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lysapadinTitle: One Foot in and One Foot Back (it don't pay to live like that)
Characters/Pairings: Shiro/Keith
Summary: I and love and you.
Notes: Shameless fluff with a side of smut. A bit of follow-up to All the Things Money Can't Buy. 2224 words.
~~~~~~~~~~
One Foot in and One Foot Back (it don't pay to live like that)
When Shiro lets himself in, the house is warm and smells amazing—Keith's been cooking. Shiro stoops to greet Potroast before hanging up his coat and going in search of his boyfriend.
He finds Keith in the kitchen, wearing a disreputable t-shirt and an even more disreputable set of sweatpants, and he's got a mess of dough on the counter in front of him. "Hey," he says, glancing up at Shiro and smiling. "I thought I heard you come in."
"Yeah." Shiro leans against the counter and waves a hand at the dough. "What's this?"
"I'm making bread."
Okay, so it is what it looks like. That's fine, but—"You do know that they sell bread, right?" Shiro says, since it seems worth pointing out just in case this is Keith's stubborn thriftiness rearing its head again.
"Yes, I know they sell bread." Keith folds the rough ball of dough towards him and then pushes the whole mess away from himself with the heel of his palm. He gives it all a quarter turn and repeats the process; Shiro can't keep his eyes off the way the muscles in his forearms flex beneath the skin. Kneading dough isn't supposed to be erotic, is it? "What's your point?"
"If they sell it, you don't need to make it from scratch."
He's not so fixated on Keith's arms—Keith's hands—that he misses the there-and-gone-again flash of Keith's smile. "Still not seeing your point."
Okay, then, if that's the way Keith wants to play it. "Why are you making bread when there are perfectly good grocery stores all over town?"
"Mm." Keith keeps kneading the dough, but he slides a sideways glance at Shiro. "Have you ever had fresh-baked bread right out of the oven?" Shiro admits that no, he has not. "Then wait and see."
Shiro watches him work for a bit; the mass of dough is changing under Keith's hands, going smoother as he observes. "It must taste awfully good to be worth this much work."
"It does," Keith says. He has his lips pursed just a bit, the way he does when he's deliberating something. Shiro waits while the dough turns into a smooth, supple ball under Keith's hands. Then Keith reaches for a bowl and drops the dough into it. While he's turning it around—coating it with oil?—he says, "I stayed with a family for a while. They baked their own bread. Said it made a house smell like home."
There was a time when he'd have taken that in the worst possible way, would've assumed that Keith was on his way out the door and using this as a way to let him down gently. Now Shiro dismisses the thought as it occurs to him (his therapist would be very proud of him) because that's not how Keith operates. When—if Keith decides to go, he'll tell Shiro to his face. So Shiro watches Keith wipe his hands clean and cover the bowl with a bit of plastic wrap. "Does it? Make it smell like home, I mean."
"Kind of, I guess. If that's the kind of thing you're into. I don't think I am." He's focusing on the counter, sweeping up stray traces of flour. "This is home, whether it smells like fresh bread or wet dog or whatever." Keith looks at Shiro then, smiles at him like he has no idea that Shiro's skin feels too small to hold all the things Keith makes him feel. "Honestly, I just thought it'd be nice to have some fresh bread to go with dinner."
Right. There's only one thing Shiro can do now. "God, I love you so fucking much."
It's not the most elegant way to make that declaration for the first time, but Keith doesn't seem to mind. He widens his eyes and shapes a silent, startled oh with his mouth. "Shiro…" He ducks his head so his hair falls in his eyes and looks at Shiro from behind its curtain, smiling at him, the shyest Shiro has ever seen him.
Shiro can't help it. He reaches for Keith, who steps into his arms and tilts his face up so that Shiro can kiss that tiny, soft smile off his lips. Keith wraps his arms around Shiro's neck, leaning into him and parting his lips for Shiro to stroke their tongues together, slow and soft. It's only natural to rest his hands on Keith's hips and press him even closer as he sweeps his tongue against Keith's, sinking into the sureness of his welcome. Keith hums to him, watching him from behind his lashes as he plays with the close-cropped hair at Shiro's nape.
Shiro draws away from Keith's mouth and rests his forehead against Keith's, who promptly grumbles at him. "You stopped." He raises himself up and presses his mouth to Shiro's, catching Shiro's lower lip between his teeth and sucking on it.
A different kind of heat licks down Shiro's spine at that, the kind of combustion Keith has always been an expert at causing. It's reflexive to slip his knee between Keith's and drop his hands to Keith's ass so he can pull Keith up tight against his thigh.
