lysapadin: pen & ink painting of bamboo against a full moon (Default)
[personal profile] lysapadin
Title: A Friend in Need
Characters/Pairings: Shiro/Lance
Summary: Just because an alpha can go through rut alone doesn't mean he should.
Notes: Filthy, filthy a/b/o porn. Somewhat dubious consent (Shiro's not precisely in his right mind at the moment) and so much filthy smut. 4250 words.


A Friend in Need

"Okay." Lance's palms were sweaty with what he was about to say. He was about to break so many rules. "Cards on the table, guys. We got any omegas sitting here?"

If his face was hot, at least it wasn't the only one. Pidge, Hunk, and Keith were all various shades of red. They were all very carefully not looking at the door on the other side of the room from where they were sitting.

"What the fuck, Lance, you know that's not something you ask people!" Pidge sounded honestly shocked.

Huh. Here he'd thought that wasn't a thing that could be done. "I know!" Lance held his hands up. "I know, okay? I wouldn't be doing it unless, well…"

They all ended up looking at the closed door together. Shiro's door, or at least the door to the particular infirmary isolation room he'd chosen to lock himself inside once it had become clear what the stuff he'd gotten sprayed in the face with was actually doing to him.

Fucking Galra.

Hunk cleared his throat. "It won't hurt an alpha to go through rut alone." But he didn't sound sure about that.

"Not true. It doesn't damage an alpha to go through rut alone. Hurting is different." Keith's eyes were dark. "Trust me, I should know. I've done it."

"Alpha, huh?" Lance tried to sound light-hearted when his heart was sinking. "Guess I should have known." Damn it. Keith had been his best hope.

"No you shouldn't," Pidge said, cross. "Reproductive capabilities have nothing to do with anything but reproduction. It's the twenty-second century, Lance, for God's sake."

Hunk rubbed his chin. "And yet the Garrison has us all on suppressants and birth control and it's completely against regulation to speculate about someone else's junk." He shrugged. "Not that it matters to me either way. Beta, through and through."

"This is completely archaic," Pidge declared, right before shooting a look at the door and deflating. "Technically an alpha, but honestly just not interested."

Well, damn.

The three of them were looking at Lance now. "What, really? I guess I should have known it'd be up to me to save the day." He leaned back in his seat and gave them all the cheesiest grin he could muster. "Guess when you need to get the job done, there's only one person to call."

"Yeah, but Shiro's indisposed right now." Pidge leveled an unsettlingly sharp stare on Lance. "Even if you're an omega, it's not your responsibility or obligation to help Shiro out, Lance. He'll get through this on his own."

"Pfft, I know that," Lance scoffed with more assurance than he actually felt; they were all looking at him intently. For the life of him he couldn't tell if it was any different than the way they'd have looked at him before he'd disclosed. Well, too late to take it back now, so back to the point of the conversation. "But he is indisposed and could be for quiznak knows how long without someone to help him through it. If the Galra pop up before he's back to normal, that could be pretty awkward."

"If they show up while he's pounding you into the mattress, it'll be even more awkward," Keith said.

Pidge grimaced. "Thanks for that mental image, Keith, I didn't already have enough nightmares to suit me."

"I wouldn't expect the Galra to be a problem for at least forty-eight hours. We jumped the castle-ship three times and it usually takes them at least that long to find us again." Hunk glanced at the door and then settled a grave look on Lance. "If you're willing to do it—and you don't feel like this is something you're obligated to do—that should be plenty of time to get him through it, or for the princess and Coran to synthesize a neutralizing agent." That was where the two of them were now, fussing over samples of blood and scans from each of their Garrison implants and chattering to each other about the fascinating aspects of human biology.

"I don't like it, but…" Pidge scowled and Lance found himself on the receiving end of a fierce stare. "You don't have to do this."

That was actually pretty—something warm curled inside Lance's chest. "Yeah, I know. But I'm choosing to do this."

"What makes you think he even wants your help?" Keith demanded, the words abrupt. Sharp.

Annnnnd that was Exhibit A for why Lance had really been hoping Keith would turn out to be another omega. If Shiro would accept help from anyone, it'd be Keith, and there'd be so much less chance of Keith trying to scratch Lance's eyes out afterwards. But really. He should have known Keith would be an alpha, twenty-second century or not. "I don't know that he will, and if he throws me back out again, no harm, no foul." Lance shrugged at them. "But it's Shiro. It's the least I can do for him to offer."

