lysapadin: pen & ink painting of bamboo against a full moon (Default)
[personal profile] lysapadin
Title: In a Handbasket
Characters/Pairings: Keith, Lance, Shiro
Summary: Keith thinks he's about to get rickrolled. Keith is mistaken.
Notes: Explicit for filthy omegaverse smut. Mundane AU (except for the a/b/o stuff). [ROT3] Gur nygreangr gvgyr jnf tbvat gb or "Ynapr naq Fuveb znxr n cbeab pngrevat gb Xrvgu'f xvaxf." [/ROT3] 4616 words.

~~~~~~~~~~


In a Handbasket

When he opens the email, all it says is Saw this and thought of you, happy birthday buddy, followed by a link to a video hosted on a Google drive. Keith gives it a long look, weighing suspicion against curiosity, the fact that he knows the sender of the email against the fact that he knows the sender, and then shrugs suspicion aside. He's probably about to get rickrolled, but whatever. He clicks the link.

It's not a rickroll.

Keith thinks his eyebrows must hit his hairline when the video loads and the title card blares Shy Omega Takes His First Knot at him. "What the fuck," he says, because his spam filters are supposed to catch shit like this before it hits his inbox.

He reaches for the track pad to close the tab, and the video cuts to a guy sitting on a couch, ankle resting on the opposite knee. His foot jiggles back and forth, and he's twiddling his thumbs. There's a flush of color on his face and throat, and he can't seem to bring himself to look straight at the camera for more than a second at a time. Or maybe it's the person behind the camera he can't look at, because a voice comes out of the speakers of Keith's laptop: "So what's your name?"

"Lance," the guy says after a moment to clear his throat and pass his tongue over his lips. "I'm Lance."

"Nice to meet you," the camera guy says. "I'm Shiro."

Lance ducks his head and mumbles some reply; it's indistinct and doesn't really matter, because Shiro carries on, tone pleasantly conversational. "And you're an omega, is that right?"

Lance flushes darker; his foot jigs up and down as he tangles his fingers together. "Yeah. That's right."

Shiro hums; the sound echoes out of Keith's speakers, warm and pleased. "And why are you here today?"

Lance bites his lip until his teeth gleam white against pale skin; the blood flood backs, filling the curve of his mouth with red as he says, very quietly, "Because I've never been knotted before."

Shiro utters another of those throaty, pleased sounds. "I can fix that for you, if you want."

Lance manages to make eye contact with the camera; his cheeks are stained red and his mouth is lush and wet from the way he's been chewing on it. His voice is steady enough, though, as he says, "Yes. I'd like that."

"Good," Shiro tells him.

As the scene cuts to a bedroom, Keith realizes two things: one, that his hand is still hanging arrested in the air over the track pad, and two, that he's not going to stop the video.

Well, then.

Keith maximizes the video and settles back in his seat as the screen gives him the first shot of Shiro, who's all broad shoulders and solid muscle under jeans and a t-shirt that might as well be painted on him, they're so tight. He makes a nice contrast to the lean, lanky lines of Lance's body, especially when he slides his hand along Lance's waist and settles it at the small of his back to draw Lance against him. He holds Lance to him and tips Lance's chin up with his other hand, does it all with such unthinking authority that Keith really can't blame Lance for making the husky sound that he does, or for the way he leans into Shiro, already going pliant for him as he raises his hands to curl around Shiro's biceps. Hell, Keith is an alpha, too, and he'd probably do the same damn thing if he were in Lance's shoes.

Shiro takes his time kissing Lance, kisses him until their mouths are red and swollen and Lance is all but draped against him, eyes closed and soft, hungry sounds coming from his throat. It holds Keith rapt—more rapt than he would have expected, anyway—and by the time Shiro draws back from Lance's mouth, heat is beginning to curl and coil at the pit of Keith's stomach.

One his screen, Lance lets out a disappointed sound and opens his eyes again, just in time for Shiro to hit him with a slow, lethal smile as he slides his hand under Lance's t-shirt to ruck it up. "Why don't you take this off?"

