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Sweet Dreams

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Keith is fifteen the first time he meets Takashi Shirogane, and from the moment their eyes meet...he wants. He wants so desperately. Then, in a flurry of changes, he's enrolling at the Garrison and spending all of his free time with Shiro, but it's not enough. Shiro's eyes never stray from Adam, and he wants.

No, he doesn't want. He needs.

It's late the night that he sneaks himself into Shiro's rooms, relieved to find Adam elsewhere for the night (or was he disappointed? There's something, something longing in him deep down at the thought of Adam not getting to see what he's about to do, not getting to see how he takes what is his).

Moving silently in socked feet, he finds Shiro fast asleep. He looks peaceful, angelic. Keith takes a moment to watch him; a pleased, possessive feeling filling his stomach. He thinks about Shiro curled up beside him. There's an image in his mind of his hand fisted in Shiro's hair, pulling his head back to bare his throat and-

He has to stifle the low keen that tries to work its way out of his throat, swallowing it back to his chest.

He creeps over to the edge of the bed, close enough to see the way Shiro's eyes move beneath his lids, dreaming. He looks so soft, so sweet, so...delicious. Keith needs. He needs so badly it hurts.

Keith pulls the blankets down slowly, watching to make sure Shiro doesn't stir. He moves as easily as he can, trying not to jostle the sleeping man into wakefulness. He waits a moment, making sure the sudden change doesn't mess anything up, then he moves again. Setting a knee on the bed as delicately as he can, he pulls himself up, one hand reaching down to support his weight more evenly. Shiro shifts in his sleep, and Keith stills. He holds himself like a statue, holding his breath before Shiro falls silent again.

When he's sure the coast is clear, he moves again; he throws one leg over the other man and shuffles quietly to straddle him. He hovers there, careful not to rest his weight on Shiro, and looks.

Shiro is a sight beneath him, hips framed by his knees and hair splayed across the pillow. A feeling rips at Keith's chest, and he aches; he needs. He doesn't know what he needs, but he needs it more than anything he's ever needed in his entire life. He brings his hands up, fingering at Shiro's shirt where it rests on his stomach. He pinches at the hem, thinks of lifting it, then let's the soft cotton drop to wiggle his fingers slowly beneath the fabric. He feels Shiro's abdomen jerk, ticklish, where his hands ghost over his skin, and he darts a look up. Asleep, still asleep.

Keith slides his hands up, slowly, slowly, pushing the shirt lightly as he goes, and hungry eyes take in every inch of skin revealed. The shirt catches just above Shiro's pecks, and Keith's mouth goes dry at the sight. He carefully, carefully presses his fingers lightly into the skin there, feeling its softness, before ghosting his hands across the now bare chest and down. Down to his stomach then his sides, worshipful eyes taking in every movement, reverent hands burning at the warmth of Shiro's skin.

He creeps his hands back up, letting his nails scratch lightly against soft skin, watching goosebumps erupt in their wake. His nails catch against a perked nipple, and he slides his hand slowly to the side until he can flick a thumb over it. A sound drifts to him, causing him to freeze and slowly raise his eyes to Shiro's face.

Still asleep.

Perplexed, Keith repeats the action, and watches as Shiro's lips part around a quiet sigh. The sound alights something in him, and he aches in that familiar way he's only ached for Shiro. He wants to hear more.

He keeps one hand toying with Shiro's chest, and the other moves back down to the waistband of his shorts. Keith traces his fingers through the coarse hair he finds there, and he thinks. He thinks about what he wants, what he needs, what he should do next. Then he carefully shuffles backwards, hooks his fingers over the top of the shorts, and pulls. The waistband inches down with his hand until it doesn’t, caught firmly in place where it’s trapped between the bed and Shiro’s ass.

He pauses, realizing that he'll have to use both hands if he wants to actually be able to slide the shorts down any farther. Keith takes his hand away from Shiro's firm chest, slipping it down his side, watching the way he jerks and shivers beneath his touch, and then slides it slowly down and into the side of Shiro's shorts. He leans forward, mouth hovering over the pert nipple he'd left behind, and slides his other hand to mirror the first. Carefully, he presses a hot, open mouth kiss to Shiro's pec and wiggles the shorts as far down as he can.

