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The rust coloured dust swirls up in a cloud around them as Shiro pulls up on his throttle and allows his hoverbike to come to an idle halt beside Keith’s. They are still airborne, and Keith has one foot tapping on the accelerator – the engine revving over and over like the purr of an enormous robotic cat – as he digs around in his jacket pocket for the map. Shiro hasn’t seen a paper map since he was at school, and this one is creased and folded and well worn. Still, Keith traces the contour lines like it holds the secrets to the universe, and Shiro finds himself being jealous of a piece of paper.

Then Keith shoots him a quick grin before he yanks his goggles back over his eyes, and Shiro forgets about the map because all his braincells have become a hot soup of desire instead of functional grey matter. The boy jerks his head to the side, and Shiro barely remembers to close his mouth against the rising dust as Keith pulls away, banking as he turns right, away from the tail end of the canyons to head further into the flat desert. They’ve raced near and around here before, but never quite so far out, and Shiro is content to let Keith lead the way. He’d follow Keith anywhere, and they both know it. Shiro has shown Keith every hoverbike trick he knows, and his protégé has long surpassed him in the flight sim. Hand to hand sparring on the mats is the only area where Shiro has anything left to teach him.

Well, maybe not the only area.

Shiro drags his thoughts away from the just-under-the-surface level thirst which has been his constant companion for such a long time now that he doesn’t remember what life was like beforehand, and focuses on tracking Keith across the desert landscape. The boy handles his hoverbike like he was born to do it, and Shiro can’t wait to see what he’s like in zero gravity. Keith can already fly after all, and without the tether of a planet, Shiro doesn’t think even he can predict how far Keith will go.

When Keith slows over the landscape enough for Shiro to come alongside him, he glances across to see the young man staring out at the distant horizon, his lips a thin line, and his brows lowered. The nebula swirl of his eyes seems darker somehow as he lets his engine idle and die. Shiro brings his hoverbike to rest as close as close as he can, and uses his goggles to push the floof of his bangs off his forehead.


But Keith is still staring into the desert, the map in his hand clenched in a tight fist, the worn paper crumpled against the leather of his fingerless gloves. Shiro loves those gloves. They have featured in many recent fantasies.


“It’s there.”

Keith blinks slowly, and the motion is accompanied by the sun coming out. The sun in the sky is already fully up and blazing down around them of course, but Keith smiles softly, serenely, and the contentment lightens his expression in a way Shiro rarely sees. Keith is more at ease with Shiro than with any other person on the planet, but his facial expressions are still what Matt calls ‘limited’. Shiro may or may not have sabotaged Matt’s latest ice-core analysis code for his comment, though he’s fairly certain his friend and crew-mate will forgive him.

“What’s there, Keith?” Shiro tears his eyes away from the boy he loves and follows the path of Keith’s gaze to a speck on the horizon. “Where are we?”

“Dad’s cabin.” Keith inhales deeply and his hands return to the grips of his hoverbike. “I used to live there.”

“Keith…” Shiro doesn’t have adequate words to describe the feeling which Keith’s words fill him with. Even with Shiro, Keith barely mentions his past, and the knowledge with which Keith has now entrusted him, makes his chest swell with pride.

“Let’s go, Hotshot.”

The cabin, as they approach, looks exactly the way a wooden building in the desert would look when it has been abandoned for the previous nine years. The boarding is worn, sun bleached, and bent by the wind; the little porch has woodworm, or dry rot, or something. But there are no holes in the roof - not significant ones anyway – the door is firm, and only one window appears to be broken in a corner.

“There’s no power either,” Keith observes as he fits a key into the lock and shoulders open the door – the wood has swollen and shrunk with time and the seasons, until the fit is extremely tight. “And I’m gonna guess there are snakes and other critters hiding in here somewhere. But it’ll do.”

“Do for what?”

“It’s mine, you know? Place isn’t worth anything after all,” Keith continues. “Legally it still belongs to the government until my birthday, but once October is over, it’s mine.” He turns in the centre of the living room, spreading his arms in an unequivocal gesture of welcome. “So, what do you think?”

“You’re gonna need to get a generator at some point.” Shiro feels his lips twitch into a smile which mirrors Keith’s own. “How good are you at electronics, Spitfire?”

