lysapadin: pen & ink painting of bamboo against a full moon (Default)
[personal profile] lysapadin
Title: What You Wish For
Characters/Pairings: Shiro and Keith
Summary: Shiro has a pretty good idea how this is going to go… but he's not the one making the calls. Keith is.
Notes: Andrea asked for hands tied behind backs, with a side of blindfolds and maybe orgasm denial. So! Here we go with some smut featuring bondage, blindfolds, power exchanges, and no plot whatsoever. 2264 words.


What You Wish For

Shiro doesn't know what the Garrison shrinks would have to say about this, but he can't imagine it would be very good. But on the other hand, the Garrison is half a galaxy away right now, so what the shrinks don't know can't hurt him.

Right now, there's not anything that can hurt him.

He tries the restraints from long habit, but the Altean tech holds. Maybe if he activated the prosthesis—the servos whir, as if in anticipation—but no. He doesn't need to do that. Not here. Not now.

Keith stands over him, looking down at him. He holds a strip of scarlet fabric stretched between his hands. His expression is still. Watchful. "Good?"

Shiro lets his shoulders relax. "Yeah."

"Okay." Keith stoops and passes the strip of cloth over Shiro's eyes. He ties it off and the ends of the cloth brush against Shiro's bare shoulders, ticklish.

Keith already has the light in his quarters dimmed; the only light Shiro can see from behind the blindfold is a dim, rosy glow. When he closes his eyes, even that disappears.

He feels the touch of fingertips against his scalp, brushing through his hair. "Good?" Keith's voice is quiet, his fingers slow.

"Yeah," Shiro tells him, leaning into the touch.

As quickly as that, the touch changes from a caress to restraint. Keith sinks his fingers into Shiro's hair, curving his palm around the top of his skull, and holds him. "No. We've already talked about this." Keith's voice is perfectly steady, perfectly calm. "I decide, not you."

Shiro draws a breath and lets it out again slowly; so this is how Keith's decided to play it? He can go along with that. He draws back from Keith's hand, settling back into a neutral posture.

"Better," Keith pronounces. He resumes the business of running his fingers through Shiro's hair, rubbing his fingertips against his scalp lightly.

It feels good, good enough that Shiro would like to feel more. He holds himself in check. It earns him a quiet hum of approval and a firmer touch, slow circles rubbed against his scalp that have Shiro breathing out a sigh with the release of tension he usually doesn't notice that he's carrying.

Keith huffs a breath of a laugh. "You look like you'd be purring if you could."

"Yeah," Shiro admits, resisting the urge to nudge into Keith's fingers for more. "Feels good."


Shiro can feel the movement of air, the faint vibration of Keith's footsteps in the deck beneath his knees, as Keith steps around him. The next thing he feels is Keith's hands spread across his shoulders and the pressure of Keith pressing his thumbs against the muscles between his shoulder blades. Shiro groans as Keith digs his fingers into the knots there, rubbing slow, hard circles against them until they twang loose like rubber bands. The release makes Shiro shudder, less pleasure than pain, but Keith gentles his touches, turns them into slow strokes that ease away the ache. Shiro sighs and catches himself just before he slumps against Keith's hands. "God…"

He gets another, "Mm," as a reply as Keith seeks out more of those knots in his shoulder and back. He works them loose with single-minded focus, not faltering when he makes Shiro hiss at a stubborn ache or groan with the wash of relief every time he coaxes another knot loose. By the time Keith is simply smoothing his hands over Shiro's back and shoulders, Shiro is breathing hard, a little shaky with the rush of endorphins. "This wasn't exactly what I thought we talked about."

"Oh?" Keith makes the question sound idle. "How so?"

"Most people wouldn't take Tie me up and make it so I can't think and turn it into a backrub session."

"Mm." This time the sound is noncommittal. "I don't see why not." Keith runs his hands over Shiro's shoulders and down his arms, back up again, slow, and Shiro laughs. Keith leans forward then and slides his mouth over the place where Shiro's neck meets his shoulders; Shiro takes a quick breath, his laughter stilling in his throat. "You did say I could decide how to do it," Keith says, his breath tickling Shiro's ear. "Are you changing your mind already?"