Lance is slow to react, dazed maybe, but he gets it after a second or so and the tips of his ears go pink. "I. Um. Okay," he says, fumbling a hand back to yank the shirt off. It dangles from his grasp for an uncertain moment while he nibbles his lip, clearly not sure what he's supposed to do with it.

When he drops it, though, Keith doesn't think it's a conscious choice so much as it is the way Shiro peels his own t-shirt off and tosses it aside, because damn. Shiro was already breathtaking; Shiro without a shirt is enough to make Keith draw in his breath and reach down to palm himself through his jeans.

"God," Lance breathes, staring at Shiro with wide eyes. "Oh my God." His gaze travels over the breadth of Shiro's shoulders and chest, slides lower, and comes to an abrupt stop at the bulge in Shiro's jeans. "Oh my God," he says again, too busy staring to be shy. He licks his lips and darts a glance up at Shiro. "I want to—can I—?"

"Absolutely," Shiro tells him.

Lance wets his lips again and reaches out to rest his fingertips against Shiro's chest. He glances at Shiro from beneath his eyelashes as he trails them down, skating them over Shiro's stomach, and hesitates for a moment before tracing them over the front of Shiro's jeans.

Even that is enough to draw a throaty noise out of Shiro's throat, one that has Keith pressing down in response as Lance swallows hard enough that the convulsive movement of his throat is plain to see.

Lance sets his teeth on his lip again and folds himself down on his knees in front of Shiro. Keith can't be sure, but he thinks Lance's fingers are trembling just a bit as he reaches out to pop the button of Shiro's fly and drag the zipper down.

Shiro hums to him, full of encouragement. Lance looks up at him again, like he's seeking permission. "Go ahead," Shiro says.

So Lance does, dipping his fingers into Shiro's jeans and easing his cock free of them. "God," he breathes, eyes wide and reverent—well, Keith can't argue with that. Shiro is just that hot, especially with his cock jutting out of his jeans like that, flushed and gleaming slickly at the head already. In fact—Keith undoes his own jeans, shoving them and his underwear down far enough to be out of his way as Lance lays his fingers against the head of Shiro's cock, the touch clearly light, exploratory.

Shiro rumbles a low sound, approving, as Lance glances up at him from beneath his eyelashes. That's all the encouragement Lance seems to need to curl his fingers around Shiro's cock and stroke it, slow and experimental. He starts when Shiro groans, looking up at him with such surprise that Keith could just about believe that he really hasn't ever done something like this before. Shiro smiles and stretches a hand down to him, sliding his fingers through the short crop of Lance's hair. "Go on. It's good."

Lance draws a breath and nods, sliding his fingers over Shiro's cock, still slow, still exploring him, with so much concentration on what he's doing that it's adorable. Keith catches him matching the stroke of his own hand to Lance's pace—well, if it works, it works. It's working for Shiro, that's clear enough from the pleased sounds he's making and the way his smoothing his fingers over Lance's hair, smiling down at him indulgently.

Lance casts another of those shy looks up at him, the color running high on his face, and leans forward, so slowly that it pulls Keith taut with anticipation as Shiro murmurs Lance's name, until Lance is close enough to dart his tongue out over the head of Shiro's cock.

Keith bites his lip as Shiro groans; God, that shouldn't be as hot as it is, especially when Lance pauses to check that he's on the right path before trying again, sliding the flat of his tongue over the heat of Shiro's cock, exploring the shape of it and learning the taste of him—also a first, if the faint grimace is anything to go by. Jesus.

On the screen, Shiro echoes the thought as he cups Lance's head. "Look at you," he says, voice gone low. "Look at how pretty you are."

Lance goes pink and drops his eyes as a tiny smile kicks up the corners of his mouth. Then he takes a breath and parts his lips, leaning forward to take Shiro in his mouth.

Shiro groans and rolls his hips forward, pushing himself deeper for just a moment before he remembers himself and draws back, shuddering. "God, Lance."