“Better than you.” Keith elbows him in the ribs. “But probably not as good as Matt.” He jogs away to cross the room, heading for the door to the rest of the house. “No mattress on the bed. Test the water?”

With a soft frown, Shiro heads for the kitchen and spins the tap. A chug of brown, foul smelling sludge falls into the sink, but after that there is nothing but a dry rattle, and dust. He turns the tap off again.

“No water.”

“Fuck.” Keith shrugs, and Shiro follows the motion of Keith’s body, half turned to face him, his slim hip leaning against the countertop. “We’ll have to bring supplies out with us then.”

“Why are we here, Keith?”

Keith sets his teeth into his lower lip and his galaxy eyes flash up at Shiro from under long, ink-dark lashes. Shiro swallows with an audible click and fights his automatic desire to fall to his knees. He burns with desire when Keith looks at him like that, and Keith knows it. He knows.

“No cameras, Hotshot.” His voice is low, rumbling like the purr of a finely tuned engine, smooth as silk. “No neighbours, no curfew. No one knows where we are.”

“Oh… Keith.”

Keith reaches out and curves his hand around Shiro’s jaw, his fingers smooth and dry, the leather of the glove supple and textured in comparison. Shiro only realises his eyes have slid closed when Keith instructs him to open them.

“Better. So pretty, Hotshot. So good for me.”

Shiro feels himself nodding, even though he was not asked a question.

“I don’t want to wait until after you come back, Shiro. I want it now. I want you all the time. Always.”


“The weekend after next. That gives us time to get everything together. I don’t have classes, neither do you. Get Matt to cover for us.”

“Yes, sir.”

Shiro doesn’t mean to say it, it just slips out, but Keith’s smile goes dark and possessive and Shiro feels the room get hotter as his pulse begins to thunder in his ears. He’s not called Keith that since they shared a shower together – which was months ago – though he finds himself wanting to quite often.

“Pick me up.”

Keith’s tone is all command, and all Shiro considers as he follows the boy’s orders is how neatly Keith’s slender hips fit within his grasp. How even through the rough denim of his jeans, Shiro can feel the soft dip between Keith’s pelvis and his abdomen with his thumbs as he hefts all the boy’s not-insubstantial weight and lifts him to sit on the dusty counter. Keith weighs far more than his frame suggests.

It’s no wonder Shiro is drawn to him: Keith has his own gravity.

“Good boy.”

Shiro stares at his hands framing Keith hips and the narrow circle of his waist, still grasping tight, and as he looks, he’s sure he can see the way Keith hardens beneath his clothes. The very idea of Keith being just aroused from his presence is enough to make his head spin with how quickly all Shiro’s blood rushes to his crotch. Even though Shiro knows his protégé is just as hot for him as he is for Keith. And of course, Keith notices. Keith notices everything.

“Tsk, tsk Hotshot. We can’t have you riding back like that, you’ll crash the bike.”

“Oh…” For half a second, Shiro considers stepping away so that he can concentrate on breathing and being patient in order to get himself under control again; and then Keith takes his chin between two strong fingers and drags Shiro’s gaze up to meet his own.

“Hey, Hotshot.”


Keith arches a dark eyebrow at him, the corner of his lower lip caught between sharp teeth. He looks softly amused.

“So, are you gonna kiss me or not?”


Keith’s low chuckle is broken off with a gasp which becomes a moan as Shiro leans in to claim his mouth. Kissing Keith is still a revelation, and Shiro doesn’t think he ever will, or ever want to, get used to the sensation of having the fire-brand hot boy in his arms and against his lips. Keith kisses fiercely, with vigour and complete abandonment, as though the world outside the pair of them has simply stopped existing. He is totally unselfconscious as he pushes between the seam of Shiro’s lips, stroking over teeth and tongue whilst his firm fingers come up to rake through the short buzz of Shiro’s undercut. Keith makes a pleased noise in his throat, and then his lithe body is vibrating in Shiro’s arms. The sensation reminds Shiro of petting the Holt’s family cat – an enormous fluffy creature with no sense of personal space– but the very idea that Keith can purr is so ridiculous that he puts it down to a wishful thinking, and the fact that Keith devouring him makes it hard to think.

When Keith begins to pulls back, Shiro chases him, and is brought up short by the boy’s tight grip in his hair. He whines. It’s an embarrassing noise, not one Shiro has ever made before, and not a sound he thinks he’d ever make in front of anyone else – certainly not for anyone else – but the moment he blushes, Keith’s smile turns predatory. Lust pools like molten honey in Shiro’s loins.

