[fic] VLD - Team Efforts

[lysapadin]

Title: Team Efforts
Characters/Pairings: Shiro/Keith/Lance
Summary: The one with three iterations of dp.
Notes: Smut comma nothing but. 7500 words.
~~~~~~~~~~
Team Efforts

"For heaven's sake, you're like a twig, you'll snap in half," Keith says, which is about the time that Shiro realizes that yep, they are definitely going to end up doing this.

The reason for this realization draws himself up to his full height, throws his chest out—it reminds Shiro of a cat trying to make itself look bigger—and throws his arms wide. "I am not like a twig!" Lance gestures at his body. "How do you look at all this and think twig, huh?"

"Pretty easily," Keith says flatly. "It'll never work, okay?"

Lance grins—okay, no, that's not quite right. He's baring his teeth, that's what he's doing. "Wanna bet?"

"On whether you can take two cocks without splitting in half? No, not really." Keith sounds bored, but Shiro isn't fooled. There's definitely a spark of heat in Keith's eyes. He's thinking about it, no matter what he happens to be saying.

"You just don't want to admit that you're wrong." Lance punctuates the accusation by poking Keith's chest.

"I'm not wrong. Stop poking me."

"You're so wrong." Lance prods him again. "And too scared to admit it."

"All right, so what happens when I'm right and you admit that this is a terrible idea?" Keith captures Lance's hand when he goes for another poke and raises his eyebrows. "What's in it for me?"

Lance tugs, but apparently Keith's grip is too tight for him to free his hand. "You get to say I told you so as often as you want. And I won't argue about it."

Keith snorts. "You won't argue when I point out that I was right all along? That'll be the day."

"Paladin's honor." Lance raises his free hand. "If you're right, which you won't be, but if you should by some miracle be right about this, I will let you lecture me about how right you were and never say a word about it."

Keith purses his lips. "If you go back on your word, you take all my cleaning duties for a month."

"I won't go back on my word because I'm right, but okay, sure. Why not?" Lance grins, for real this time. "Do we have a deal?"

"I guess so. It's not my ass at stake, anyway." Keith turns loose of Lance's hand and they shake on the bargain.

Lance promptly turns an expectant gaze on Shiro. "So am I going to have to talk you into this, too?"

Ah, so Lance isn't going to take his participation for granted after all. "No, but I do have a condition."

Lance narrows his eyes, suitably wary. "And that is…?"

"You have to promise me that if it does turn out to be too much, you'll call the whole thing off. I don't want you hurting yourself because you don't want to lose your bet."

Lance's expression softens (Keith's goes faintly horrified). "Yeah, I promise. I'm an adrenaline junky, not a masochist."

"Just remember that," Shiro tells him. "Please."

Lance smiles. "Yeah, I will. Promise." Then he brightens. "So let's get this show on the road, huh?"

"Utterly insane," Keith mutters, but good-naturedly, and follows Lance in the direction of their bedroom.

Lance is already stripping by the time the door slides shut behind Shiro, his grin bright with anticipation—and he has been anticipating this. The blankets are turned down and one of the heavy sheets that Lance calls their sex sheets is already spread out across the mattress. There's even a stack of towels with a bottle of lube perched on top within easy reach of the bed.

"Self-confident much, Lance?" Keith asks, as amused as Shiro feels.

Lance just drops himself onto the bed, spreading his knees shamelessly wide and cupping his cock. "Just doing my fair share. If you two end up doing your jobs right, there's no way I'm gonna be in any shape to move once you're done with me."

"That's very thoughtful of you, Lance," Shiro says with as much solemnity as he can manage when all he really wants to do is smile with the affection that threatens to overwhelm him.

"What do you mean, if we do our jobs right?" Keith is skinning out of his clothes, too, quick and efficient about it. "When have we ever not managed to fuck you silly?"

Lance's grin ticks wider. "There's a first time for everything, Mullet. Admit it, you're a little worried you're not gonna be able to pull this off."

"You've got that the wrong way around," Keith informs him, right before climbing onto the bed and settling between Lance's knees. He takes Lance's face between his hands and kisses him.

Shiro lets himself smile now that they're preoccupied with one another's mouths, Lance a lithe frame for Keith's more compact form, Keith's fingers splayed against Lance's jaw with heedless affection, Lance's hand smoothing over the curve of Keith's spine. Anyone would be beyond lucky to watch the two of them together, sharing each other's space as naturally as breathing. God alone knows what Shiro has done to deserve the two of them, because he certainly can't fathom it himself.

Maybe this is the kind of thing they mean when they talk about grace.

