lysapadin: pen & ink painting of bamboo against a full moon (Default)
[personal profile] lysapadin
Title: Push
Characters/Pairings: Shiro/Lance
Summary: They say no plan survives contact with the enemy; Shiro probably needs to keep that one in mind.
Notes: Adult for smut; no plot here to speak of. 1775 words.



Lance pushes everything, like he can't help himself. In retrospect, Shiro has no idea why he expected anything else from him in bed.

Not that he objects to Lance's energy, far from it. Lance is a delight when he's scrabbling at the sheets, bucking underneath him and gasping for more, harder, faster, God, yes—!

So no, Shiro's not complaining, exactly, because he knows better than that. It's just… sometimes he'd like to take things a little slower, maybe? He's just not sure what it might take to get Lance on board with that idea.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, or so the aphorism goes, so the next time Lance sidles up to him to slant a grin his way, Shiro goes along with it, lets Lance wind his arms around his neck and press against him, lanky and lean, and takes turns trading kisses with him on the way back to their quarters.

Coming from the training deck means they hit Shiro's quarters first, and Shiro pins Lance against the door for a long kiss before he palms the door open and they stumble inside. The lights come up as they do and the door slides shut behind them; Lance is already stepping back to whip his shirt over his head.

"Are you in some kind of hurry?" Shiro asks, amused, as Lance kicks off his shoes and goes for his belt.

Lance gives him one of his sleaziest grins (the kind that never fail to make Shiro laugh, they're so over the top). "For you? You know I am." He gets his belt undone and shoves everything down while Shiro is still laughing at him and steps out of the tangled mess to prowl towards Shiro. "So I've been thinking…" he says as he steps into Shiro's space.

"Have you?" Shiro says as Lance lays a hand on his chest.

"Yeah." Lance passes his tongue over his lips. "I sure have." He drops his hands to Shiro's belt, working the buckle loose, and casts a smile at Shiro. "You gonna ask me what I've been thinking about?"

"What have you been thinking about?" Shiro asks, playing along even though he has a pretty good idea where Lance is going. Lance isn't all that good at subtlety.

Lance grins at him as he gets his fly undone. "I've been thinking about how much I want to blow you," he says, right before he sinks to his knees and nuzzles his face against the cloth-covered bulge of Shiro's cock. His breath is hot through the thin stuff of Shiro's underwear, and Shiro absolutely cannot find it in himself to discourage Lance. He groans and slides his fingers into Lance's hair. Lance smiles up at him, a softer, warmer curl of his lips than his usual grins, and leans into Shiro's fingers as he draws his cock out of his underwear and strokes it the rest of the way hard.

Shiro lets out a breath, more like a sigh, and Lance turns another of those quick, sweet smiles at him before he leans in and closes his lips around the head of him. Shiro's glad for the door at his back, leans against it now as Lance works his mouth against him, coaxing the foreskin back with his lips and tongue, sucking softly until Shiro has to groan with how good it is and with how much more he wants. "Lance…"

Lance looks up at him through his eyelashes and laps at him, all unhurried and teasing, until Shiro strokes his fingers through his hair and cups his jaw. Then and only then does he lean forward, sliding his mouth down around Shiro's cock, humming around him as he does. Shiro groans his name, rubbing his thumb along Lance's jaw and feeling the faint rasp of five o'clock shadow there as pleasure runs through him, sweet as syrup.

Lance leans into him, draws back to flirt his tongue over the head of him, then slides his mouth down Shiro again, doesn't stop when Shiro nudges against the back of his throat. Shiro gasps when Lance swallows him down, pulling taut as Lance hums and the vibration shoots straight up his spine. He slides his fingers into Lance's hair, pushing forward in spite of himself. Lance hums again, low and pleased, as he gropes for Shiro's other hand, the prosthesis, and drags it up. Shiro shudders, because his meaning couldn't be more clear, but Jesus—"Lance," he says, hoarse.

Lance slides his mouth off Shiro languorously and lingers to flick his tongue over the head of him as he looks up at him. "Go ahead." His voice is raspy. "I want you to."

"But—" Shiro stops, not wanting to say it out loud.

Lance smiles at him. "I trust you," he says and takes the prosthesis so he can press a kiss to its palm, one that Shiro can register as pressure if nothing else. "Please." Shiro says his name; Lance huffs at him under his breath and positions the prosthesis where he apparently wants it, cupping his jaw. "I trust you," he says again, then pauses, his smile going crooked. "Even if you don't trust yourself."

