lysapadin: pen & ink painting of bamboo against a full moon (Default)
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Title: The Games We Play
Characters/Pairings: Keith/Lance
Summary: Lance likes games.
Notes: Smut with bondage. I'm not saying that the VLD writers are definitely portraying Lance as a kinkster, but I'm not not saying it, either. 3247 words.


The Games We Play

So the thing Keith has learned about Lance is that he's basically just a long-legged, walking contradiction. He's got a big mouth and he doesn't have the first clue how to keep it shut, but even he doesn't believe the bullshit he spouts off so easily. If anything, the more Lance is bragging, the less certain he is about anything.

That's something Keith still struggles to wrap his brain around—wouldn't it be a million times easier to skip all that posturing and just be genuine? He'd asked Shiro that once, in yet another fit of Lance-inspired frustration. Shiro had just shaken his head and said, "I don't think you could ask Lance to do anything harder than that."

Whatever that meant. Or so Keith had said at the time, exasperated with both of them.

He understands it better now, though he'll probably end up spending the rest of his life figuring Lance out, because the other thing about Lance is this: he guards the things he cares about closely, so closely that a person could listen to Lance talk all day and not realize that he'd said anything at all of importance. Because that's what Lance does: he rattles on about whatever occurs to him and slips the important stuff in with everything else, using the chatter as camouflage for what really matters to him.

Through a lot of trial and error, this is what Keith has learned: the more random and casual Lance is being, the closer Keith needs to be listening, because it means Lance is trying to tell him something important.

Well. It's a good thing Keith has never minded a challenge.

The other thing about Lance is that, even now, he doesn't always expect Keith to be paying attention. Which is something that Keith is working on, of course, and has led them to the present moment: Lance is staring at Keith, jaw hanging open. He says, "What? Dude. Really?"

That's Lance, the pinnacle of eloquence, Keith thinks, not without fondness. He just shrugs, striving to be as casual as Lance was when he first brought it up. "I dunno. I thought it might be fun."

Lance squints at him and at the Altean blindfold and handcuffs Keith has in his hands. He snorts. "Who knew you were the kinky type?"

As it happens, Keith isn't, or doesn't think he is. But that's not the point. "We don't have to if you don't want to. I just thought it could be interesting."

"Hey, geez, you don't have to get all huffy about it," Lance says quickly. "I was just surprised, okay? I don't mind trying it out for you."

Of course he wouldn't mind that, but that's Lance, king of talking in circles around the things he's thinking. Keith frowns, making a show of reluctance just to be sure he's really selling it. "I don't want to push you into something you're not okay with."

Lance laughs. "What? No, dude, it's fine, I'm totally willing if you are." He says it carelessly, tossing the offer out like it's as meaningless as the choice between blue space goo or green for dinner. The only thing that gives him away is the way he can't quite keep his eyes off the handcuffs and blindfold.

"Well, if you're sure…" Keith says.

"Sure, I'm sure." Lance laughs and pulls his shirt off and holds out his hands. "C'mon, tie me up and have your wicked, kinky way with me. I know you're dying for it."

One of them certainly is, but what the hell, he's got Lance right where Lance wants to be. Keith is gonna call that a win. "Get on the bed first."

Honestly, Keith doesn't mean that like an order or anything; it's just going to be more convenient to cuff Lance's hands from there. He's really not expecting the way Lance's eyes go wider and then dark, or the way Lance immediately plops himself down on the edge of Keith's bunk. "How's this?" There's just a hint of a rasp in his voice and he looks up at Keith like he's genuinely seeking feedback.

Huh. Well. Huh. It's a damn good thing he's a quick thinker, Keith decides, stepping over to the bunk, right between Lance's knees (Lance spreads them wider for him). "Not a bad start," he says as Lance tips his head back just a bit to meet his eyes. "I think this comes next." He strokes his thumbnail down the seal on the blindfold; the Altean cloth peels apart for him obligingly, the same way the body suits for their armor do.