Shiro takes his time undressing, perfectly happy to watch Keith and Lance together and equally certain that even as taken up with each other as they are, eventually—

Keith breaks away from Lance's mouth and looks around. "I don't think you're supposed to be sitting this one out, Shiro."

"I wasn't planning on it." Shiro leaves his stack of abandoned clothes to join them.

Lance tips his head back, his lips red and slick and his eyes dark. Shiro can't resist the impulse and stoops to kiss him. Lance hums into his mouth, kissing him languidly until Shiro draws back. Then he smiles. "So I think you should hold me for this, and then Keith can join in."

"I was wondering whether you'd thought that far ahead." Shiro strokes his fingers through Lance's hair, smoothing it back. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you have."

Lance grins and sits up to make room for Shiro at his back. "Trust me, I've been thinking about this for a while."

"I was starting to get that impression." Shiro slides himself in against Lance's back, shifting around until he's leaning comfortably against the head of the bed, and lifts Lance into his lap. Lance shudders in his hands and Keith's eyes go dark with heat—they do like it when he reminds them how easily he can manhandle them. "What's next on the agenda?"

Lance leans his head back against Shiro's shoulder, making himself comfortable. "Well, first Keith works me open so that you can fuck me, then he keeps going until he can join in."

"Or you realize that you're insane and call the whole thing off," Keith reminds him. He's reaching for the lube anyway.

"You always underestimate me," Lance says, airy.

That's not going to be a fruitful line of conversation. Shiro elects to forestall it by applying his mouth to the side of Lance's throat and his hands to Lance's skin, sliding them down over his legs to pull them up and spread them across his lap.

Lance goes obediently pliant and groans, wordless, when Keith reaches slick fingers under him. Keith huffs, soft. "You're so easy."

"I'm always easy for the two of you." Shiro can feel Lance bearing down on Keith's fingers, pressing his hips down to meet the stroke of them. "Always have been, always will be."

Keith doesn't say anything to that, but the corner of his mouth kicks up, tiny and pleased, before he leans into Lance's space to kiss him.

Lance tangles a hand in Keith's hair, keeping him close so they can keep trading kisses while he moves between the two of them, uttering low, pleased sounds to go with the tiny, wet noises of Keith working his fingers in and out of him. For his part, Shiro is more than happy to run his hands over the long muscles of Lance's thighs, stroking the tension out of them while he watches them kiss, the way their mouths slide and fit together as Lance's lashes flutter over his eyes and Keith's gleam with how intent he is. They're so unbelievably good together, so lovely to watch and to hold, that he can barely contain his awe, can only pour it out in the kisses that he presses into Lance's throat and shoulders.

For all his skepticism, Keith doesn't hesitate to commit. By the time he draws back from Lance's mouth to say, "I think he's ready for you, Shiro," Shiro has littered Lance's throat and shoulders with rosy bruises and Lance is panting for breath between them, nearly quivering.

"Beyond ready," he agrees, voice gone rough. "C'mon, please…"

"Hang on, you lunatic." Keith darts in to kiss him again, quick and sweet. Shiro loses track of Lance's retort because Keith also manages to get sloppy-wet fingers on his cock at the same time. He can't help rocking into the wet circle of Keith's fingers, groaning with the jolt of sensation. Keith huffs one of his short laughs. "Think you're ready for him, too, huh?"

"Yeah," Shiro agrees, breathless, as he slides his hands down to Lance's hips. "Keith, if you don't mind…" He lifts Lance, who groans, wanting, and Keith guides Shiro's cock against him, lining him up so he can pull Lance down onto it.

Lance groans again, and Shiro does too, pleasure flaring up his spine as he sinks into Lance, hot and dripping wet—Keith is nothing if not thorough.

Lance catches at Shiro's wrist, reaches back and grips his shoulder, as gravity bears him down on Shiro's cock. "God—God, that's good."

Shiro hums his agreement, breathless, and moves his hips in tiny circles just for the way it makes Lance dig his fingers into the meat of his shoulder and scrabble against the metal wrist of the prosthetic.

Keith watches them, eyes hot, and wets his lips. "Are you sure this isn't enough for you?" he asks, and—Jesus, he's running his fingers over Lance; Shiro can feel his knuckles brushing against the base of his cock as he moves them back and forth.

Lance must be exquisitely sensitive there. He jerks against Shiro's hands, swearing and shuddering, and Shiro has to move his hand down, bracing it against the back of his thigh to hold him in place. "Keith!"

"Well, are you?" Keith asks. It's one of the meaner tricks Shiro's seen him play—he's still stroking his fingers against Lance. Expecting Lance to give him a coherent answer right now is expecting a lot.

