Title: Drink to That
Summary: It's always been clear that Shiro and Keith are close, but Lance hadn't realized they were this close.
Notes: Adult for smut; not compliant with season three. Illustrations by keithhawke.
Drink to That
Lance had asked about it once during that awful period when Shiro had been missing and Team Voltron had been falling apart at the seams: "So… you and Shiro. You two go back, huh?"
It wasn't the kind of thing he'd have asked Keith at all, normally, but at that point nothing was normal any more (if being a paladin of Voltron could ever be normal). Besides, he had two mitigating factors on his side: it was late, well past midnight, Castle-Ship Standard Time, and he'd just told Keith about Veradero and his mother's cooking, his older sister and bratty younger siblings, and Keith had looked—he'd looked sad.
Lance figured that was why Keith had actually answered the question instead of punching him or storming out (or punching him and then storming out).
Well, that and the fact that their new allies were also a species that used ethanol recreationally and had given Team Voltron a whole pallet of booze as a sign of their new alliance. Space beer smoothed the way for a lot of things, including late-night heart-to-hearts with one's eternal rival and current team leader who was falling apart at the seams. (Lance had seen this happen before, back at the Garrison, but the stakes were a whole lot higher now. The universe couldn't afford to have Keith self-destructing again, not when Voltron was already hanging by a thread. That was what Lance told himself, anyway, and ignored the part where he was honestly just worried about Keith.)
Even with the booze and the lateness of the hour and the confessional mood, the moment hung in the air, uncertain, before Keith scrubbed a hand over his face, shoulders slumping, and said, "Yeah. You could say that. I guess."
It was on the tip of Lance's tongue to ask for more, but this was Keith, not Hunk or Pidge, and peppering him with questions was one way to be sure of not getting any answers at all. So instead he took another drink of the space version of beer (fizzy, yeasty, kind of fruity, and much higher proof than Earth beer). "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Keith dropped his hand and smiled, tilted. It didn't reach his eyes. "We grew up together. Sort of." He waved a hand, describing a history that Lance didn't know. "I was—ten? Eleven? When I came to live with his family." His mouth tightened as he looked at something Lance couldn't see. "I bounced around the system a lot before I landed with them. I figured I wouldn't be there for long, either, but—you know Shiro. I bet you can picture what his parents are like. So I stayed."
It was just the bare bones of the story, Lance could tell that much by how much space there was in between Keith's words, by the tight lines drawn around his mouth and the bruised shadows under his eyes, and by the memory of an ace cadet spiraling out of control, crashing and burning and flaming out. "So he's kind of like your brother, then."
Keith huffed a short laugh. "Yeah. Something like that."
And that was something Lance could understand only too well. Family was family, and Keith didn't have just a whole lot of family, far as Lance knew.
So he reached over and gripped Keith's shoulder. "We'll find him," he promised.
Keith drew a breath and let it out. "I hope so," he said. "I hope so."
He didn't sound like he believed it.
But the universe decided to cut them a break, or cut Shiro a break, or maybe just bent around the unyielding nature of Shiro's dedication to his people, because they did get Shiro back from—honestly, Lance still wasn't quite sure where they got Shiro back from even after Coran and the princess and Slav all explained it with charts and pictures and arrows and everything. Pidge summed it up best when she pushed her glasses up her nose and said, "Ugh, more magical bullshit," in the same disgusted tones she used for talking about nature.
Lance would have thought she'd have been used to the magical bullshit by that point in the game, but then, Pidge had the soul of an engineer. She was probably going to complain about the magical bullshit until her dying day (touch wood that that'd be a long, long time in coming).
That was the only complaint anyone made, though, because it was infinitely more important that they had Shiro back—yeah, with more white in his hair and more lines around his eyes and mouth, maybe some more shadows in his eyes, but still Shiro, which was the important part. Keith lost the bags under his eyes and Allura handed off Black with a smile; Pidge's sense of humor lost its acid edge and Hunk was able to laugh again; Coran began telling improbable stories about Altea again.
And Lance felt his shoulders unknotting again, felt like the universe had settled back into its proper place again now that his little Voltron family was reunited.
It wasn't as though having Shiro back was any kind of guarantee of anything, because God knew that the Galra were as much in power as they'd ever been—how was it even fair that Zarkon's kid was even more annoying than his dad?—but Shiro made it a lot easier to believe that it wouldn't always be that way.
It wasn't the same as before, of course—well, how could it be? They'd all had to step out of their comfort zones while Shiro was missing, and Lance figured it was like unpacking a suitcase: once everything had been taken out, there was no way to make it all go back in again and fit the exact same way as before.