Lance sucks in a breath; he's staring at the blindfold. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Keith decides. He wraps the blindfold around Lance's head, covering his eyes and settling the malleable stuff over the bridge of his nose, shaping it to his face to keep light from sneaking in around the edges. He fastens the blindfold when he's satisfied with his work; the cloth seals to itself with barely any sign that there's a seam there. Keith slides his hands around from the back of Lance's head and cups his face between his palms. "So how's that?"

Lance clears his throat; he looks strange with the band of dark cloth cutting across his face. "Eh. It's fine."

The nice thing about the blindfold is that Lance can't see the way Keith is rolling his eyes. It's considerably better than just fine if Lance sounds like that already and is—yes, definitely hard. "Good." Keith rubs his thumbs along Lance's jaw, considering his next move, and gives in to the impulse to stoop and brush his mouth against Lance's.

Lance shivers under his hands and parts his lips for Keith, welcoming him in with a pleased little sound. He lifts his hands, too, and circles his fingers around Keith's wrists. The touch is curiously diffident—Lance usually isn't the least bit shy about getting grabby. Not that Keith is complaining; at least this way he gets to take his time with what he's doing, nibbling at Lance's lower lip and stroking their tongues together until their mouths are tender with it and they're both breathing faster.

Lance murmurs his name when Keith draws back, but doesn't move to pull him back, which—okay, Keith can go with that (thinks he may even kind of like it). "Lie down," he says.

Lance does, carefully, feeling his way with his hands as he swings his legs up onto the bunk and stretches himself out. He's still breathing fast; his jeans are tented out so far that Keith winces a little in sympathy—that can't be comfortable, and yet Lance isn't saying a word about it. Interesting.

For the time being, Keith has other things on his mind. "Hands." There's no mistaking the way Lance sucks in a deep breath at that as he raises his hands from where they're resting on his stomach. He offers them to Keith, who fastens the cuffs around his wrists. "Over your head," he tells Lance, who lifts his hands over his head as Keith activates the cuffs.

Lance makes a startled sound as the anchors come to glowing life and the cuffs home in on them, pulling his hands along with them until the glowing tethers reach their programmed limits. Lance has a little bit of play in those, but not more than fifteen centimeters, which he finds out by tugging against the cuffs. "Oh my God," he breathes and runs his tongue over his lips.

Keith pauses over that. "You okay?"

"…yeah, sure, I'm fine. Do your worst, man, I'm cool." Lance's usual cockiness loses something when his voice is so hoarse and he's turning his head, listening for any move Keith might be about to make.

"Just making sure," Keith tells him while he starts skinning out of his clothes. "If you change your mind, all you have to do is say so."

"Hey, no, I'm not backing down. You said you wanted to give this a shot," Lance says, the words practically tumbling over each other with his eagerness.

Keith bites his lip to keep from laughing. "Thanks. I appreciate that."

"That's me. I'm just a giver, you know—ah!" Lance jerks up, lifting his hips against the hand Keith is cupping over the front of his jeans. "Holy fuck!"

Keith squeezes him through his jeans, just for the way it makes Lance groan. "I'm going to take these off of you now."

Lance groans again, heartfelt. "God, yes, thank you."

Keith doesn't bother answering that, not in words: He unfastens Lance's jeans and drags them down with his underwear, peeling them off and tossing them aside with his socks. That leaves him with Lance stretched out and naked in his bed, blindfolded and handcuffed and so hard that his cock is leaking wetness against his stomach.

Okay, so Keith isn't really into the handcuffs himself, exactly, but he's starting to think he's into how very into them Lance is.

He climbs onto the bed and sets his hands on Lance's ankles; Lance shivers as Keith prods him into drawing his knees up and apart to make room for Keith between them.

Keith considers him as he slides his hands up Lance's calves and presses his palms against the insides of his knees, spreading him even further open. Lance's breath hitches as Keith runs his hands over his thighs. "I guess I can do anything I want with you now, huh?" he muses out loud, testing the waters. Lance shudders again, his cock twitching against his stomach. So, okay, that's good. Keith strokes a hand up to cup Lance's balls and Lance groans as Keith fondles them, watching the way Lance's lips are parted for the sounds he's making and the way he lifts his hips against Keith's hand, looking for more.