"No," Shiro says, or tries to say. He has to clear his throat before he can form the words properly. "No, I'm not, I'm just—"

Keith interrupts him. "Shiro. Be quiet."


"I said be quiet." There's an edge to Keith's voice that wasn't there before; Shiro closes his mouth, startled.

Keith shifts behind him, leans against him and slides his hands down Shiro's chest. "I get to decide," he says, shaping the words against Shiro's ear. "You get to take what I give you and like it."

Shiro doesn't know what to call the sound that comes out of his throat then, doesn't know what to make of the way heat knots itself low in his belly. "Keith—" he starts, only to stop when Keith raises a hand and lays his fingers over his lips.

"Quiet," he says. "You asked for this. Now let me give you what you asked for."

Yes, but this isn't what he asked for at all. He asked for Keith to tie him up and—and—fuck him, something like that, whatever it would take to drive him over the edge and to the place where he doesn't have to think at all. He didn't ask for—whatever it is that Keith thinks he's doing with these gentle caresses.

Keith sighs against his ear and says his name. "Trust me," he says. "I have you, so trust me to take care of you. I'll get you there. I swear I will." He lifts his fingers away from Shiro's lips. "Or say Garrison and we'll try something else."

Shiro opens his mouth to say it and hesitates, conscious of the fact that he's being somewhat ridiculous. If he was willing to trust Keith with the one option, why not the other? He takes a breath and lets it out again. "You get to decide."

Keith's sigh brushes over his throat, warm. "Okay."

He stays where he is for the moment, draped against Shiro's back, arms clasped around him, before he turns his face just a bit and nuzzles against the side of Shiro's throat. Shiro relaxes at that simple gesture, settling in to see what Keith intends by all this, and sighs when Keith presses a kiss against his skin. And another. And another after that, until he brushes parted lips over the spot just below Shiro's ear that turns his bones to water.

Shiro groans, heat unfurling and pooling low in his belly, and Keith strokes his tongue over that spot, slow and methodical, until Shiro gasps his name. He hums against Shiro's ear and catches the lobe of it between his teeth, nibbling delicately as he spreads his fingers against Shiro's chest. Shiro gasps, a shiver rolling through him as Keith sucks, the softness of his mouth going straight to Shiro's cock.

Keith hums again and slides his hands over Shiro's chest, slow, following the barrel of his ribs and lingering to rub a thumb over one of Shiro's nipples. They're simple gestures, but they make Shiro's breath come faster, the heat curl tighter in his belly.

They're getting to Keith, too. Shiro can feel the hardness of him pressing against his back, hear the husky timbre of Keith's voice against his ear. Keith doesn't do anything about it, though, and keeps stroking his hands over Shiro's skin, sliding them over his chest and belly, and tongues the spot below his ear again.

Shiro groans and can't help the way he lifts his hips up as Keith moves his hands lower. Keith chuckles. "Not yet," he says, gliding his hands back up Shiro's chest and playing with his nipples. "Not until I decide you're ready for it."

Shiro takes his meaning almost immediately, sees what Keith intends to do with him, and utters a groan. "Keith."

"I told you." Keith strokes his fingers over Shiro's nipples, slow, teasing them until Shiro is gasping for breath, feeling the line of sensation drawing him taut, which—yes. Yes, Keith had told him, Shiro just hadn't quite believed him.

He believes Keith now, very nearly devoutly, and says so. Keith hums to him, pleased, and nibbles on the shell of his ear before running his mouth down Shiro's throat again, lips parted so he can drag his tongue over Shiro's skin. He mouths the base of his throat as he slides his fingers across Shiro's stomach, teasing them so close to his cock that Shiro's breath catches with anticipation. It's only after Keith skates them away again that Shiro feels the sting beneath Keith's mouth. "What are you doing?" he asks as Keith presses against him, running his hands over the tops of his thighs.