A muscle worked in Keith's jaw before he gritted out, "Fine," and got up to stalk out of the room. Probably heading for the training deck to beat the hell out of some practice drones, Lance decided. Typical.

Lance let out a breath after he'd gone and turned a bright smile on Pidge and Hunk. "That went well! So… which one of you wants to pick a lock for me?"


The thing he hadn't mentioned to the others (because it frankly wasn't any of their business) was this: there had been a squirming ache low in Lance's gut since just after they'd stumbled out of their Lions and a cross-current of air had brushed Shiro's scent his way. He hadn't paid attention to it at the time because they'd all been too busy hustling Shiro, red-faced and sweating, to the infirmary, but it had only grown with every whiff Lance had gotten of him. By the time Shiro had blurted, "I'm going into rut," and bolted for the isolation room, Lance had been uneasily aware that he was still kind of hard underneath his paladin armor—not necessarily unusual during a fight or its aftermath, thanks so much, adrenaline—but also sticky-wet, too. And that wasn't something that just happened to him.

He'd already shared plenty with the rest of the class, so when Pidge paused with the door controls hanging out of the wall to look up at him and say, "Look, are you sure about this?" Lance just grinned and said, "Sure I'm sure."

Pidge gave him a look full of misgivings, but tapped two wires together anyway. The door slid open and Lance stepped inside.

The smell was the first thing to hit him, damp and warm and heavy with sweat and musk and sweat, like the faint snatches he'd caught before but a thousand times more intense. Lance's mouth ran dry as it washed over him; he went hard between one heartbeat and the next, could feel the throbbing between his legs and the rush of wetness leaking out of him. God.

The room was nearly dark, the lights turned down as far as they could go without being turned completely off; when the door closed behind him, he couldn't see anything but the dimmest of shapes. But he could hear just fine: Shiro panting harshly and the wet sound of skin moving over skin.

Lance drew a deep, unsteady breath—that scent filled his lungs, made his knees weak and his head spin—and took a step deeper into the room. "Shiro?"

Shiro made a sound like a growl; Lance shuddered at it, cock aching, wetness pooling between his legs. God, he'd known that being around an alpha in rut was supposed to have an effect, but was it supposed to be this intense? "Go away, Lance."

"Yeah, that's the thing." He was breathless, hot all over, and took another step into the room. His eyes were beginning to adjust, enough that he could see Shiro hunched over himself, could see the steady movement of his hand between his legs. "So you're in rut, right? I'm here to help."

"I don't need any help," Shiro sounded like he was grinding the words out. "I've got it under control."

"Yeah, I know." Lance came another step closer, stopping when Shiro growled again. "But I want to help." He licked his lips and nearly groaned when he realized he could all but taste Shiro in the air. "I'm an omega."

The confession dropped out like a stone plopping into a pool. The ripples were obvious: Shiro groaned, deep and guttural, the soft slapping sounds of him jerking himself off stuttering as he hunched over himself even further, shaking.

Lance made a sound almost like a whine, not quite meaning to, listening to the sounds Shiro made as he came. "Shiro…"

"Lance. You need to get out of here. Right now." Shiro's voice was strained. "If you don't, I'll—" He broke off and took a ragged breath. "You don't need to do this."

That was Shiro all over, perfectly ready to endure anything he had to and not at all willing to let anyone else shoulder that burden. "I know." If Shiro hadn't been that kind of guy, he wouldn't even be offering, probably. "But I want to. Please, Shiro, let me help you." That was three times; if Shiro said no, that was it, he would go, and—

Shiro was moving before Lance quite realized it, was on him before he knew what was happening, seizing his arms and hauling him close. "Do you, Lance? Do you really?"

Lance was close enough to see the glitter in Shiro's eyes, the way his pupils were blown so wide there was only a thin ring of color around them. The scent of him was overwhelming up close; Lance's hips jerked against the air as he groaned. "God, please, yes."

It was enough. Shiro growled again and kissed him, sweeping his tongue into Lance's mouth ruthlessly. Lance moaned again, bringing his hands up to close on Shiro's shoulders—God, Shiro was naked, must have peeled the rest of his armor as soon as he'd locked the door. Lance swayed against him, sucking on Shiro's tongue and wrapping his arms around Shiro's shoulders as another wave of arousal rolled over him. Shiro bit at his mouth, sharp enough to sting.

