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Shiro is in from out of town, looking for a nice spot to cool his jets after a long day of continuing legal education, and seeks out the Red Lion, the local gay dive bar. There he meets a young man with stunning long black hair, tied back at the nape of his neck, with curly tendrils escaping his elastic and framing his face. A smile like an inside joke, and Shiro longs to know what makes him look like he’s on the verge of mirth.
Similar taste in beer, which is how they end up finishing off two pitchers between both of them. Easy to talk to, never too serious and quick witted about sharp, thorny social issues. Deep blue eyes that look like a galaxy, bar lights reflecting in his irises like stars. His tank is in a light enough shade of blue that Shiro can see his dark nipples. The fabric is thin enough that he can see them peaked through the fabric. It's cut low enough in the pits that he can see fading top surgery scars. No ring on his finger. A haunting scar on his face.
It’s been a while since Shiro was brave enough to shoot his shot. Since before the accident that took him out of practice and wrung him through a breakup. But Keith --his name is Keith--looks at him like he’s sexy, despite his own facial scar, despite his arm prosthetic, despite the fact that he finds himself dreadfully uninteresting apart from his job (that he doesn’t want to talk about) and his trauma (that no one needs to hear about).
He asks Keith if he’s got plans, and Keith says no, with a toothy grin. He asks Keith if he’s ever been to the Bayfront, one of the swankiest hotels in town, and Keith, with a wicked gaze through long eyelashes, says no again.
“Would you like to?” is Shiro’s most daring question yet.
“Only with you.”
They’ve barely tumbled into the rideshare before they’re kissing. By the time they roll into the hotel entrance, it takes a second to disconnect. Shiro threads his artificial fingers through Keith’s, holds his hand as he drags him to the lobby, and barely remembers to put in the button for his floor in the elevator--he’s distracted. By a clever mouth that seems determined to taste him, by a lithe body that feels warm and firm against his own as it backs him into the elevator mirror.
The crawl up to the top floor seems endless, a tease for the kind of intimacy they can get behind closed doors. Thank goodness Keith has condoms in his wallet--Shiro wasn’t thinking he was going to get laid at something as boring as a law conference. But this beautiful local he found at a dive bar is changing his thinking about a lot of things.
How good it feels to get topped by a trans dude.
The salt-musk as Keith melts in his mouth.
The incredible way Keith’s body clings and conforms to his when he fucks in.
They cum. They rest. They get restless. They fuck again.
And again.
Again.
When Shiro wakes to sunshine streaming in through the hotel curtains, Keith isn’t there. Shiro doesn’t blame him. It’s… fuck. That made him feel so alive, like he hasn’t felt in a long time. It’s okay that it was relatively anonymous. They both knew what they were getting into, they both used protection, they both got what they wanted. But it’s not something he’s going to be able to forget (or replicate) for a long, long time.
His sex and alcohol hangover haunts him through the hotel’s continental breakfast. The convention coffee can’t make a dent in his lack of concentration. He’s still wrapped in a gentle fog, the same feeling as sharing a strange duvet with a strange lover, warm and downy and inherently erotic. He floats through morning sessions in a haze, not even taking notes.
Then there’s an organization-wide lunch, where all members of Shiro’s status are expected to attend. It’s some self-promoting thing where they pick a yearly honoree to hype up the main contribution the organization made this year to the progress of law, or whatever.
The guy that’s hovering near the stage looks familiar, though. Black hair pulled up in a bun, bright eyes, head turned to look at the announcer for the award. And he goes onto the stage as the award-recipient’s name is called:
Keith Kogane, of Kogane Law.
He’s receiving the award for his multi-million-dollar settlements with a consortium of private schools that hired predators without checks, ignored red flags about their behaviors and allowed them to target vulnerable students--and he won restitution for his clients with some creative lawyering that scared the shit out of the schools’ contractors and investors, leading to changed policies and procedures nationwide across the consortium. It’s an amazing legal accomplishment in terms of money, yeah, but what was really important was the injunction conditions of the settlement to help improve conditions at the schools. Keith details the allegations in his speech, uses it as a call to action to help all kids whose rights are under attack and are at risk of harm or death if people like lawyers don’t step up.
But the most moving part of his speech is when he explains that, when he started the connected cases seven years ago, he was still Katherine Marmora, at Blade, Marmora & Commander PC. That he realized that he could best represent his clients if he was authentic and honest. That seeing so many kids and families be brave enough to stand up for what’s right made him brave enough to show the world who he really is. And that he realized it only made him a better lawyer and better fighter to be himself, instead of who he thought people wanted.