But then, Lance does like challenges. He rests his head against Shiro's shoulder and rasps, "Fuck yes, I'm sure, give it to me."

"You're the one who has to explain it to Allura if we need to pop you into a healing pod," Keith says at the same time Shiro feels him sliding a finger into Lance, slow and relentless.

Shiro sucks in a breath with the slide, the extra pressure against his cock, and Lance groans from deep in his chest. "Fuck… fuck, Keith, yes…"

In the corner of his brain that's still capable of rational thought, Shiro decides that Keith is going to lose this bet. Lance is too eager for more, even though the stretch must be a fierce one.

Keith may have come to that conclusion himself, but he doesn't seem to mind. He's intent on Lance, lower lip caught between his teeth as he works Lance slowly. He slides a second finger in before it seems possible that Lance could be ready for it, but Lance groans and squirms between them as Keith sinks his fingers home and Shiro grinds into him. "God… God, yes, that's good…"

Shiro muffles his own groan against Lance's shoulder, thrumming with how difficult it is to hold steady when what he wants is to snap his hips up into Lance, to fuck him until they're both senseless with pleasure—another time. He doesn't care to let Lance down, not when Lance has made what he wants so clear tonight.

A third finger, now, and Lance starts making tiny, desperate sounds that are broken by the way he pants for breath. Shiro can't imagine what it must feel like to be stretched so mercilessly open, but Lance keeps saying yes and please and more; his cock is lying against his stomach, flushed dark and dripping. Keith sinks his fingers into Lance, the backs of them sliding over the underside of Shiro's cock, and curls them. Lance shudders, jerking against Shiro's hands, and Keith bites his lip hard enough that all the blood leaves it. "Fuck, Lance—"

"C'mon," Lance gasps, "please, I want it, please—"

Keith closes his eyes and exhales a shuddering breath. "Fuck, okay."

Lance moans when Keith slides his fingers free; Shiro does too with how that changes the way Lance's body grips his cock. He slides his other hand down and grips the backs of Lance's thighs, holding him spread wide for Keith, who's slicking a generous palmful of lube over his own cock and groaning with it. Lance hooks his arms around Shiro's neck and breathes, "Yes," as Keith pushes forward, "Yes, I want it, do it," as Shiro feels the head of Keith's cock nudging at the base of his own, "Keith—ah!"

Keith pushes into him, excruciatingly slow, and Lance keens between them, head throat back and lips parted on the sounds he's making. Shiro groans as Keith's cock slides against his, pressed firmly against his by how tight Lance's body is around them. Keith is nearly silent but for the way he's gulping for air, sweat beading his temples and his eyes feverishly bright as he sinks home.

He comes to rest inside Lance; for an endless moment, none of them move, poised together on the knife-edge of sensation and trembling with how much it is. Then Keith shifts his hand down and swears. "Jesus, Shiro, feel him, he's stretched so hard." He hooks Lance's ankle over his shoulder and catches Shiro's hand, guiding it down to where Lance's muscles are taut, stretched open around their cocks.

"God," Shiro breathes. "God, Lance…"

And Lance moans. "Please… please—"

Shiro doesn't know whether he moves first or Keith does—all he knows is that there's no way he can deny Lance anything he asks for when he sounds that desperate, no way he can hold anything back from him when Lance asks. He surges up against Lance, against Keith, heat singing through him as their cocks slide together. Keith is moving too, fucking Lance with quick, short snaps of his hips to the longer, deeper movements of Shiro's.

Lance gasps with every stroke, cries out when they sync up and push into him together and fill him full, moans when they move in counterpoint to each other instead, and clings to Shiro through it all, tossing his head against Shiro's shoulder. God, he's amazing, he's perfect, they're both perfect—

There's no way he can last. Shiro catches Keith's gaze—his eyes are blown dark, wild with heat. He nods and reaches down to wrap his fingers around Lance's cock, stripping it once, hard and sure. That's all it takes—Lance keens again, pulling taut between them as he comes apart, his body working hard around the two of them. That's all it takes for Shiro; orgasm wrings down on him mercilessly. Lance is so tight around them that he can feel Keith's cock throbbing against his as he follows after them, jerking against Lance as he groans.

Really, it's all more than Shiro knows how to bear, pleasure so intense that it teeters on the edge of pain. He wraps an arm around Lance, trying to ground himself against the aftershocks that rock him with every minute shift of their bodies, and presses his forehead against Lance's shoulder as he pants. Lance lolls against him, a limp weight against his chest that is gasping soft, stunned little hiccups of breath.

Keith somehow manages to brace himself over the two of them, holding himself up God only knows how. "I still say you're crazy, but—fuck. Fuck, Lance."