With that he leans forward again, taking Shiro into his mouth and sucking firmly enough that it hollows his cheeks and Shiro's toes curl inside his boots as his will-power begins to crumble. "Lance…"

Lance's eyes crinkle at the corners like they would if he were smiling. He hums around Shiro, sliding his mouth down Shiro's cock so slowly that he can barely stand it, until he's got his nose pressed against Shiro's stomach. Shiro groans and it makes Lance hum again, the muscles of his throat vibrating around the head of his cock, before he begins to draw back again, even more slowly.

Shiro gives in. "Jesus, Lance," he says, hoarse to his own ears. He curves his hands around Lance's jaw and holds him when it seems like Lance might pull all the way off him again.

Lance gives him another of those crinkle-eyed not-smiles again and runs his tongue over Shiro's cock, tracing it over the delicate skin.

Shiro groans again, a little helpless, and rolls his hips forward, sliding his cock deeper into Lance's mouth. Lance opens to him, welcomes him with a pleased hum that reverberates up Shiro's spine. Shiro can feel the way Lance leans into his hands, relaxes into them as Shiro slides his cock deeper into his mouth, God. He rubs his thumb along Lance's cheekbones as he moves against him, shallow thrusts between Lance's lips that wind pleasure along his nerves with every stroke.

Lance's eyes drift half-closed as Shiro rocks against his mouth; Shiro can just see the jut of his elbow moving back and forth, hear the faint, slick sound of flesh moving over flesh as Lance jerks himself off to the way Shiro's holding him and fucking his mouth. Then, as Shiro slides forward, Lance reaches up with his free hand, catching Shiro's hip and tugging him forward, deeper.

Shiro exhales a curse as Lance pulls him forward and swallows the head of him, the sudden change in the tenor of sensation catching him by surprise. "Fuck, Lance—!"

Lance hums around him and prods at his hip, pushing him back while Shiro is still shuddering at the jab of sensation, curls his hand around Shiro's hip and tugs again, but Shiro holds steady against him. "God, you're pushy," he says, hoarse, and Lance makes a sound around him that would probably be a hoot of laughter if his mouth weren't otherwise occupied.

Shiro can't say that Lance hasn't made it clear exactly what he wants, that's he's completely on board, and yet—"Stop me if it's too much," Shiro tells him.

Lance rolls his eyes and plucks at his hip again, all impatience.

He was going to do something about that, but it's going to have to wait. Shiro cups Lance's face and holds him as he rocks himself forward, groaning as he slides over Lance's tongue. Lance groans too, the sound eager, and swallows him down as Shiro sees the movement of his elbow turning faster—yes, it's clear that Lance trusts him far more than Shiro trusts himself.

Shiro sets that aside to be amazed by later and focuses on the here and the now, the flush in Lance's cheeks and the redness of his mouth shining wet around the length of his cock as Shiro fucks him, drinking in the low, wanting sounds Lance makes around him and the urgent way Lance strokes himself. It's not a race to see who can get there first, or Shiro doesn't think that it is—God knows Lance can turn pretty much anything into a competition—but even if it is, it's the kind of competition they can both win. Or something like that.

Lance shivers in his hands, tugging against them, and as Shiro releases him he pulls back, groaning low and hoarse as he comes, face swept open and bare as he shudders.

"Fuck," Shiro breathes, caught by the sight Lance makes, hanging onto his own control with his fingertips solely for the sake of not missing a second of this.

Lance relaxes, opens his eyes and turns them on Shiro, all dazed and dreamy with pleasure. "Mm, yeah," he says, voice raspy from the way Shiro has been fucking his throat, Jesus, Shiro's breath hitches in his throat for that. Lance grins at him, lazy, and leans in, fitting his hand around Shiro's cock as he slides his tongue over the head, wickedly slow, fuck…!

Shiro loses it, jerking against Lance's fist as he comes apart, pleasure rippling through him as he comes all over Lance's mouth and fingers and chest. The sight of that, Lance grinning and indecent as he passes his tongue over his lips, puts another stutter of heat through Shiro, until he sags against the door and groans for mercy. "Lance."

"Mm." Lance scoots forward and leans against him, cheek pressed against his hip; Shiro lifts his hand and sinks it into his hair. "That was awesome."

Shiro isn't quite up to the task of putting words together yet, so he hums and trusts that Lance will take it for the agreement it is.

By the way Lance leans against him a little more heavily, sighing with satisfaction, he does.

Shiro strokes his hair absently; clearly he's going to need to be more strategic about how he approaches the task of getting Lance to slow down in bed.

He smiles at the thought; he always has liked a good challenge.


Comments are always lovely!


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


Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags