lysapadin: pen & ink painting of bamboo against a full moon (Default)
[personal profile] lysapadin
Title: Situational Awareness
Characters/Pairings: Keith/Lance
Summary: In which Lance is easily distracted, and Keith is quick to exploit that.
Notes: A little smut featuring handcuffs to start the weekend off right. 1911 words and no plot whatsoever.


Situational Awareness

So the thing Lance has learned about Keith is that he has a long, long memory. It's selective as hell, but if Keith cares enough about something to notice it in the first place, he'll never forget it. And because it's Keith, he'll usually remember whatever it is at the worst possible time.

"Dude," Lance says once he's realized that Keith has totally and unfairly taken advantage of how distracting that thing he does with his tongue can be to snap a pair of space handcuffs around his wrists. "Dude, Keith, what the fuck, man?" Okay, yeah, so Shiro is always preaching about situational awareness and shit, but Lance is pretty sure he's not talking about makeout sessions when he does.

He looks down at his hands—definitely handcuffed together with the finest Altean technology—and then back at Keith, who's sitting knee-to-knee with him and looking even more inscrutable than usual. "Seriously, Keith, what the hell?"

Keith raises his eyebrows. "I thought you liked handcuffs."

"Just how do you figure that?" Lance wants to know, or thinks he does.

He changes his mind when he sees the way the question makes Keith smile. "I don't know." Keith shifts forward onto his knees again, leaning into Lance's space. "You seemed to like it when—what was her name, Nyma?—you seemed to like it when she handcuffed you to a tree that one time."

Geez. A guy accidentally lets aliens steal his Lion one time and never gets to hear the end of it. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You don't?" Keith sets his hands on Lance's knees, leaning closer. "I'm pretty sure we still have the pictures somewhere."

"You do not," Lance says, very aware of the heat of Keith's hands through his jeans. "I made sure of that." It had taken all his cunning, cajolery, and agreeing to be Pidge's personal pack mule and body servant for a solid three months, but he knows he eradicated every last one of those damn pictures.

"They live on in my heart," Keith says, like the asshole he is. He's sliding his hands up Lance's legs, close enough now that Lance can almost feel Keith's breath on his face. "You looked like you were enjoying yourself to me."

"Lies," Lance tells him. "Nothing but lies and you know it."

Keith lifts his eyebrows again. "Are they?" he asks, practically silky, right before he cups his hand right over the front of Lance's jeans, squeezing him through the denim. "Are they really?"

It's really difficult to say he's not enjoying himself when Keith is in the middle of feeling up his raging erection, but Lance is no quitter. "Absolutely. That's slander, is what it is."

Keith squeezes him again, bearing down until Lance can't hold back his groan. "Sure it is," he says, right against Lance's mouth. He closes his teeth on Lance's lower lip as he kneads him through his jeans, and fuck, Keith knows what that does to him. Lance groans and closes his hands on a double fistful of Keith's shirt, hauling him closer as best as he can, and his breath stutters as Keith runs his tongue over the places where Lance's lip is stinging. "Even if we let bygones be bygones, you sure look like you're enjoying yourself now."

His sacred honor demands that he dispute that, so Lance says, "Don't flatter yourself."

But it's pretty much hopeless—he knows it by the way Keith smirks and the way he's rubbing Lance through his jeans—his jeans, with the wet spot he's soaked right through them. "Am I flattering myself?" he asks. "Are you sure you're not enjoying yourself right now?" He leans into Lance and ghosts his lips along Lance's jaw so he can whisper his next question against Lance's ear. "You sure you don't want me to pin you down and fuck you while you've got your hands tied together?"

Lance can imagine it way too clearly, Keith leaning over him, using his weight to hold his hands pinned over his head while he slides in and out of his ass, and that's it, game over. He jerks up against Keith's hand, swearing as his cock throbs beneath the weight of Keith's hand as orgasm wrings down on him. "Fuck…!"

"That's what I thought," Keith says against his ear, his voice rich with satisfaction as Lance pants for breath. He reaches up and untangles Lance's fingers from his shirt while Lance sags backwards, slow and stupid in the aftermath of coming in his pants like some over-excited virgin.

Lance catches a glimpse of Keith's smile, but by then it's too late—Keith detaches the cuffs from each other and drags Lance's hands behind his back. He feels the cuffs click together again, and Keith sits back, looking just as pleased as he can be. Lance blinks at him and reconsiders his earlier position; he probably could stand to apply some of that situational awareness stuff in bed, too. "Keith," he says, but stops, not quite sure what he wants to say.