In the end, it’s about the kids, really. The presentation ends with high school (and some college) graduation photos of Keith’s clients, once in dire straits but moving forward with their lives knowing no one can hurt them anymore. There’s not a dry eye in the room when he steps away from the podium.
For his part, Shiro is totally and completely uprooted. The local he met in the dive bar last night used to be Katherine Marmora? The tough-as-nails bitch who never let a case go if she could get even a single dime for her clients as restitution? Who was known nationwide for her dedication to civil rights law? She was a role model for the entire plaintiff’s bar as far as the cases she took and the tenacity with which she pursued them, but she always had a sour face and a worse attitude.
And now he’s Keith Kogane. He has a gorgeous smile and is incandescently happy and proud of himself and his role in the community, giving back with what he can and showcasing a huge amount of gratitude for being able to offer his services. And who is, apparently, also the sex demon Shiro had in his bed last night, ruthless and confident, saying all sorts of filthy shit, riding Shiro’s cock like his life depended on it, with insane stamina and endurance, the single sexiest human being Shiro has ever beheld--or held, or been with.
Shiro means to keep these two things separate. To never introduce himself to Keith again if he can help it, never bother him with his presence. Keith is, flat out, a better fucking person than Shiro could ever be.
This resolution lasts until the desserts go out on the buffets. The lines for food come from each direction, and it’s the funniest cosmic accident possible that Shiro and Keith lock eyes over the last ostentatious catered chocolate-cinnamon mousse with gold dust and a teeny vanilla macaron as garnish, waiting for the other to make a move. “No, you take it,” Shiro mumbles, head ducked. He’s terrified to look up from the shitty paper plate that’s trembling in his metallic right hand.
But Keith doesn’t reach for it. All he does is say a quiet, warm “Hey.” And oh.
Oh.
The churn of embarrassment in Shiro’s stomach has never transformed so suddenly into nervous-excited butterflies. As soon as he’s brave enough to open his mouth, Shiro puts his foot in it: “I thought you were still at the Marmora Firm.” Good going, practically deadnaming him. Ugh.
But Keith just shrugged. “I liked working at the family firm, don’t get me wrong, but it was time for me to do my own thing. I moved out here, started my own firm--everything’s mostly the same, I’m just commuting to the Southern District of California for hearings. Like, a lot.” That gets a chuckle out of Shiro, though he can feel his face getting hot.
Finally the waitstaff replace the empty dessert tray with a full one, but by that time, Shiro and Keith are headed to a table, no sweets in hand, to sit and talk. Mostly shop, dull business. Client generation, preferred vendors. The kind of non-conversation that strangers who are members in the same organization can have.
Until Keith says, “I was hoping I would see you here today.”
“Yeah?” comes out, maybe a little more breathlessly than Shiro intended.
“Yeah, I was sorry to ditch you. I needed a change of clothes before I went in for the sessions this morning, so I had to head out while you were asleep.”
“Uh,” Shiro drawls out. Keith raises an eyebrow. “If you had stuck around, I, ah…” Keith’s wicked grin is back. “I don’t think we would have made it to the Litigation at Sunrise session,” Shiro says diplomatically.
“I don’t think we would have made it to the awards luncheon,” Keith counters.
Fuck. Shiro’s half-chubbed in his chinos already. “My room is right upstairs,” he says. Just a fact.
“I think I could use a refresher instead of afternoon continuing education,” Keith says. “Maybe I could use your shower?”
(He does. With Shiro. After they fuck twice more.)
It’s absolute bliss. Awkward, time-limited bliss. Because Shiro is here from out of town. This is inherently temporary. Just a weird fling they’ll have at the Summer 2022 convention, reminisce about with some fondness, but never try to recreate. They’ll have these precious 24 hours, before their convention schedules rend them asunder this evening.
Except it’s fucking not, because they’re both at the LGBT Section events the next afternoon. Keith’s never been here before, Shiro would have remembered him if he had. Maybe Keith never felt comfortable attending an event with the section until this year? He’ll have to talk to section leadership about that--it’s important to him that everyone is welcome.
There’s a reception afterwards, at the same fucking bar where he and Keith met two nights ago. Shiro pretends he doesn’t feel the weight of Keith’s eyes on him as he’s talking with old section colleagues and sloshing around his fruity little cocktail in its little glass.
