs. Its the only weapon he has left.

“Selfish?” He spits back. “You would have done the same thing.”

Shiro shakes his head and shoves Keith into the wall. It knocks an oomph from him - half in pain, the other in surprise. He hasn’t seen Shiro get so mad in years. 

“It doesn’t matter if it’s me,” Shiro mutters.

Keith wants to laugh again. He wheezes instead, hot air hitting Shiro’s face, a red flag waved at a bull. Shiro and his self-deprecating bullshit. Keith hates it. Commander of the fucking universe and he still puts Keith on a pedestal.

“It was me or countless other lives!” Keith shouts, his voice breaks. “I did what was right.”

“You’re more important than-”

“Shut up!”

He pushes Shiro just to feel him, knocks the words right from his mouth. He doesn’t want to hear it. It feels so wrong for Shiro, their faithful leader, to even suggest -

The hands that squeeze around his arms are trembling with the effort. Keith can’t differentiate the pain from all the rest he feels. Shiro’s muscles clench to match his jaw, the fabric of Keith’s bodysuit crumpling in his grip. An angry Takashi is a devastating one, something Keith has rarely seen. This is the same man that survived the arena. This is someone Keith doesn’t know.

Shiro lets go of Keith and a terrible noise boils in his throat. He jerks back his prosthetic arm and it whirs, glowing purple on the edges. Keith’s eyes go wide, his heart jams in his throat as it hurtles forward. It punches through the wall above his head, the metal crying as it splits.

The punch diffuses something in Shiro. He’s pants, staring at the hole he’s made.

“You’re more important,” Shiro hisses between his teeth. “I don’t know what I would do…”

His human hand releases Keith and the boy catches it before it falls. Without thinking he pulls it to his face. He rests his cheek in the cradle of his warm, rough palm and closes his eyes.

“Don’t,” Keith says.

He knows what the man is trying to tell him. He doesn’t want the words to touch his tongue. He’s felt the same - the entire world could catch fire before him and he’d let it burn in exchange for Shiro. It’s not a fitting thought for a paladin to have, nor a Blade.

Shiro eases his arm from the wall, metal twisting and severed wires hissing. It falls to his side, his human thumb grazing over the bow of Keith’s lip. There’s no fight left in either of them. 

“Look at me,” Shiro says.

He lifts Keith’s chin but he keeps his eyes closed. He squeezes them tight and a few fat tears dribble down his cheeks.

“Please,” Shiro whispers.

They’re both covered in blood, and sweat, and ash but the first thing Keith sees when he looks up is the colour of Shiro’s eyes. There’s something about his soft, honey-brown gaze that makes Keith feel like he’s sixteen again. His belly bunches up, more tears trickling down his jaw.

“I’m s-sorry,” he says quickly. “I’m sorry, I’m-”

Shiro’s lips press to his head. Keith gives a full-bodied sob. He falls forward into Shiro’s chest and twists his hands into his suit. That big, warm hand cradles his head. Sure fingers comb his hair, wander down to rub his back. Another kiss is pressed to his crown and Keith cries like he’s been waiting to for years.

The next kiss falls on the shell of his ear.

Shiro’s fingers travel down the dip of his spine. His huge chest pushes Keith into the wall like a cattle crush. He goes still, eyes wide. Shiro is speaking to him but he can’t hear the words - only low vibrations. They tickle his chest, his stomach. His hard grips his nape and Keith gasps. 

He is so warm.

Shiro’s nose is pressed against his hair, his lips to his temple. They graze his cheek, a nervous thing. Keith tips back his head to catch the next kiss on his nose. His stomach wrings like a cloth. His world stops when Shiro kisses the corner of his mouth.

“Shiro.”

“Don’t do that to me again,” warns a low voice.

Keith doesn’t answer. He doesn’t dare move, holds his breath to feel Shiro’s lips move against his cheek. His arms are looped over the man’s shoulders, fingers shaking at the edges of a neat, black undercut.

“Do you hear me?”

Shiro pulls back until their noses meet at the ends. Keith can see everything - count every eyelash. His pupils dilate as he nods, Shiro’s eyes falling to his lips.

Their second kiss is wet.

Keith gasps the instant their lips touch. He’s wanted this since the moment he first had it - a sad kiss, one that tastes of tears. But this time Shiro isn’t leaving. His mouth opens, his tongue sliding between Keith’s lips. The boy’s stomach drags upward inside of his ribs.

“Ah!”

Shiro’s tongue isn’t tentative this time. It curls beneath Keith’s own, his nose bends as it crushes to Keith’s cheek. He exhales on him, pulls back and gives a firmer kiss with lips closed, shaking. Trembling. Like he’s holding himself back. Their teeth clack when Keith rocks up on his toes to steal another. And another. Big hands encircle his waist.

The kiss isn’t sweet. It’s salty and its desperate. Shiro eats him alive, pushes him so hard against the wall that he feels his heartbeat through his bodysuit. He’s sure he goes cross-eyed when Shiro leans back and examines the damage he’s done to Keith’s mouth.

He shifts his hands up Keith’s ribs and they brush something that makes him cry out. Pain ripples up his sides and Shiro jerks back, concerned. The pleasant tingle on his mouth fades, gives way to the bruises he’s collected.

“You’re hurt,” Shiro notes. “We should get you to a pod.”

Shiro touches his side again but he’s careful, knuckles mapping out the edges of the wound.

“I don’t n-”

“Keith.”

Keith swallows as his chastised, his cheeks warm. When Shiro meets his eyes he feels so childish, like his tongue is too big and clumsy for his mouth.

“Don’t want a pod,” he says, embarrassed.

Shiro examines his face. He looks so collected, its hard to imagine he just punched a hole into the wall. And he’s never asked Keith to do anything he’s not capable of, never forced him to do things he didn’t want to. But when he exhales the boy knows he’s being asked to compromise.

“Lets get you cleaned up,” Shiro offers.

It makes Keith feel so, so young. So stupid. Less capable than he has in years. But he wants it. So much he wouldn’t dare admit it. He flicks his eyes toward the ceiling, hopes his show of nonchalance reads as authentic.

“Okay,” he surrenders.

Shiro’s small, pleased smile is a beautiful consolation prize.

……………………………………………………………………………

It’s dark in Shiro’s room.

The scent of his belongings instantly soothes Keith. He takes a deep breath as he’s guided inside, the doors closing with a whoosh. His eyes adjust to the dark, crowded against the wall as Shiro kisses his mouth again. 

“Mm.”

His heart clenches when Shiro starts to unzip his suit, the fabric coming loose either side of his spine. The wall is cool where is meets his flesh, his hands braced on Shiro’s biceps. The man is so, so gentle as he bunches the fabric around Keith’s waist and exposes the bruises blossoming across the branches of his ribs.

Shiro gives a low whistle. Keith laughs genuinely this time, inaudible and raspy. 

“I’d feel better if you spent some time in a pod,” Shiro tells him.

His hands don’t leave Keith’s sides. His eyes flick up and down his chest, stomach to shoulders. Keith wriggles. He isn’t like any of the men he’s seen Shiro with. No matter how tall he grows he’s always feels like a whelp next to Shiro.

“I’m fine.”

“Just one varga.”

“No,” Keith adds, smiling again.

Shiro practically pouts. Keith stares back at him, competitive. He prefers this push-and-pull between them. His smile only grows as he watches Shiro mull over his options.

“Painkiller?” 

Keith yields with a snort. Before he can answer Shiro’s stepped back, rifling in the draw beside his neatly-made bed. Some things never change, Keith thinks, eyes darting around the well-kept room. When Shiro comes back he’s holding a familiar packet.

“Where did you get these?” Keith asks, snatching the painkillers from him.

“Earth,” Shiro smirks, popping two out of the packet.

Keith giggles but it hurts. He doesn’t fight it when Shiro pushes the two pills past his teeth. He opens his mouth and leans in, taking the end of his thumb between his lips. Shiro tastes of salt and heat, and he gives a short suck to the tip.

"Fuck, Keith.”

Shiro never swears.

For the good of humanity, probably. The man is so charitable, so good-natured, so fucking hot. If he also had a filthy mouth Keith’s not sure the world could take it. He knows he certainly can’t - heart jackrabbiting at the guttural syllable.

Shiro’s thumb falls from his lips almost regretfully. It paints a wet line over his chin and his hand comes to rest on his bare collarbone. Keith breaths in and it rises, sliding over his heart. The way Shiro stares at him is unsettling - black eyes and sharp cheeks. He presses forward, stealing another kiss.

There’s something animal in it.

As he presses closer Keith’s thighs open for Shiro’s knee. He sinks down onto it, the pressure warm and gooey. He didn’t realise he was hard until Shiro pushes up against him and the pleasure ripples up his spine.

Oh.

“That’s right,” Shiro mutters against his mouth.

His hands find Keith’s hips and drag him forward. His Adam’s apple sinks. 

“Take what you need, sweetheart.”

Keith does.

His hands ache where they grip Shiro’s suit but if he lets go he’ll fall. It’s so warm - hot hot hot, as he grinds himself against Shiro’s thigh, tries to pull the man flush to his hips. A moan bubbles out of Keith’s throat and it sounds as desperate as he feels.

“You sound so hot," Shiro offers, lips smacking. “Does that feel good?”

Keith nods, his answer caught in his chest. He can’t help how loud he gets. He’s never done this before - and now he’s doing it with Shiro, the only man he’s ever wanted to. His noise bleeds through the messy kisses, involuntary. Shiro’s hands sink down his spine. Gently, as if nervous, he cups his hand around Keith’s ass cheek.

“Nghh.”

Keith rocks onto his toes. Shiro chuckles, maybe, his voice rumbles against his ear. He squeezes again, sinking his teeth into Keith’s throat with a satisfied sigh. He shakes, teeth pushing down so deep it makes Keith’s stomach swoop.

Chunks of Shiro’s armour hit the floor, pulled free with haste and forgotten in favour of his bodysuit. Keith tugs at it, blind with hunger, struggling to keep his eyes open every time Shiro puts his tongue inside his mouth. He finds a warm back first, wide muscles that flex beneath his fingers. He worms beneath it, finds dappled sweat between suit and skin.

Shiro is his best friend.

He knows his smell, his touch. He knows each scar he fumbles blindly with. The nostalgia is comforting, the familiarity a guiding light. But the way Shiro sucks his skin between his teeth is new. The second hand that grabs his ass is also new. They pull him forward so he can grind his dick against a muscular thigh. His knees turn to jelly.

“Can I take this off?”

“Hm?”

Keith’s brain is lagging. His blood is too hot. He blinks dumbly at Shiro until the man tugs at his suit again. He wants to drag it down. He wants to see him naked. Keith gulps.

“Yeah,” he says, quietly.

There’s nothing sexy about the way his bodysuit comes off. It tangles around his legs and the room is dark, lots of wiggling and tugging until it comes lose. Shiro ducks down to free it from his thighs and on his way up his eyes linger, taking in every exposed inch of Keith.

“You’re so fucking pretty.”

The ruin in his voice makes Keith feel gorgeous for the first time in his life. Shiro, god amongst mere men - and his voice hitches when he sees Keith? It makes him tremble, throat tight as Shiro sheds the top half of his own suit and they’re chest to chest for the first time.

“You’re pretty too,” Keith says.

God, what a stupid thing to say. Shiro’s more than pretty. Keith’s blushing so hard he doesn’t know how to say clever words. The boy shakes, his throat tight when Shiro's hands pull his cheeks apart and clench them. 

Greedy.

Shiro's touch is greedy. 

His eyes are black and his hands are hungry. He bends his fingers beneath the crease of his ass and squeezes so hard Keith rocks up on his toes. He grunts, a warm prickle falling down his spine. He tugs at Shiro’s suit and when it comes free he’s not prepared for the fat, warm weight that slaps against his stomach.

He knows Shiro has a large cock. Everyone in the Garrison knew it. It was rumour. It was fact. Keith’s seen it too, caught a glimpse the night Shiro crash landed back on earth.

But he’s never felt it against his bare stomach, or seen it so hard it’s almost angry. Shiro rocks forward, smears a trail of slick up Keith’s navel with a wet sound.

“Sorry,” Shiro apologises automatically.

Keith’s not sure what for. His eyes are locked with it, his throat tight. It looks back at him and it drools, turning his stomach into a sticky mess.

“Oh my god,” Keith mutters, dumbly.

