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[personal profile] lysapadin
Title: Geometry in Three Dimensions
Characters/Pairings: Shiro/Keith/Lance
Summary: In which Lance doesn't know what they're doing, Shiro has his moments of self-consciousness, and Keith is the soul of pragmatism.
Notes: Events continue on in the From First Principles 'verse. Adult for smut, Beware of Feels. 5420 words.

~~~~~~~~~~


Geometry in Three Dimensions

Lance really isn't sure what they're doing, and that's confusing the heck out of him.

Okay, he knows what they're doing right now, which is sitting in Shiro's room, piled together on his bunk and trying to watch a movie on Shiro's Pidge-brand laptop, because Shiro had said he wanted to spend more time with the two of them. That much he gets. Except for the fact that Pidge and Hunk aren't here, it could be just another Paladin Bonding Night.

It's the larger scheme of things he's not getting.

When it was just him and Keith, that had been plenty straightforward: either they were fighting or fucking, with not a whole lot of middle ground between. Easy. Simple. Something to pass the time in between going up against a freaking galactic empire and somehow, miraculously, managing to survive those encounters. (That's what Lance has gotten in the habit of telling himself, anyway, to avoid having to think too closely about the way he wants to fit himself into Keith's spaces, the way his skin sometimes feels too small to hold him when he catches sight of the subtle curl of Keith's smile.)

When Lance has let himself think about it, which isn't very often, he's always just assumed it was probably going to end up being one of those things that never gets talked about and that will undoubtedly fall apart when Keith gets bored or Shiro finally unearths his libido out from under all the Galra trauma and gets around to noticing the way Keith looks at him. No harm, no foul. Lance had been thoroughly prepared for that. It had a kind of inevitability to it, the way the seasons have to change, spring to summer, summer to autumn, and so forth.

So yeah, he still doesn't know what to make of the way Keith, when presented with Shiro all but wrapped up in a bow for him, had declined to jump on that opportunity without looking back. He definitely doesn't know what to think of Shiro looking at Keith and then somehow still being able to see Lance standing there, too, and saying he wants Lance too. It's just so damn unlikely.

But here he is, sitting on Shiro's bed with the two of them, between the two of them, trying to watch a movie with them. Like that's going to happen. Keith is leaning against him like he thinks Lance is some sort of overgrown throw pillow, and Shiro has his arm stretched out behind Lance's shoulders, folding him in like this is exactly where Lance is supposed to be. It's just so weird.

And nice, more than nice, though Lance handles that thought with extreme caution. He really, really likes this, likes the warmth of being tucked down between them, Shiro's bulk and Keith's wiry strength, both settled against him like that's exactly where they want to be. Like he's not some kind of interloper. He likes this a lot, and that might actually terrify him more than the entire Galra empire manages to do.

Keith makes a quiet sound, vaguely discontented, and shifts against Lance's side. "Why are you so bony?" he complains.

Not too long ago, that would have been the kind of opening that Lance would have pounced on with both hands, since Keith couldn't just hand him a line like that and not expect him to use it. But Lance feels strange in his skin right now, not sure where the new boundaries are (not sure he really knew where they were to begin with) and he keeps his mouth shut.

Which may be a tactical error.

Keith shifts again, looks at him, and frowns faintly. "Lance? I said, why are you so bony?"

"Genetics, dude, I don't know," Lance says.

Keith blinks; the focus of his gaze shifts to something (someone) on the other side of Lance, and he gives Shiro a puzzled sort of frown.

Shiro pauses the movie. "Are you feeling all right, Lance?"

Wow, being right between the two of them makes it really hard to look at them both. Keith is still looking puzzled; Shiro is laying one of his concerned, weighing kinds of looks on him. Lance tries to look at them both and says, "What, yeah, I'm fine, why'd you stop the movie?"

"You passed up a chance to make a boner joke," Shiro says, grave except for the lurking twinkle in his eyes. "Are you feeling okay? You're not running a fever, are you?"

"Maybe I'm turning over a new, more mature, leaf," Lance says with as much dignity as he can muster while quietly freaking out over the fact that they noticed his preoccupation.

Keith snorts. "That'll be the day."

"Hey, it could happen," Lance says, taking refuge in mock offense. That's pretty easy, comfortably familiar.

"Maybe when pigs fly," Keith says.

"It's a big universe," Shiro interjects before they can really get going. "There's probably at least one planet where pig-like aliens do fly."

Lance blinks at him, distracted. "What, really?"