Keith groans and bites Shiro's lower lip again, sharp enough to sting, as he scrapes blunt nails over Shiro's scalp. He presses against Shiro's thigh, eager, the way he's always eager. To this day Shiro sometimes wonders at how much Keith wants him. Wonders at how easy things are between the two of them, at what on Earth he could possibly have done to deserve this.
Keith rocks himself against Shiro, his cock a growing hardness against Shiro's thigh as he runs his tongue over Shiro's lower lip, soothing the tender places, before slipping it into Shiro's mouth. He also drops a hand down to palm Shiro through his slacks, bearing down on him with just the right amount of pressure to make Shiro lose his mind a little bit from the lightning strike of sensation. He groans, lightheaded with the way the blood rushes to his cock as Keith squeezes.
The kitchen is no place to carry on like this, not when there's a perfectly good bed upstairs. On the other hand, Shiro doesn't want to let go of Keith, doesn't see why he should bother when it's just as easy to bend his knees a bit, slide his hands down the backs of Keith's thighs, and hoist him up onto the counter instead.
Keith reacts with perfect equanimity, spreading his knees so Shiro can step between them and hooking his legs around Shiro's waist once he does. Sitting on the counter gives him the height advantage on Shiro, lets Shiro lean into him to lick the hollow of his throat. Keith expels a breath, a soft hah to go with the way he tips his head back, and rakes his fingers through Shiro's hair, stroking it back from his eyes.
Shiro presses his mouth to the jutting point of Keith's collarbone, sucks on the delicate skin of it until Keith groans his name. The bruise shows darks against Keith's skin, right next to the flutter of his pulse. Shiro doesn't know whether the sight should satisfy him the way it does, but he does know he can't bring himself to care too very much either way, not when it feels so right.
Keith pulls his knees up and digs his heels into Shiro's ass, though there's not much closer that Shiro can get. He tries anyway, leaning into Keith and kissing the side of his throat, sliding his hands up the line of Keith's back until Keith hitches his hips forward and cants them just enough that Shiro can feel the hardness of him pressing against his stomach. They both groan at that, Keith lifting himself up enough to move against Shiro and groaning again when Shiro leans into him, bearing down as much as he can. "Shiro—" He clutches at Shiro's shoulders when he pulls away, tries to hold him in place with the heels he digs into the small of Shiro's back, until Shiro gets his hand between them and drags the waistband of his sweatpants down past his cock. "Oh—!"
"Yeah." He smiles at Keith as he fits his hand around him, smooth and hot against his palm, and watches Keith's lashes as they drop over his eyes and the way Keith's lips part on a pleased moan. He slides his thumb up the underside of Keith's cock and over the head, rubbing it across the slit and the precome beading there, just for the way Keith nearly purrs for him. He slides his thumb back and forth, smearing the wetness over velvet-soft skin as the flush climbs Keith's throat and cheeks, until Keith tries to rock up into his hand.
Then he bends down and guides Keith's cock into his mouth, wrapping his lips around the head and tracing his tongue over it, lapping the salt and musk from Keith's skin.
Keith groans his name again and curves a hand against the back of Shiro's head as he slumps back—Shiro thinks he may have thumped his head against the cabinet, but if that's what that thud was, it doesn't seem to bother Keith much at all. He scrapes his nails against Shiro's scalp, lifting his hips to push his cock deeper into Shiro's mouth, and leans his head back against the cabinet, eyes shut, as Shiro welcomes the weight sliding over his tongue, sucking on it as he cups Keith's balls against his palm, fondling them just a little roughly, the way Keith likes it.
Keith twitches against his tongue and groans a curse as he digs his nails into Shiro's scalp. "Shiro, fuck—"
Shiro hums around him and relaxes his jaw, pressing down the length of Keith's cock until the head nudges at his throat, and keeps going until he's swallowed Keith down.
Keith shouts and clutches at Shiro's hair and shoulders, flexing against Shiro's mouth even though there's not any way he can get closer or deeper—Shiro has his face buried in Keith's lap, his nose pressed to Keith's stomach and full of Keith's scent. He hums to Keith again, swallows around him as he dips his fingers behind Keith's balls to rub slow circles there. Keith shouts again as he comes, arching against the counter and the cabinets ad digging his heels into Shiro's shoulders as his cock pulses against Shiro's tongue.
Shiro has to act quickly when Keith goes lax in the aftermath, has to catch his hips to keep him from sliding right off the edge of the counter and onto the floor. He straightens up and Keith slumps forward against him, floppy as a ragdoll, panting against the side of Shiro's throat as the last shudders work through him.