Which was what had led to him grabbing a couple bottles of space beer and swinging by Keith's room, since that was kind of a habit they'd gotten into while Shiro'd been missing and they'd all been doing what they could to keep Keith from falling apart. He palmed the door open without thinking twice and let himself in. "Hey, man, time to stop brooding and oh my God what the fuck is going on here?"
Shiro looked every bit as shocked as Lance felt, which hardly seemed fair when he was the one sitting on the edge of Keith's bunk with his fly open and Keith kneeling between his knees and sucking his cock. "Lance," he said, started to say. It came out more like Lan—ah! That was probably because of the way Keith had just swallowed him down, all the way to the root.
"What in the name of fuck," Lance said. "What are you doing?" Okay, even with his brain in the middle of rebooting after a fatal error, Lance knew that was a stupid question. Keith was clearly doing his level best to suck Shiro's brain out through his dick. Since Keith managed to be a prodigy at everything he tried, he was obviously succeeding. "Oh my God, I thought you guys were supposed to be like brothers!"
He'd heard Keith make that exact same exasperated sound more times than he could count, but now it was going to be associated forever with the indelible image of Shiro's cock sliding out of Keith's mouth. He curled his hand around the length of it and rubbed his thumb over the head (Shiro groaned and fisted his hands on Keith's blanket) as he turned a glare on Lance. "First, we're close. Second, either get the hell out of here or get over here and help me out already, Jesus."
"What," Lance said, brain sparking and starting the reboot process all over again.
"Pick one," Keith gritted out. "Get out or get naked, I don't even care, just pick one."
It might have been his imagination, but Lance would have sworn that he heard the sad little pinging sound his brain made when it gave up trying to process that. Well, it wasn't like he'd expected to have to deal with a break with reality, however sexy it happened to be. An invitation like that would have broken anyone's brain.
"Okay," Lance heard himself say. "Sure, why not?"
He came away from the door and put the space beers on Keith's desk.
"Huh," Keith said, like he was surprised but maybe also pleased. "I didn't think you'd actually have the balls to do it."
"Blow me, Keith," Lance retorted, shrugging out of his jacket and slinging over the chair.
"Get in line," Keith said, grinning, right before he guided Shiro's cock back into his mouth.
"Asshole," Lance said while Shiro groaned and cupped his human hand around the back of Keith's head. "Shiro, you weren't actually both raised by the same people, were you?"
Keith flipped him off without looking and Shiro laughed, breathless. "He still has a few rough edges, I guess. We did our best, though."
Keith flipped him off, too.
Yeah, okay, Lance didn't know why this was the porno his brain was using to choreograph his mental breakdown, but at least it was original.
Then Shiro crooked the fingers of his Galra hand at him and said, "Come here."
Lance gave up on thinking at that point, mostly because all the blood his poor broken brain needed to function had gone straight to his cock. He just about teleported the rest of the way to Keith's bed, where Shiro hooked his hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. Lance slid a knee onto the bed and leaned into him, bracing himself against Shiro's chest—God, he was so fucking solid, how was that even fair?
And Shiro hummed against his mouth, sliding his tongue past Lance's lips and taking advantage of Lance's surprise to map out every corner of his mouth.
Lance had kissed plenty of people before (no matter what Hunk might have said to the contrary), but he'd never been kissed like that, with such perfect assurance. Jesus, that was amazing—and then Shiro curled his hand around Lance's nape and squeezed. Lance moaned as his knees went weak, closing his eyes and leaning against Shiro.
Shiro took his weight easily, held him easily, and kept on kissing him, uttering throaty, pleased sounds against Lance's mouth—until he broke away and groaned.
Lance opened his eyes and saw that Shiro was leaning his head back, eyes shut as he groaned, and that was because Keith had swallowed him down again, had his mouth stretched around the base of Shiro's cock and his nose pressed against Shiro's stomach. He met Lance's gaze and the corners of his eyes crinkled right before he hummed around Shiro.
Shiro groaned his name and the line of his throat was right there—
Lance pressed his mouth to the arch of it, stroked his tongue over the flutter of Shiro's pulse to taste the salt on his skin. Shiro tightened the fingers on the back of his neck, rubbing his thumb along Lance's hairline, and Lance moaned against his throat with how good that felt. How the hell did something so simple feel so good?
Shiro groaned again, Keith's name, like a protest—oh, no wonder. Keith was pulling off him, was flicking his tongue over the head of Shiro's cock in little licks that he stopped as soon as Lance caught his eye. "Damn it, Keith, stop being such a tease—"
Keith ignored him and cocked an eyebrow at Lance. "You wanna turn?"
Lance's mouth (or his libido) answered before he could even think about it, or the fact that he'd never actually tried giving a blowjob before: "God, yes."