Shiro smiles. "Wouldn't be the strangest thing I've seen out here." He lifts his arm and slides his fingers into Lance's hair, ruffling it gently. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Lance tells him quickly.

Too quickly, it seems, because Shiro's smile fades and he looks at Lance, all serious and concerned. He strokes his fingers through Lance's hair, which feels way too nice to be a fair move. "Lance," he says again, and that's all.

"Really, I'm fine," Lance says.

Shiro keeps looking at him, but after a bit he sighs. "All right." He shifts his fingers against Lance's head until he's cupping it, and then he leans forward and kisses Lance, pressing their mouths together all slow and easy. It's a dirty, dirty trick and Lance can't help melting into it, parting his lips for Shiro and leaning into him and the coaxing, sinful movement of his lips.

Keith utters an interested sound right against Lance's ear. The next thing Lance knows, he's got another mouth moving along his jaw and down his throat, while Keith slides his hand under Lance's shirt and spreads his fingers against Lance's stomach.

Lance groans and reaches back to them both, catching a hand on Shiro's shoulder, landing the other on one of Keith's knees, trying to ground himself against how much it is to be at the center of their focus like this.

Shiro slides his tongue into Lance's mouth, strokes it against his, catches his lower lip and sucks on it, all while stroking his hair, holding him. Keith kisses his throat, kneading his fingers against Lance's stomach, and wow, Lance has no idea what he could have possibly done to deserve this, but he's so glad he did.

By the time Shiro draws away from his mouth, Lance's lips feel swollen with how thoroughly he's been kissed. He's starting to be breathless. "God," he says.

Shiro smiles and gently ruffles his hair. "You wanna go back to that movie now?"

What movie—oh, that movie. Lance can't even remember what it's about. "Not really," he admits, and Keith hums an agreement against his throat.

"Okay," Shiro says, easy, and leans in for another of those brain-melting kisses.

Here's the thing: Lance would be a liar if he said he hasn't ever thought about going to bed with Shiro. He's pretty sure anyone who has a pulse and has met the guy has thought about going to bed with him, and he's not excluding the Galra from that. So yeah, he's definitely spent some quality time with his own hand and his vivid imagination, thinking things about Shiro that are certainly going to send him to hell when the Galra finally get him.

He'd also be a liar if he said he hasn't pictured Keith and Shiro in bed together, because he totally has—even before everything went and got weird.

What? He's got a really powerful imagination and the two of them are exceptionally hot. And variety is the spice of life and all that.

What he hasn't done, despite his vivid inner life, is quite figured out how to picture all three of them in bed together. Insofar as he's thought about it, he's figured that sometimes he and Keith will fuck, and other times Shiro and Keith will, and maybe once in a while Shiro might take him to bed. And hey, if that ever does happen, he's going to be totally on board with it. Again, who wouldn't be?

So this… he has no contingency plans for this.

Shiro leans back against the head of his bunk as Keith migrates the rest of the way up the bed and takes over the job of kissing Lance. Lance tangles his fingers in Keith's god-awful hair, and Keith kisses him like their lives both depend on it, hot and urgent as he strokes his tongue against Lance's and flexes his hands against Lance's ass.

And that is kind of a problem.

Keith has conditioned him to respond to certain cues, just like that dog in the experiment, and just like that dog, Lance is panting for him, cock hard and pressing against the zipper of his jeans. What's he supposed to do about that? It's not like he can pull off Keith's mouth and say, "Hey, you wanna?" Shiro's right there and this is farther than they've gone since things changed.

Keith pulls back from Lance's mouth, only as far as he has to in order to say, "I want you to fuck me."

Lance groans, shuddering—it's unbearably hot, the way Keith has no compunctions about just saying what he wants like that—and opens his eyes wide when Shiro says, his voice a low rumble of approval, "I'd like to see that."

Holy fuck. Lance can feel his brain shorting out at the mere idea of Shiro watching him fuck Keith.

Keith, who glances sidelong at Shiro, smiling at him with lips gone red and plush with kissing. "You want to see? Or you want to join in?"

"Oh my God," Lance says as all the air in the room seems to disappear—surely that's why he's so breathless.

"Now that you mention it…" Shiro smiles at Lance and slides his hand down his back slowly, edging his fingers under the waistband of his jeans and shorts. "How about it?"

It feels like the entire universe has narrowed itself to the pads of Shiro's fingers against his skin and the question hanging in the air. Does he want Shiro to join in? "Of all the stupid questions, that has got to be the dumbest one I've ever heard," Lance croaks, voice hoarse with how hard he's panting for breath.