Lance looks up at him, wide-eyed with something that isn't surprise, not exactly. He lets Shiro slip out of his mouth and says, soft and shy, "No, it's… it's good. Really good."

Shiro says something profane as Keith shudders in his seat, a spike of pure heat running through him at that. God.

Lance blushes on the screen but says, "You could… if you want…?"

"Yeah." Shiro's voice has gone rough. "Yeah, okay." He cups the back of Lance's head, coaxing him forward, and Lance opens his mouth and guides Shiro's cock between his lips. He closes his eyes, a little wrinkle of concentration furrowing his eyebrows, and sucks, cheeks hollowing with it. Shiro groans his name and rocks into his mouth, shallow and controlled. It draws a sound out of Lance, one that's hungry. Wanting.

Keith shudders, stroking his cock faster for a moment—no, Jesus, how much longer is this video even going to last? He checks the progress bar and groans, incredulous, at the fact that it's barely a third of the way done.

On the screen, Shiro is fucking Lance's mouth slowly, murmuring indistinct praise as he does, and Lance is moaning around him, his expression smoothing out into something dreamy with pleasure. There's something indescribably tender about his expression, about the way Shiro cups his jaw and rubs his thumb over it; Keith takes a sharp breath as heat twists at the pit of his stomach.

Then Shiro draws back; Lance protests, inarticulate, as he blinks his eyes open. "What—?"

Shiro slides his thumb over the swollen curve of Lance's lower lip. "This isn't really why you're here, is it?"

The moment Lance catches his meaning shows in the faint widening of his eyes and the hitch of his breath; he shakes his head, no.

Shiro smiles down at him. "That's what I thought. Come here." The muscles in his arm flex when he takes Lances hand and hauls him to his feet with no apparent effort. The camera shows that Lance's jeans are pulled tight across his own erection before Shiro draws him in to kiss him again, and again, until Lance moans against his mouth, leaning against him and winding his arms around Shiro's shoulders.

And the scene cuts to the bed.

In the interim, they've both undressed. Shiro leans against the headboard and Lance is reclining against his chest, head tipped to the side as Shiro mouths the line of his throat. He's got his hands draped between his thighs as though he's trying to preserve some semblance of modesty. They can't hide the wetness gleaming on his thighs, especially when Shiro strokes his hands down over his hips and coaxes Lance to spread his legs further apart. He uses his own knees to hold them that way as Lance flushes, the color running from his hairline down to his throat and even across his chest. "Shiro," he says, so quiet that the microphone barely catches his protest.

"It's okay," Shiro says, soft and coaxing. He smoothes his hands over Lance's splayed thighs, rubbing them over the long muscles, and kisses the spot under Lance's ear that's flushed darker than the rest of his skin. Lance moans outright as Shiro tongues his scent gland.

The sound goes straight to Keith's hindbrain without checking in with any of his higher thought processes. He gasps at the wash of sheer lust and misses whatever Shiro says next as his cock throbs in his fist, spilling sticky-hot over his fingers. He hunches over himself, breathing hard, shaking with the shock of coming so unexpectedly and dizzy with the rush of endorphins.

On the screen, Shiro has covered Lance's hands with his own and is still talking to him, soft and persuasive: "—just want to show the camera how good you look, don't we?"

Lance bites his lip and manages to turn himself enough to tuck his head under Shiro's chin. After a moment, he nods and allows Shiro to lift their hands out of the way so the camera can see everything: the flushed arch of Lance's cock lying against his stomach and the swollen, wet folds of his entrance, tucked just behind his balls, and Lance's profile, eyes squeezed shut as he tries to burrow further beneath Shiro's chin. Keith stares, not—quite—able to draw a full breath against the way he wants to reach right through the screen to touch Lance, explore the tender folds of his body and lick the slickness from his thighs, cover Lance in his own scent and make Lance cry his name.