"Mm, I know." Lance's dreamy smile is practically audible. "The next time we do this, I'm gonna suck you both off first so it lasts longer."

Shiro laughs against his shoulder, even though the idea has its merits. "You're insatiable."

"Well, yeah?" Lance says it like it should have been perfectly self-evident.

"Crazy," Keith says again, easing out of Lance—Lance makes a tiny, protesting sound at the loss. "Absolutely crazy."

"Hey, don't knock it till you've tried it," Lance retorts.

Shiro isn't so preoccupied with reaching for one of the towels Lance set aside for them that he misses the sudden thoughtful cast of Keith's expression. All Keith does is snort at Lance, but…

Well, this ought to be interesting.

Shiro's not at all surprised when circumstances end up proving him right.

 

 

One of the things Lance has come to appreciate about Keith is that he really is as straightforward as he comes off. Back before Voltron, Lance hadn't known what to make of the Garrison's ace pilot (subsequently the Garrison's most infamous flameout), hadn't known that Keith's apparent disdain for his fellow cadets was actually just what happened when a reserved person who had a long history of not fitting in particularly well was thrust into a highly competitive and thoroughly social environment. Keith hadn't been disdainful of the rest of them; he'd had no clue how to relate to them and even less idea what to do once it became clear what an incredible pilot he happened to be.

Lance doesn't know what would have happened if Shiro hadn't taken a shine to Keith or had been even an iota less stubborn than he is. Nothing good, probably, given what happened after the news about the Kerberos mission broke.

Voltron, though—Voltron has cleared a lot of things up, what with the psychic Lions and bonding in the face of an intergalactic empire that needs to be defeated, etc. Keith is awkward, blunt sometimes even when he really shouldn't be, possessed of more than a few quirks that Lance is happy to blame on his being an actual (half) alien, and actually pretty funny in a very understated way. He's fierce and fiercely loyal, and has fewer hang-ups in general than anyone else Lance has ever dated, which is just a fancy way of saying that he doesn't give a shit about anything he can't see the point of—and there are a lot of things he can't see the point of.

Sometimes that works out in everyone's favor—particularly in bed.

They don't get days off very often—weekends are not a part of the whole saving-the-universe gig and to date, no one has taken Lance's proposals for paladin unionization particularly seriously—so this is a rare luxury. Lance has no idea what the rest of the team is doing with this precious day of freedom, but he's spending it with his boyfriends, in bed, as any rational being with boyfriends as hot as his would.

Honestly, they haven't even done more than a certain amount of making out and lazy petting—they've got all day and sometimes it's good to just be, skin-to-skin-to-skin, trading kisses and slow touches just for the way Shiro smiles, mouth and eyes soft, and Keith makes that sound that he swears is not a purr. (It's totally a purr.)

On the other hand, when Keith says, "I want the two of you to fuck me," Lance can get on board with that, too. Then he adds, "At the same time," and Lance's brain shorts out briefly.

"Jesus, Mullet," he says, "warn a guy before you go saying shit like that."

"Why would I do that?"

Keith manages to keep such a straight face that Lance almost, almost buys it before Shiro gives the game away by snorting a laugh. "You're terrible." He hooks an arm around Keith and reels him in for a kiss. "Are you serious, or are you just trying to get a rise out of Lance?"

Keith shoots a pointed glance down the bed and lifts his eyebrows. "What do you mean, trying?"

"Yeah, yeah, you got me." Shiro's got Keith leaning against him; Lance rocks up onto his hands and knees and prowls closer, edging up behind Keith and biting his shoulder just because he can (and because Keith likes it, whether he wants to own up to that or not). "You didn't answer the man's question." Keith's skin is warm under the palm he slides down his side, over the barrel of his ribs, until he can fit his fingers into the hollow of Keith's hip.

"Maybe because I thought it was a silly question?" Keith leans into his hand, comfortable. "Yes, I was serious. You seem to like it well enough."

"He's the king of understatement, isn't he?" Shiro says, amused, which—yeah, Lance has to give him that, since he loves having both of them inside him at the same time, stretching him relentlessly and filling him all the way up, loves having his limits pushed to the edge of what he can stand and then some.

Shiro sinks his fingers into Keith's hair and pulls him in for another kiss, leisurely and thorough, and—well, Lance isn't the only one Keith's managed to get a rise out of with this, by the looks of things.

Heh.

Lance brushes the hair of Keith's nape and applies his teeth to it, since it's not fair for Keith to have things all his own way. Keith groans against Shiro's mouth, leaning into him, which—yeah, that's good. Lance hums, sucking on the bite mark, hard. It's not like it'll be visible later, but the three of them will know it's there under that stupid mullet. That's the important part.