Keith huffs a little breath of a laugh, getting it, but Shiro just tips his head to the side. After a second, Lance understands—he's waiting for an answer one way or the other. And probably would be okay with either way, because he's Shiro.

It's still a damn stupid question.

Lance wets his lips. "Yeah. Okay."

Shiro smiles. "Okay, then."

He leans forward and kisses Lance, taking his time about it, until Lance is dizzy and has to grip Shiro's shoulder to steady himself. "How is this supposed to work?" he asks when Shiro finally lets him up for air.

Keith gives him a deeply unimpressed kind of look. "Well, you're going to take your cock and stick it inside me, and Shiro's going to stick his cock inside you. Do you need me to draw you a picture?"

"You are such an asshole," Lance tells him, hoping like hell that he isn't turning as red as he feels like he is. Given Keith's smirk and Shiro's smile, it's probably a forlorn hope. Story of his life, that. "Seriously, though." He waves a hand at Shiro's bunk. "We've only got so much room to work with here."

"We'll figure something out," Shiro says before Keith can come up with a retort—Lance can see him working on it. "For now, let's start here." He slides his hand up Lance's back, rucking up his t-shirt. "Sound like a plan?"

And there's the thing Lance has been distracting himself from thinking about: if they're really going to do this, they're all gonna have to lose some clothes first. It's not that he's shy—why would he be when he's got this much to work with?—but, well, Shiro. And Keith, too, but he's a known quantity.

He's also already reaching a hand back to yank his shirt off over his head. He shakes his hair out of his eyes and lifts his eyebrows at Lance, who for damn sure isn't about to let himself be outdone by Keith, especially not in front of Shiro.

He shows Keith his teeth—Shiro utters a faint sigh—and strips out of his shirt, tossing it aside. But Keith is already turning his attention to Shiro. "Your turn," he says as he sets his fingers on the zipper pull of Shiro's vest. He doesn't start dragging it down, though. Just looks at Shiro and waits.

Shiro—if Lance didn't know any better, he'd say that Shiro hesitates before he nods. "Guess it is."

Keith unzips the vest; the slow rasp seems like the only sound in the room.

All three of them have to shift around when Keith pushes it off Shiro's shoulders so Shiro can finish shrugging it off. Keith glances at Lance then and jerks his chin at Shiro, almost like he's handing the guy off to him.

Lance catches his lower lip between his teeth, gives Shiro a quick look, and sets his hands on Shiro's waist when Shiro gives him a tiny go ahead kind of a nod. He pulls the shirt untucked and slips his hands underneath it to touch Shiro's skin. It's warm under his fingers and jumps as Shiro takes a quick breath. Lance glances at him again—does Shiro look wary?—and pushes his shirt up, baring his abdomen, his chest, and—oh. Oh.

He's never thought about it before, the way Shiro doesn't show much skin—it's just part of Shiro the same way Hunk's headband is a part of him, Keith's knife is just Keith, Pidge's glasses are a part of Pidge. But now he does think about it, because Shiro's torso is littered with scars. There's a long one that curves over his ribs, a couple that look like burn scars, shiny and too smooth, a scattering of scars clustered together like a starburst, and at least three short, puckered places.

Shiro takes a breath. "It's kind of ugly, so I can keep my shirt on—"

"Shut up," Lance says; for a second, he thinks Shiro's bunk has developed an echo, but no, that's just Keith saying the same thing. Whatever, Keith is allowed to be right sometimes, too.

Shiro looks startled by that, more startled by the way Lance shoves his shirt up and Keith lends a hand to help pull it off him.

The scars where the Galra prosthesis attaches to his arm is an ugly, painful mess that makes Lance hurt just to look at, and there are other scars, too, scattered over his shoulders and probably across his back. Shiro's hair sticks up in wild tufts; there's more color on his face than usual as he wets his lips. "Guys…?"

Keith is the one who can say things no one else will, because he just doesn't give any kind of a damn what anyone else thinks. (Sometimes Lance really envies that about him, not that he'd ever admit it.) He lays a hand on Shiro's chest and rubs his thumb along one ropy scar. "You're beautiful."

Guys don't say shit like that to each other, Lance knows that, but… he's not going to say Keith is wrong, either. "Yeah," he says, soft, touching his fingers to the long, curving scar that follows Shiro's ribs, because it's true. Every scar is like a flag of defiance that screams fuck you to the Galra who stuck Shiro in their arenas to fight for their amusement, because Shiro lived, fought his way free, and is still fighting for the rest of the people still stuck under the Galra's fucking boots. If that isn't beautiful, Lance doesn't know what is.