If Keith could do it, so could he.
Keith smirked and rocked back onto his heel and onto his feet in one unfairly smooth motion. "All right."
Reasoning that if Keith could do it, it couldn't be that hard (oh God, hard, hah!), Lance shrugged and said, "Yeah, okay."
He wasn't nearly as graceful about getting to his knees in front of Shiro, but whatever, it wasn't like he was a trained ninja, either.
That wasn't the important part, anyway—because the important part was the way Shiro's cock was right there in front of him, thick and still wet from Keith's mouth. Lance glanced up at Shiro, who was looking down at him and wearing a tiny smile. He tipped his chin to Lance like he was granting him permission, so Lance did his best to look like he knew exactly what he was doing when he wrapped his fingers around the shaft (hot and sleek against his palm, thicker than what he was used to handling) and leaned forward to guide the head of it into his mouth.
In all the times Lance had pictured doing this, he'd never quite managed to decide what it would be like to have someone's cock in his mouth. He hadn't expected it to feel so large or to stretch his jaw the way it did, or for the skin to feel so soft against his tongue, tasting of salt and bitterness.
Shiro reached down to him and slid his fingers through Lance's hair, which could have meant anything, Lance guessed as he tried sucking. That got Shiro to groan as he stroked his fingers through Lance's hair, so he was probably onto something with that and with tracing his tongue over Shiro, learning the shape and taste of him—Shiro sighed his name and looked pleased, as far as Lance could tell from beneath his eyelashes. He groaned again when Lance tried taking more of him in, and that was—that was way hotter than Lance would have expected it to be, if he'd ever thought about it. But it was his mouth causing Shiro to make that sound, his tongue that Shiro's cock was sliding over, sleek and heavy, and when he sucked, it made Shiro curl his fingers in his hair, grip tight enough to make Lance's eyes water.
Shiro loosened his grip almost immediately. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—not without asking if that's something you like."
Which only seemed weird to Lance for a second before he got it—Keith liked having his hair pulled.
Lance groaned before the thought had finished stringing itself together inside his skull, because it came with a really nice mental image of Shiro's hands fisted in Keith's hair, and God, that was a hell of a picture.
Shiro took that for assent, or something like it, and threaded his fingers into Lance's hair again, holding him, and yeah, Lance could go along with that. He let the weight of Shiro's hand guide him forward, had to relax his jaw so that Shiro could slide deeper into his mouth, crowding it so full that he had a flash of panic—it was too much, how in the world was he supposed to take all of Shiro's cock just like that? But the pressure of Shiro's hand eased at almost the same moment, before Lance had even begun to flail a hand out to catch Shiro's knee in protest. Shiro tugged at his hair, the gesture almost gentle—oh. Lance let Shiro guide him back up, relaxing as the length of his cock slipped out of his mouth, and then back down again. That was almost like Shiro was fucking his mouth, and that was enough to pull another groan out of Lance, enough to make him reach down to cup himself through his jeans against the pulse of heat.
Somewhere over his head, Keith said, "Huh," in a thoughtful tone—Jesus, he'd been so taken up with sucking Shiro's cock that he'd managed to forget all about Keith.
And Keith had gotten naked in that interim, which became clear when he slid a knee onto the bunk and reached for Shiro, catching Shiro's face in his hands and tipping it up to his for a kiss. Shiro closed his eyes and all but purred into Keith's mouth as he slid his hand down the bare line of Keith's back and curved it around his ass, giving it a squeeze. Keith leaned into him, perfectly unselfconscious, biting at Shiro's lower lip and arching against Shiro's hand on his ass with a pleased little murmur of sound. He was right there, close enough to touch, his cock hard, jutting out, and Lance—Lance wanted. God, he wanted.
He was lifting his hand before he even let himself think about it, reaching up and running his thumb up the underside of Keith's cock and curling his fingers around him. Keith gasped, pulling away from Shiro's mouth with a startled curse as he rolled his hips against the loose circle of Lance's fingers. "Fuck…!" He looked down at Lance, eyebrows quirked, though his expression lost some of its focus when Lance tried his thumb over the head of him. "Huh," he said again, still in that thoughtful tone. "Well, okay, then."
Shiro rumbled a laugh. "I know that tone. That's your I'm about to do something insane tone."
"Yeah, well, what else is new?" Keith retorted; there was a husky burr in his voice, a hitch that matched the way Lance was touching him. "I think you should fuck him."
Lance shuddered, blinking his eyes shut against how casually Keith said that, all with that thoughtful, considering expression on his face. God.
"Oh, you do, do you?" Shiro sounded amused; when Lance peeked at him, he was smiling at Keith, indulgent.