Shiro laughs, a shy rumble. His hands run up Keith’s sides, feverish, a little clumsy on the edges of his bruise. Keith’s own hands don’t know where to go - one falls, brushing the underside of Shiro’s cock with all the fumbling experience of a virgin. But it makes the man sigh, pushing into the circle Keith’s hand makes. His eyes close and he rests his brow against Keith’s, pushing his hips forward with a shudder.

Like he hasn’t been touched in years.

“Your hand’s so soft,” he murmurs reverently.

Keith blushes like he’s the one with a hand around his cock. He’s so warm, sweat pressing his hair to his nape. He doesn’t know what to do, drags his hand lamely along Shiro’s length and exhales so he doesn’t pass out.

“God, Keith.”

His name comes raspy to his own ear.

“M’sorry,” Keith whispers back. “I don’t, don’t know what I’m doing.”

He gives Shiro’s cock an apologetic squeeze. Shiro’s hips jump, his hand wrapping around Keith’s own and guiding it to the tip.

“Doing good b-baby,” he promises, kissing Keith’s damp forehead. “Here, just like that.”

Keith stares down as the pillowy end of Shiro’s cock pokes out of his fist. It makes him feel gooey, kind of feral. Shiro drags his fist down to the wide base and swears under his breath like it’s undoing him. They jerk him off together, Keith bewitched by the needy, sub-vocal sounds Shiro makes.

“Keep going,” Shiro praises. “Fuck, that’s it.”

The encouragement makes Keith’s own cock twitch, Shiro’s hand loosening so the boy can touch him at his own leisure. The sounds Shiro makes twist his stomach up, make him feel god-like when he smears his thumb across the tip.

“Never done this before,” Keith says.

Shiro’s hand falters.

“Never?”

Embarrassment makes Keith turn his head. Stupid, he thinks. He seals his lips into a line and he blinks furiously. He shakes his head, staring at the blank space on the wall.

“I haven’t-" he stops, unsure.

Shiro’s hand loosens but Keith doesn’t let go of him. He wants this more than he’s wanted anything in a long time. He gives a gentle squeeze, pulls up to the tip and hugs it with his palm. He meets Shiro’s eyes and the man’s breath catches like he’s been punched.

“I waited for you,” Keith finally admits.

He feels so exposed his eyes prickle. Shiro’s throat dips. He frowns, eyes downcast to stare at where Keith plays with him. Like he can’t think with all his blood pooled in his hips. His wrist moves slow, without pace or purpose. Shiro pants quietly, crowding into the space between them. 

"Wanted you for years," Keith says to him. "Since the day we met, always-"

Shiro kisses him hard to quieten his lips.

"Don't say that.”

He laughs, but there's a scandalised look on his face. It gives Keith the confidence to firm his grip, to quicken the gentle twist in his wrist. Shiro's face melts from startled to dark-eyed, and he takes hold of around Keith's hips until it hurts.

“It’s true,” Keith says, earnest and cracked open, all his guilty feelings spilling out, his eyes wet. “I’ve loved you since I was sixteen.”

Shiro chokes. His chest thumps, Keith can feel his heart pressed between their bodies. The man throbs all the way down to where his dick lays in Keith’s hand, blood hot and heavy.

“You love me?”

Keith wants to laugh. How could Shiro ask if he loves him? Does the sun rise in the morning? Does it set at night? Would Keith have waited two years for him to come back? Would he have waited ten? His entire life? Would he scour the entire universe just to find a trace of Shiro?

“Yes,” he answers, frustrated.

Yes yes yes.

Shiro kisses him and it brands - like a bruise. Like he wants him to feel it the next morning. He picks Keith up like he weights nothing, his stomach sinking as he’s hitched in big, warm arms. He’s jostled, lips clumsy on the corner of Shiro’s mouth. He smells aftershave, feels the trace of distant stubble.

Then he’s being pressed into a bed - sheets that smell of Shiro, and the man himself crawls over Keith and cages him between his arms. Pale hair hangs over his eyes, mouth parted as he breathes in and out. Keith’s heart feels too damned big for his chest. 

A hand slips beneath his back and spans his shoulder width. Shiro kisses his throat. His mouth. Keith reaches above himself and clings to the man’s back, arching up until their cocks brush together. Shiro knees his thighs apart, makes a home between his legs, lays his belly flat to Keith’s until his blood turns molten.

Keith’s thought of sex before.

Of course - he’s young and his blood is warm, and he’s loved his best friend all his adult life. He’s only ever imagined it with Shiro. Like he never broke free from his adolescent crush, like time didn’t move. Like he’s still the same boy sitting on Shiro’s bed the night before the launch.

He’s thought of it so many times but his imagination falls short. Shiro in the flesh defies his filthiest thoughts. He touches him unscripted, kisses a little dirtier than Keith expected. His tongue burns and his teeth are mean. There’s a roughness his mouth has learned since Kerberos and it makes Keith open his legs wider.

He could cum like this. Shiro shifts him around to where he needs him, grabs his ass and rolls them sideways so he can pull Keith’s leg over his hip and fuck against him. The friction is enough, coupled with the excitement of finally being touched like this - of Shiro’s tongue in his mouth, his bed beneath his back. He feels safe, a little cry leaving his lips when big hands grope his ass.

Keith seals their mouths together to try muffle his own sobs - he’s noisy, like something broke in him and he can’t hold his desperate moaning back. Shiro encourages him, bites his mouth and tells him he sounds so hot. His fingers pull his cheeks apart and brush over his hole. Keith hiccups, too turned on to be ashamed.

“Mm,” Shiro exhales with a rumble. “That’s where you want it?”

His prosthetic holds his cheeks apart. His human fingers notch over his hole. Keith’s face burns. He’s not going to answer that. He’s not going to tell Shiro he used to finger himself, imagining it was him - no matter how true it is.

“Yeah,” is all he says.

Shiro’s cock is so warm and wet against his own, stuttering against his belly and catching on his navel. His finger tugs at his asshole and Keith almost swears himself. It feels different from when he’s done it himself - more confident, not romantic. Crude. Like Shiro wants him so badly he can’t slow down.

“Answer me,” Shiro exhales, putting pressure on his hole.

Keith can’t. Fuck. He can’t. He shakes his head, cheek warm where it squishes against Shiro’s shoulder. He shows him instead, reaches down and pushes his fingers more insistent against his ass. 

“Want you. Please,” is all he can manage. “Ph-please.”