Keith pulls back when there’s a soft gasp from Shiro above him, watches the way his chest hitches on the breath, the way his hands fist in the sheets. He leans up further, brushing a featherlight kiss against Shiro's lax lips in response, and then he shuffles his way back down. With his hands on Shiro's hips, he sits up and looks down at the newly revealed skin. He almost, almost rests his weight on Shiro's strong thighs.

He takes in the sight below him, and he can feel a new ache spreading through his core. No, actually, not new, he realizes. It’s focused, stronger; closer to what he's looking for. He moves carefully, and trails a finger over Shiro's shaft, thoughtful. He lowers his hand and presses his palm against the warm skin, then circles his fingers loosely around it. He tries to touch his fingers together, and a ragged breath leaves him when he realizes that he can't.

Everything about Shiro is so much bigger than him.

He loves it.

He needs it.

Keith struggles out of his pants, as quickly and silently as he can to not wake Shiro. There's something...something about the man being at his mercy that lights a fire within him. Something that reminds him that he can do anything he wants, anything he needs. Something about knowing Shiro won't push him away; knowing he won’t tell him no. That something makes him feel desperate.

Moving back to rest over Shiro, Keith slides a hand between his own legs. His fingers slip against his skin, slick and warm, and he shudders as he brushes his fingers against himself. He can feel himself throbbing, ready, wanting. He pulls his hand away, and then looks down at Shiro's half-hard dick just below him. He feels, he feels, he needs...he reaches down, using a careful hand to hold it up and steady, and then he trains his half-lidded eyes on Shiro's face to watch for any reaction.

He lowers himself slowly, thighs twitching, until he feels the head brush against him and slip inside. Stops, warm. Moves his hands away to steady them on either side of Shiro's broad chest. He shudders, tense, and starts to move again. He closes his eyes and feels, reveling in every inch of Shiro that slips inside of him, feeling himself stretch around the intrusion. When he comes to a stop, sitting heavy and full against Shiro, he pushes himself to sit back up straight. He feels...he feels…

He forces himself to take a deep breath, then he forces himself to tense around Shiro's dick. A choked noise breaks from Shiro's throat that matches his own soft whimper. He rolls his hips once, curious, grinding down against Shiro, and he can feel how his dick hardens further inside him. Keith feels alive.

He lifts himself back up, slowly, stifling a groan with his hand as he feels, hyperaware, the way that Shiro drags against him, thick and wonderful. So, so wonderful. He feels like there's a haze sinking over him, clogging his mind, as he sinks back down, faster this time. He needs, he needs

He looks down at Shiro, pleading, and stops. He needs, he needs...he'll wake him up. He'll wake him up, and be denied, and, and...A low whine builds in his throat, slipping out of him pathetic and quiet as he leans forward to rest his head against Shiro's chest. He aches painfully for more.

Keth shifts his hips again, wiggling as he lifts them up and off Shiro as far as he can, before pressing back down. Another whimper escapes him, and he does it again. Again. Again. It's not enough. It's not enough, but he can't, he can't. He'll wake Shiro. He can't stop. His mouth opens on a silent cry, and he squeezes his eyes shut against the tears he feels bleed up. He needs so much more.

He reaches a hand out, grasping the sheets next to where Shiro has them clutched in his soft grip. He can feel the way the chest beneath him stutters ever so slightly, little gasps sounding above his head as he moves. His fist closes against the mattress, then opens. Closes, opens. Closes, opens. Up, down. Up...down. And then-


A sigh. Keith chokes, gasps, chest heaving against the weight of his own need. His hips drop, harder than he'd intended, and a small cry escapes his throat. Better, closer.

"Keith." Another sigh.

He feels Shiro shift beneath him, stretching, back arching and driving his dick impossibly further. It jolts Keith enough to make him cry out, then beg. Near silent, softly whispered sobs, "Please, please, please."

He needs, he needs.

There's a loud gasp above him, and then a low moan. He forces himself to look up, watching the way Shiro's eyes start to flutter and open. Keith curls back against his chest, hiding. He keeps moving, keeps pleading, even as Shiro stills entirely beneath him, silent, and then he hears him gasp out a panicked, "Keith?!"

Keith forces himself to stop, as much as he can. He can't stop his mouth from babbling, broken only by a long whine when he realizes Shiro is awake, awake. Shiro is awake, he’s awake, he's going to push him away, he's going to make it stop, but Keith needs, he can't.