Lance forgot about that immediately as Shiro reached down to palm his ass, pulling him up tight against his thigh and grinding it between Lance's legs. He chanted Shiro's name, rubbing against him shamelessly, chasing that friction and the pleasure grinding up his spine as Shiro nosed along his jaw, nipping at the line of it, tasting him. Then Shiro found the nub of Lance's scent gland.

Lance cried out, coming hard just from the brush of Shiro's lips over his scent gland. He bucked against the hardness of Shiro's thigh, clutching his shoulders and groaning as he spent himself, and shuddered again as Shiro swiped his tongue over the gland. "Oh… oh, Shiro, God…"

Shiro growled again; the harmonics of it were distinctly pleased. Then he picked Lance up bodily and dumped him on the bed.

Lance bounced against the mattress, his head still spinning from orgasm, and didn't understand until Shiro pulled his slippers off. "Oh, God, yes," he breathed, trying to sit up to help.

"No." Shiro spread his hand flat against Lance's chest and pushed him flat.

That shouldn't have been as hot as it was, but Lance was beyond the point of caring about such niceties. He groaned, already hard again, everything between his legs sticky with come and slick. Shiro pulled Lance's loose pajama pants down his legs, every movement swift and economical. Lance could see reasonably well in the gloom by this point, which meant that he could see the furrow of concentration on Shiro's brow, the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth. He could also see Shiro's cock jutting up between his thighs, thick and dripping. Lance moaned without thinking, heat pooling low in his gut. He reached for Shiro again, stroking his hands over Shiro's chest until Shiro swatted his hands away and peeled the soaked ruins of Lance's boxers off him.

Lance reached for him again anyway, managed to slide a hand down Shiro's chest, through a sticky patch of wetness—God, that was where Shiro had come all over himself—and stroke his fingers over the head of Shiro's cock before Shiro caught his hands again.

"No," Shiro said again. This time he pinned Lance's hands over his head.

The space between Lance's ears went staticky as he went pliant under Shiro, moaning with the way want had clenched on him. Shiro hummed to him; the approval in the sound spread through Lance, warm and syrup-sweet, and he let himself go boneless beneath Shiro.

Shiro hummed again. "Good boy."

Lance moaned and tipped his head back as Shiro stooped over him, mouthing his neck again, biting up and down it until every inch of his skin tingled with how Shiro was marking him. Then Shiro found the hem of his shirt and dragged it off Lance, leaving him completely bare. Lance shuddered, squirming as cooler air hit his sweat-slicked skin. Shiro growled at him to be still.

It was easier than it should have been (maybe? he couldn't think) to obey, to leave his hands on the pillow over his head while Shiro sat up, kneeling between his legs and looking him over. Lance bit his lip when Shiro set his hands on his ankles to stroke them up his legs, pushing his knees up and spreading him out, spreading him open for display. God, Lance had never let anyone look at him like this. He'd have been embarrassed if it weren't for the greedy way Shiro looked at him, the way Shiro passed his tongue over his lips and leaned in to inhale the smell of him, Lance's come and the tang of the slick dripping out of him.

Shiro leaned closer and Lance's breath caught in his throat, because surely Shiro wasn't going to—wasn't—

Shiro traced his tongue over the inside of Lance's thigh, lapped the slick from his skin and bit down hard enough to mark him. Lance didn't know what the sound he made then was, just knew every fiber of him was drawn taut with anticipation as Shiro mouthed his way along the inside of his thighs, nuzzling closer to the juncture of them.

When Shiro finally traced his tongue up the shaft of Lance's cock, he cried out again, clenching his hands on the pillow and trembling on the edge of coming again just from that. Shiro hummed to him and sucked the head of him into his mouth, tracing his tongue over the slit of it and along the underside. Lance shouted as he came again, pulsing over Shiro's tongue as pleasure raked through him, as merciless as the way Shiro was holding him open, as relentless as the way Shiro stroked his tongue over him until Lance whimpered for mercy.

It was beginning to occur to Lance that he might have bitten off a little more than he could chew by offering to help Shiro through his rut.