Keith nodded. "Yeah. While he's sucking me off." He tossed it off like a challenge, just enough doubt in his tone to make it clear that he didn't think Lance would go for it.
Lance really hoped that Keith didn't actually think he was that easy to manipulate. And yet he was pulling off Shiro's cock to say, "Yeah, okay." So maybe he was that easy. Whatever. It didn't count if he was choosing to play along, right? Right. So that was that.
There was no call for Shiro to snort like that, no call at all.
Lance retaliated by wrapping his off hand around him and pumping him firmly. Handling them both was a little like trying to rub his head and pat his stomach at the same time, but he had made a point of learning how to do that, so. Lance could make this work, too.
Keith certainly went heavy-lidded as Lance fisted his cock; Shiro made another of those deep, rumbly sounds, so yeah. Lance was just that good. Not that they gave him much time to show off. Shiro ran his hand up Keith's spine and tangled it in his hair, tugging Keith down to his mouth. God, the way they looked together, all lazy, comfortable familiarity with each other's spaces—it was enough to make Lance's mouth run dry even before Shiro murmured, "Get him ready for me, Keith," right into Keith's mouth.
"All right," Keith said after trading another of those long, sloppy kisses with him. "I guess I can do that."
He pulled away from Shiro and stretched his arms over his head, arching his back—Lance didn't know where to look, at the slim pale line of Keith's body or at the small, soft curve of Shiro's smile as he watched Keith. Both caught at him, lodged under his ribs and tugged.
The moment passed; Keith relaxed and batted Lance's hand away from his cock. "Why am I the only one who's naked? C'mon, you two are falling behind."
"Bossy," Shiro said, amused. "When did you get so bossy?"
"Maybe when some asshole I know fucked off and left me in charge," Keith retorted.
Lance bit the inside of his cheek at the acid edge of the words; he could feel the moment teetering on the precipice, about to plunge over the edge into something sour. There was only one thing he could think of to do, so he did it: "Yeah, you've got no one to blame for that but yourself, Shiro. Some people totally lose their heads if you give them power." He pulled off the most mournful face he could manage when both of them were still giving him startled looks, like they'd forgotten he was there for a minute. (Which, rude, considering he was still jerking Shiro off, but also, maybe, sort of understandable.) "You don't know how we suffered, Shiro. He went crazy with power. He was drunk with it. A complete tyrant. It was—"
"Do you even hear the bullshit that comes out of your mouth?" Keith asked him, but he didn't sound annoyed. Exasperated, maybe, with a touch of amusement, but not angry.
Lance ignored him and shook his head at Shiro, whose mouth was twitching just a bit. "Mad with power, I'm telling you."
"I'll show you mad," Keith said, right before he pounced on Lance, knocking him over and settling astride his hips while Lance was still trying to figure out why he was staring at the ceiling instead of Shiro.
"Hey," he started, but Keith did two things to stop the words in his throat: first, he grabbed the hem of Lance's shirt and dragged it up, and Lance had to deal with a faceful of cotton and the resulting tangle of arms and sleeves while Keith stripped it off him. Second, Keith shifted his weight and bored down against Lance's cock; the resulting bolt of heat destroyed any hope Lance might have had of being coherent. He rocked up against Keith's weight mindlessly, preoccupied with that wash of toe-curling sensation instead of the indignity of how easily Keith had just knocked him over and started undressing him.
Keith moved with him, maintaining his balance with offensive ease as he tossed Lance's shirt aside. "Huh," he said again, which—Lance was going to make him explain what was going on beneath that tragic haircut, really he was, but later, after lust wasn't humming in his veins quite so loudly.
Keith settled his weight back again and huffed a breath when Lance whined in protest. (And what the fuck, he had Keith naked and straddling his hips, how the hell had that even happened? And Shiro was leaning back on his Galra hand and had his human hand wrapped around his cock as he watched them, which was—okay, yeah, very hot and also very improbable, right?)
Keith didn't give him the time to figure out the relative likelihood of anything; after a moment of laying that inscrutable expression on him, he shrugged it aside and reached for Lance's fly, holy shit yes. Lance squeezed his eyes shut at the relief as Keith unfastened his jeans and dragged them down with his underwear, but that was nothing to the way it felt when Keith wrapped his hand around his cock and stroked him—his hand was strange, hard and calloused in places that Lance's own hands weren't (because unlike some people, Lance knew what a pumice stone and a good moisturizer were for and how to used them). Lance groaned, trying to rock up against Keith's grip and unable to thanks to the way Keith was pinning his legs to the floor. "Fuck."
"Something like that," Keith agreed, way too self-satisfied for Lance's peace of mind, not that Lance had much of a mind while Keith was playing with his cock like it was his new favorite toy. But two could play that game.