He’s never been very good at pretending.
Keith makes a show of trying to find the restroom, asks Shiro as a total stranger where it might be. Shiro’s not stupid and he wasn’t born yesterday--he’s a gentleman, and so he walks Keith to the bathrooms himself. The fact that Keith drags him into a stall, slams Shiro bodily into the door to close it, and drops to his knees while working Shiro’s belt is inevitable. Blows him, no condom, and when Shiro comes, shows him the sticky mess cupped in his tongue.
Of course Shiro pulls Keith up off the floor and licks the cum out of his mouth, making a spectacle of moaning and swallowing. Then Shiro’s switching their positions, putting Keith up against the door before he kneels between Keith’s knees, nosing at his clothed crotch. It isn’t long before the seat of Keith’s pants is hooked behind Shiro’s neck, with Keith’s knees flung over his shoulders, Keith biting his own fist and near tears with how hard he’s trying not to outright scream at how Shiro eats him out, shuddering silently when he orgasms.
It’s not until they’ve washed up and headed out separately that Shiro’s brain turns back on, but the single thought in it is that he has more sexual compatibility with Keith than anyone else he’s ever slept with. Including his fiancé, who he Tried Some Stuff with, as one does. God, it’s been such a nice three days at this convention, but closing ceremony is at the end of Day Four, and then Shiro has to go back to his stupid fucking nothing life and hope to be as good of a lawyer, sexual partner, or person as Keith Kogane.
The last day of the convention is Tuesday. Despite the Fates making the two of them collide at every possible meeting before now, Shiro doesn’t see Keith at all, all day. Which is weird, because Keith is local, so you’d think he’d have the most time in his schedule to attend. Shiro even stands around like a loser at the closing ceremony, trying to look inconspicuous as his naturally tall frame allows him to easily scan the crowd for Keith.
It isn’t until entry is about to close, 30 minutes before the end of the event, that Keith finally shows. He’s in a full sharp gray suit, jacket waistcoat and navy tie, crisply tailored, a navy pocket square elegantly folded in his breast pocket. He scowls, peering into the mass of people--until he meets Shiro’s eyes.
And smiles.
People seem to make a path for Keith as he walks Shiro’s way. Keith is terribly overdressed for this business casual event, but he looks like a model. Has the confidence of one, too, knows he looks good, and isn’t that just the sexiest fucking thing? “You’re late,” Shiro teases, but he feels better already, with Keith here.
“I had a summary judgment hearing,” Keith explains.
Shiro winces. That’s high stakes. Having it granted means losing, means your case gets tossed, means you can’t do right by your clients. “Was it denied?”
“Granted,” but that’s confusing, because Keith looks victorious. Then, “I was the one moving for summary judgment on their affirmative defenses, and they couldn’t come up with the evidence. Trial is set for three months from now, and they have to give me evidence of how much they’re worth so I can squeeze them for every penny they own.”
“Holy shit,” Shiro breathes, thoroughly impressed. Keith was so confident in his case that he called the people he was suing on their bullshit, and got a judge to believe his side. The balls on this guy—and he takes exogenous testosterone, too. How the fuck does Keith somehow get sexier every time Shiro sees him?
Keith sneaks off for a beverage, and Shiro lets himself relax. This particular swanky lawyer party is being held at a famous local science museum, with a popular space exhibit on loan. Most of the other lawyers don’t seem to care, too wrapped up in last minute networking and business card exchanges over too much alcohol, but Shiro gets engrossed in a set of little glittering meteorites.
Water in hand, Keith sidles up to Shiro again. “You like them?” he asks.
Shiro shrugs, but ‘like’ probably isn’t a strong enough word. He watches Carl Sagan’s Cosmos when he works out. One of his most-read books is Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History of Time, which kept his child self entertained through many a hospital stay. He’s the kind of guy who cried when the latest Jeester Weester Space Teleester pictures dropped. His life goal is to visit every space center. Astronomy is his Nerd Thing, more than anything else. But Keith doesn’t have to know that—too personal for a temporary fling. Instead, Shiro says, “It looks like they have a planetarium, but it’s closed. After hours, I guess.”
“Closed for now,” Keith agrees.
Shiro nods—then processes what he just heard: “What do you mean, for now?”
Five minutes later, Keith is picking the lock on the planetarium doors. “What?” he challenges Shiro’s look. “I was homeless for a little while as a teenager. You acquire certain skills, know what I mean?”