"Your clothes will cover it," Keith says. After a moment, he adds, "Probably."

Shiro means to say something about that, but Keith dips his fingers between his thighs, stroking the insides of them, and he loses track of it as Keith teases his fingers higher—a little higher—a little—

Keith slides them away again, running them over Shiro's hips and ribs, slow and firm.

Shiro sags, groaning his disappointment. "Keith…"

Keith brushes his mouth over the nape of Shiro's neck, transferring his attention to the other side of his throat. "Mm?"

"You're being a damn tease," Shiro tells him.

"Am I?" Keith sounds pleased. "Good, it's working."

He drags his tongue up Shiro's throat to the spot beneath his ear; Shiro loses track of what he means to say as that draws another ripple of heat through him. "Keith, please…"

The sound Keith makes then is distinctly pleased, but Shiro doesn't care about that, not when Keith has finally dropped his hand down to palm his cock. He lifts his hips into that welcome pressure, groaning with how good it is, and protests when Keith lifts his hand away again, leaving him bereft. "Don't…!"

Keith makes a low, interested sound against his ear and brushes just the pads of his fingers over Shiro's cock. "Do you really think you're ready for this? I don't."

"Oh my God," Shiro breathes, twitching his hips up for more of that elusive touch. "Keith."

Keith strokes a fingertip up his cock and runs it over the head. "You're going to have to be more convincing than that."

Shiro groans again. "I've created a monster."

"Just for that, this one's going above your collar," Keith informs him, right before he latches onto the spot under Shiro's jaw and sucks hard as he slides his fingertips back and forth over the head of Shiro's cock.

Shiro arches between the two sensations, gasping for breath as they pull him taut—surely this isn't going to be all it takes to bring him off—

Keith slides his hand down and cups Shiro's balls, squeezing them until Shiro's breath stutters. "Not yet," he says, soft against Shiro's ear. "I'm not done with you yet."

Shiro groans as Keith releases him and drops his head back, resting it on Keith's shoulder. "Keith, please."

"Mm. Nope," Keith decides and kisses the underside of Shiro's jaw as he runs his fingers along the insides of Shiro's thighs again.

Shiro starts to lose track of things after that as Keith teases him mercilessly, stroking his hands over Shiro's skin and playing with his cock, bringing him close to the edge again and again, only to draw him back every time Shiro can feel himself teetering on the brink. He stops being fully aware of what's coming out of his mouth, the groans and cries and pleas for Keith to show a little damn mercy. His throat goes dry and then raspy with his panted breaths; his whole world narrows down to this: Keith's voice against his ear, Keith's body supporting his, Keith's hands on his skin, and the desperate, aching need that Keith is stoking in him.

And then Keith says, "Now," and closes his hand on Shiro, stroking him hard.

Shiro breaks into pieces, flies apart as pleasure shatters him, hot as a sun going nova. He may scream; he doesn’t know, not when every fiber of him is coming unraveled. It's an eternity before he's able to subside again, stunned nearly senseless.

Keith's voice comes back to him first, pitched low and warm to match the gentleness of his hands moving over Shiro's arms, freeing them. He nudges at Shiro, gentle but persistent, coaxing him up from his knees and herding him… oh. The bed. Yes.

Shiro lets Keith guide him down and settles against the pillows, makes a wordless noise when Keith's touch disappears for a moment, only to return in the form of a damp cloth wiping over his skin. Then the mattress dips beneath Keith's weight as he slides in next to Shiro, settling against him and slipping the blindfold off his face.

Shiro blinks at the darkness and the barely visible shape of Keith leaning over him. "Keith…"

"Hush," Keith says, bending down to kiss him. "Go to sleep. I'm right here."

Shiro sighs and fumbles for him, finding his hand and squeezing it. "Thank you."

Keith pulls the blankets up and settles against him. "Shh," he says, resting his hand against Shiro's chest. "Sleep."

Shiro closes his eyes and obeys. If he dreams at all, he has no memory of it when he wakes.


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


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