Lance really liked the look of surprise on Keith's face when he pushed himself up, even if Keith still managed to keep his balance when he did, and he really liked the shocked sound that came out of Keith's throat when he hooked a hand around the back of his neck and hauled him close enough to seal their mouths together. (Was that crossing a line? Lance suspected that it was, going by how startled Keith seemed to be, but it wasn't like Keith wasn't opening his mouth and sucking on Lance's tongue, so it was probably okay. Probably.)
Keith wrapped his other arm around Lance's back and pulled him closer, still fisting his cock, which—no, anything Keith could do, Lance could too. He tangled his hand in Keith's hair (say this for the mullet: it was good for grabbing) and dropped his hand down between them to where Keith's cock was bumping against his stomach.
Keith groaned, or maybe the growled, the harmonics were kind of weird against Lance's mouth when Lance got his hand around him. He tightened his own fingers, working them over Lance faster and harder. Oh, it was so on. Lance groaned into Keith's mouth as pleasure flared at the pit of his stomach, shuddering with how good it was, and matched Keith stroke for stroke. Keith groaned too and flexed his hand against Lance's back, digging his nails into the meat of Lance's shoulder, and fuck. That sudden sharp ache caught Lance by surprise, twined with the heavy hot feeling at the pit of his stomach, and overwhelmed him. He pulled away from Keith's mouth, tossing his head back as he came all over Keith's fingers and stomach, pleasure lighting him up from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet.
As he relaxed, slumping against Keith without quite deciding to do so, Shiro said, tone mild, "Did we have a change of plans?"
"Nah," Keith said while Lance panted against his shoulder. "Betcha anything he'll be ready to go again in a minute."
"Yeah, sure, totally," Lance agreed, a little too dazed to worry about the fact that he was agreeing with Keith without even a token argument. "Wait, what?"
Keith snorted. "You did still want Shiro to fuck you, right?"
"Does a garblax fart nieonium?" Lance said.
"Uh." Keith paused; Lance lifted his head in time to see him exchanging baffled glances with Shiro. "I… don't know. Does it?"
Lance rolled his eyes. "Yes, of course it does, don't you ever listen to the shit Coran says?"
"I find that I sleep better at night if I don't," Keith told him.
Lance considered some of Coran's stories and had to admit that that wasn't always a bad strategy. Whatever. "Your loss, dude. Anyway. Yes, Shiro, me, fucking, I'm totally on board with that, let's make this happen." He gave them both a grin and hoped like hell that neither of them could tell he'd never actually gotten that far with anyone besides his own hand.
"Told you so," Keith said, aiming it Shiro's direction, before he poked Lance's shoulder. "Why aren't you naked yet?"
"It might be because you're sitting on him," Shiro said, clearly amused, and no lie, hearing Shiro giving Keith shit about anything even this, was really damn good to hear, considering—well, considering.
Keith flipped him off on his way back up to his feet and then put his hands on his hips. "Why aren't you naked yet, either?"
Lance might have been busy pushing his jeans and underwear the rest of the way down his legs, but he still caught the way Shiro's mouth tightened and the way he flicked his eyes—what, at him? That didn't make sense—or maybe it did. Lance kicked his jeans off and leaned back on his hands, doing his best not to be self-conscious about being naked (with carnal intent) in front of Shiro. "Fair's fair, we're both naked. It's totally your turn."
Another moment of hesitation, then Shiro inclined his head. "I guess it is." He still didn't move right away; if Lance hadn't known any better, he'd have said Shiro was steeling himself before he finally stripped out of the vest and that long-sleeved undershirt he favored when he wasn't wearing his armor.
And yeah, it was bad. Even expecting some scarring, Lance was taken aback by the sheer extent of it—the way the old cuts and gouges showed in puckered, raised ridges, like the Galra had barely bothered to sew Shiro up after his fights in the arena. Or maybe they hadn't, and those clumsy stitches were Shiro's own efforts. Lance could see it going either way, though this wasn't the time to go into all that, not when Shiro looked—no, call it what it was. Not when Shiro looked so vulnerable. There wasn't any point in pretending that he wasn't looking, but maybe there was a way to spin it. Lance looked and slid his hand down between his thighs, cupping his cock and working his fingers over the oversensitive length of it, already starting to fill again. "That's getting there."
He wasn't sure it would work, but luck (or lust, or something) was with him: Shiro relaxed, all in the subtle loosening of his shoulders and the way the corners of his mouth quirked as he dropped the shirt on Keith's floor. "It's not a race, Lance."