Shiro slides a hand up Keith's back and into the dampness of Keith's hair, smiling at the wordless noise of contentment this earns him. Keith wraps his arms around Shiro as his breathing slows; his sigh tickles the side of Shiro's throat. "Me too," he says, soft enough that Shiro wouldn't have heard it if Keith's lips weren't right next to his ear. "I—me too."
They haven't named the thing between them before now, but it's been there all along. It's not a revelation, not in the sense of the unknown revealed. Still. He catches Keith closer without consciously making the decision to do so, turns his face against the place where Keith's throat curves into his shoulder, and feels Keith's hand settle against his nape. "Keith," he murmurs, "Keith."
"Yeah." Keith turns his face and touches his lips to Shiro's temple. "Yeah. I do. I love you." He whispers it into Shiro's skin and it strikes the breath from Shiro the same way the check did, anyway, the same way the words I'm choosing this, choosing you did, leaves him speechless and stunned. He tightens his arm around Keith and presses his mouth against Keith's throat, fervent with all the things he doesn't know how to say.
Keith hears them in spite of that; he kisses Shiro's temple and the crest of his cheek, slides his hand around to cup Shiro's jaw and coax Shiro's face to his for a kiss, slow and unstinting. Shiro leans into Keith's hands and mouth as if there were any possible way to pour his heart out to him by doing so. Keith cradles Shiro's face in his hands and kisses him again and again, sweeping his thumbs over Shiro's cheekbones and murmuring Shiro's name to him between kisses, voice hushed. Reverent, though Shiro is certain it really ought to be the other way around.
It's enough to overwhelm anyone. Shiro breaks away from Keith's mouth, resting his forehead against Keith's and settling his arms around his waist. Keith lets him do it, but says, "You stopped again," less complaint than amusement.
"I know." Shiro turns his face and drops a kiss against Keith's palm. "Sorry."
Keith brushes his fingertips over Shiro's lips. "It's going to take a while for the bread to rise, you know." He waits for Shiro to glance at him before quirking a grin at him. "You want to go upstairs?"
"Yeah," Shiro says. "I'd love that."
end
2017 has been a hell of a year, y'all. Happy new year to all of you and here's to 2018 being a better one.
Characters/Pairings: Shiro/Keith
Summary: I and love and you.
Notes: Shameless fluff with a side of smut. A bit of follow-up to All the Things Money Can't Buy. 2224 words.
One Foot in and One Foot Back (it don't pay to live like that)
When Shiro lets himself in, the house is warm and smells amazing—Keith's been cooking. Shiro stoops to greet Potroast before hanging up his coat and going in search of his boyfriend.
He finds Keith in the kitchen, wearing a disreputable t-shirt and an even more disreputable set of sweatpants, and he's got a mess of dough on the counter in front of him. "Hey," he says, glancing up at Shiro and smiling. "I thought I heard you come in."
"Yeah." Shiro leans against the counter and waves a hand at the dough. "What's this?"
"I'm making bread."
Okay, so it is what it looks like. That's fine, but—"You do know that they sell bread, right?" Shiro says, since it seems worth pointing out just in case this is Keith's stubborn thriftiness rearing its head again.
"Yes, I know they sell bread." Keith folds the rough ball of dough towards him and then pushes the whole mess away from himself with the heel of his palm. He gives it all a quarter turn and repeats the process; Shiro can't keep his eyes off the way the muscles in his forearms flex beneath the skin. Kneading dough isn't supposed to be erotic, is it? "What's your point?"
"If they sell it, you don't need to make it from scratch."
He's not so fixated on Keith's arms—Keith's hands—that he misses the there-and-gone-again flash of Keith's smile. "Still not seeing your point."
Okay, then, if that's the way Keith wants to play it. "Why are you making bread when there are perfectly good grocery stores all over town?"
"Mm." Keith keeps kneading the dough, but he slides a sideways glance at Shiro. "Have you ever had fresh-baked bread right out of the oven?" Shiro admits that no, he has not. "Then wait and see."
Shiro watches him work for a bit; the mass of dough is changing under Keith's hands, going smoother as he observes. "It must taste awfully good to be worth this much work."
"It does," Keith says. He has his lips pursed just a bit, the way he does when he's deliberating something. Shiro waits while the dough turns into a smooth, supple ball under Keith's hands. Then Keith reaches for a bowl and drops the dough into it. While he's turning it around—coating it with oil?—he says, "I stayed with a family for a while. They baked their own bread. Said it made a house smell like home."