His smaller hand guides Shiro against him until a wide, blunt finger penetrates his hole. He flinches, a filthy chill rippling up his back.

"Uhnn, unn.”

Damp lips shush his mouth. The finger pulls away, comes back shiny with spit. When it rubs over him again Keith’s eyes cross. It pushes back inside him and the boy’s mortified of how he clenches on it. Shiro is inside him. Shiro. ShiroShiroShiro.

“Good boy,” Shiro praises, pushing in another inch. “So perfect for me.”

Keith’s stomach gives a tight flip. Something in his chest shakes - he quickly swallows it down. He shifts his hand and wraps it around Shiro’s wet cock, pleased when the man sighs and presses their brows together.

“That’s it,” Shiro rumbles. “Your ass is so tight. Do you like it?”

In all Keith’s fantasies he’s never imagined Shiro with a dirty mouth. He’s not complaining. The finger in his ass makes him stupid - slack mouth and glassy eyes. All he can say is Shiro and uhh, and his breath sounds high and raspy. Hardly fitting for a Blade, the black paladin, shocked stupid by a finger pushing up his asshole.

“Tell me you like it,” Shiro prompts.

Keith’s eyes roll back into his head.

“I like it,” he blurts, doesn’t recognise his own voice. “Feels, ahh - nn. I love-”

He wants to tell Shiro that he loves him again. He wants to tell him over and over but it’s too much. He doesn’t trust his mouth while he’s being fingered. He shuts his lips, that silly motion kicks up in his chest again and he swallows it until it falls silent.

Shiro kisses his mouth and thrusts up into his hand. A second finger circles Keith’s rim and pulls it open. Keith opens his lips to say wait - but a moan bubbles out instead. Shiro’s pupils widen at the sound he makes, two fingers nudged inside.

Deep.

He thinks he mumbles the word too, loses it between one filthy moan and the next. Shiro’s fingers are deep and satisfying, crooked slightly to tease something Keith’s never come close to reaching. He wriggles, unsure of if he wants sink deeper onto his fingers or wriggle away from the stretch.

“Be good,” Shiro warns him.

I wanna be good, Keith thinks.

Or maybe he says it out loud because Shiro groans. His hand tightens around the man’s cock and strokes it absent-mindedly, anything to dull the burn between his legs. 

"That's it, baby.”

Baby.

All Keith wants to be his baby. He moans pathetically, squeezes down on Shiro's cock at the same time his hole clenches up. It hurts - but he feels like he’s going to cum. White hair tickles his face, dark eyelashes narrow and stare down at his mouth.

“It’s okay,” Shiro promises him.

He’s breathing heavy, fingers slipping in and out. He curls them, makes Keith shout. He’s never gotten his own fingers as deep as Shiro can. He shakes his head, tries to communicate he doesn’t want to cum like this. He wants it to happen when Shiro’s inside of him, his legs wrapped around his waist. But he’s moaning too much, can’t string together a sentence.

“Shiro,” he sobs. “Shiro, please.”

He pulls his cock toward his hole, hopes he’ll read his mind. His fingers only pump in faster, making little wet sounds. Keith goes pink all over, mouth open in distress.

"Please what?" Shiro grunts, kissing his teeth.

“Please sir?” Keith tries, confused.

It shocks a laugh from Shiro, short of breath and primal. Keith feels like he’s won something - a neat, white smile all for him. The man curls his fingers upward, gets rough with it.

“Like that, cadet?”

Keith breaks at that one, dirty word.

His stomach twists up and his words are lost to the punched out uhh, uhnn, uhhs that tumble out with his orgasm. His back bows and his thighs squeeze. Shiro hisses as his hand clenches around his cock and constricts the fingers pushed inside him. He sobs so loud it hurts, free hand raking lines down Shiro’s back. 

There’s a pang of heat. His teeth find muscled shoulder. He doesn’t know if his eyes close or if the room goes black - so wet and warm and tired. That tender feeling swells inside his chest again and Keith’s not sure he can hold it back this time. 

Shiro holds him as he goes slack. His prosthetic rubs his leg, the tendon flinching. He pulls his human hand back but Keith panics, blinding reaching for his hand. He doesn’t want him to pull out. He needs him inside. He tucks himself beneath Shiro’s chin and breathes in. An Adam’s apple bobs against his cheek.

“Keith?”

He likes how cold the hand against his thigh is. He loves the aftershock that makes him hug around Shiro’s fingers. He’s never had an orgasm in someone’s arms, has never come down against a beating chest. He’s never felt so protected, and he -

“Keith.”

Shiro's voice rumbles from where Keith's ear is pressed to his throat. He's patting Keith up and down, it's tantric. Happiness radiates through his chest and trembles through his limbs.

“Mm?”

“You’re purring.”

Keith’s too relaxed to be embarrassed. He nods, recognising the vibration stemming from his ribs. He looks up and finds pretty, thin rings of honey around Shiro’s big, black pupils. 

“Galra thing,” he says.

“Oh.”

Lips press to his head and Keith allows himself to purr. He hasn’t let anyone hear it since he was a child - never felt safe enough before. His head is fuzzy but the words that died on his tongue earlier slowly creep back. He gives Shiro’s cock a shy squeeze.

“Fuck me.”

The hand rubbing his back falters. The cock in his head smears something wet against his belly.

“What’s that?” Shiro says.

Keith exhales. He knows the man heard him. He squirms a little until he can pull the heavy, blood-dark cock between his thighs and have it kiss the fingers nestled up inside of him.

“Fuck me,” he says again. “Push it in while I’m loose.”

Shiro’s laugh shakes like his own purr.

“You’re not loose,” he says.

He scissors his fingers apart and grunts. Keith cries with how sensitive his hole feels.

“I’ll never get my cock in here,” Shiro continues, lazily stretching out his hole.

Keith purrs louder. He feels it now, hair raising on the back of his neck. His throat vibrates, body squeezing around Shiro’s fingers. He stares down their bodies to see that thick, desperate thing resting on his belly. Its so long - maybe Shiro has a point.

He wants it anyway.

“Please.”

Shiro regards him carefully. Its intimidating - such a serious look paired with blown-black eyes, a heaving chest. The man swallows, pulling his fingers out only to shove them back in.

“Yeah?” He says quietly.