Keith hummed, distinctly thoughtful. "But I bet it could be," he said as he stepped to the head of his bunk and pulled something—a bottle or a tube, no, a weird Altean cross between the two—out from under the pillow.
"What, stripping?" Lance asked at the same time Shiro sighed, "I am not going to let you turn sex into a competition."
Lance blinked, distracted from the way Keith was weight that bottle thing in his palm—competitive sex? How would that work, exactly?
Keith pulled a face at Shiro. "You never let me have any fun." Then he shrugged and pointed at Lance. "C'mere."
Lance eyed him. "Why?"
Keith rolled his eyes. "Why do you think? Or did you want Shiro to fuck you tight?"
Oh. Right. Lance cleared his throat. "Not tonight, thanks." He just hoped that he'd managed the right airy tone for that to come across like he had all the experience in the world.
Keith didn't seem to care. He just snapped his fingers at Lance all impatience. "Well, come on, then."
"…right." Lance pushed himself to his feet and surveyed the room. "So how are we doing this?"
Keith bounced the bottle of what had to be lube in his palm a couple of times and then jerked his head. "Like this."
There followed an interval of choreography as Keith dictated how Lance and Shiro were to arrange themselves. Shiro shucked off the rest of his clothes and leaned against the head of the bunk; Keith more or less shoved Lance into his lap before crawling onto the bed after them and settling between their legs. He uncapped the lube and poured it over his fingers, but Shiro caught Lance's chin before he could do more than register what that meant. He coaxed Lance around enough to be able to kiss him again, every bit as intently as he'd been kissing Keith.
It would have taken much more willpower than Lance actually had to resist that. He swayed into Shiro, leaning against him and parting his lips for the sweep of Shiro's tongue, and was taken up enough by that that the sensation of Keith's fingers sliding between his legs shocked him.
There was no way either of them missed how he tensed, but the only thing that happened was that Shiro cradled the back of his neck, squeezing it, and stroked his other hand, the Galra hand (warmer than it should have been, smoother than it should have been) over Lance's ribs and hips, down and up, back down again, slow and sure. And Keith rubbed his fingers back and forth, the touch slow and stunningly immediate as it dragged across sensitive skin.
Lance shut his eyes, exhaling raggedly against Shiro's mouth and let the slow movement of their hands soothe him back down again.
When he was leaning against Shiro again, when each leisurely back and forth of Keith's fingers had begun to twist heat low in his gut, Keith pressed.
Lance groaned—not with surprise at the stretch, but at how different it was to be at the mercy of someone else's fingers, not knowing what to expect or how Keith meant to proceed.
Steadily, it seemed; he never quite stopped moving, working the first finger into him and then the second, rocking them back and forth and never—quite—letting Lance acclimate before going for more, a twist of his wrist or a flex of his fingers when they were buried to the knuckles inside him. Lance had to wrap an arm around Shiro's shoulders just to hang on to his own sanity, because God, it was overwhelming, better than fucking himself on his own fingers for sure.
By the time Keith had three fingers in him, stretching him hard, he was panting for breath against Shiro's mouth, squirming between the two of them with the aching want that had seized him. Keith hummed something considering, and curled his fingers, stroking them right over Lance's prostate. Lance shouted at the white-hot stab of sensation, bucking on his fingers, and Keith said, "I think he's ready to go, don't you?"
Shiro laughed, husky against Lance's mouth. "It kind of sounds like it. Lance?"
"So ready," Lance managed right before Keith crooked his fingers and dragged them out of him. "Fuck…!"
"All right," Keith said, "finally."
Lance would have taken exception to that normally, but he was too preoccupied by the way Shiro had taken hold of him, was pressing him forward while Keith scooted himself backwards, which mean—yeah, they really were going to do this. Jesus.
Keith passed the lube off to Shiro and caught Lance by the upper arms, tugging him forward onto his knees. "This'll work best," he said, leaning in and pressing their mouths together, all quick and casual. And behind him, Shiro uttered a groan so deep Lance would have sworn that he could feel it vibrating in his bones. The throaty purr of it came with soft, slick sounds, which meant—Lance groaned against Keith's mouth, shuddering as he pictured Shiro behind him, stroking lube over his cock.
