[fic] VLD - Closer Than a Heartbeat

[lysapadin]

Title: Closer than a Heartbeat

Characters/Pairings: Keith/Lance/Shiro

Summary: Shiro goes into heat. Keith and Lance assist him with that.

Notes: Written for Heat Wave: An ABO Voltron Zine last year. Omegaverse, obviously, explicit for smut, not canon compliant, 3600 words.

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Closer than a Heartbeat

Lance notices first, though it's not until after the dust starts to settle and they manage to compare notes that they figure this out.

Keith would've thought that this would be something he'd crow over—Lance being Lance, and all—but Lance actually just shrugs it aside. "Nah, back home—" (the barest hesitation) "—back home I usually knew before anyone else. Half the time I'd know before they knew they were going into season." He wrinkles his nose. "As stupid human tricks go, I'd rather be able to wiggle my ears. No one ought to have to know when his baby sister is about to present, you know?"

Keith doesn't know, actually, but he can see how that might be awkward.

But yeah, Lance notices first—notices even before Shiro does. Not that he does them a favor by saying anything about it.

"Of course I didn't say anything, geez!" Lance throws his hands in the air. "Manners are a thing, Jesus. And besides, I figured Shiro'd, you know, take care of things himself." He rubs his chin. "In retrospect, I have no idea why I thought that would work."

"Hey," Shiro says. "I'm right here."

"Yeah, but… he has a point," Keith says. "I mean… considering." There's a lot to consider, actually, which his gesture takes in—there's the ambassadorial suite their hosts have supplied them, the bed the three of them are currently sharing, and the utter wreck they've made of it all.

Not that Shiro is particularly mollified by this—though he does go red. "That doesn't mean I like the implication that I—that I—"

"Pay absolutely no attention to your own needs?" Lance supplies when he falters. "Are in complete denial that you even have needs? Are pathologically devoted to the idea that everything is fine, nothing is wrong, and everything is perfectly under control?"

"Lance," Shiro says, aggravated—or maybe he just wants to be aggravated. He certainly isn't meeting their eyes at the moment.

It makes sense, though. Shiro's been big on control, self-control, as long as Keith's known him. That tendency has only gotten worse since his time in Galra captivity, more desperate every time another of the Galra's violations comes to light. Keith hasn't ever framed it in words for himself, but now that Lance has… yeah, he can see it.

Lance does what he does best—ignores what Shiro is saying in favor of acting on what Shiro is doing. He pushes himself up from his lazy sprawl over one of the abundant large pillow-bolster-things that their hosts seem to like and grins at Shiro. "Can you really say I'm wrong?" He shifts closer to where Shiro is leaning against the headboard, close enough that he can stretch out a hand and card his fingers through the hair falling in Shiro's eyes, brushing the tangle of it back from his face. (Shiro's throat moves as he swallows.) "You do have a lot invested in keeping everything under control, don't you?"

"Lance." The way Shiro says it sounds like a warning, but he leans into Lance's hand. Makes it difficult to take him seriously.

Also, there's the part where he hasn't protested the point. Shiro's honest, but in his own way. He won't lie, but he won't answer a question he doesn't like, either, if he can help it. Generally the tactic seems to work for him… except when it comes to the people who know him, like Keith, and now, apparently, Lance.

Keith sits up; now Shiro is caught between them. "That's not a denial," he remarks, scooting closer, close enough that he can stroke his hand up over Shiro's shoulder and settle it against the back of Shiro's neck. "You do like to make it look like you've got everything under control. And you don't cut yourself anything slack, ever."

"Not you, too," Shiro says. Complains, really, but his shoulders settle as Lance keeps on playing with his hair. When Keith squeezes his nape, they drop even further, and Keith feels the little shiver that ripples through him. "Are the two of you even allowed to team up together?"

"Only when it's for a good cause." Lance glances sideways at Keith. "Even a stopped clock is right twice a day."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Lance, your average isn't—quite—that bad," Keith says.

Shiro sighs, relaxing some more. "Guys," he says, before he realizes that they're not actually fighting.

Lance cards his fingers through Shiro's hair. "You do know that you're a good cause, right?"

"The best cause," Keith adds, shifting closer, close enough to press his lips to Shiro's shoulder.

"I can't be—" Shiro stops and starts over, voice rough. "That's too much to put on me."

Typical, really, that the only responsibility Shiro will turn down is the one that actually benefits him. Keith kisses his shoulder again, tracing his lips over skin that goes from smooth to rough back to smooth again with the scars that bisect it. "We're not putting it on you, Shiro."

