lysapadin: pen & ink painting of bamboo against a full moon (Default)
[personal profile] lysapadin
Title: The Direct Approach
Characters/Pairings: Shiro/Keith
Summary: Keith and Shiro play chicken. Sex chicken. Everybody wins.
Notes: Smut to kick off the weekend. 3123 words, no redeeming plot value.


The Direct Approach

It's been a long day, one that started normally enough, which Keith knows means Shiro was up before what passes for dawn in space for Garrison-approved calisthenics and a run through the castle-ship. (He joined Shiro for his run this morning, which was nice: just the two of them, the clatter of their steps against the deck and the sound of their breathing together.) Then there had been breakfast and paladin training, which tends to go better these days. Everyone knows what's at stake now in ways that they didn't necessarily get at the beginning. Then there was Lion time—the Lions do their own self-repair for the most part, which makes Pidge and Hunk both tear their hair out in frustration over that blatant violation of science (no amount of pointing out the magic part of magic psychic robot lions helps there) but it's still just good practice to check them over, make sure everything is in order. Allura says that doing so deepens the bond between paladin and Lion, and she would know.

Being in the Lions' hangars turns out to be a good thing when a distress call comes in, which is the kind of thing that happens more and more often these days as word of Voltron's return spreads. They take the Lions out and end up fighting off a Galra raid on a small, independent mining consortium.

The consortium is grateful for their assistance, which means that the afternoon and evening are taken up with diplomacy. That, thank goodness, is not Keith's job, so he gets to stand back and watch while Allura and Shiro make nice with the head of the consortium and her three wives while Pidge and Hunk talk tech with the chief mining engineers and Lance flirts with every alien in sight, which most of the aliens seem to find either amusing (understandable) or charming (baffling). Keith doesn't know what's going to happen the day one of Lance's efforts finally pays off, but he does hope he's there to see the look on Lance's face when it does.

From the sounds of it, the mining consortium has contacts across three systems which they are happy to share in exchange for Voltron's having driven off the Galra, which means another update for the castle-ship's databases and more intelligence for Shiro and Allura to pore over. It all has to be crosschecked, of course—trust but verify might as well be Voltron's motto at this point—which has to be done.

Keith just doesn’t see any reason that it has to be done the same day they get their hands on it, but if they leave Shiro and Allura to their own devices, that's exactly what will happen. Shiro works too hard, and Allura is cut from the same cloth he is.

But there are ways to make them take breaks.

Keith leaves Allura to Coran to handle since he has the privilege that comes of being a long-time family retainer and has no compunctions about using it to bully her into taking care of herself.

Keith prefers to be more direct about things.

When he lets himself into Shiro's quarters, Shiro is sitting against the head of his bunk, frowning over a tablet that's probably full of their newly earned intelligence. The only concession he's made to the lateness of the hour is the loose sleep pants and undershirt he's stripped down to, but that probably only means he plans on working until he passes out. It certainly wouldn't be the first time.

Shiro looks up when Keith enters the room and raises his eyebrows. "Did you need something?"

"Yeah, actually." Keith pulls his shirt off and drops it before unzipping his jeans and shoving them down. "I was thinking that I needed you to fuck me." He kicks his way out of his jeans and pads across the deck, cold against his bare toes, and slides a knee onto Shiro's bunk.

Shiro's good, that's for sure; he does an excellent job of not staring. Openly, anyway. He manages to keep his voice even when he says, "I don't think that actually counts as a need."

"You don't?" Keith throws his knee across Shiro's legs and settles across his lap. "That's too bad, since you're wrong." He plucks the tablet out of Shiro's hands. "I definitely need you to fuck me."

"I was reading that," Shiro points out as Keith puts the tablet to sleep and sets it aside.

"And now you're not. Isn't that nice?" Keith reaches for Shiro's undershirt.

Shiro catches his hands before he can start pulling it off. "Keith, I have work to do."

"No, you have me to do," Keith corrects him. "You've already put in a full day. Read it tomorrow while you're spending time with Black."

"And if I already had plans for that time?" Shiro asks.

"I guess you'll have to change them."

Shiro laughs, quiet. "You know it doesn't work that way."

Keith doesn't know any such thing. "Sure it does. You're the black paladin, so what you say goes."

"And that is exactly why it doesn't work that way." Shiro turns loose of his hands and reaches for his tablet, pointedly waking it back up.

Keith considers this and huffs as Shiro goes back to his reading. Or tries to pretend that's what he's doing. His eyes don't actually seem to be moving back and forth.

If that's the way he wants to play it, then.

Keith leans forward and snags the bottle of lube from the cubby at the head of the bunk, then settles back on his heels. Shiro continues to (pretend to) read, and Keith uncaps the bottle so he can slick his fingers. He reaches down and runs his fingers over his cock, slow and deliberate, taking a deeper breath and sighing it out again as it starts to fill and harden.

Shiro holds out for longer than Keith hopes; by the time Shiro lowers his tablet and says, "What do you think you're doing?" Keith is feeling the flush of arousal from the crown of his head down to his toes.