Shiro is still murmuring to Lance, praising him for being so good, so generous with himself. As he does that, he twines his fingers with Lance's, holding his hand as he curls his arm around Lance to cradle him against his chest. He rubs his other hand up and down the inside of Lance's thigh, slow and soothing. It works: Lance relaxes in fits and starts, the tension leaving his frame a bit at a time and the color coming back to his lower lip as he lets it slide out from between his teeth. He keeps his face turned and tucked against Shiro's throat, but eventually he goes pliant against him.

That's when Shiro slides his fingers up and strokes them between his legs, dipping them into the wetness there.

Lance cries out, his eyes flying open in his surprise—surprise and pleasure, if the rasp in his voice is any sign. "Shiro!"

Shiro chuckles, warm and a little wicked. "Yeah?" He's sliding just his fingertips over Lance, teasing them against him.

Lance moans; his expression is stunned. "Yeah," he manages, "yeah, it's just… it's different, it's not like that when I—" He stops, flushing red. "Um."

"When you touch yourself?" Shiro finishes for him, all but purring it. Lance manages a tiny, embarrassed nod, and Shiro presses a kiss to his forehead. "Don't worry. I'll make sure it's even better than that."

"Yeah," Lance says, soft. "I know you will."

Shiro hums to him and cranes his head to kiss Lance, stroking his fingers against him the whole time. Lance begins to melt into him again, gradually, gasping against Shiro's mouth and shivering with every pass of Shiro's fingers, so responsive that it has Keith breathing faster, ready to go again even though he's already brought himself off once.

Then Shiro slides a finger into Lance.

Lance arches against him, his head falling back to rest against Shiro's shoulder. "Oh… oh, God…"

Shiro kisses the side of his throat, the flushed bump of his scent gland, and strokes his finger deeper as Lance groans, slides it out again, slick and wet, and sinks it home before Lance can do more than start to react. Lance reaches back to him, clutches Shiro's arm as he arches into that slow stroke, lips parted on small, shocked sounds of pleasure. Shiro nibbles on Lance's scent gland, the gleam of his teeth white against Lance's dark skin, and Lance cries out, pulling taut in his arms as he comes, cock pulsing over his stomach as he jerks against Shiro's hand.

Keith's mouth runs dry watching him, and he has to cup his hand over his cock again, stroking himself slowly.

Shiro growls to Lance, full of satisfied approval, as Lance subsides against him, his chest heaving. Keith doesn't know if the harmonics of that sound operate more powerfully on him or on Lance, but God knows it makes them both groan. Lance shudders from head to toe and gasps as Shiro nudges a second finger into him. "Oh my God—"

Shiro hushes him even as he sinks his fingers into Lance, all the way to the knuckles. "Easy now, I've got you."

"I know, it's just—really intense," Lance says. He's got his eyes closed again and he's still sprawled against Shiro's chest. He groans as the muscles in Shiro's arm flex as Shiro does something, curls his fingers inside Lance, maybe. "God…"

Shiro smiles, sleekly pleased. "It's good, though, right?"

Keith half-expects Lance to come back with some kind of smart-assed remark, but what he gets is a tiny, sweet smile and what sounds like a heart-felt, "So good."

Shiro smiles a little wider before coaxing Lance's chin around again for another kiss. 'Does that mean you're ready for more?"

Lance doesn't hesitate, though he has to glance away from Shiro, away from the camera too, to answer. "Yeah. Yeah, please."

Shiro kisses the corner of his jaw, smiling. "Good."

Keith closes his fingers around his cock as Shiro coaxes Lance up a bit, anticipation coiling like a knot at the pit of his stomach as Lance lifts himself up a little, and shudders as Shiro guides his cock against Lance and sinks into him. Jesus, the sound Lance makes, a breathy, stuttering moan, the way his gaze goes unfocused and blank with surprise and pleasure—Keith bites his lip and slides his thumb over the head of his cock, wholly absorbed by the shape of Lance's body opening up around Shiro's cock and the span of Shiro's fingers on Lance's hips and the way they sound, groaning together as Shiro sinks all the way home.

They come to rest, poised and still except for the harshness of their breathing. "God." Lance's voice shakes; he sounds stunned. "Oh my God."