Lance spreads his hand against Shiro's chest, over his heart. "You were gone for a long time, remember. Things had to change. Not everything for the worse."

Shiro shivers between them at the reminder of his absence, or maybe from the way they're touching him, or maybe just from the next wave of his heat starting to ramp up. Or maybe from all three. "Guys…"

"Let it be what it is, Shiro," Keith tells him, shaping the words into the juncture of his shoulder and his neck. "You don't have to decide anything right now. There'll be time to decide after we get you through this."

Even Shiro is only human. He sighs and shifts, reaching an arm back to Keith and sliding the other up Lance's chest. "All right."

"Good call," Lance tells him just before moving in and claiming Shiro's mouth for a kiss.

Once Shiro decides on something, he commits to it. This is no different, though Keith imagines that the hormones surging through his blood probably help him let go, let him lean into Lance's mouth and hum to him, eyes drifting shut as he does. He's past the urgency of the first part of his heat, but he goes pliant easily even so, threading his fingers through the short-cropped hair at the back of Lance's head and arching into Lance's hand on his chest.

That's not a bad thing to look at, Keith decides, and puts a pin in that thought for later consideration. For now…

Shiro's still wet from the last wave, or may just be wet again already. It doesn't matter, really—what matters is the way he spreads his knees wider when Keith dips his hands down between his thighs, sliding it under him and stroking his fingers through the slick. He groans for Keith, groans for both of them as Lance mouths the side of his throat and Keith presses his fingers into the heat of him, two at once and the slide nearly frictionless.

Maybe they're not quite past the first wave yet after all. Makes sense, given how long it's been since the last time Shiro would have gone through a heat. The first one after the suppressants wear off is supposed to be pretty intense, or so Keith hears, and this is Shiro's first since before the Garrison, or maybe even longer than that.

Shiro groans and rolls his hips down, trying to take Keith's fingers deeper. God, he looks amazing, flushed and disheveled, lips swollen and plush from the use they've seen. Lance has an arm around him now, is holding him up as he mouths Shiro's throat, and yeah, Keith really hopes they'll be able to convince Shiro that it's okay for him to want this. Jesus, he wants to have this forever and ever, amen.

He gives Shiro a third finger and curves them inside him just for the way it makes Shiro's groan stutter, letting the way Shiro is trying to fuck himself on his fingers guide him—he works them in and out of Shiro, fast and hard, as Shiro pants for breath, clutching at Keith's shoulder. When Lance strokes his hand over Shiro's chest to toy with one of his nipples, Shiro comes, arching between them as his body ripples around Keith's fingers. The moan that comes out of him when he sags between them is frustrated. "Fuck me," he says—asks. "Please, I need—it's not enough—"

"Easy, Shiro, easy." Lance glances Keith's way, raises his eyebrows, and Keith nods. Lance shifts, drawing Shiro up and maneuvering him so that he can fit himself against Shiro's back, supporting him. He keeps that patter of soothing nonsense up as he does: "We've got you, we just need to get ourselves nice and situated first, okay?"

"I'm in heat, Lance, I'm not an infant," Shiro grits out, though there's not a lot of anger in it.

"Thank God for that," Lance says, easy, as Keith gets his hands on Shiro's hips and hitches them up, drawing him down the bed. Lance bends over Shiro, once he's got his head resting on his chest, and kisses his forehead. "I'd hate to think how much you'd be fussing if you were."

"I'm not fussing—" Shiro begins, clearly outraged by the implication.

"Shiro." Keith waits until Shiro is looking at him to push into him, one sure, hard roll of his hips, so he can watch the way Shiro's eyes go unfocused as he drops his head back against Lance's chest, lips parting on a moan.

"Jesus," Lance says, reverent. Keith has to agree—if anything could get him to believe in a god, this would be it—the grip of Shiro's body, furnace hot around him, the heavy, thick scent of his heat hanging in the air, the sounds he makes when Keith grinds into him, little breathless gasps to go along with the way he twists his hand in the sheets and clutches Lance's arm with the other. Keith rolls his hips against Shiro's, slides his hands under Shiro's ass to lift him up into each stroke, already gasping for breath at how good this is, how good Shiro is, wrapping his legs around him and pleading for more, for harder, as his body spasms between them on another orgasm.

The purr rises out of Keith's throat without his really thinking about it, pleasure in the beautiful arch of Shiro's body and the line of his throat as he tosses his head, the wantonness of the words spilling out of him as Keith fucks him. Lance is purring too, watching them both from beneath his lashes as he strokes Shiro's hair, cuddling Shiro against his chest.