Keith pulled back, dragging Lance along with him, until Lance overbalanced enough that he fell forward onto his hands. He sucked in a breath when he felt Shiro's hands on his hips and let it out again on a stuttering sigh when Shiro leaned over him and kissed his shoulder. "Just relax for me," he murmured, large and warm and solid against Lance's back. Which was easy for him to say; Lance was the one who could feel the thickness of Shiro's cock sliding against his ass. But Shiro kissed the nape of his neck, mouth soft and wet against his skin, and stroked his thumbs over Lance's hips slowly. Lance took another breath and let it out, slow, because fuck, this was Shiro—if a guy couldn't trust Shiro, he couldn't trust anybody. "Yeah," he said, though Shiro hadn't really asked a question. Shiro seemed to get what he meant by it; Lance's nerves were sensitized enough that he felt the movement of Shiro's lips as he smiled against Lance's nape, and then—
Lance lost track of things for a little bit as all his world narrowed down to one thing, the blunt head of Shiro's cock pushing against him, pushing into him, the stretch singing sweet and sharp up Lance's spine as Shiro rocked into him, God. His breath hitched in his throat on the sounds he was making, little wordless sounds that he couldn't control, not with Shiro sinking into him, heavy and hard, filling him up.
When the intensity of it had eased enough that he could—almost—think, Shiro was seated fully inside him, pressed all along the line of Lance's back and bracing himself against the bed with his Galra hand and supporting Lance by wrapping the other arm around him. And Keith was stroking his fingers through Lance's hair, slow and—and—reassuring, that was what it felt like, which ought to have been offensive but somehow managed not to be. "God," Lance managed, hearing his own voice all strangled and rough.
Keith huffed a soft laugh; the look on his face was a knowing one. "Yeah."
Shiro stroked his hand over Lance's chest. "You good?" he asked, his breath hot against Lance's ear, and flex his hips against Lance just a bit.
Even that tiny movement was enough to make Lance see stars as Shiro moved inside him. He shifted back, moaning in answer, and felt the way Shiro's arm tightened around him.
"Good," Shiro said, right before he drew back and rocked into Lance again.
Lance moaned with the slow back and forth drag of Shiro's cock moving inside him, so much thicker and deeper than fingers could manage to get, so much more intense. Shiro groaned too, setting a slow pace, one that had him pulling almost all the way out before sinking home again. That alternating fullness and emptiness drove the breath out of Lance on wordless sounds, left him trying to rock himself back onto the thickness of Shiro's cock, but Shiro kept his arm around him, holding him in place for each slow, brutally deep roll of his hips.
Shiro pressed forward, burying himself in Lance, grinding against him, and bit his ear. "Weren't you supposed to be doing something with your mouth?" he asked, which—Lance had no idea how Shiro was able to string together a coherent sentence like that, but—yeah, there was that.
Keith was fisting his own cock slowly, still petting Lance's hair at the same time. Since when did Keith know how to be patient, anyway?
That was a mystery to solve later.
Lance let Shiro's next thrust rock him forward, let himself sink down onto his forearms, and managed to swipe a wet, messy stripe up Keith's cock. Keith groaned and curled his fingers in Lance's hair, scraping blunt nails over his scalp. "Fuck…"
Shiro slid his arm lower, wrapping it around Lance's hips and anchoring him—yeah, the next time he rolled his hips forward, it didn't rock Lance forward. He had to take the full force of it, which drove sensation straight up his spine. He groaned, breathless with how good that was, and groaned again as Keith guided his cock over his lips. He leaned down, or let Keith press him down, and opened his mouth so Keith could slide into it, hot against his tongue, tasting different from Shiro, shaped differently, in ways that Lance was in no way capable of quantifying at the present moment.
Keith groaned his name as Lance closed his lips around him and sucked, and Shiro drew back and rocked into him again. Lance gave up on thinking and had to just let himself become a creature of sensation, caught and held between the two of them as they fucked him, used him, and that shouldn't have been as mindblowingly hot as it really was. Keith caught him and cradled Lance's face in his hand as he fucked his mouth, sliding heavy and hot over Lance's tongue and stretching his jaw with how deep he pushed—though never too deep—and Shiro fucked him steadily, never quite stopping inside him for long enough to let Lance do more than moan around Keith at the unrelenting ripple of pleasure running through him.
Then Shiro shifted, pushing himself back, peeling away from Lance's back. Lance moaned a protest at the loss of Shiro's heat against his skin, but Shiro set his hands on Lance's hips, tugging them up. The next time he sank into Lance, it was harder, at an angle that sent raw pleasure stabbing through Lance, whiting out his vision with how intense it was. Then he did it again, and again, snapping his hips into Lance and hitting that spot each time until Lance was fisting a hand in the blankets, gripping Keith's knee for dear life, for any kind of anchor against the way raw sensation was winding him tighter and tighter.
Keith gripped his hair, rocking his cock against Lance's mouth in shorter, faster movements. Lance could hear him groaning too, open and urgent, matching the deep sounds coming out of Shiro's throat, and God, it was so much, so good, that Lance was going to break open with how much it was, was going to shatter into pieces with the tension singing through him, was surely going to die if something didn't give, and soon—
Keith dug his nails into Lance's scalp and shouted, his cock pulsing against Lance's tongue, flooding his mouth as he arched—God, he had his head thrown back, eyes closed and face flushed with pleasure as he came, nothing like Lance had ever seen before.