He groans again when Keith takes his hand away. "Keith…"

"Hey, now, I get to do what I want," Keith reminds him. "It's not like you can do anything about it right now, anyway."

Lance makes a sound almost like Keith has punched him; he rolls his hips up against the air, cock twitching against his stomach and smearing more wetness over his skin.

"Huh." Keith puts his hand down on Lance's hip, pressing his hips back down and pinning them against the mattress. "You like that?" He keeps that hand planted right where it is and runs the thumb of the other up the underside of Lance's cock, rubbing it just under the crown. "If I decide I want to drive you crazy, there's not a thing you can do about it. And you really like that."

Lance strains against his hand, practically whining. "Keith…"

Keith strokes a finger over the head of Lance's cock, teasing the slit. "That's not an answer," he says, curious to see whether Lance will answer him.

Lance bites down on his lower lip, making a hoarse sound as Keith draws his fingertip back and forth. That's its own kind of answer, so Keith shrugs it aside and lifts his hand away from Lance's cock. "Maybe you just like not knowing what I'm going to do next."

Lance's nipples are already pebbled hard, so all Keith has to do is reach up and rub the pad of this thumb over one. Lance shudders and then shouts when Keith pinches it lightly. "Keith…!"

Whatever it is Lance is getting out of this, Keith is starting to enjoy himself. It's not like he doesn't always enjoy himself with Lance, but there's something to be said for getting the chance to explore Lance's body at his leisure.

So that's what he does: he traces his hands over Lance's skin, feeling the twitch of lean muscle under sleek skin and finding the places that make Lance's breath catch in his throat when he touches them. Lance is always responsive, but like this, all it takes is the brush of Keith's fingers over his nipples to make him gasp or a flick of Keith's tongue across the crease of his hip to make him groan. When Keith pins his hips against the bed again, the bed shakes with how hard Lance shudders, and that's before Keith bites down on the inside of Lance's thigh, marking him there. Lance jerks against his hands, against his mouth, and moans his name.

Keith shivers himself with the open hunger in Lance's voice; God, it usually takes a lot longer to work Lance into the kind of state where he lets himself sound that needy. It's practically Pavlovian: Lance sounds desperate, and that reaches right inside Keith and hits all his buttons. Okay, then. If this is gonna go fast, fine.

Keith retrieves the lube from where he stashed it earlier, which means letting go of Lance's hips. Lance promptly tries to swivel them around far enough to rub against the mattress, which is a fairly impressive display of flexibility but not what Keith has in mind. "Stop that," he says, sharp, while fumbling with the lube, trying to get it uncapped so he can slick his fingers and get his hands back on Lance.

Lance stops. Holy shit, Lance stops, not without a suppressed whine, and twists himself around again to lie flat. Keith stares at him, honestly shocked, and doesn't recall himself until the lube drips over his fingers and splatters against his knee. "Jesus," he says as Lance ruts up against the air, teeth set against his bottom lip.

He forgets about being leisurely, forgets about his half-formed plan to drive Lance crazy, forgets everything except Lance and the desperate sounds he's making. Keith drops the lube and slides his hand under Lance, stroking his slick fingers between his cheeks and pressing. Lance arches taut, spreading his legs wider against the sheets and groaning as Keith sinks the first finger into him. "Please," he groans, body hot and tight around Keith. "God, please…"

"Yeah," Keith tells him, crooking his finger inside Lance and sliding his thumb up to rub tiny, firm circles just behind his balls.

That's all it takes; Lance shouts, hips bucking up against the air, hands fisted against the handcuffs as he comes all over his chest and stomach. Keith shudders at the picture Lance makes, spread out and abandoned, and fucks him through it, working a second finger into him when his body wants to wring down even tighter. Lance whines as he presses them deep and crooks them as he draws them back, dragging the tips over his prostate. "Keith…"

Keith twists his fingers inside him and Lance jerks, mouth falling open on a gasp. "I want to fuck you," he says, moving his fingers inside Lance steadily. "Can you take it if I do?"