Shiro subsides, panting and shuddering, and turns fever-bright eyes on Keith. "Please—please, it's not enough—"

"Shh," Lance murmurs. "It's all right, Shiro, we're going to take care of you, I promise." He tangles his fingers with Shiro's, slides his other hand over Shiro's chest; the splay of his long fingers is tender. Protective. "We'll get you there, I promise."

Shiro may be beyond hearing; he writhes against Lance's touch, bucks his hips against Keith's as Keith drives into him. "Please," he begs, cock lying hard and flushed dark against the mess of come smeared across his stomach.

It's not as though Keith has ever been any good at saying no to Shiro, even when he wants to, and he wants to give Shiro this. He leans into him and pushes his hips higher, burying himself deeper in the heat of Shiro's body, crooning to him as he rocks into him, short hard thrusts that punch broken noises out of Shiro every time he sinks home. He can taste Shiro's need hanging heavy in the air, musky-sweet on his tongue and in his nose, threaded through with the tang of Lance's scent, with his own scent, God—

Shiro moans, sharp and wanting, as Keith rocks into him and the first swelling of Keith's knot catches on his entrance. "Yes, yes—"

Keith groans back to him, wordless and deep in his chest as pleasure coils tight at the base of his spine, winding tighter every time he pushes into Shiro, feeling the resistance of his body working around his knot, the ache of it sweetly sharp, thrusts turning urgent with how close he is—

He sinks home and Shiro arches between them, a thin cry stuttering out of him as Keith ties them together. He comes again, cock jerking against his stomach and spilling more jizz into the mess. Keith falls over the edge after him, grinding into Shiro as orgasm pours through him in waves, sweeping everything away but how right it is to hold Shiro like this, to fill him up with his seed to the sounds of his satisfaction and Lance's approving purr.

Lance steadies him with a hand to his shoulder when the storm passes and Keith sags forward, stunned and undone, still tied to Shiro and shivering with the way pleasure dances up his spine with every tiny shift of their bodies. "Easy, easy…"

Keith draws a shaking breath and moans at the heady mix of their scents. "Oh… oh, God…"

Shiro still has his legs locked around him, holding Keith inside him like he doesn't mean to let him go, knot or no. He's lax between them, lashes sweeping against his cheeks, his purr rusty-dark in his throat.

Keith doesn't realize he's staring until Lance squeezes his shoulder and smiles at him. "I know," he says. "I know."

Keith smiles back, helpless to stop himself when his heart is so fucking full, and presses forward to kiss Lance. Words may not be his strong suit, but action is. Lance understands that just fine, tangling his fingers in Keith's hair and answering him without reservations.

Shiro whines between them, hitching his hips against Keith's, tiny movements to grind himself against Keith's knot, against his cock. Keith groans against Lance's mouth, because it's almost too much to bear.

Lance laughs, husky. "Good thing there's two of us, isn't there?" He cups Shiro's jaw, rubbing his thumb over Shiro's lips when Shiro turns to nuzzle his palm. "I don't think either of us could keep up with him by ourselves."

"Well, this is Shiro we're talking about." Keith slides his hands over Shiro's hips and ass and smoothes them over the bunched muscles of his thighs. "You know what an overachiever he is."

"I can hear you," Shiro slurs. The complaint loses something on the lazy curve of his lips, soft with satisfaction.

"And you're still an overachiever," Lance tells him, fond, stroking the sweaty hair back from his forehead.

"Mmph." Keith thinks Shiro is trying to frown, but it's not working very well. "I'm not—nngh." He shudders as Keith shifts back, moving inside him and testing how close his knot is to going down. "Don't…"

Keith exchanges a glance with Lance, who purses his lips and shapes a gesture—ah. Keith considers it and nods; that should work. "I'm not going anywhere," he tells Shiro. "I'm right here."

"We're just going to change it up a little." Lance moves, sliding his hands under Shiro and lifting as Keith reaches around him, pulling him up. Shiro grumbles, but allows them to lever him up—both he and Keith gasp as his weight bears him down on Keith's cock.

Lance twitches one of the bolsters into place as Keith leans back, resting against it as Shiro settles against him, heavy and sticky and wonderful.

Lance leans against Shiro's back, smiling, and nuzzles Shiro's shoulder—he's moving his hands over Shiro, sweeping them over his back and ass as Keith tucks his face into the curve of Shiro's throat to mouth his scent gland.

Shiro groans, rocking between them—Keith groans too, shuddering at the ripple of sensation, hovering at the far edge of what's bearable, and groans again when he feels Lance's long fingers stroking over the base of his cock and the place where Shiro is stretched open around him. "Lance—"

"Not gonna be long now," Lance says, which is true enough.