Before Keith had even finished, Shiro pulled Lance's hips higher and drove into him, sharp and hard and fast. Lance cried out, shocked by the sudden fierce rhythm pulling him taut, so close to what he needed, so close but not enough. He didn't even realize until later that he was pleading for more as Keith's cock slipped out of his mouth, begging for something, anything, more as Shiro slammed into him, desperate for something more than the lightning streaking along his nerves with every one of those punishing thrusts, until Shiro moved a hand to palm his cock.
Heat swept Lance down again, rolling everything down beneath it, utterly relentless as it washed through him. He shouted, or wailed, or something as he came again, shaking with the force of it, with the way Shiro kept fucking him in spite of how his body was wringing tight around his cock, until Shiro clenched a hand bruisingly tight on Lance's hip and jerked against him, Jesus, Lance could feel Shiro coming, cock twitching inside him.
There was nothing Lance could do except moan as aftershocks of heat juddered through him, nothing except sprawl against the bed, his cheek pillowed against Keith's thigh, until Shiro let go of him and he could collapse the rest of the way down. Shiro followed him, sliding himself down against the wall at Lance's side with a groan.
Lance was perfectly content with that and closed his eyes, every part of him aching with how well he'd been used.
It figured that Keith had to be the one to ruin things by deciding to move.
At least he had the decency to ease Lance off his thigh, down to the blankets, before swinging himself out of the bunk. His bare feet were soundless against the deck, but after a moment, Lance heard the near-silent sound of a door sliding open, and then the sound of running water. He managed to crack an eye open in time to see Keith come padding back with a pair of towels, one wet and the other dry, the point of which didn't become clear until Keith started wiping him down.
"What the hell?" Lance croaked—Jesus, his throat felt like raw meat. Just how much shouting had he been doing? Keith didn't bother answering, or asking permission either before—Lance felt his fact go hot. "Keith."
Shiro stirred against his side and kissed his shoulder. "Hush."
That was easy for him to say. Keith wasn't—wasn't—oh. He was.
Huh. That was—was that normal? For after sex things? Lance's education hadn't really covered post-coital etiquette, and Lance had never felt an educational gap so keenly. What was he supposed to do now, anyway? His instincts said that there was probably a walk of shame in his near future, but… Shiro had just slid an arm around him and didn't seem like he planned on letting go.
Keith, meanwhile, had pitched the soiled towels down the laundry hole. He grabbed one of the space beers off his desk and came back to the bunk, grabbing the pillow and wedging it behind his shoulders as he settled again.
That left Lance pinned between the two of them as Keith thumbed the cap off the bottle and took a drink, looking about as content as Lance had ever seen him.
"What's that?" For that matter, Shiro sounded pretty damn content, too.
Keith took another drink. "Space beer," he reported after he'd swallowed.
Lance felt Shiro lift his head. "Space beer?" Huh, that was right, Shiro wouldn't know about the space beer, what with the being missing while they had negotiated with the Vongola and all.
"Or the next best thing," Keith said. He pulled the bottle away when Shiro made to grab it. "Hey, this is mine, get your own."
"Oh, come on, share." Shiro—wow. Shiro was pouting. It was clearly a night for all sorts of new experiences. "Please?"
Keith appeared to think it over. Then he shook his head. "Nope." And he took another drink.
Shiro heaved a sigh and flopped down. "You're the worst."
"Uh," Lance said. "I brought two bottles?" He wriggled out from between the two of them and went to grab the second bottle. He offered it to Shiro. "Here."
Who would have thought that it could be so easy to make Shiro smile? He sat up and crossed his legs as he accepted the bottle; once he got it open, he took a long drink and made a positively indecent sound as he did.
Right. So this was probably as good a time as any to get dressed and start his walk of shame—
Shiro tipped his head and patted the blankets. "Well, aren't you going to sit back down?" He offered the bottle back to Lance. "Unlike some people, I know how to share."
Or maybe he could wait a little longer on that walk of shame, Lance decided. He took a seat as prompted; Shiro immediately pulled him close before handing off the bottle. Lance took a drink; the beer had gone a little warm, but still tasted pretty good.
When he lowered the bottle, Keith was watching him. "Next time you should bring three bottles."
Lance took a breath and let it out again as he handed the bottle back to Shiro, and let himself lean against him. "Okay," he said. "I will."
Many thanks to the Voltron Big Bang mods for their work in organizing all this, and also to my artist keithhawke for the art and the banner!