Keith licks the sharp edge of his own teeth, and then he leans forward, cradling Shiro’s jaw in his other hand, and drags his tongue across Shiro’s parted mouth. It’s not a kiss, but the open dominance of the gesture makes Shiro’s toes curl. When Keith repeats the motion – lapping over Shiro’s lips before delving between them to stroke his tongue – Shiro shivers all the way down his spine as he groans.

“Good boy.”

There’s no need for Keith to hold Shiro’s jaw open any more, and he switches to stroking the pads of two fingers over Shiro’s lips, smearing their saliva and pressing into the plump flesh repeatedly. The way it springs back must fascinate him, because his smile deepens further, and the drag of his own lower lip through the grip of his teeth is captivating to Shiro. Then Keith dips his fingers into Shiro’s mouth and strokes the tip of his tongue and his teeth and Shiro steadies himself on the counter as his knees take on the approximate consistency of mess-hall Jell-o.

“So pretty, Hotshot.” Keith whispers. “My pretty one.”

The old wooden countertop groans under his hand, his grip hard enough to audibly stress the wood, and Keith preens.

“You’re so strong…” Keith slips his fingers deeper into Shiro’s mouth, and Shiro closes his lips around them instantly. Keith’s pleasured growl is going to haunt him for days. “You’re gonna be so good at this.”

Keith must be able to read the question in Shiro’s eyes, even as he dedicates all his focus to sucking Keith’s fingers in his mouth, because the galaxy-eyed boy shimmies his hips and resumes stroking Shiro’s hair with his free hand.

“Well… it is my first time, Shiro. You want to be really, really good for me, right?”

Oh fuck. Yes, Shiro wants to be good for Keith. It’s all he wants.

“You’ve gotta show me just how hard the Golden Boy of the Garrison can fuck.”

Shiro sees stars, because despite everything he has imagined and longed for – kisses in the hallway, the sweet domesticity of Keith in his clothes and lounging in his quarters, waking up with the boy in his arms – he has never allowed himself to visualise what Keith is suggesting. Of course, he’ll be Keith’s first, they’ve been headed along that course for a long while now, but the idea that it’s going to be soon, and here, and that Keith is planning it makes Shiro dizzy.

Keith’s fingers slip from his mouth, and Shiro fights the urge to whine when Keith frowns. Instead, he reaches up with one thumb to smooth away the lines of worry between his eyes.


“You do want to, right? I mean... if you wanted to do something else instead-”

It has been a long time since Keith looked unsure about something when it was just the two of them together, and Shiro hates the quiver in his voice. So different from the gravelly confident tone he’s become so used to. He shuts Keith up with a kiss.

“Yes, Spitfire,” he says as soon as their lips part. “Yes, I want to. Of course, I want to.”

“Good. You can get off base more easily than me, you OK to arrange things? You can have my key.”


“Don’t worry, I trust you.” Keith shifts his hips forward, and suddenly Shiro’s world is narrowed down to the sensation of Keith’s trapped erection against his own through two layers of clothes. “But we still can’t ride home like this.”

Shiro glances up to meet Keith’s eyes, and finds them twinkling with smug pleasure. Already he knows that whatever is about to come out of Keith’s mouth is going to be the death of him.

“I borrowed Matt’s PADD and used it to look something up.”

“Oh?” Shiro blinks as he traces his recent memories and comes up with the sight of Matt ranting about something inappropriate in his browser window during a meeting, and Shiro breathes a laugh. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. It’s not like he ever uses his data plan for anything fun.”

“And what did you find?”

Keith shakes his bangs in front of his face more thoroughly, but it’s not enough to hide the faintly lilac touched blush which paints his cheeks. Feeling bold, Shiro smooths the pad of his thumb across his skin, tracing the flow of Keith’s high cheek bone until the motion makes Keith's eyes flutter closed briefly.

The only time Keith has been actually embarrassed around him since the firsr time they kisses was when admitting that he found other people attractive when looking for Shiro’s haircut ideas, and mere the idea that Keith’s been looking at porn and thinking of him makes Shiro’s dick jerk in his pants.

“What did you find, Spitfire?”