Keith can feel his knot starting to go down, even though Shiro is still moving against him and he can feel the pull of his heat, trying to coax him to greater heights. He closes his hand on the back of Shiro's nape, gripping it when he feels himself starting to slip free of Shiro's body to the sound of Shiro's protesting whine and a rush of slick and his own seed. "Aren't you the one who's always preaching patience?"

"I'm in heat. I don't think patience has any place in heat," Shiro argues.

Lance huffs. "Gonna side with Shiro on this one." He shifts himself between Keith's knees. Keith pulls his face away from the warm curve of Shiro's throat just in time to see Lance's face as he sinks into Shiro, nothing but naked pleasure and reverence on his face as he groans, as Shiro groans too. "Fuck…"

This isn't quite like watching the two of them together, but it's pretty good, too. Keith takes the weight of Shiro's body and gets to taste the salt on his skin and tease his tongue over the swollen bud of his scent gland, gets to watch Lance's expression as he moves inside Shiro, every shape his mouth makes around words of praise and pleasure as he rocks against Shiro, fucking him with long, languorous strokes that make Shiro groan. It's good, very good—Keith runs his hands over Shiro's skin, feeling the way Shiro's muscles move and shift as Lance fucks him, feels the way Shiro shudders in his arms when he comes again, groaning against Keith's shoulder, open and deep. Lance groans too, teeth set on his bottom lip. "Such an overachiever."

"Wouldn't have him any other way," Keith says.

"Of course not." Lance grins at Keith and leans into Shiro, kisses the blade of his shoulder and bites the nape of his neck. "He's pretty much perfect just the way he is."

"Guys," Shiro protests, muffled against Keith's shoulder, breathless, hoarse with how much noise he's been making.

"But it's true," Lance says, rocking against him hard and slow. Each stroke jolts through Shiro, solid enough that Keith can feel it too. "You're so amazing, so perfect, I'd stay right here with you forever if I could—"

He's getting close, then; Lance babbles when he's about to knot.

Doesn't mean that it's not absolutely the truth, though. Keith purrs to Shiro, who's gasping against his shoulder as Lance drives against him, hard short jerks of his hips that match the way Shiro gasps—Shiro makes a sound, sharp and breathless, as Lance throws his head back, groaning, his face bright with the pleasure sweeping over it.

The two of them together are really too heavy, but Keith can't bring himself to mind, not with Shiro rutting against his stomach, cock sliding through the mess he's made of them until he shudders again, all but whimpering as he comes. Then he subsides, sprawling against Keith on a moan.

Lance is the one who says, "This isn't gonna work, we're squishing Keith," and slides an arm around Shiro, tugging him along as he rolls to the side. "Yeah, that's better."

"Mm. Easier to breathe," Keith concedes. He misses the warmth of Shiro's skin and curls onto his side, pressing against Shiro, whose eyes are closed, expression slack. Peaceful. He doesn't stir when Keith touches his cheek.

"Is he out?" Lance asks, hushed.

"Looks like it," Keith says, stroking his thumb along the crest of Shiro's cheekbone.

"Think we'll be able to convince him to keep us around?" Lance says after a moment.

"I hope so," Keith says. "God, I really hope so." He gives in to impulse and brushes his lips against Shiro's forehead.

"Me too." Lance sighs and changes gears. "Your turn for clean-up duty."

"Mm. Yeah." Keith doesn't move—doesn't see the rush. They're the kind of filthy that only a shower can cure now.

Lance reaches across Shiro to grip his shoulder. "It's gonna be all right." He smiles. "Even if he wants to crawl back inside that everything-is-fine-and-nothing's-wrong shell, we won't let him now that we have a precedent to go on."

"I don't think it works that way, Lance," Keith says, comforted nonetheless.

"Why not? We fly magic psychic robot lions and defend the universe for a living." Lance squeezes his shoulder. "We've been off the map for ages now, so we get to set our own rules. And I say one of the rules is that we team up and make sure Shiro gets taken care of."

Keith has to smile. "Sounds like a good plan to me."

"Of course it's a good plan. I came up with it, didn't I?"

Keith snorts. "If you say so." He turns his face and kisses Lance's knuckles. "Let me up, I've got to raid the bathroom for some more towels."

"Leave a few. I say we take the next round to the bathroom." Lance smooths his hand along Shiro's shoulder. "I think the bathtub will fit us all."

"I think you're crazy," Keith says as he wriggles out of bed, because the bathtub is large, but not that large.

Still, he reasons as he goes to retrieve more towels, they'll probably have fun trying to fit, so it'll be worth it in the end.

end

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