Shiro draws Keith closer, pulling him the rest of the way into his lap. Keith wraps his arms around Shiro's shoulders, going easily, and kneels across his thighs. "Lance," Shiro says—that's all, but his voice has gone all rumbly and casually commanding, so it's enough.

"On it." Lance goes for the lube and slicks up his fingers as Shiro gets his hands on Keith's ass, spreading him open so Lance can stroke his fingers into Keith, easy as that.

Keith groans, open in his throat, as Lance pushes his fingers into him. Lance grins over his shoulder at Shiro, whose eyes have flared hot. "Good?"

"Of course it's good," Keith says, voice already starting to rasp.

Lance bites his shoulder and twists his fingers at the same time. "Who said I was talking to you?"

"Someday the two of you will get through an entire round of sex without squabbling, and I'm going to die of shock," Shiro says.

Lance makes a face at him as Keith goes still between them. "Nope, you're still not allowed to make that joke."

"You're never allowed to make that joke," Keith says, probably scowling just to underscore the point.

"Aw, come on, it's been ages since the last time I was injured badly enough for it to be worth thinking about using one of the pods, let alone actually having to use one," Shiro protests.

"Your opinion of what constitutes ages really worries me, Shiro." Lance leans against Keith and rests his chin on Keith's shoulder. He can manage Shiro's morbid sense of humor well enough, but Keith—Keith, not so much. Not any more. "So your objection is overruled. That joke still isn't okay."

Shiro makes a face, but there's a faintly apologetic cast to his grimace. "Fine, if you insist. No jokes about me dying."

"Good," Keith says. He's still tense between them, though, which is just no good.

By rights it ought to be up to Shiro to get them all back into the groove, since he was the one who made it weird to begin with, but—Lance has learned, never mind with what difficulty, that the only one who actually loses is the guy trying to keep score. So he brushes Keith's hair away from his nape again and closes his teeth on it again, hard this time, at the same time he gives him another finger and hooks them just so—

Keith groans, and it's like he comes unstrung. He sprawls against Shiro's chest and pushes back on Lance's fingers, rocking his hips down on them. That's definitely an improvement; so is the way Shiro cups Keith's cheek and kisses him again, serious about it, while Lance rubs his fingertips in tiny circles over Keith's prostate. Yeah, that's a lot better.

Lance mouths Keith's shoulder, licking the salt off his skin as he works his fingers into Keith, moving with the beat of Keith's hips and the sounds he makes against Shiro's mouth, until he's got four fingers inside Keith and it's hard—hah, hard—to stay focused on the goal. "Little help here, Shiro? I'm running out of fingers."

Jesus, he's never going to get tired of the way Shiro looks in bed, after he's set aside his cares and responsibilities enough to be in the moment with them, eyes dark with lust and all that focus just for the two of them. It takes him a minute to get Lance's drift, but it's worth it for the way his pupils dilate and he swears, low and reverent. "Fuck—"

Lance fumbles up the bottle of lube and passes it to him; Shiro pours the stuff over his fingers and reaches down—

It's odd, though not at all in a bad way, to feel Shiro's knuckles against his own, Shiro's fingers sliding into Keith next to his as Keith makes a thin, desperate sound, and Lance wonders, not for the first time, what other things they ought to give a try. But—some other time. He laps the fresh sweat off Keith's shoulders, flexing his fingers inside them, working them against Shiro's fingers. God, he's going to feel so good around them—

"Yeah," Shiro says—oh, he's been talking out loud. Well, it's all still true. "Lance—"

It's on the tip of his tongue to tell Shiro that he's gonna need more to go on than that, but Shiro draws his fingers out of Keith and slides his hands down under his thighs before he can follow through. Lance groans with Keith, because it is seriously, unfairly hot, the way Shiro can just lift them like that, as easy as breathing, and now he gets what Shiro's thinking.

He crowds himself into Shiro's lap, presses up as close as he can get, close enough to be able to reach down and take both their cocks in his hand and slick them together. Shiro rumbles out a groan; he's got his eyes closed and his lips are moving, shaping soundless words—their names, Lance thinks, or maybe more curses, or maybe both—God knows it's good. "All right," he says, "all right, let's go—"

He holds their cocks pressed together as Shiro lowers Keith again, slow, arms not even trembling in spite of the control it has to take. Keith is small, sure, but that doesn't mean he isn't heavy. Lance guides their cocks against him, careful, and together they press into him—

It's so tight. Lance can't make a sound, can't even breathe, as they work into Keith together. That's okay, though. Keith is making enough noise for the both of them, breathless little cries that almost sound wounded, except for the way they're mostly made up of the word yes chanted over and over. Shiro has his eyes closed, his lower lip caught between his teeth—God, it's everything Lance can do not to come then and there.