There was a time when he'd have taken that in the worst possible way, would've assumed that Keith was on his way out the door and using this as a way to let him down gently. Now Shiro dismisses the thought as it occurs to him (his therapist would be very proud of him) because that's not how Keith operates. When—if Keith decides to go, he'll tell Shiro to his face. So Shiro watches Keith wipe his hands clean and cover the bowl with a bit of plastic wrap. "Does it? Make it smell like home, I mean."
"Kind of, I guess. If that's the kind of thing you're into. I don't think I am." He's focusing on the counter, sweeping up stray traces of flour. "This is home, whether it smells like fresh bread or wet dog or whatever." Keith looks at Shiro then, smiles at him like he has no idea that Shiro's skin feels too small to hold all the things Keith makes him feel. "Honestly, I just thought it'd be nice to have some fresh bread to go with dinner."
Right. There's only one thing Shiro can do now. "God, I love you so fucking much."
It's not the most elegant way to make that declaration for the first time, but Keith doesn't seem to mind. He widens his eyes and shapes a silent, startled oh with his mouth. "Shiro…" He ducks his head so his hair falls in his eyes and looks at Shiro from behind its curtain, smiling at him, the shyest Shiro has ever seen him.
Shiro can't help it. He reaches for Keith, who steps into his arms and tilts his face up so that Shiro can kiss that tiny, soft smile off his lips. Keith wraps his arms around Shiro's neck, leaning into him and parting his lips for Shiro to stroke their tongues together, slow and soft. It's only natural to rest his hands on Keith's hips and press him even closer as he sweeps his tongue against Keith's, sinking into the sureness of his welcome. Keith hums to him, watching him from behind his lashes as he plays with the close-cropped hair at Shiro's nape.
Shiro draws away from Keith's mouth and rests his forehead against Keith's, who promptly grumbles at him. "You stopped." He raises himself up and presses his mouth to Shiro's, catching Shiro's lower lip between his teeth and sucking on it.
A different kind of heat licks down Shiro's spine at that, the kind of combustion Keith has always been an expert at causing. It's reflexive to slip his knee between Keith's and drop his hands to Keith's ass so he can pull Keith up tight against his thigh.
Keith groans and bites Shiro's lower lip again, sharp enough to sting, as he scrapes blunt nails over Shiro's scalp. He presses against Shiro's thigh, eager, the way he's always eager. To this day Shiro sometimes wonders at how much Keith wants him. Wonders at how easy things are between the two of them, at what on Earth he could possibly have done to deserve this.
Keith rocks himself against Shiro, his cock a growing hardness against Shiro's thigh as he runs his tongue over Shiro's lower lip, soothing the tender places, before slipping it into Shiro's mouth. He also drops a hand down to palm Shiro through his slacks, bearing down on him with just the right amount of pressure to make Shiro lose his mind a little bit from the lightning strike of sensation. He groans, lightheaded with the way the blood rushes to his cock as Keith squeezes.
The kitchen is no place to carry on like this, not when there's a perfectly good bed upstairs. On the other hand, Shiro doesn't want to let go of Keith, doesn't see why he should bother when it's just as easy to bend his knees a bit, slide his hands down the backs of Keith's thighs, and hoist him up onto the counter instead.
Keith reacts with perfect equanimity, spreading his knees so Shiro can step between them and hooking his legs around Shiro's waist once he does. Sitting on the counter gives him the height advantage on Shiro, lets Shiro lean into him to lick the hollow of his throat. Keith expels a breath, a soft hah to go with the way he tips his head back, and rakes his fingers through Shiro's hair, stroking it back from his eyes.
Shiro presses his mouth to the jutting point of Keith's collarbone, sucks on the delicate skin of it until Keith groans his name. The bruise shows darks against Keith's skin, right next to the flutter of his pulse. Shiro doesn't know whether the sight should satisfy him the way it does, but he does know he can't bring himself to care too very much either way, not when it feels so right.
Keith pulls his knees up and digs his heels into Shiro's ass, though there's not much closer that Shiro can get. He tries anyway, leaning into Keith and kissing the side of his throat, sliding his hands up the line of Keith's back until Keith hitches his hips forward and cants them just enough that Shiro can feel the hardness of him pressing against his stomach. They both groan at that, Keith lifting himself up enough to move against Shiro and groaning again when Shiro leans into him, bearing down as much as he can. "Shiro—" He clutches at Shiro's shoulders when he pulls away, tries to hold him in place with the heels he digs into the small of Shiro's back, until Shiro gets his hand between them and drags the waistband of his sweatpants down past his cock. "Oh—!"