"Keith-" Keith lets out a soft cry, and he can't stop himself from moving any longer. He tries, he tries, but he can't stop the way his hips start to shift at the sound of his name. His entire body shudders as he forces himself to move as little as possible, hips jolting against his will. Shiro chokes back a noise above him, and when he speaks his voice comes out hoarse. "What-Keith, what are you doing?"

There's a warm hand against Keith's shoulder, pushing him away, and he cries out.

"No! Please, no," he forces his way back down, curling back against Shiro's chest as a sob breaks from his throat, "Please, Shiro. Please, please. I need it, please."
He can feel Shiro's hand falter against him.

"Keith..." There are soft hands pushing him up again, the force behind them all but gone, but Keith still fights against them. He lifts his free hand, the one not digging painfully into the mattress, and wraps his fingers around Shiro's wrist, tight. He can feel his nails, sharper than he's ever known them, where they press hard against Shiro's skin, pricking against soft flesh, catching.

His teeth feel too large for his mouth when he speaks, lips catching against their sharp points, and he can taste the blood on his tongue, "I. Need. This."

Shiro is silent beneath him, and Keith can't force himself to raise his head and meet Shiro’s eyes, doesn't want to know what's going on in his mind.


He whines, soft.

"Keith, look at me."

He whines again, this time louder, painful.

"Keith, baby, look at me."

Keith twitches, and his head jerks up to look at Shiro with wide, wild eyes. He lets Shiro push him up just a bit, just enough to where they can see each other better. Shiro is silent below him, studying, an odd look in his eyes as Keith chokes back another sob. There's something burning there in his gaze, an emotion Keith hasn't seen him wear before, one he can't place. He tries to look away.

"Keith." The boy whines, but shifts his gaze to meet Shiro's eyes again. His hand tightens around the wrist he's still gripping, and he watches Shiro's eyes flick to it before focusing back on him. His fingers feel slick, warm and wet. He tightens his grip, sinks his claws in further, and watches Shiro suck in a breath. "You need this?"

Keith gulps, whimpers. He closes his eyes and nods just slightly, a tiny jerk of his chin. He feels the hand on his shoulder, the one not pinned there by claws and blood, shift away. Then he feels fingers slide into his hair, brushing it away from his face. A palm comes to rest on his cheek, large and warm.

"Look at me and tell me, Keith. How do I help you?" Shiro’s voice is quiet, pensive. It sounds off, restrained.

Keith slits his eyes open, lashes heavy with unshed tears. He pants, taking in the way Shiro watches him. He can feel Shiro's thumb, lightly tracing back and forth across his bottom lip as his mouth falls open, heavy and too full. Watches the way Shiro inhales again, focused. He whispers, "Fuck me."

Shiro's eyes darken, and something in Keith relaxes as he nods. Slowly, he releases the grip he has on Shiro's wrist, and he can feel the way his nails tug against the skin there, pulling out of it, leaving small rivers of blood behind. He turns his head, wants to see, but then the hand on his face moves. A thumb slips into his mouth, pressing down against and under his tongue as Shiro moves his hand, turns it, his free fingers coming down to wrap their way around Keith’s jaw and hold him there, forcing him to meet Shiro's gaze. The hand on his shoulder moves away, only to come back and grab hard at his hip.

"Look at me, Keith. This is what you want?"

Keith keens, arches his back and grinds down against Shiro. He tries to close his mouth around the thumb pressing in, but Shiro's grip keeps his jaw from closing, and he can feel the way drool has started to fall from one corner as his tongue lolls. Messy.


Whatever Shiro sees there must be an answer for him, because suddenly he's moving his hand from Keith's jaw to the back of his head, fingers threading through long hair before pulling hard, forcing Keith’s head to jerk back, forcing him to sit up fully and arch his back further.

Keith cries out as he feels Shiro guide him up, lifting him up off of his dick slightly. The hand on his hip feels bruising, burning, and he can feel his legs shaking while he tries to hold himself up. Shiro shifts beneath him, and Keith wishes, wants, aches to see what he’s doing, then drives into him so forcefully that Keith chokes on a silent scream, his back straining and legs threatening to give out beneath him. Before he's able to suck in a breath, Shiro moves to do it again, leaving blinding spots of pain blooming behind Keith’s eyes. He stutters, hand shooting out to grab again at the arm near his waist, and he grips tight until he feels the skin give way beneath his claws once more.