He presses his forehead against Keith's shoulder, pants against it as Shiro eases Keith down, a little more, a little more, until he's tight around them both, taut and trembling between them as he utters those impossible sounds. They're still then, the three of them together—how can they not be, when it's so much? He'd known it was intense to be in the middle, sure, but he'd never thought that it would affect him just as much to be the one doing, to hear Keith's breath hitching in his throat on tiny, gasping cries, to feel Shiro's cock sliding against his and be able to connect every tiny shift of their bodies to the tremors that run through Keith—Jesus God, it's so much.

Then Keith moves, raises himself up, God only knows how, probably has to do with being part space-ninja, and sinks back down again—fucks himself down on their cocks.

Shiro groans. "So much for asking if you're doing all right," he says. Or something to that effect. Lance has no idea how he's able to keep it together enough to string together a complete sentence right now.

Keith might actually be beyond language at the moment. He groans, or growls, the sound too guttural to call strictly human, and he flexes between them again, and again, insistent—yeah, that's it, that's all it takes. Shiro moves with him, rolling his hips up to meet Keith's, and Lance moves too, not quite at the same pace—oh God, God, he's going to die, it's so good, Shiro sliding against him, pressed against him so tightly that he can feel the way Shiro's pulse is pounding, and Keith's body fiercely, impossibly hot around them both.

Lance slides his arms around Keith, more to brace himself against the heat knotting in the pit of his stomach than anything else, and rocks up into Keith, short hard jerks of his hips because there's no way he can take this slow, no way he can do anything but obey the insistent drumbeat of pleasure as it builds with every stroke. But it's Keith, who never holds back on anything, and he seems to like that just fine, moving in Lance's arms, Shiro's hands, like some living flame dancing on its coal. Shiro isn't doing any better, is fucking Keith with short, jolting strokes and gasping every time he sinks home, Keith's name like it's the only prayer he knows.

Then Keith drops his hand down and closes it on his cock. Lance can feel the movement of his arm against his, the brutally quick strokes, and the moment Keith comes, jerking between them and shouting as he spills over his fingers and Lance's hands and Shiro's chest.

That's it, Lance is gone, too—pleasure slams into him like a truck, absolutely unforgiving, striking the breath from him as it bowls him down. He shakes with the force of it, gasping as he comes apart and as he feels Shiro bucking up into the tight grip of Keith's body, the pulse of his cock as he comes apart with them—Jesus.

Lance can't help it. He slumps against Keith's back, face mashes against his shoulder as he comes back down. There's nothing else he can do, really—he's too overwhelmed to do more than pant for breath and tremble. Keith slouches forward, too, shuddering between them, so it's up to Shiro to support them both—so business pretty much as usual, there.

Eventually Lance manages to muster enough energy to nuzzle Keith's shoulder. "Who's crazy now, huh?"

"Still you, but—not because of this." Keith's voice is rough—dazed, really. Mission accomplished, as far as Lance is concerned.

"Damn straight," he says, pleased by the admission and by the warmth of Shiro's chuckle. "Told you so."

"Yeah," Keith says. "I guess you did."

 

 

They all have good days and bad days—Keith wishes he could say in equal measure, but the universe is neither fair nor particularly generous, and this is war.

On the other hand, when the bad days come around, they do have each other to lean on. Perhaps it balances out in the end.

This is one of the bad days for Shiro. They've spent the last week on a campaign in the Aergel system, which has been sued for Galra work planets and prisons and is—was—a significant feeder into the Galra's gladiator system. They'd had some hope going in that they might find Sam Holt while liberating the system, but if he'd ever been held anywhere in Aergel, he'd been transferred out before Voltron had shown up to clean house.

Yeah. Shiro's having a bad day.

Keith likes to take his bad days out in the training hall, in sweat and the fierce satisfaction of pummeling a training drone or a sparring partner in place of punching the universe in the nose. It's cathartic and productive, no matter how Lance likes to tease him.

Lance prefers to be indulged when he's having a bad day, wants to be surrounded by reminders of the good things he has until the ache of all the things (people) he's missing recedes again. Keith doesn't entirely understand that, himself, but then, he's got all his people right here with him. The last time he lost someone necessary to his existence, well. There hadn't been anyone else to turn to.

(Sometimes he's not sure how he feels about the fact that he's got two necessary people now, plus an extended team—family—that the universe can take from him. Mostly he tries not to think about it, tries not to jinx himself in hopes that the universe won't notice that it's made a mistake and rectify the situation.)