Keith nods, tugging at that huge cock. Shiro’s fingers slip out and the same hand wraps around his length. A moment later the blunt head of his dick nudges at Keith’s puffy rim.

"Mmhh."

Shiro grumbles something against his ear that sounds a lot like Jesus-fucking-Christ-Keith but the boy’s too busy trying to guide that cock into his hole. It slips and slides against him, the angle wrong. Shiro pulls his hand away, chastises him with a kiss to the wrist.

“Patience,” he says.

Keith huffs, boneless as Shiro sits up and rolls him onto his stomach. He pulls his hips up easily until he’s on hands and knees. He feels the weight of Shiro’s dick press up behind him, those strong hands wrapped around his waist. Its so fucking nice - but it’s all wrong.

“No,” Keith complains. “I want, wanna see you.”

Shiro’s cock grazes his inner thigh. His breath hits Keith’s shoulders. He can’t help the way he shifts back, rubs himself against the promise that’s nudging his ass.

“You don’t wanna be fucked like this?”

Keith’s purring only interrupts when he speaks. It stops and starts again, punctuated by little sighs. He curls his hips so he feels that hefty weight push down against his hole. Shiro whispers a curse against his shoulder, kisses the top knot of his spine. He rubs his flanks, cups his hand beneath Keith’s stomach.

“Easier like this,” Shiro tells him.

He would know. He has experience. Keith feels a little stupid when his eyes get wet - his purring stops. He shakes his head, laying down so his stomach touches the bed.

“Need to see your face,” he tells the pillow.

He finds Shiro’s hand and twists their fingers together. He hopes the wet drop that rolls down his nose is sweat - his chest hurts. 

“Please,” he begs, throat tight.

“Oh, baby.”

Shiro kisses his throat and then he’s shifting, laying next to Keith and rolling him onto his side. A protest bubbles in Keith’s throat but the man shushes him. He leans over the boy and he can see him. Spooned from behind, his face in view, a heavy arm secured around his chest. His purring putters back to life, Shiro’s eyes fond.

“That better?” He asks.

His smile is self-satisfied, Keith wants to shove him. But it is better, he is happy. When he exhales he feels muscles shift against his spine. He’s cushioned between pectorals and pillows, a little hard to breath - he likes it this way. A hand reaches down and holds his cock.

“How’s this?”

The skin around Shiro’s eyes creases. He tilts his head back, rests his throat in Shiro’s hand as their lips meet. He sighs into his mouth, his spent cock twitching back to life.

“You’re being so good," Shiro says.

Shiro's hand leaves his cock, drags his thumb over the plush skin of Keith's balls and finds his hole again, pink and damp. He rubs at it and Keith purrs into Shiro's mouth. He whines when fingers push into his hole, the angle uncomfortable - more importantly, it’s not what Keith desires.

"Shiro," he says, turning his head to break the kiss. "N-not your fingers, I need-"

Shiro kisses his cheek. 

"I know what you need," he says, spreading his fingers apart until Keith grunts. "But you're too tight. I'll hurt you."

Keith shakes his head and pants as two fingers slip in and out. Shiro doesn't understand. Keith needs him. He doesn’t care if it hurts. All the things he’s lived through - it’s miniscule. He wants Shiro pushed deep inside him. Needs it. God, he needs it. He tugs at Shiro's arm but the man keeps fingering him, taking his time as he kisses the nape of his neck. 

"I'm ready," Keith breaths.

Shiro's cock is a warm threat nudging at his back. In this position Keith can push against it, squirm until the man begins to pant too. A third finger pushes against his hole and Keith's breath catches.

"No you're not."

The drag is agonising and Keith breaths harder like he’s run a mile. He isn't purring anymore, he feels desperate and he hates it. He doesn't like feeling vulnerable, on display. A mess of emotions and tears, completely transparent. It's scaring him how animal he feels - and it only starts to mount. 

"Please, Shiro," and his voice breaks. "I'm ready, I'm- nn,"

He tips back his head and finds Shiro's eyes. He can see how terrible his expression is, mirrored in the way Shiro’s softens to concern. He’s waited years for this - this man would never hurt him. He loves this man. He must say this out loud because Shiro’s chest hitches and he closes his eyes a moment as if to calm himself. 

Then his fingers slip out and Keith whines without them. There’s nothing romantic about the way Shiro spits into his hand, smears it around his cock. The boy shudders when that wet cock fits between his cheeks, they both sigh.

It’s happening, Keith thinks at last.

He curls his back out for Shiro, feels kind words kissed against his earlobe. He feels that fat, blunt head kiss his hole, makes his stomach knot up at the pressure of it.

"Breathe in," Shiro tells him.

Keith's stomach sinks, his chest rises. He breathes in and Shiro pushes the head of his impressive cock past his rim. It burns and Keith goes stiff, a cry pushed out his lips without permission.

"Mnnh!"

Shiro grunts, his hand clutching Keith's stomach. He leans forward and pins Keith against the mattress, his breathing laboured. He's going to bruise Keith with the way he's squeezing him but the pain doesn't register. All Keith can feel is fire, his body split in two. 

He doesn't mean to push Shiro out.

His body does it for him, a knee-jerk reaction. Shiro grunts and his cock slips out and rests on Keith's thigh. It's overwhelmingly embarrassing but the wave of relief makes Keith go silent. He seeks out Shiro’s hand and the man squeezes it back.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, breath laboured. “It’s alright.”

He kisses his neck, peppers more beneath his jaw. He moves to his mouth and his skin is clammy. A confused, silly smile breaks across Keith’s mouth, an effort of adrenaline. Shiro’s startled by it, then he laughs. He smiles too, chest vibrating where its cushioned against Keith.

“What?” He asks, laughing.

Keith shakes his head. “Nothing.”

But he can’t stop smiling and Shiro’s laughter only makes his grow. It kickstarts the purr in his throat again. They kiss, teeth clacking together as their smiles make it awkward. Shiro smoothes his hair back, drags his thumb over Keith’s lip. The boy kisses it, flattens his tongue over the pad and draws it inside his mouth. It tastes like him, enough to make him frown, but the look on Shiro’s face is worth it.

Predatory.

Shiro’s mouth is a little slack but his jaw is hard. Keith sucks his fingers into his mouth and runs his tongue against the seam. He gets them nice and wet, and as if there’s a nerve strung between Shiro’s fingers and his cock he begins to ramble off filth.