"Yeah." He smiles at Keith as he fits his hand around him, smooth and hot against his palm, and watches Keith's lashes as they drop over his eyes and the way Keith's lips part on a pleased moan. He slides his thumb up the underside of Keith's cock and over the head, rubbing it across the slit and the precome beading there, just for the way Keith nearly purrs for him. He slides his thumb back and forth, smearing the wetness over velvet-soft skin as the flush climbs Keith's throat and cheeks, until Keith tries to rock up into his hand.
Then he bends down and guides Keith's cock into his mouth, wrapping his lips around the head and tracing his tongue over it, lapping the salt and musk from Keith's skin.
Keith groans his name again and curves a hand against the back of Shiro's head as he slumps back—Shiro thinks he may have thumped his head against the cabinet, but if that's what that thud was, it doesn't seem to bother Keith much at all. He scrapes his nails against Shiro's scalp, lifting his hips to push his cock deeper into Shiro's mouth, and leans his head back against the cabinet, eyes shut, as Shiro welcomes the weight sliding over his tongue, sucking on it as he cups Keith's balls against his palm, fondling them just a little roughly, the way Keith likes it.
Keith twitches against his tongue and groans a curse as he digs his nails into Shiro's scalp. "Shiro, fuck—"
Shiro hums around him and relaxes his jaw, pressing down the length of Keith's cock until the head nudges at his throat, and keeps going until he's swallowed Keith down.
Keith shouts and clutches at Shiro's hair and shoulders, flexing against Shiro's mouth even though there's not any way he can get closer or deeper—Shiro has his face buried in Keith's lap, his nose pressed to Keith's stomach and full of Keith's scent. He hums to Keith again, swallows around him as he dips his fingers behind Keith's balls to rub slow circles there. Keith shouts again as he comes, arching against the counter and the cabinets ad digging his heels into Shiro's shoulders as his cock pulses against Shiro's tongue.
Shiro has to act quickly when Keith goes lax in the aftermath, has to catch his hips to keep him from sliding right off the edge of the counter and onto the floor. He straightens up and Keith slumps forward against him, floppy as a ragdoll, panting against the side of Shiro's throat as the last shudders work through him.
Shiro slides a hand up Keith's back and into the dampness of Keith's hair, smiling at the wordless noise of contentment this earns him. Keith wraps his arms around Shiro as his breathing slows; his sigh tickles the side of Shiro's throat. "Me too," he says, soft enough that Shiro wouldn't have heard it if Keith's lips weren't right next to his ear. "I—me too."
They haven't named the thing between them before now, but it's been there all along. It's not a revelation, not in the sense of the unknown revealed. Still. He catches Keith closer without consciously making the decision to do so, turns his face against the place where Keith's throat curves into his shoulder, and feels Keith's hand settle against his nape. "Keith," he murmurs, "Keith."
"Yeah." Keith turns his face and touches his lips to Shiro's temple. "Yeah. I do. I love you." He whispers it into Shiro's skin and it strikes the breath from Shiro the same way the check did, anyway, the same way the words I'm choosing this, choosing you did, leaves him speechless and stunned. He tightens his arm around Keith and presses his mouth against Keith's throat, fervent with all the things he doesn't know how to say.
Keith hears them in spite of that; he kisses Shiro's temple and the crest of his cheek, slides his hand around to cup Shiro's jaw and coax Shiro's face to his for a kiss, slow and unstinting. Shiro leans into Keith's hands and mouth as if there were any possible way to pour his heart out to him by doing so. Keith cradles Shiro's face in his hands and kisses him again and again, sweeping his thumbs over Shiro's cheekbones and murmuring Shiro's name to him between kisses, voice hushed. Reverent, though Shiro is certain it really ought to be the other way around.
It's enough to overwhelm anyone. Shiro breaks away from Keith's mouth, resting his forehead against Keith's and settling his arms around his waist. Keith lets him do it, but says, "You stopped again," less complaint than amusement.
"I know." Shiro turns his face and drops a kiss against Keith's palm. "Sorry."
Keith brushes his fingertips over Shiro's lips. "It's going to take a while for the bread to rise, you know." He waits for Shiro to glance at him before quirking a grin at him. "You want to go upstairs?"
"Yeah," Shiro says. "I'd love that."
end
2017 has been a hell of a year, y'all. Happy new year to all of you and here's to 2018 being a better one.