Shiro… when his bad days come around, the thing he needs more than anything else is to be taken out of his head.

It stands to reason: Lance's bad days hit him when he has to face up to how far he is from home, and Keith's come from how unfair it all is. Shiro's come when the weight of the things that he's done and seen, the things that have been done to him and taken from him, threaten to overwhelm him.

Between the two of them, Keith and Lance have gotten pretty good at getting Shiro to stop thinking. The trick is to hit him with something good and then prosecute that to the absolute fullest.

So here they are: Lance is on his knees at Shiro's feet, has been for a while now, blowing Shiro as slowly as humanly possible. Since Lance actually is as good with his mouth as he thinks he is, that's pretty damn slow. Lance is holding Shiro's hips down—has to so that Shiro won't buck up against his mouth like he's desperate to do, and Keith has a solid grip on his left hand, so he can't grab Lance's hair, either. That leaves it to Keith to finger Shiro open, which he's doing—he has four fingers buried to the knuckle inside Shiro now.

It's good, that's for sure. Keith can see the muscles corded in Lance's arms for the effort it's taking him to hold Shiro still, and Shiro is swearing in every language he knows. The one thing being the Galra's Champion was good for was learning alien swearwords, so that's a lot of languages.

The question, though, isn't whether it's good. It's whether it's enough.

Keith doesn't think it is. Not enough to get Shiro to really let go.

He hooks his chin over Shiro's shoulder and catches Lance's eye at the same time he nails Shiro's prostate with all four fingers at once. Shiro shouts, and Lance's eyes crinkle at the corners like they do when he's smiling. He slides his mouth down around Shiro and sucks hard enough to hollow his cheeks.

Shiro shots again, jerking against their hands as he comes, his body clenching tight around Keith's fingers. Yeah, that's really good, Shiro enjoying himself is always good, but—

Keith leaves his fingers where they are, rubbing the tips of them back and forth over Shiro's prostate and pressing his thumb against the spot behind his balls. Lance keeps his mouth right where it is; Keith can see his throat moving as he swallows. Keith kind of envies him the view he has of Shiro right now, but then, Lance looks pretty good, too, mouth stretched red and wet around Shiro's cock, eyes heavy-lidded with satisfaction, so he's not too jealous.

Shiro shudders between them, groaning some more profanities when he finally realizes that they don't have any intention of letting him come down again any time soon. "Guys—guys, come on—"

Honestly, that's too coherent, at least as far as Keith is concerned. He draws his fingers back until the tips of them are barely holding Shiro open, holds them there until he hears Shiro draw a ragged breath, and sinks them home again, hard and sure.

Shiro gasps, a sharp explosion of sound, and that's more like it. Keith does it again, and again, as Lance bobs his head over Shiro's cock, letting it slide out of his mouth so he can swirl his tongue over the head, then closing his lips around it to swallow him down.

This time when Shiro comes, it's on a groan from deep in his chest, heartfelt and open as he strains against them, hardly distinguishable from the other sounds he's been making. Keith keeps working him through it, keeps him open, and considers their next move. "I think we should fuck you now," he decides, mostly for Lance's benefit.

"What do you call this?" Shiro manages, though the words are slurred together and it's pure luck and long familiarity that Keith can make sense of them.

"The warm-up," Lance says. His voice is rough with the way he's been working Shiro over, and his lips are swollen and red. Jesus, he looks good.

"Fuck," Shiro moans, but he goes with it when Keith pulls back, dragging Shiro down with him.

"Wait," Lance says as Keith settles back, "wait, are you saying that we should fuck him?" He blinks at the look Keith gives him. "Okay, that's what you're saying."

Of course it is. Keith honestly has no idea what goes on inside Lance's head sometimes. He rolls his eyes and gestures. "Get up here and hold him for me."

"I can—" Shiro starts, but that would ruin the point of the whole exercise.

"Naw, it's okay, we got you." Lance follows them up onto the bed and pushes Shiro's knees up, spreading him open. Say this for Lance; once he's on the same page as everyone else, he knows how to get right down to business. He smiles down at them, eyes bright. "God, just look at this, would you?"

"Little busy right now." Keith gropes for the lube—there it is. He strokes some of it over his cock, biting his lip at the surge of sensation, and then pushes into Shiro.

Shiro groans again, going heavier against Keith as he relaxes into the stroke. "Keith…"

Keith hums back to him, too busy with how good it is to bury himself inside Shiro to bother with words. He flexes up, rocking himself deeper into Shiro—fuck, that's amazing, it would be so easy to get lost in the pleasure licking up his spine—

But this is for Shiro, not him. "Lance."