“Fuck baby, look at you.”

The boy’s stomach twists with pride. He sucks harder, fingers nudging his purring throat. Shiro’s staring at him with adoration, something darker too.

“You’re so good at that,” he says very softly.

Keith hums. He turns his head so Shiro’s fingers push his cheek out. He bobs his head, knows exactly what he’s doing. The dick pressed against his thigh practically drools. He wonders how it tastes, how it would feel to have it inching down his throat. 

“So sexy, Keith.”

He drags his fingers out and makes Keith’s mouth messy. He’s so calm from sucking - something’s clicked for him. He lays on his back as Shiro crawls over him, puts his fingers back between his legs. He sighs when they’re slipped back inside of him and Shiro eats the filthy noise he makes right from his mouth.

“Oh, fuck.”

Keith curls his back and wriggles down onto Shiro’s hand. He tries to lift his hips, to get them deeper inside. Shiro chuckles, runs his tongue along Keith’s throat and to his ear. He breathes in, then his tongue pushes into the shell, rolls into his ear with a soft groan.

"That what you needed?" Shiro whispers.

His voice is so loud. Keith nods, stunned silent. 

"You just got too excited huh?" Shiro inhales, fucking in his fingers. "Too excited for this big cock?" 

He’s so hot when he’s confident. Keith’s eyelashes flutter as he nods. He feels so lucky, so taken care of. He only complains a little when the fourth finger edges in. It burns. He tips his head back, offers his throat like a lamb to slaughter. Shiro kisses it with a gentleness that doesn’t match the heavy cock resting on his stomach. 

It's good. So good Keith wants to cry again, tears stuck in his throat as Shiro starts to play with something in him. Something that makes his legs spread wider, makes him grunt into the man's mouth. Shiro's thumb rubs at the patch of skin above his hole, his tongue curls beneath the base of Keith's. 

But the thing that feels the best is the needy press of Shiro's warm cock, the heavy exhalations as he stretches Keith out for himself. Like he's just as needy as Keith. Maybe even more so. 

Without breaking the kiss Shiro pulls the pillow from under Keith's head and stuffs it beneath his hips. Keith's stomach is exposed, his thighs fall either side of Shiro's hips. The man nestles between his legs and scissors his fingers - once, twice. 

"I love you," he tells Keith.

The words hit like a punch. Keith swallows, closing his eyes so he doesn’t do anything dumb like cry. How many years has he wanted to hear those words? Shiro hugs their bodies together, finds his lips and kisses him so sweetly he chokes out a reply.

“Love you so much,” Keith echoes, shy.

Then Shiro’s pressing his cock inside of him and Keith’s mouth falls open at the burn. This time it doesn't hurt half as much -

But it hurts none-the-less.

Nails dig into the skin of Shiro's shoulders. He grunts, swallowing back the animal panic to wriggle away and escape it. He wonders if Shiro puts up with this every time he beds someone new. He wonders if the man knows his dick is both a blessing and a curse. 

Keith sobs as he’s filled up, half in pain and half in joy. It doesn’t feel good - not yet. But the pleasure comes from having Shiro seated deep inside of him. He curls around the man and holds on, hating how his eyes are wet again. Shiro’s here. Shiro is inside of him. Safe and sound, his skin warm beneath Keith’s palms.

The man sits back on his knees, hands squeezed around Keith’s hips. His eyes are closed, mouth open as a pleased tremor shakes his arm. He swears lowly, rubbing his thumb into the divots of Keith’s waist.

“Feels so nice,” he tells Keith, groaning.

Keith swallows, holding back the pained sound he wants to make. He focuses on the thumbs beneath his ribs. On the smell of the bedsheets against his nose. He takes a deep breath and as he exhales he makes a pathetic, shaking purr.

“Am I hurting you?” Shiro asks suddenly.

Keith doesn’t respond. The answer is yes but he can’t tell Shiro that. The pain is worth it. He doesn’t want to be anywhere else. How can he explain that without sounding like he’s damaged? He shakes his head, reaching down to touch Shiro’s hand.

"It's just..." His breath catches. “You’re so big.”

Shiro's laugh hits his throat. 

"Sorry."

His arms are shaking but he doesn't move, an impressive display of strength. His muscles contract as his stomach moves. Keith’s mouth curves at the corners.

"You're sorry?"

Shiro nods.

"Yeah, it must be h-hard b-being you," Keith stammers. "Poor Takashi Shirogane. So handsome. S-strong. Big ten inch dick-hhn-"

Shiro thrusts inside him, hard enough to make Keith shut up. He's got that same competitive grin Keith remembers from the Garrison. 

"Say my name again."

Keith's nails rake from his shoulders to his biceps. He likes that feral glint in Shiro's eyes. That not-so-sweet stare. He forgets about the ache that stems from his tail bone, melts beneath that confident smile. Shiro grinds his hips in a small circle, breath rushing from his body.

"Takashi," Keith whispers.

Shiro thrusts in again, a little kinder, pushing in until he's buried to the root. Keith's eyelashes flutter and he grunts, shifting up the mattress. There's a dull pang in his ribs, an injury from the fight. That seems so far away now, every fibre of his body concentrated on the wide, heavy cock bullying his lower stomach. 

"Not so cheeky now huh?” Shiro says when Keith goes silent.

He wets his mouth with his tongue and feels his canine teeth are sharp. Ouch. He wonders if his eyes match - thin and alien. Shiro stares down at his open mouth and he grinds his hips in that mean little circle again, forcing an anxious sound past Keith’s lips. He leans in and grabs Keith’s tongue between his lips, sucking it into his mouth. Its so stupidly erotic Keith’s heart trips over itself.

Its flattering to watch Shiro tremble, the muscles of his abdomen undulate. He can’t shut up - suddenly the noisy one. He grunts against Keith’s lips, mutters little words with every thrust. Its a power trip for Keith, the way he feels Shiro throb inside him, how his pupils dilate like he’s on drugs.

And when he fucks there’s a roughness, a damp smack that makes Keith’s thighs shake. Sweat drips down his back and Keith’s hand slips against it. He arches up for a kiss and Shiro spoils him. Its a dirty one, more teeth than tongue. Keith wonders if it would have been this way before Kerberos? If the old Shiro would have fucked him like this - somewhat rougher than a first time should be.

Or did he learn to be this way in the arena?