Keith bites his lip, and hooks his thumb back into Shiro’s mouth, probably in an attempt to make him stop smirking. It works.


Shiro groans, and only doesn’t bite Keith’s thumb because his self-control is so well honed. But Keith’s purple-tinted gaze has dropped down between them, fixed on the very obvious weight at Shiro’s groin, and his next instruction makes Shiro whimper.

“Open your belt, Shiro. You have both hands free.”

Shiro’s fingers flex, tightening briefly around Keith’s hips and then he simply does as he’s been told, because there is no universe in which he is not going to follow every single command which his protégé gives him.

“Good boy.” Keith’s praise makes him shiver, even though he’s so hot he feels like his shirt is stuck to his back with sweat. “Suck.”

Shiro’s cock is far more eager to be free of the restriction of his clothes than can be considered polite, but as the hard muscle springs loose and slaps against Keith’s abdomen, the boy’s only reaction is to begin making that soft, wonderful vibrating sound again. Shiro finishes pushing his trousers down around his thighs – they are close fitting and anything further is going to require him to have more mobility than Keith’s thumb hooked into his mouth allows – and shakily returns to rest his hands on Keith’s hips, thumbs digging into the crease of his inner thighs.

“Fuck-” Keith’s confident composure isn’t gone, but it’s more subtle in the wake of his impressed exhale. “You’re so big, Hotshot. Wow.” His thumb presses into the softness of Shiro’s tongue, and Shiro remembesr what he’s supposed to be concentrating on. “Your cock is really pretty Shiro. Oh… that’s what makes you blush, is it? Not the thought that you’re going to fuck me with it?”

Shiro groans, even with his mouth full, and his traitorous dick throbs, a little pre-come glistening at the exposed tip where his foreskin pulls back.

Oh Shiro…” Keith sounds deeply pleased with himself, groaning as Shiro continues to grip tight around his hips. “Breathe, beautiful. Good. Now, undo my clothes too.”

Shiro is certain that if he was any less dedicated to Keith’s pleasure, he wouldn’t be able to manage the stud waistband or the zipper of Keith’s fly, but he is the Golden Boy of the Galaxy Garrison. He is the best at what he does, and what he does, is be good for Keith. Shiro blinks, and his hands are back on Keith’s hips, he is drooling around Keith’s thumb hooked into his open mouth. Keith is licking his own lips with a flicker of a pink tongue, as he looks at both their erections so close together without any clothes in the way.

Shiro looks too – he is physically unable to resist doing so – and the vision makes him dizzy. Keith’s cock is so pretty; slender and gently curving towards his own and is flushed to a purplish shade near the tip. Keith thumbs across the crown, teasing his foreskin back – the colour deepens further over the crown – and Shiro’s breath catches in his chest at the sight. There is a wet sound – Keith’s tongue over his lips again – and then those slender, capable fingers are reaching out and wrapping around Shiro’s length, bringing their cocks flush together. The textures of dry, firm fingers, supple well-worn leather, and the hot velvet silk of Keith’s cock has Shiro seeing stars.

“Eyes on me, Hotshot.” Keith’s voice is like a neutron star, solid and impossible to resist as his words pull Shiro’s gaze back up. “Good boy.” Keith leans in, resting his forehead against Shiro’s own, and his eyes flick up and down from Shiro’s face to his crotch. “You look so good like this, Hotshot. You’re so fucking big, I can hardly get my hand around you.”

Shiro whimpers. Keith smiles with pride, and rubs a circle with his thumb on Shiro’s tongue.

“Fuck. I love your mouth, Shiro.” Shiro’s jaw hangs all the way open now, his lower teeth biting into the meat of Keith’s thumb, and the weight of the boy’s hand is keeping him in position. He drools – he can’t help it – and Keith just gathers the moisture with his fingers and uses it to add to the way they slide together in his fist. “Nnngh-!”

Anyone else might lost control listening the noises Keith makes, the soft little moans, the bitten off wordless cries of pleasure and sensation. But no one else has ever got to hear Keith make these sounds, because Shiro is his first, his first for everything. And Shiro breathes around the digit in his mouth and knows with a calm clarity belied by the way his abs quiver and tense, that he will wait until Keith gives him permission before he comes.