It was a little late for such realizations; Lance clutched the thin pillow as Shiro bit down on the skin at the top of his thigh. The sting jolted up his spine. Jesus, he was aching with how much he wanted more than just the softness of Shiro's mouth on his skin, more than the way Shiro nuzzled his balls, his breath ghosting hot over Lance's skin, so close

Lance's back came off the bed as Shiro stroked his tongue along his slit, dragging it through the slick dripping out of him and humming. He gasped Shiro's name, his whole world narrowing down to the touch of Shiro's tongue between his legs, dipping between the folds of his slit, stroking against his entrance, soft-hot-slow, not enough. Shiro already had him spread out, but Lance pulled his knees higher, splayed himself even wider open, and cried out when Shiro pressed the point of his tongue inside him. "Please," he gasped, "God, Shiro, please, please, fuck me…!"

Shiro growled to him; the pleased harmonics of it vibrated up Lance's spine even as Shiro pressed his tongue deeper, flicking it in and out of Lance, God, Shiro was fucking him with his tongue, fuck…! Lance groaned, arousal wringing down on him again, because as good as that was, it wasn't enough, wasn't what he needed. "Please, your cock, I need your cock—fuck!" He moaned at the sudden loss of sensation as Shiro lifted away from him, the drop-off so sudden that it hurt.

Shiro hummed to him—crooned, really, something low and soothing, as he slid his hand up Lance's leg—Lance moaned again, with relief this time, as Shiro dipped his fingers into him, sliding two into him at once and sinking them deep. He rocked his hips up against Shiro's hand, groaning with how good the solid stretch of Shiro's fingers felt moving inside him. "God, please," he panted, knotting his fingers in the pillow. "Please, please—"

Shiro crooked his fingers. Lance saw stars, bucking against Shiro's hand as pleasure raked through him again, fierce and unexpected, nothing like any of the orgasms he'd ever managed to give himself. Shiro fucked him through it, working his fingers hard against Lance's body; Lance could only gasp for breath as his body rippled around Shiro's fingers, greedy for more more more. Then Shiro pressed a third finger into him.

Lance jerked against the bed, crying out with the harder ache of that stretch, so right. "Please," he gasped, shuddering as Shiro drove his fingers against him. "Shiro, please, I need—"

"Hush," Shiro said, his voice gone deep and raspy. "I have you."

He did, he really did; Lance could hear the way he whined when Shiro slipped the fourth finger into him, stretching him relentlessly, the fullness of the feeling singing along every nerve he possessed, verging on too much and threatening to unmoor him completely, but—"Please, I need—I need—" Lance unclenched a hand from the pillow and flailed it at Shiro, not sure what he needed, exactly, except that he knew it was something Shiro could provide.

Shiro seemed to understand. "Yeah." He moved, shifting over Lance and leaning down to kiss him again.

Lance groaned into his mouth, tasting himself on Shiro's lips and tongue, and hooked his arms around Shiro's shoulders—yes, that was it, he'd needed this, the weight and heat of Shiro over him, keeping him from flying to pieces with how much he wanted. "Please," he breathed against Shiro's mouth. "Please, I want you, please, Shiro…"

Shiro groaned against his mouth, deep and hungry, and moved to nuzzle Lance's throat, his scent gland. "Yes," he breathed, hot against Lance's ear. He dragged his fingers out of Lance, curling them as he did and making Lance arch under him with the rush of sensation and its sudden absence. He mouthed Lance's throat, sucking on the scent gland until Lance gasped, and dragged the head of his cock through Lance's slick, rubbing it back and forth between the folds of his slit.

Lance groaned and clutched at his shoulders. "Please, please—oh…!" The breath cut sharp in his throat as Shiro pressed into him, so much more than the stretch of his fingers had been. Lance dug his fingers into Shiro's shoulders, panting quick and light for his breath and trembling with how much it was to feel Shiro sinking home in him, groaning against his ear, taut under his hands. It was too much, more than Lance could bear, more than anyone would be able to bear.

Shiro settled against him, buried inside him, pinning Lance to the bed with his weight. For a moment they were both still except for the harshness of their breathing. Then Shiro turned his head, pressing his mouth to Lance's scent gland, lips parted so he could stroke his tongue against it.

Lance shuddered as molten heat rolled down his spine, shuddered again as Shiro moved inside him, and suddenly what had been too much wasn't enough any more.