Is this something only the Champion can do? The thought makes Keith feel sick, but it also makes him pant. He likes it. Likes the way Shiro fucks. Even if it hurts. Even if he feels like prey. He doesn’t trust anyone like he trusts this man and the security is overwhelming. He feels himself let go, give in to the push and pull of muscle hunching over him. 

Shiro's as gentle as he can be, dragging in and pushing in with a grit-teeth grunt. He grasps Keith's thigh in his metal hand and kisses the inside of his knee. The subtle change of where his hips lay pushes something in Keith. When Shiro thrusts in again he sobs - this time not in pain.

"Like that baby?" Shiro asks, pleased.

He fucks in again and keeps his hips pinned against the spot, grinding in a tight ring. Keith’s mouth falls open but he can’t speak. A slutty whine comes out of him instead.

“Yeah,” Shiro decides for him. “You like it. That’s it. Take it.”

The man pushes his knee toward his chest, doesn’t doubt his flexibility as he leans forward and keeps it pinned there. The pressure on Keith’s prostate makes his eyes blur, hot tears dribbling down his cheeks. Shiro kisses him into the mattress, doesn’t thrust. Just hammers short, quick little fucks into him, his hand resting over Keith’s throat.

“Take it sweetheart, fuck,” he tells Keith. “Perfect little cunt.”

The word makes Keith jolt. The hand around his throat tightens. The pressure is nice, his eyes flutter back. He cups the back of Shiro’s hand and encourages him, toes curling when he squeezes tighter. The weight is pleasant, the thinning of air making his head swim. Shiro chokes him until his breath catches, then lets go - a sloppy kiss on the edge of his nose.

“Wow, Keith.”

He frames his body with his arms, puts his lips against his brow. He fucks Keith like he’s frustrated with him, like he’s trying to carve a bigger space for himself between his legs. Keith’s cries come hoarse, ragged cries ripped from him every time Shiro pulls back and fucks his brain out. He hits that spot every single time and Keith can only cling to him, staring into black-gold eyes.

“Harder,” Keith sobs.

The word falls out of him before he can stop it. It makes Shiro’s hips jump, shoves even deeper into his sensitive hole. The man kisses him, close-lipped and harsh, pulling back to stare at him.

“What’s that?”

“H-harder,” Keith repeats.

His purr is more of a growl. Shiro hesitates, his dark eyes limitless. Then he grabs the shelf above the bed, slips his free hand beneath Keith’s skull to cradle it. He pulls back and slams his hips in, shifting Keith up the mattress.

“Ah!”

White hot, sticky heat shoots up Keith’s back. Shiro slams into him again, keeps his head pillowed by his hand. The shelf creaks as he uses it to force himself inside of Keith, rhythm sloppy as he gets harder, and harder - and fast.

“F-fuck me,” Keith tells him.

He’s never spoken like this before. He doesn’t have the capacity to wonder if he sounds stupid. Shiro’s eyes fixate on his mouth, his breath stops each time Keith speaks.

“Fuck me,” he begs. “Harder, please. Yeah. Yeah, god. Ah, ah, ahh fuck-”

Shiro looks good above him, still grimy from the fight, sweat making his chest shiny. His lips are shiny with blood - Keith’s blood, stinging from his fangs. He runs his tongue over the blood and caresses his cheek, impossibly gentle.

“I love you,” Shiro repeats.

Says it to his teeth, his yellow eyes. Says it to the ugly parts - the things Shiro should hate most. Keith feels a lump in his throat, feels his chest break open and run gooey through his ribs. He wants to answer Shiro, say it back to him, but his words have dried up. All he’s got are pained moans, little huffs of exertion. He tries to tell Shiro about the way his stomach is bunching up, how his hole is starting to clench painfully around his dick.

“Let go baby,” Shiro says, breathless. “I’ve got you.”

Keith does.

It hurts to come apart. His body seizes around Shiro’s dick. His nails drag. His knee jerks up and collides with Shiro’s ribs. The man grips him easily, rubs his flank as he starts to cum.

Keith cries like he’s been struck. Shiro’s speaking to him but he doesn’t understand. The world goes white - a cord snaps. Keith squirts white hot across Shiro’s belly, clamps so firmly that the man mutters in disbelief. The room goes dark and fuzzy, Keith’s fingers losing their grip on Shiro’s back and his toes curled in the sheets.

His muscles twitch and his stomach hurts. There’s a whiny, whimpering noise he refuses to believe comes from him. Shiro slows, his thrusts gentle as he stills his momentum. He stammers when Keith constricts around the root of him, turning his head so he can breathe.

“Baby,” he gasps.

Keith’s sweaty. He’s sobbing. Arms wrap beneath his back and pull him closer. Shiro starts to thrust again, more urgent. Like a train that picks up speed, his own nails digging into the stubborn baby fat of Keith’s slim hips.

“Gonna make me cum,” he groans.

Keith nods. He shifts his hands and grasps a tuft of black-white hair.

“Cum in me,” he begs. “Yeah, like that.”

He squeezes his thighs around Shiro’s ribs and pulls his hair like he can drag his orgasm from him. Please, he begs. Please. Please. The word wobbles from his lips, mouth catching on the bob of Shiro’s throat. Pleasepleaseplease.

“God, K-Keith. Your mouth.”

Shiro’s hands go tight around Keith’s stomach and he cums. His jaw squares, the muscles in his arms impossibly large. He lays ten bruises into Keith’s pale waist, hunches over and swallows a deep, guttural groan. Shiro stares right at him, a pretty calmness taking over his features. Beautiful. He’s so fucking be- 

A feeling takes hold of Keith’s chest.

It’s big. Maybe the biggest thing he’s ever felt. There’s no room for it inside of him, so large it makes his throat hurt too. He sees each of Shiro’s eyelashes, sees the sharp line of his throat and the way his ears flush red, how white strands stick to his forehead.

This is what Keith would have missed out on if he collided with the barrier.

This is what he’d have died without.

It’s so scary that Keith begins to cry. Big, healthy sobs escape his throat. He covers his mouth but Shiro’s face has already fallen. His softened face tenses with alarm. Keith tries to tell him its not his fault - he is crying with relief. But his words come out in louder, harsher sobs and only serve to make Shiro look more miserable.

“Keith!”