"I can take anything you can dish out," Lance says—slurs, really, it comes out sounding like C'n take an'thing y'c'n dish out, but that's not important. What's important is the way he splays his legs open, rocking his hips into the movement of Keith's fingers inside him and the little protesting sound he makes when Keith pulls them free.

"Good," Keith tells him, slicking more lube over his cock and sliding his hands under Lance, lifting him up so he can push into him—God, Keith loses track of everything for a little bit, loses track of everything that isn't the fierce heat of Lance's body opening up around his cock or the rush of pleasure up his spine. He groans as he bottoms out inside Lance, and Lance is groaning too, head dropped back against the pillow, hectic color across his face and throat and chest. Keith leans over him, panting for breath against how good it is.

Then Lance breathes out his name like a prayer, like a plea, and Keith jerks against him in response. Lance gasps, tossing his head against Keith's pillow, and hooks his legs around Keith's hips, wrapping them around him and digging his heels into the small of Keith's back. "C'mon," he gasps, "c'mon, please—yes!"

Because Keith can't resist that, can't hold back when Lance is urging him on like that and he's on fire with how good Lance feels, how good he looks. He hitches Lance's hips higher and drives into him, fast and hard, groaning wordlessly with the heat that blazes up his spine every time he sinks home. Lance scrabbles at the handcuffs and their tether as Keith slams into him, gasping with each thrust. There's a blindfold covering his eyes and Keith has never seen his expression so open, so suffused with pleasure.

There's no way he's going to last long with Lance under him like this, so shameless and beautiful. Keith wraps his fingers around Lance's cock, messy and slick, and strokes him hard. "Do it," he pants as Lance writhes at the touch. "Come on, do it, I want you to come again for me, I want to feel it—"

The sound that tears out of Lance's throat is thin, practically keening, and he spills over Keith's fingers, entire body trembling as he comes apart again. Keith groans as Lance's body closes tight on him and lets the heat take him, fucking him in short, hard thrusts while Lance sobs for breath, until the balance tips. Orgasm shreds him open, whites out the world and everything outside his own skin, endless and all-encompassing until it passes, leaving him sprawled over Lance, nothing but static between his ears in its aftermath.

Lance's chest rises and falls under his own, quickly at first, then slowing, just the same as Keith's, until they're breathing almost in sync. Keith is tempted to stay like that in the drowsy, dazed afterglow—no. Lance is still all tied up.

The nice thing about Altean tech is that it's all just a little bit psychic, which means Keith only has to flail at the handcuffs a little before the anchors power down and Lance's hands drop to the pillow. He leaves them there, doesn't even move them while Keith fumbles with the catches of the cuffs themselves. The blindfold is even easier; Keith can just peel it off Lance's face and let it drop against the pillow. Then, exhausted by these exertions, he lets himself collapse against Lance again.

After a bit, Lance shifts an arm and drapes it across his shoulders, which is nice. Keith closes his eyes, perfectly content to let himself drift off to sleep.

Of course, Lance decides that's when he needs to open his big mouth. "So what else you got in your kinky bag of tricks?"

Keith considers pointing out that he's the one who should be asking Lance that question, but the hell with it. He's not in the mood for that argument. "That's for me to know and you to find out," he mumbles instead.

Lance huffs against his ear. "Oh, like that's not gonna have me imagining all kinds of perverted things."

Keith smiles. Well, smirks, really, since that's pretty much exactly what he wanted. "Knock yourself out. I'll tell you if you get close."

"You perv," Lance tells him, clearly pleased, and lifts his hand to stroke it over Keith's hair. Keith hums to him, closing his eyes and letting himself drift under the caress. When Lance starts speculating whether he might not want to try a second set of restraints for his ankles, Keith just smiles. And he listens to every word.


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