He keeps on jerking himself off slowly. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

Shiro has an excellent poker face; it doesn't even flicker when he says, "Demonstrating the male version of the human reproductive system. Why are you doing it on my lap?"

"Too far to walk back to my quarters," Keith tells him. "Figured you wouldn't mind since you've got work to do."

"I see." Shiro lifts his tablet again. "Carry on."

If it wouldn't mean losing the game, Keith would stick his tongue out at him. Since he doesn't want to do that, he settles for letting his voice drop a little. "Mm, thanks, I was planning on it."

Shiro doesn't say anything, but that's fine. Keith can see the tips of his ears turning red and the way Shiro sucks his lower lip between his teeth. He slides his hand up and down his cock, keeping his grip nice and easy—he doesn't want to get too far ahead—and that makes for a nice sound effect, too, quiet, wet little sounds that wouldn't even be noticeable if the room weren't so quiet. Keith slides his fingers over the head of his cock, strokes the foreskin back, and allows the breath he sighs out to hitch as he runs his fingers over his head to have just the hint of a moan to it.

Shiro flicks his eyes up to meet his; Keith gives him the most insincere smile he can muster. "Sorry, didn't mean to distract you." He circles his fingers over his head and doesn't have to exaggerate the way the sensation makes his breath hitch a little bit. "It just feels good."

"Jerking off usually does," Shiro replies, dry as dust, though there's color spreading across his cheeks and the scar is standing out even more boldly than usual. "Try to keep it down to a dull roar, if you don't mind."

"Sure—nn." Keith is sliding his fingers back and forth, and every time he does that, heat ripples through him.

Shiro has his teeth set on his lip so firmly that there's no color in it at all, and he's staring at his tablet fixedly.

Keith curls his fist around his cock and works it up and down, taking deeper breaths as he can feel the sweat starting to break out across his skin. He sighs again, and Shiro transfers the tablet from his Galra hand to his human one. Keith bites down on the way he wants to smile and reaches down with his other hand to play with his balls, which—yeah, that's good enough that he shifts, spreading his knees wider as he arches into the paired sensations twisting up his spine. "Ah…"

Shiro's knuckles are going white; when Keith sneaks a look, there's definitely a tent in the loose sleep pants he's wearing.

It shouldn't take too much more, then.

Keith plays with his cock, sighing softly as he contemplates his next move, and sees the look Shiro steals when he reaches for the lube again. He's probably right to look alarmed; Keith's about to start fighting dirty.

He slicks the lube over his fingers, generous with it, and reaches behind himself to stroke them between his cheeks. He groans, as quietly as he can manage it, when he sinks the first finger in, the slick-sharp stretch of it running up his spine like the drag of fingernails, and sucks in a deeper breath as he works it in and out of his body. Shiro lets out a breath, not quite steadily, from between parted lips that are red and a little swollen from the way he's been biting them.

Keith adds a second finger after a minute or two of this, sinking them both deep enough to make himself gasp as he arches into the burning stretch. He flexes them inside himself and his breath stutters a little; he's pretty sure that Shiro is watching every move he makes from behind his eyelashes. Since that is the point of the exercise, Keith lets his hips flex just a tiny bit with the way he's fucking himself open, breathing deeper as he sinks his fingers home and shivering with the slow friction until it's not enough any more.

He wets his lips, watching Shiro pretend not to be watching him, and slides a third finger in with the other two. The firmer stretch draws a moan out of him, one he shapes into Shiro's name, and that is enough to make Shiro's eyes flash hot. He drops the tablet and reaches for Keith, closing his hands on Keith's hips. "Keith."

Keith lets himself smile and drives his fingers in deep. "Sorry, it just slipped out."

"You little punk," Shiro tells him, surging forward to kiss him.

Keith laughs into his mouth—victory is always sweet—and hooks his other arm around Shiro's shoulders. "You gonna do something about it?"

"Yes," Shiro says, practically growls it, and Keith groans against his mouth with the promise in that, working his fingers against himself, hard and urgent.

Shiro slides his hands over Keith's ass and squeezes it, and yeah, that's all Keith really needs. He drops his hand down between them to shove Shiro's waistband out of the way as he slides his fingers free of his body. Shiro utters another one of those growls against his mouth when Keith gets his hand on his cock and manages to stroke some more lube over him. "C'mon," he says.

Shiro does; he drags Keith closer and lifts him up so he can push into him, and God, that's good. Keith groans at how hard Shiro's cock stretches him as he sinks down on it. Shiro groans too, his hands tight on Keith's ass as he grinds into him.

The friction makes the breath stutter in Keith's throat. He grips Shiro's shoulder, panting for breath with how full he is. "Fuck," he breathes, "fuck, Shiro—ah!" He closes his eyes, gasping as Shiro lifts him again, dragging him up slowly, and shudders when Shiro doesn't let him move any faster than the pace he's set. Shiro slides out of him until he's barely inside Keith at all, and holds him that way for a tortuously long moment before drawing him back down again.

Now Keith gets it, and he moans at the way heat flashes through him. "Shiro…!"