Shiro’s palm is warm from sex, cradles Keith’s cheek like it was made to hold him. The boy turns into his hand and bends his nose against his palm. He breathes in - salty, perfect skin. 

“You’re scaring me,” Shiro whispers, his hand shaking.

All Keith can do is shake his head. He’s so embarrassed. Dying isn’t new to him. He’s had close calls his entire career as a Blade - and before then, nights spent alone in a cabin with no one to still the desperate thoughts that rattled through his brain.

“I’m fine,” Keith lies. “You d-di-”

He holds Shiro’s wrist and pushes his face further into his hand. He kisses the man’s thumb, tries to reassure him with his touch because no doubt his voice and tears betray him. He must be a mess - lashes sticky and cheeks stained with salt. Shiro kisses his temple, when he exhales he trembles with adrenaline.

“You didn’t h-hurt me.”

The too-sweet concern on Shiro’s face is jarring. Seconds ago the man was fucking him as if his life depended on it. Now his eyebrows knit, his mouth pressed into a worried line. Keith huffs and throws his head back, forever the stubborn kid who could never get his words out. He reaches up and kisses Shiro so hard his lips bruise.

Shiro goes still. It takes him a moment to kiss back, uncertain hands either side of Keith’s face. The boy winds himself around him, drags him down and sobs against his lips. All he tastes is salt, all he feels is Shiro’s big, grounding weight against his stomach.

“I-I’m just, I’m-”

He quivers as he tries to speak. Shiro thumbs his cheek, smears tracks of abundant tears. His frown melts away but his expression remains somber, eyes trained carefully on Keith.

“B-b-big day,” Keith manages to say.

Shiro exhales. He nods, leaning forward to touch heads. Slowly he rolls onto his side, hand splayed on his hip. He’s still inside Keith, a realisation that makes them both moan. He doesn’t pull out, instead kneads the skin of Keith’s bare waist and lays his head against the pillow.

“I’m here,” Shiro promises.

I’m here.

Keith curls his arms so tight around the man it surprises him. Its not comfortable - they’re tired, damp with sweat. He can feel the man’s back twitch as he comes down. He winds his fingers into black hair and inhales from Shiro’s throat, clinging to him like a limpet.

You’re here, he thinks.

Slowly he lets go - but he doesn’t move far. He shifts his face into Shiro’s chest and uses his pectoral as a pillow. He can hear his heart beating - thump thump thump. Fingers brush back his hair. Their breathing becomes one, a hushed rise and fall.

"I'm sorry I was rough," Shiro says after a while, sheepish.

Keith would laugh if he wasn't so tired. And sore. He narrows his eyes instead, glancing up.

“Are you?” He asks, voice muffled against Shiro’s chest. “Seemed like you enjoyed yourself.”

Shiro’s resulting laugh is pleased, and somewhat dirty. He doesn’t reply for a little while, content with smoothing down Keith’s cow-lick.

“I could go again,” he admits.

The thought makes Keith’s stomach swoop. His body twitches, sensitive hole hugging around the softening dick still buried in his ass.

“Shit, Keith. I was only joking.”

But Shiro’s voice sounds so, so low and his hips wriggle, chasing the remnant heat of sex. He tugs the base of Keith’s hair, presses a barely-restrained kiss against his brow.

“I’m not,” Keith says.

The arms around him tighten. That tempting, half-there laugh returns. 

“Shower first?” Shiro asks, throat rough.

Keith nods but makes no effort to move. He feels nice here - surrounded by Shiro, warm and slightly pinned beneath his massive body. When he inhales the weight fills the spaces between them, belly to belly, his heart in his ear.

“In a minute,” Keith whispers, content.

……………………………………………………………………………

It’s hard to be good in the shower.

Shiro’s body-wash smells like home and his hands are foamy as they skate up Keith’s ribs. He claims to want to wash Keith but his hands have ulterior motives. He squeezes his ass as he washes his back. He smoothes over his hole more times than necessary - and Keith suspects he’s proud of the worn out, tender sounds he makes in response.

There’s wet, shower kisses too.

Years lost and made up for against tile walls. Keith can’t keep up with the pace of his own heart, tipping back his head so Shiro can rinse the shampoo from his hair. His hands go to his waist. Between his legs. They trace his ribs, a thumb skates down into his navel. Shiro’s half hard against his back, his mouth returning gently to his nape.

Its not difficult for Keith to sink down on his knees and take Shiro’s cock inside his mouth. Its blood-warm and full, and it swells until his cheek protrudes. He scrunches his nose as it touches the back of his throat, blushing at the way Shiro looks down at him and pets his hair. 

Its his first time doing this, too - but Shiro doesn’t complain. He guides his head with grateful groans, muttering tired fifth with his head tipped back against the wall. Keith’s too fatigued to do much but take it, blushing at the sticky suck sounds that echo off the water. When the man cums in his throat it feels nice - but not as nice as the starry-eyed look that follows him all the way back to his bedroom.

Keith’s bed is too small for them both but its tidy and dry, and they make do with the single mattress by curling up on one another. By the time they’re dressed in warm clothes, hair damp and fragrant, Keith’s purring so loudly he’s surprised the other paladins haven’t come looking for the source of the sound. Shiro rolls over so he’s laying on his back - and for the first time sees the ceiling over Keith’s bed.

“Oh,” he says.

The sticker has yellowed with time. The glow-in-the-dark rocket floats directly overhead, a dull star in the twilight of Keith’s bedroom. It makes his heart clench to see it, makes his hand seek out another until fingers wind together and twist.

"You kept it," Shiro says. 

"You told me to follow you."

Shiro turns to face him. He's changed so much since that night before the launch. Not just physically. His eyes are older. His hand is surer as it cups his cheek. His attention doesn’t wane as he makes certain Keith’s the centre of his attention, of his universe.

"You found me," he says quietly.

He's said it so many times. Keith leans into that touch and savours it. There's no universe, no reality in which he wouldn't find Shiro. There's nothing that would keep him away. No atmosphere. No span of time. No barrier. No war.

Eventually he drifts to sleep. Keith watches until every tension fades from his body - shoulders, brow and back. Its cathartic to watch Shiro sleep, to see him rest at last. When there’s a snore to match the rumble of Keith’s purrs, he turns on his side and tucks his head under the man’s chest.

For the first time in a long time Keith falls asleep with the reassurance that Shiro will be there when he wakes up.

……………………………………………………………………………