Shiro's color darkens. "Guys."

"Shut up," Keith tells him again, sliding his hand up Shiro's chest as he leans in to kiss him.

Lance watches, breath catching in his throat with how easily they fit together, Shiro's bulk and Keith's lithe grace, and the perfect angle of their mouths sliding together. Shiro closes his eyes and settles his hand between Keith's shoulders, the metal of his fingers shining strange against Keith's pale skin, and Keith hums to him, soft and pleased.

The two of them together are beautiful, too, and Lance can't tear his eyes away from them. He thinks that maybe he's supposed to have some other kind of reaction to the two of them being together, should feel jealous of one of them or the other, but he's not feeling it. How's he supposed to feel jealous about something that just works? It'd be like being jealous of Blue for being able to fly through space. Pointless.

Keith draws back from Shiro's mouth; they look at each other silently until the corner of Shiro's mouth kicks up, rueful. "Okay," he says.

Keith hums, satisfied, and glances Lance's way. "You gonna just sit there staring or what?"

"Who put you in charge, that's what I want to know," Lance grumbles.

Keith rolls his eyes as Lance edges a little closer to Shiro to spread his fingers across his stomach and learn the texture of his skin and the solid muscle beneath. "I'm in charge because I'm the only sensible one."

Lance shoots him a look, but he seems to be perfectly serious, so he looks to Shiro instead. Shiro's mouth is twitching. "Is he serious?" he demands of Shiro.

"It does sort of look that way," Shiro says.

"If I left it up to either of you, we'd never get anywhere at all," Keith points out, which, okay, he might be almost sort of right about that, maybe.

That doesn't mean he really needs to illustrate the point by immediately shucking himself out of his jeans and underwear, but Lance isn't going to complain, not when it means Keith is squirming around, shamelessly naked and hard, because despite certain accusations to the contrary, Lance isn't stupid.

"Jesus," Shiro breathes, staring at Keith with a stunned expression on his face.

Keith digs something out of one of his pockets before he tosses his jeans to the floor—oh. It's a little bottle of the goop they'd gotten the castle-ship's fabricators to put together. He drops it on the blankets while Lance is still feeling his face go hot. Then he goes after Lance's fly.

"Shit," Lance says, well, groans, anyway, because first of all that's a hell of a relief, and second, he's starting to think that Keith showed up with all of this planned out. Maybe they should let him be in charge, if he's going to be this efficient about it.

Keith hooks his fingers in the waistband of Lance's jeans and tugs at them, looking exasperated. "A little help here?"

This bunk really isn't big enough for the three of them; Lance would like to get his jeans off, he really would, if he could just figure out the three-dimensional geometry of doing it—

"Bossy," Shiro says, fond, at the same time he pulls Lance to his chest and hoists him up. (Lance can't even pretend to himself that this doesn't make him squeak, or that Shiro's unthinking strength doesn't put a wash of heat through him.)

Keith just snorts and peels Lance's jeans and shorts off him.

Shiro's chest moves against Lance's back as he sucks in a quick breath. "Mm," he says, husky against Lance's ear. "Guess I don't have to ask whether you're still feeling it, do I?"

Lance opens his mouth, trusting that his innate ability to bullshit will have him coming up with a witty, suave comment by the time he starts talking, but Shiro reaches down and palms his cock before he has to find out what he's going to say. Every kind of rational thought flies out of Lance's skull; all that's left is holy shit yes good more as he jerks his hips up against the weight of Shiro's hand.

Shiro curls those warm fingers around him and Lance groans, letting his head fall back to rest against Shiro's shoulder as pleasure floods through him. "Fuck, Shiro…" He groans again, this time because Shiro slides his hand away. "Jesus, don't stop…!"

Shiro laughs right next to his ear. "Don't you think it'll annoy Keith if I get you off before he's gotten what he wants from you?"

"No, go ahead," Keith says from where he's kneeling at the foot of the bunk. He's moved the laptop to safety, which is probably a good idea, all things considered. They're lucky they haven't kicked it off the bed. "You won't believe how fast he'll be ready to go again." He reaches for that little bottle and nonchalantly slicks his fingers before he reaches behind himself, unselfconscious as a cat.

Lance can feel the shudder that rolls through Shiro then, hear the tiny, strangled sound that comes out of his throat when he realizes what Keith is doing. "I know, right?" Lance says, because Keith is some kind of sight like this, knees spread against the bed, his cock curving hard and flushed against his stomach, his eyes half-lidded and his lower lip caught between his teeth as he opens himself up.

"God," Shiro breathes, hoarse.

Keith huffs at them, though he looks like the way they're watching him pleases him, too. "If you're not going to get him off, then you might as well get him ready." He flips the bottle up the bed with his off hand, unfairly accurate with his aim.

Shiro manages to catch it and turns it over in his fingers. "What…?"

"Space lube," Lance says, striving to sound like a calm, rational adult when he really just wants to snigger, because, well, space lube. He's probably going to be twelve years old in his soul forever. "Messed around with the fabricators until we got something that worked." And messed around is probably the single most accurate way to describe that whole process anyone could come up with. Good times.

"I… see." Shiro's voice shakes a little, like he's also trying not to snicker. "How… practical of you."

"Spit can only take you so far," Lance tells him, and that does it. Shiro breaks into laughter, leaning forward and resting his forehead against Lance's shoulder as the chuckles roll out of him, and yeah. That's, really, really nice. Lance catches Keith watching them; when their eyes meet, he gives Lance a little nod, like approval, one conspirator to another. Lance grins back at him—hell, why not? There are far worse conspiracies to be a part of than the make Shiro laugh one.

He reaches a hand back and strokes it through the short fuzz on the back of Shiro's head, bristly-soft against his fingers. Shiro's laughter tapers off, turns into a low, thoughtful hum before he turns his face and kisses the side of Lance's throat. "Should I go ahead and get you ready, Lance?"

"God, yes," Lance says, heat rolling through him, twisting and pooling low in his belly. God alone knows what good deeds he must have done to deserve this, but damned if he isn't glad he did them.

"Mm." Shiro kisses his shoulder, open-mouthed and soft, slides his hands down Lance's body and over his thighs, spreading his legs across his lap. It's vaguely embarrassing and also really fucking hot; Keith is watching, his eyes hot, like he agrees. Shiro thumbs the bottle of space lube open and pours some of its contents over his human fingers; he rubs them together, maybe to get a sense of the texture of the stuff, before he reaches down and slides his hand under Lance to stroke against him.

Lance groans and winds his arms around Shiro's neck, holding onto him as Shiro rubs his fingers against him, slow and intimate, and groans again when the pressure of them changes from caress to push. "Shiro… oh, God…"

"Shh," Shiro says, soft against his ear. "I've got you."

Or something like that, Lance isn't exactly sure, not when Shiro's fingers are sliding into him, slow, and everything is subsumed by that slow friction and the aching stretch of his muscles that sings up his spine. It's the best kind of sharpness, the kind that makes Lance's breath stutter in his throat as he arches into the fullness of the feeling. Shiro sinks his fingers home, curves them as he draws them back, and Lance shudders as fireworks go off inside his brain. "Ah…!" Shiro spreads his Galra hand across his stomach, the metal a cool contrast to the fever heat overtaking Lance, and holds him steady as he works his fingers in and out of him, a slow and deliberate flex of his hand that might be driving Lance just a little bit nuts. "C'mon," he breathes, "God, c'mon, please…"

"Are you always like this in bed?" Shiro asks, his voice gone a little rough.

Keith answers before Lance can pull himself together enough to do it. "Yep. I think he runs on batteries."

"I hate you both," Lance says, which is a blatant lie but whatever, he's a little too preoccupied to come up with anything better right now.

"No, you don't," Keith says. The mattress shakes as he prowls back up the bunk. He has the decency to kiss Lance, letting him off the hook for having to come up with any kind of retort.

And then Shiro groans against Lance's ear, another of those full-body shudders rocking him against Lance's back. "Keith."

"You can't fuck anyone if you've still got your pants on," Keith points out—Keith is just the soul of pragmatism this evening.

Thank God for it, too, because Lance is in no place to be practical himself at the moment, not while he's got Shiro's fingers inside him, slow and amazing and not enough, can feel Shiro's chest moving against his back and Keith's hands busy under him, and hear the heat in Shiro's voice when he groans. "Fuck…"

"That is the idea," Keith says, fishing up the bottle of space lube from where Shiro discarded it before reaching around Lance again. Shiro groans and Lance does too, because he can feel Shiro's cock against his skin, sliding hot over it until Keith takes him in hand and slicks him up.

Keith is all concentration, his eyes glittering behind his lashes. When he catches Lance looking, he cracks a tiny smile and kisses him again, sliding his tongue into Lance's mouth and swallowing down his moan. "You ready?"

"God, yes," Lance tells him. He's beyond ready; every last centimeter of him on fire right now.

Keith's smile stretches wider, right before he reaches down and closes his slick fingers around Lance's cock. "Then let's do this."

Lance would do anything Keith wants as long as he keeps his hand right where it is, but he's especially happy to do this—to groan when Shiro slides his fingers out of him, to follow when Keith draws back, to slide his hands up the backs of Keith's thighs and hook them behind his knees as he leans over Keith, to groan again as he sinks into Keith, who catches at his shoulders and tosses his head back with a husky, vibrant moan of his own as Lance leans over him and pants against the heat of Keith's body tight around him.

Behind him, Shiro says something that Lance can't—quite—track, and the mattress dips beneath the movement of his weight. Shiro nudges at Lance's knees, spreading them wider as he moves to kneel between them. He curves his hand around Lance's hips. "All right?"

"Please," Lance breathes, and God, Shiro believes him—the next thing he knows is the warmth of Shiro's body against his back and the slow pressure, the hard, relentless stretch, as Shiro sinks into him, fills him up. Jesus God, Lance is going to die with how good it is to be caught between them like this, Shiro inside him, Keith wrapped around him.

Shiro comes to rest against his back, breathing hard, and Keith cups his hand around Lance's nape, eyes fiercely hot. "Yes," he says—hisses, really—and somehow he manages to shimmy his hips against Lance's.

That tiny motion sets off a chain reaction: Lance hitches his hips forward, driving himself deeper into Keith, and shudders as Shiro's cock moves inside him, the friction of it licking up his spine like fire. For a moment he's stunned, paralyzed between them. Then Shiro tightens his hand on Lance's hip and draws him back a bit, draws back even further himself, and rocks forward again, sliding home and driving Lance deeper into Keith, and oh—oh, fuck, Lance thinks he may cry out, knows he hears Keith's voice mixed with Shiro's, because it's so good, pleasure that blazes along every nerve he has, more amazing than can possibly be real. It's too perfect to work, more than he can possibly stand. He rolls his hips forward, fucking Keith, grinds them back, fucking himself on Shiro's cock, falling into a rhythm with the two of them as natural and easy and right as breathing. Shiro wraps an arm around him, holds him steady between them; Keith strokes his restless hands over Lance, over Shiro, touching every part of them he can reach, and God, God, if they could just stay like this forever, a single moment of perfection for all time, Lance would be absolutely happy with that.

They can't; nothing so good can endure for long. Lance can feel the pit of his stomach pulling tight, the storm hovering just over the horizon and ready to break, and fits his hand between them, finding Keith's cock to stroke it hard, the way he knows Keith likes it. Keith goes silent when he comes, arching against Lance and baring his teeth as his cock pulses over Lance's fingers, his body going even tighter around Lance.

That's all it takes for Lance, who cries out as he bucks between the two of them, buffeted mercilessly by the storm of pleasure that crashes down on him, sweeping everything away but the relentless brilliance of the heat racing through him, white-hot as lightning crawling across the sky. Shiro moans like the sound is being torn out of him, slamming himself into Lance, driving aftershocks of sensation through him, until he strains against Lance for an endless moment, shaking as he comes apart.

Lance collapses on top of Keith when the moment ends, wrung out and shaken. Keith utters a grunt of faint protest, but doesn't try to shove him away. Shiro manages to fit himself next to them, though he has to fling an arm across Lance to keep him from rolling off Keith and the bed. He's staring at them both, eyes gone soft and wondering in a way that makes Lance feel squirmy and strange inside—why does Shiro look at him like he thinks Lance is one of the most amazing people in this bed?

Sex endorphins, that's probably the answer. Sex endorphins do funny things to a guy's brain.

"There," Keith says, rich with satisfaction.

It's one of those times when he and Shiro seem to be communicating in their own private language, because Shiro laughs softly, smiling at him and Lance. "Yeah."

But they're letting Lance in on the moment, so whatever. He'll live with it.

Lance looks at them both, hoping they can't see what he's feeling—amazement and a tiny, fragile hope that maybe they really do want this crazy thing to work, too—and presses against them both, drinking them in.

They don't say anything, but Shiro holds him a little closer and Keith reaches up, curling his hand around his nape.

God. Lance surely doesn't deserve this, but damned if he doesn't want to keep it for as long as he can.

end

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