He gasped Shiro's name as Shiro growled against his throat. Shiro drew back, pulling out of him, the slide of his cock deliciously, tortuously slow, as Lance moaned, only to rock into him again, deep and hard enough to slide Lance up the mattress. Raw sensation jolted up Lance's spine, so intense it could hardly be called pleasure or pain. He dug his fingers into Shiro's shoulders, hanging onto him and crying out, voice gone thready and thin, as Shiro rocked into him again and again, each stroke hard enough to shift him further up the mattress until Shiro braced one hand on his hip and the other on the head of the bed.

Then there was nothing Lance could do but take the full weight and power of each thrust, nothing he could do but feel the way sensation ran through him with each stroke, washing everything that was Lance away until there was nothing left of him but raw instinct and feeling, his legs wrapped around Shiro's hips, his cock trapped between them, smearing slickly across Shiro's stomach as Lance came again. There was nothing but his body wringing tight around Shiro's cock, Shiro's mouth on his throat as Lance tossed his head back and keened with the pleasure turning him inside out, and the sound of Shiro's voice, low and wordless as he kept moving him, fucking him hard and not letting him come down from that edge. Lance wrapped his arms around Shiro and buried his face against Shiro's shoulder, sobbing for breath and shuddering with how good it was, how perfect it was, to be wrapped up in Shiro, filled up with his cock, the center of all his attention and desire—

Shiro groaned, the tenor of it changing, turning urgent as he slammed into Lance again—

Lance's breath stuttered; he could feel Shiro's cock getting bigger, feel the knot beginning to swell. "God," he breathed, a frisson of something he couldn't name running through him. "Oh my God—"

"Shh." Shiro wrapped a hand around the back of his head, cradling it against his shoulder and crooning to him as he rocked into Lance again, faster, larger. "Shh, I have you, I have you…"

Lance clung to him, distantly aware of the thin, desperate sounds coming out of his mouth and the rough, soothing nonsense Shiro was spilling into his ear as he rocked against him, short and sharp. He could feel Shiro, larger with every stroke, until Lance had to whine with how brutally Shiro stretched him as he sank home.

Shiro caught him close then, holding him tightly and grinding against him, huge and hot inside Lance, pressing against him in ways Lance hadn't even known he'd needed. He shuddered, coming apart again, cock pulsing against Shiro's stomach.

Shiro groaned, a tremor rocking him against Lance, and his hips jerked against him, the barest twitch of movement as Shiro's orgasm took him. Lance could feel Shiro's cock throbbing inside him, long pulses as Shiro groaned hoarse and wordless, filling him up with his come. Lance whimpered, that knowledge pulling another shudder of pleasure out of him, and pressed his face against Shiro's shoulder, until the tension finally ran out of Shiro like spilled water. He sagged against Lance, sprawling on top of him, still locked inside him.

Lance let his head fall back into the loose cradle of Shiro's fingers, breathing hard, dazed. Shiro turned his face and tucked it into the curve of Lance's throat, sighing into it. Lance loosened his fingers from Shiro's shoulders and reached for him, petting his hair clumsily.

"Oh my God," he managed to say eventually. His voice was raw—probably from all the yelling he'd been doing. Christ.

"Mmm," Shiro said, somewhere between dreamy and dazed. He nuzzled against Lance's throat, nipping his scent gland, not—quite—hard enough to break the skin.

Lance's breath caught. "Shiro. No." It was one thing to help Shiro through his rut, and a completely different thing to monkey around with that.

Shiro grumbled, discontented. "Why not?" he said, his lips brushing over the glad. "I want to."

"You're in rut," Lance said as calmly as he could when all kinds of crazy space butterflies were swooping around inside his rib cage.


"So you're in rut," Lance said again with an evenness he was pretty proud of. "I'll do anything else you want while you're in rut, but you're gonna have to wait till you're out of rut—" And sane again. "—and ask me about bonding then. Deal?"

"Mm." Shiro lifted his head and looked at him; there was a gleam in his eyes. "Anything?"

"Sure," Lance said, fairly sure he wasn't going to survive whatever had put that look on Shiro's face but damned sure he'd enjoy the process anyway. "Anything you want, just no bonding."

"Deal," Shiro decided before stooping to claim Lance's mouth for an utterly ruthless kiss.

Lance let out a relieved sigh and returned it with enthusiasm.

After all, what were the chances Shiro would remember this little conversation once the hormones wore off, anyway?


Er. Yes. *hides face* I don't even know any more, y'all. I just don't know.
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lysapadin: pen & ink painting of bamboo against a full moon (Default)
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