Shiro strokes a hand over the crest of his hip, a slow caress. "Yeah. God, you feel so good."

Lance shivers under the touch and gasps as Shiro moves inside him. "Ah—!"

Shiro chuckles, the sound breathless, and rocks his hips up, grinding against Lance. "Yeah?"

Lance gropes for his hand and grips it tight, shaking. "Please… oh my God, Shiro, please…"

"Shh, I've got you." Shiro slides his other hand up the line of Lance's back, pressing him forward and up, until Lance is kneeling over him, spread wide across Shiro's thighs and moaning as his own weight grinds Shiro's cock deeper into his body. "Here, now." He closes his hands on Lance's hips and draws him up.

Lance moans, expression going unfocused as Shiro lifts him, until Shiro rocks up into him. He cries out then, shocked by that or maybe by the way he finds himself rolling his hips down to meet Shiro. "Ah…!"

"Yeah," Shiro tells him, voice gone deeper, rougher. "Yeah, that's it…" He only has to coax Lance into lifting himself up a little before Lance catches the rhythm of it for himself and begins to move with him, fucking himself on Shiro's cock and uttering small, breathless cries of pleasure and discovery as he does. Shiro strokes his hands over Lance's hips and thighs, feet planted against the bed so he can drive himself up into Lance, the rhythm steady and deep.

Keith finds himself matching that rhythm, shuddering with the way he's almost too sensitive to be stroking himself so firmly and faintly, ruefully aware that he can feel his knot beginning to swell. He can't be bothered by that right now, not when Lance is riding Shiro's cock, needy cries working their way from between his lips, until Shiro finds his cock and strokes it in counterpoint to the rhythm of their hips. Lance wails as he comes again, the sound thin with pleasure as he shakes and bucks against Shiro. Shiro keeps fucking him, pounding into him relentlessly while Lance's body works around him, trying to close around his cock. And then, Jesus, Lance gasps, eyes going wide with shock—yeah, Shiro's knot is beginning to swell as he slides in and out of Lance, working his entrance harder with every stroke.

"God," Lance says, voice strangled. "God, Shiro, I can't, it's too much—"

"You can," Shiro tells him, curving his hands around Lance's hips and bracing him as Lance shudders over him, squirming like he doesn't know whether he wants to grind down to meet Shiro or pull away. "Just relax for me, I'll take care of you, I promise."

Lance whines, voice thready, clutching at Shiro's wrists and clinging to them, knuckles showing white through his skin. "I can't, it's too much—" He stops, breaking off in a wordless cry as Shiro rocks up into him, knot swollen thick enough that Lance has to feel the stretch in every fiber of his body. "—Nngh!"

Shiro groans to him, equally incoherent, and rolls his hips, burying himself inside Lance and holding him for it as he grinds into him, his hips jerking as he comes. Lance moans, closing his eyes, and all at once the tension runs out of him. "Shiro," he breathes, "oh…" He grinds down against Shiro, suddenly urgent where he'd been uncertain. "God, please, yes—"

Shiro's still fucking into him, still coming, as he groans Lance's name, voice full of hoarse reverence, but he slides his fingers around Lance's cock again and lets Lance fuck his fist.

Keith groans, tightening his own fist and stroking himself off as they shudder together, Lance spilling himself over Shiro's fingers. Heat rakes through Keith again, melting his bones, as relentless as the way Shiro's cock is filling Lance, as urgent as the tiny, needy cries come out of Lance's mouth every time pleasure shakes him again. By the time Lance slumps back against Shiro's chest and Shiro catches him, Keith feels scraped raw and open, undone and weak-kneed from how hard he's come—and still hard and almost tempted to go again, though that's just his hindbrain and his knot talking when he's already going to be sore as it is. But he's tempted. The way Shiro gathers Lance to his chest, stroking his hair and nuzzling his throat between murmuring words of praise—that doesn't really help, and neither does the dazed, blissful curve of Lance's smile or the low sound he makes when Shiro's knot finally goes down enough to slip free of his body.

Shiro promptly curls his arms around Lance, letting him turn and burrow against his chest. "So. What do you think?"

"That was… wow," Lance says, his words muffled against Shiro's throat. "Just… wow."

Shiro smiles against the top of his head. "Think you'd want to do it again sometime?"

"Oh my God, yes," Lance says, and only goes pink when that makes Shiro laugh. He tries to hide his face, but Shiro just tips his chin up and smiles at him. "I think we can arrange that," he says, and winks at the camera before kissing Lance again.

And the video ends.

Keith stares at the screen for a long, blank second, and then closes his eyes. "Oh, fuck me," he says, with great feeling.

Then he closes his laptop and goes to take a much-needed shower—one with cold water, because it's that or do something that will lead to unpleasant chafing, and he really doesn't need that right now.

 
 
 

When Keith hears the key turning in the lock, he picks up his forgotten textbook and focuses his eyes on the page. He keeps them there as he listens to the creak in the hinges as the door opens and the scuffle and shuffle of shoes being taken off and exchanged for house slippers. There's a distinctly anticipatory kind of silence coming from the apartment entryway. Well, that's not a surprise.

Keith turns the page; without looking up from it, he says, "I hope you both know that you're going to hell." He considers it and adds, "And that you're probably going to drag me down with you."

Lance is the first to laugh, of course; the next thing Keith knows, Lance has flung himself down on the couch and draped himself over Keith's legs and lap. He props his chin up on the top edge of Keith's textbook and grins at him. "Aw, didn't you like your birthday present?"

"Going to hell," Keith repeats firmly. Encouraging Lance only ever makes him worse. A thought occurs to him. "Also, what if I had been checking my email in public?"

Shiro perches himself on the arm of the couch and slides his fingers into Keith's hair. "I know you know me better than that."

Keith leans his head back and frowns up at him. "It could have happened."

He tries to frown, anyway. Shiro smiles like he can see right through it. (He probably can.) "As much as you like routine? No, probably not."

Lance pokes his stomach before Keith can muster a proper argument for that. "You didn't answer my question, dude. Did you like it?" He draws the vowels out obnoxiously, diiiiiid yoouuuu liiiiiiike iiiiiiiiit, lilting them at Keith with a grin. "We tried to put everything you like in it."

Keith groans and drops his book so he can bury his face in his hands. "Oh my fucking God, seriously, Lance?" This is what he gets for having ever thought it was a reasonable idea to let Lance borrow his laptop, isn't it? Damn.

"And you said I couldn't act." Lance tosses the book out of his way and squirms closer, folding his arms on Keith's stomach; when Keith peeks at him, Lance is giving him what is probably supposed to be a soulful look. "Does this mean you don't want to help us make a sequel?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Keith tells him.

Meanwhile Shiro has been casually working his way down between Keith and the couch; now he slides an arm around Keith and snuggles against him shamelessly. "That doesn't sound like a no, if you ask me," he tells Lance.

Lance grins up at Shiro, up at Keith, eyes gleaming with his glee. "It really doesn't, does it?"

"I hate you both," Keith announces.

Shiro just laughs. "Love you too, buddy," he says, cheerful, and drops a kiss on the top of Keith's head. "I'm glad you liked your present."

"We're all going to hell together forever," Keith says, resignedly, and drops a hand to ruffle through Lance's hair.

Lance nudges into his fingers like an overgrown housecat. "Yeah, but we're gonna have a lot of fun on the way, aren't we?"

"Yeah," Keith admits, smiling in spite of himself. "I guess we are, at that."

"That's the only thing that matters," Lance declares.

Honestly, Keith can't really argue with that. (Not that he lets that stop him from trying, of course; it's the principle of the thing. But it's an argument he doesn't mind losing, and Shiro and Lance both know it. So it all works out in the end.)

end

I. Uh. Yeah. Yeah. I'm just gonna leave this here, I guess. Happy new year?

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lysapadin: pen & ink painting of bamboo against a full moon (Default)
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