Shiro hisses, fucks into him again, and asks, "Is this what you needed, baby?"

"Ye-yes." Keith has to swallow twice to speak around the noises building from the back of his throat, rumbling out in an engine loud pur, "No. More."

Shiro doesn't respond, but the hand in Keith's hair untangles, letting him breathe, moving to grab at the other side of Keith's waist. Keith feels him stall, and whines. He looks down, ready to beg again, when he notices that Shiro's gaze is locked on the hands on his hips. Keith looks too, curious, and sees the way Shiro's thumbs brush one another beneath his navel. He can feel more fingers meeting at the small of his back.

The thought that Shiro could crush him, break him, flashes through his mind and makes him shiver. He tightens his grip on Shiro's arm, feeling the way blood seeps beneath his fingernails, and feels Shiro's own nails dig into him in response. Then, Shiro moves, hiking Keith up at the same time he pulls out. In a move that nearly makes Keith collapse, he drives his own hips up as he slams Keith's down, and Keith has to grab onto Shiro's other arm to keep himself from falling as an inhuman noise builds and breaks in his throat.

He does it again, again, again, until Keith does fall forward, hands scrabbling to try and keep himself up. One finds a new home on Shiro's chest, scratching long lines of blood in unmarred skin, and the other finds its way around Shiro's throat as he tries to muffle his noises in a sloppy, wet kiss.

Keith gasps ragged breaths against Shiro's mouth, biting moans from soft lips then lapping at the blood he feels beading there. He moves, grinding down on Shiro when he feels hands slip from his waist to his ass, nails digging into his cheeks, pushing him to a brutal pace he almost can't match. He feels hot, hot, so hot as Shiro whispers against his lips then gags when the hand around his throat tightens. He’s burning. Keith can feel his own mouth moving, babbling nonsense praise, still begging for more. He moves his face to the side, an open mouthed kiss trailing teeth along Shiro's jaw until he finds where his thumb digs into the base of Shiro's throat. He licks at the blood there, then moves his hand away, and revels in the ragged breath Shiro draws in when Keith’s nails slip free of his skin.

He buries his nose in Shiro's throat and keens, high, loud. The ache inside him is getting worse, and he can't think past how good Shiro smells against him; salt, copper, and something else he doesn't want to live without. Something he needs, needs, needs.

He feels Shiro reach between them, a warm hand wrapping around his dick, and he jerks, dropping himself down onto Shiro so forcefully that it makes Shiro stutter and moan. Shiro fists him hard, fast, tight, in time with each painful, perfect thrust, and Keith's is drowning in it.

His mouth falls open, no sound coming out except broken breaths, but he can feel it building, building. White hot heat starts low in his stomach, filling his lungs, threatening his throat. He buzzes with it, and then it breaks. Shiro thrusts into him, hard, harder, and an inhuman scream rips itself free from his throat, his vision going black as he teeth sink down into soft flesh to stifle the noise against Shiro's throat. Deep enough to send blood splashing against Keith's tongue, but not deep enough to seriously injure.

Keith feels more than hears the long, drawn out curse that he bites out of Shiro, and then he feels it. Warm, warm, filling, deep. Another broken whine presses itself out of his mouth, jaw still clamped around Shiro, because this is what he needed. He sags, boneless and dazed, against Shiro's chest.

He comes back to himself when he feels a hand in his hair, petting him slowly. Carefully, he opens his jaw where it’s locked tight against Shiro’s skin, and unhooks his teeth. Keith licks dutifully at the slowly leaking blood he leaves in his wake. He stretches, feeling Shiro still in him, keeping his cum inside, and feels a low rumble start in his chest. He purrs, soft and quiet, content. Surrounded by Shiro's scent, sated and full, he feels better than he has in months.

They're silent like that, with Shiro petting Keith's hair slowly and an arm wrapped around him to keep him close while Keith curls boneless against his chest.

When Keith’s breath starts to even and he regains his voice, he whispers, hoarse, "Thank you, Shiro. I needed this so badly."

"I know you did, Keith." He doesn't know the emotion hiding behind Shiro's words, but it reminds him of the one he saw earlier in his eyes. He doesn't want to think about it. He got what he needed, and he no longer aches.