Keith looks back at him; some of the smugness melts out of his smile. He reaches out and brushes his knuckles against Lance's cheek. "If you really hate it, say so. Not like I'm married to the idea."

It's really not fair when he does shit like that. It breaks all the rules and Keith knows it.

Lance lifts his chin. "What, you're not gonna finish what you started? Not cool, dude."

Keith rolls his eyes and peels out of his shirt, which is also not a legal move when they're arguing, because he knows what the sight of all that lean, pale torso does to Lance's higher thought processes.

Lance swallows, running his eyes over Keith, wanting to reach out and slide his fingers over Keith's chest, to follow the line of his breastbone with the tips of them and trace them over the softness of the skin below his navel, but the damn space handcuffs aren't going to let that happen.

He doesn't even know what the sound that comes out of his throat then is, but it makes Keith still his hands as he reaches for his belt. Keith cocks his head to the side, studying Lance, and then he smiles, slow. "Interesting." He unbuckles his belt and unfastens his jeans; Lance makes another of those hoarse, wordless sounds, because Keith is going commando this evening. Fuck.

Keith shoves his jeans just far enough to free his cock; the denim frames a perfect triangle of pale skin and dark hair and the flushed length of his cock. Lance moans, feeling the heat already twisting low in his belly again, just for the way Keith looks, and that's before Keith licks a wet stripe over his own palm and reaches down to wrap his hand around himself. He sighs out a breath from between parted lips, eyes going heavy-lidded, and Jesus, there is literally nothing in the whole universe Lance wants more right now than to get his hands on Keith.

Keith strokes his hand up, puts a little twist in his wrist, and lets out a low sound when he slides his thumb over the head of his cock and the slickness beaded there. Lance sways forward with the sound Keith makes—he sways forward.

"Huh," he says, which gets Keith's attention, but that doesn't matter. What matters is that Lance can rock onto his knees and pitch himself forward, and that puts him just about exactly where he wants to be, which is bent over Keith's cock. He grins while Keith is still saying his name, all startled, and swipes his tongue over the slit at the head of Keith's cock.

Keith groans as the taste and scent of him—salt-bitter-musk—fills Lance's mouth; he catches Lance's shoulders. Which, yeah, that's actually good, Lance doesn't really know how long his abdominal muscles are going to be able to hold him in this position. He leans his weight against Keith's hands, letting Keith hold him up, and slides his mouth down around Keith's cock, sleek and heavy as it moves between his lips and over his tongue.

Keith curses above him, voice gone throaty, and God, that sounds good. Lance hums around him, drawing another curse out of him, and then Keith lays a hand on his head, holding him.

Literally holds him; Lance can't move with Keith's hands in his hair, on his shoulder; he doesn't have any leverage at all while his hands are cuffed at the small of his back. Keith has him at his mercy.

Lance moans around him, shuddering with how fucking hot that makes him, and Keith moans too, lifting his hips up, the tiny movement of them sliding his cock deeper into Lance's mouth.

Lance groans and sucks hard on him, pressing the flat of his tongue against him as he tugs against the fingers in his hair, trying to move or at least give Keith a hint that he should be moving.

"Fuck," Keith breathes, "oh, fuck." And he moves, rolling his hips up and sliding his cock deeper into Lance's mouth, back again, the taste of him heavy on Lance's tongue. Lance hums around him, hoping it sounds like encouragement, and Keith does it again, groaning as he flexes his fingers against Lance's shoulder. Lance loses himself a little in the way Keith's cock feels as it crowds his mouth, almost too much to handle, and the slow back-and-forth glide of it between his lips, over his tongue, as Keith fucks his mouth. There's the way Keith says his name, practically chants it, and holds him for it as his voice goes rougher, turns strained. Lance can feel him getting close in the way Keith is gripping his shoulder, panting open-mouthed as he moves his hips more urgently, and then his voice cracks on Lance's name and he's there, pulsing over Lance's tongue as he cries out, gone still and taut in his pleasure.

He goes slack all at once after, releases Lance and falls back on his hands with his chest still heaving, slick with sweat. It leaves Lance unbalanced; he manages to fall onto his side and pillow his cheek on Keith's leg, looking up at him, and wow. He's at a loss for words. How often does that happen?

"Fuck," Keith says, still hoarse. "Fuck, Lance."

"Yeah," Lance says, because really, what else is there to say?

Well, maybe there's this. "Just think about how much fun it'll be when you pin me down and fuck me while I've got these on."

Keith stares down at him, then throws his head back and laughs. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, just think."

Lance just grins at him, because he already is, and if the way Keith's cock twitches at the idea is any sign at all, they're both going to enjoy the hell out of themselves just as soon as Keith's ready to go again.


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