Shiro is grinning at him despite the flush of his face and the sweat dampening the hair at his temples. "You said this was what you wanted," he points out as he finally bottoms out again; he holds Keith in place firmly when he tries to squirm.

"I didn't mean slowly," Keith tells him.

That just makes Shiro laugh. "I think you've had it all your way so far. It's my turn now."

"Fuck," Keith says. Then he's hanging onto Shiro and groaning as Shiro draws him up again, so slowly that he could scream with it, with the way that makes the sensation sing through him like a fingertip on the rim of a glass, so much that he could shatter with it.

He starts to loosen a hand from his death grip on Shiro's shoulder to reach down for his cock, but Shiro stops him, the command brisk. "Leave them where they are."

Keith swallows hard and closes his hands on Shiro's shoulders, and says, "Please."

"Mm, nope," Shiro says. "I don't think so."

He always has been much better at self-control than Keith has ever cared to be, and it shows now: he rocks Keith up and down, a slow and controlled rhythm that has Keith gasping for breath at how good it is, how the sensation never quite stops, has him shuddering in Shiro's grip and twisting his hands in Shiro's shirt, desperate for some kind of relief from that unhurried, relentless in-and-out as Shiro fucks him on his cock. "Shiro," he groans, thready with how much he wants, needs, more than this. "God, Shiro, please…"

Shiro's good at self-control, but even he's only human. He smiles at Keith, the curl of it almost wicked, as he lifts Keith up the length of his cock, and he shifts the angle of his hips as he draws him down again.

Keith shouts at the changed sensation, the feeling of Shiro's cock sliding over his prostate and the way sensation punches through him. He arches in Shiro's hands and Shiro does it again, rocking him up and down in short, controlled strokes that have him hitting that spot over and over again. Keith can't even form words, can only let out hoarse cries every time Shiro's cock nudges against his prostate, and God, it's going to kill him—

He can hear the whine in his voice when Shiro shifts his grip and the angle of his hips again, pulling Keith down tight against him just when Keith can feel himself pulling taut, ready to come apart. The abrupt fall-off in sensation hits him like a blow. "Shiro," he manages to say, pleading with him.

"Yeah, I know." Shiro's voice has gone rough, breathless; he kisses Keith hungrily. "Hang on."

Keith groans as Shiro shifts under him, moving inside him, and then Shiro lets go of his hips and rocks himself up into Keith, hard and deep, yes. Keith gasps and grinds down against him, moving with him as Shiro fucks him, sensation striking up his spine every time their bodies collide. Shiro slides his hand up to close it on Keith's nape, holding him for his kisses and groaning against his mouth. Then Keith finds the right way to move against him, so that Shiro is pounding into him at perfect angle. He cries out with it, clutching Shiro's shoulders and moving against him, urgent with how good it is. Shiro catches some of that, driving up to meet him hard and fast, and then—

Keith throws his head back, gasping soundlessly as pleasure seizes him, closing on him like a fist and wringing down on him mercilessly as he comes.

Shiro groans, grinding into him as Keith shudders, his body trying to close around the thickness of Shiro's cock. Each tiny movement sends another stuttering ripple of pleasure through him. Shiro groans his name, rocking into him, his rhythm gone rough and uneven, until he bucks up into Keith and gasps his name as his cock pulses inside him.

Keith collapses against him, breathing hard and feeling like every muscle in his body has come unstrung. He hooks his chin over Shiro's shoulder, perfectly content to just lie there as his thundering pulse begins to slow down.

Shiro makes a low sound against his ear and lets his hand slip down to the small of his back, but doesn't offer to move any farther than that. "Jesus, Keith."

"Mm," Keith agrees, feeling the languid, relaxed line of Shiro's body beneath his as Shiro's breathing begins to slow. "That was nice."

"Nice, he says. You little punk." Shiro sounds more amused than anything else.

"It was very nice?" Keith offers, smiling against Shiro's shoulder.

"Punk," Shiro says again, or starts to say. He's interrupted halfway through by a yawn. "Damn it, Keith."

Keith allows himself to smile at that, too, before he schools his expression into something suitably bland and peeks at him. "What?"

"Don't you what me." If Shiro's trying for exasperated, it's not really working. "I have work to do."

"Then do it," Keith tells him. "Don't mind me." He sits up and peels Shiro's shirt off him, uses it to wipe up the mess, and then settles himself against Shiro's chest again, resting his cheek on Shiro's shoulder. "I'm just going to take a nap."

Shiro snorts. "I know you think you're sneaky."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Keith says, but he smiles when Shiro shifts them both down the bunk so they can stretch out. "I thought you had work to do?"

"Yeah, so did I." Shiro flips the light off. "Make yourself useful and pull the blankets up, will you?" Keith grumbles purely for the form of it and hauls the blankets up from the foot of the bed before he drapes himself against Shiro's chest. Shiro heaves a sigh that lifts and lowers him again. "Punk."

Keith smiles into the darkness. "Good night, Shiro."

Shiro snorts at him, but lifts his hand to tangle it in Keith's hair, and yeah. That's a job well done, Keith decides, listening as Shiro's breathing turns slower, deeper.

He closes his eyes and lets himself fall into sleep after Shiro.


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