"Was there something you wanted?" Lance asks, but he's reaching for the lube even as he says it. He grins at Keith as he slicks his fingers. "You make some of the best angry sex faces, Mullet."

Seriously, Keith is never going to be able to understand the way Lance's brain works. "Less talking, more fucking—nngh."

Lance is pushing his fingers into Shiro, running them against the underside of Keith's cock—two fingers at once, right away. Shiro lets out a sound that doesn't have even the suggestion of words in it—it's nothing but open response.

Keith forgets about trying to parse Lance's bizarre mental processes, because that—that's what he's after, that right there. Lance is right there with him; his grin notches wider and he works his fingers against Shiro's body, against Keith's cock, steadily. "Yeah," he murmurs, "yeah, that's it, we've got you, all you have to do is lay back and enjoy the ride…"

"C'mon," Keith tells him. "Get a move on, already."

"You're so pushy," Lance says, still grinning, and pushes his fingers deep enough to rub them against the head of Keith's cock.

Keith sees stars, galaxies exploding into being behind his eyelids, and he jerks up, fucking himself deeper into Shiro to the accompaniment of Lance's delighted laughter and Shiro's groan. "Lance," he says when he can manage it.

Lance laughs some more, but it's breathless, and more importantly he's easing his fingers out of Shiro. "So pushy," he singsongs. Then his expression shifts and goes distant—he's got his fingers on his cock. Keith sighs, relived. He's done screwing around now.

Keith catches a hand behind Shiro's knee, holding him as Lance shifts closer, and groans when he feels the head of Lance cock nudging up against his. Shiro groans, the sound stuttering as Lance pushes—

Keith's vision whites out at the stroke of Lance's cock sliding in next to his, at the way Shiro's body grips them together. "Fuck… fuck…"

"Yeah," Lance breathes over them. "God."

Shiro sprawls over him, panting and trembling as Lance stills inside him. He's definitely gone now—not thinking, not worrying, not remembering, just existing in the moment. Keith presses his mouth against Shiro's shoulder, breathing in the scent of him, and twitches his hips up, growling at the way that sets a chain reaction of pleasure rippling up his spine.

Lance grunts—"Keith!"—and rocks forward too. The moment of stillness passes, and all that's left is the way Keith drives his hips up and Lance bears down, grinding into Shiro. Shiro moves between them, vibrating with the groans coming out of his throat as they fuck him, completely abandoned to the pleasure they're giving him.

Keith doesn't know which one of them moves first, whether he's the one who closes his fingers around Shiro's cock first or it's Lance—maybe they reach for him at the same time. Either way, they tangle their fingers together around him, stroking him with the same messy, uncoordinated rhythm as they're fucking him with.

Shiro spasms in their hands, a strangled cry tearing out of him as he comes for them again, the barest dribble over their fingers.

Keith groans and lets himself follow Shiro over that edge. It's a relief after so long spent on Shiro. Pleasure cascades over him as he bucks up against Shiro, against Lance. He's dimly aware that he can hear Lance groaning too, that he can feel Lance coming too, but all that is secondary to the wash of heat and satisfaction sweeping him down.

When he comes back down, Shiro and Lance are both slumped over him, pressing him down into the mattress, and Shiro—

Shiro is breathing deep, breathing slow.

Keith waits. It's only a few of those deep inhales and exhales before the first snore.

"Mmm, there we go," Lance murmurs. He raises his head and gives Keith a silly, soft-edged smile. "Good job, team us."

"Mmph," Keith says, since that's all he can spare breath for.

Lance gets the message in spite of that. He laughs, soft, and eases himself off Shiro, who doesn't even stir. "Better?"

Since Keith can at least fill his lungs now, yeah, it is. "Here, help me with Shiro."

Shiro may be out cold—he certainly sounds like he is—but they're both careful with him as they shift him down to the sheets and clean up the mess. God knows they worked hard to get him to this point; it'd be a shame to ruin all that by waking him up now.

They don't, however. Shiro snores peacefully through it all, the steady rhythm not changing even when they slide themselves into bed with him.

Lance smiles at him, soft, and then transfers that smile to Keith. "And to think, you said I was crazy to want to try that."

Keith grimaces. "I thought I was the one who was supposed to get to say I told you so until the heat death of the universe."

"Hah. Your fault for not asking me what I got for winning the bet," Lance says.

"That's a mistake I won't make again, I assure you."

Lance laughs, soft and fond. "I bet you won't." He reaches across Shiro and squeezes Keith's hand. "Sleep well, Mullet."

Keith squeezes his hand back. "You too." He closes his eyes then and lets the familiar rhythm of their breathing lull him to sleep.

end

Comments are always lovely!