Shiro shakes his head. “I was just thinking I could have done it for you. My grandfather was a locksmith, he taught me everything he knew.”
“Wow,” Keith breathes, a laugh laced into his exhale. He jiggles the door handle, it gives, and after a brief double-take for security staff, they sneak in. “Next thing, you’ll be telling me you know how to operate one of these.”
“How did you know?” Shiro jokes.
Except it’s not. A joke, that is. Shiro breaks into the projector booth the same as Keith broke into the planetarium, and he starts figuring out the reels and presentations. He used to volunteer at his local museum, when he was getting back on his feet after the accident. It doesn’t take too long to find the projection that’s just a series of annotated constellations in sequence. No narration audio, just the ambient sound for walk-through visitors between shows.
This might be the weirdest, yet most romantic thing Shiro’s ever done. And Keith looks incredible where he stands, blocking a little of the light. Star nurseries swirl on his face in a captivating red, his hair picking up a sheen of intergalactic purple, his eyes the refracted glitter of suns light-centuries from here.
He’s gorgeous. Ethereal. Unreachable and unattainable, just like all the other stars Shiro knows.
But fuck, does he want Keith anyway.
The room is a thrust stage, the presentation area lower than the tiered seats rising in a semicircle around it. Keith lays out on the floor, looking up into the ‘sky.’ Shiro can’t help but join him. They point out, in hushed tones, their favorite stars. Tell each other silly, half remembered fables about why their names are Pyxis or Scutum.
It ends, as seems inevitable, when Shiro can’t keep away. He rolls over, nuzzles into Keith’s neck. Plants an almost-shy kiss there (considering the pure horny urgency of their prior couplings). Follows it with two more, going up, feeling as Keith’s pulse stutters under his lips and his throat turns for easier access to his warm skin, the hint of cologne that lingers.
It’s a slow unmaking after that. No one is looking for them. No one knows they’re here. Under the false screen of stars, their bodies move together in a way Shiro’s only ever described before as ‘making love,’ but that’s not what this is. It’s euphoric, exultant, indulgent. And it’s temporary. Like a meteor flaming out before it crashes into Earth, like the last emission of a pulsar before it collapses.
Until, still naked in the artificial starlight, Keith turns to Shiro, posing like he wants Shiro to draw him like one of his French girls. “I’ve been thinking,” he says. “About expanding my practice. You know, opening a few out of state offices.”
Shiro gulps. It’s not about him. (Why does this feel like it’s about him?) “Don’t you think that would stretch you pretty thin?”
“Maybe not,” Keith thinks out loud. “One of my new associates, Pidge, they used to work at your firm, and they miss living in the area.”
“I don’t know of any Pidge who was a lawyer at Holt & Holt.”
“Oh, right,” Keith seems to realize, reaching for his button-down. “You might have known them as Katie.”
“Katie?” Shiro blurts out. How is his world this small? That his boss’s kid, moving out and up, would have ended up working for Keith?
“Yeah, they miss their family, and I wouldn’t mind starting them up in their own satellite office out there. They’re smart, they work hard.”
“I don’t know, you might have to go to the satellite office a few times a month to supervise her work,” Shiro thinks out loud.
“Would be a real hardship, making sure business is good,” Keith says through a smile, “but I think I know of a good place to stay when I’m in town.”
“Oh, where?” None of the hotels where Shiro lives are as fancy as the one he first fucked Keith in, and Keith deserves nothing but the best. (And Shiro has got to stop thinking about fucking him—it’s over after tonight.)
“I mean, I could stay with my partner.”
“Oh.” Shiro didn’t know Keith had a law partner.
“Yeah. Like, my boyfriend?”
“Oh.” That word feels like a punch to the head and the gut and the balls, all in one. Shiro’s not just the out-of-towner, he helped the local cheat on his long distance committed relationship. “I didn’t know you were seeing someone,” comes out more robotically than he intended.
“Well, yeah,” Keith joshes him, “I’m looking at him right now.”
“Oh,” Shiro realizes. He is entirely too naked for this conversation.
“Okay, so, maybe I didn’t ask you out,” Keith admits. “But I meant to. Okay? My mouth has always just been, um. Really busy, around you.” Keith clears his throat. “On you, over you--”
“Keith.”
“Yeah?”
“I like the word ‘partner’.”
And Keith’s smile might put the Sun to shame.