“Shi-” Keith is panting – they both are, but Shiro isn’t also trying to talk – and his breath is hot and damp against Shiro’s skin. “So big, and feels so fuckin’ good. You feel good, Hotshot?”

Shiro nods, barely, consumed with the sound and sensation of Keith’s fingers wrapping around his cock, and Keith’s cock pressing alongside his own as the boy strokes them together. There are too many things to concentrate on: the heat of Keith, his own blush, the slick of his saliva as he drools helplessly around Keith’s thumb, Keith’s little gasps and moans so close to his ear. Shiro feels pleasure building deep somewhere between his loins and the pit of his stomach, tight and hot like he swallowed the sun. Keith jerks his wrist in a staccato rhythm which has Shiro’s heart missing whole beats as it hammers against his ribs. The next time Keith meets his eyes, Shiro is trapped there, losing himself in the swirl of the galaxy around which he revolves.

“You close, Hotshot?”

“Y-yeah.” Shiro says around his thumb.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty when you get all flushed.” Each of Keith’s words is like a lightning strike, heating up his core and frying his synapses at the same time. Shiro’s thoughts come fast, but they are the same one repeated over and over – be good for Keith, make Keith happy, don’t come yet. “So fucking good for me, Shiro. You’re gonna be the bestest boy for me when you fuck me, right?” Keith sounds incredibly pleased with himself, his voice honey poured over rough desert stone. “Treat me right, make me come with your fucking enormous cock?”


“Bet you can’t wait, right?”

Shiro blinks, dizzy, lust drunk, faintly aware that he is squeezing Keith’s hips hard enough that his grip must be painful, bruising even, but he’s unable to stop himself. Without somewhere to put the tension Shiro thinks he may actually vibrate out of his own skin. And then the intonation, that raw heady power of his words, sparks something deeper ingrained within Shiro, and he smiles, Keith’s fingers unhooking from his jaw as he does so.

“I can wait.”

“Hotshot?” Keith’s fist is a blur around them, the friction the perfect blend of delicious and raw as he strokes them together.

Shiro takes a deep breath, his lungs finally cooperating to give him enough oxygen to both talk and breathe.

“I can wait, Spitfire. I can be good for you.”

Keith’s eyes go wide, impossibly so, and for the smallest fraction of a second, Shiro would swear that his pupils are narrow and focused whilst his irises turn a richer shade of purple.

“Oh fuck- oh- Shiro!”

The moment passes before Keith even finishes speaking, and then he is shaking, quivering, the jerk of his fingers stuttering as he loses focus through his orgasm. His dick pulses alongside Shiro’s, and it’s oh so intimate the way Shiro can feel each spurt of Keith’s come directly against his cock. Keith goes rigid and tense, every muscle beautifully defined, as he pants against Shiro’s cheek and jaw, his kiss sloppy and poorly aimed and perfect. Keith wraps his other hand – still covered in Shiro’s spit – under and around Shiro’s cock, finger tips just nudging against his balls, and he slides his cheek across Shiro’s own to whisper against his ear.

“Come for me, Hotshot. Show me how well you’re gonna fill me up next time.”

Keith doesn’t even need to stroke him, doesn’t need to be touching him, and Shiro knows the words alone would make him come, so tightly is he leashed to Keith’s will. He forgets to breathe, forgets how to breathe, and simply pitches forward into the orgasm even though his body doesn’t actually move. Shiro spills himself between them, his come mixing with Keith’s between cocks and fingers, ruining Keith’s open jeans and staining the countertop between his thighs.

“Fuck.” Keith sounds as dazed as Shiro feels, but his grin is broad and bold. “That’s so fucking hot, Shiro. Wow.”


“Yeah. Yes, Hotshot. You’re so good.”

If pressed, Shiro doesn’t think he could decide which is better – the orgasm, or open praise from Keith. Either way, on the ride back he feels like he’s floating, and watching Keith walk away towards the Cadet dormitories is especially mournful.


Mid-week, Shiro gets another recruiting tour, just a local one, shoved into his schedule where he was hoping to put in more hours on the sim for the new mission whilst Keith is in class. Instead, he puts on his best dress uniform, and heads out into the world to be the Golden Boy, the youngest pilot ever, and to listen to people mispronouncing his name. It is exactly the kind of trip he found Keith on, but Shiro knows he’s not been as invested in any tour since that one. The idea that someone better than Keith exists is ridiculous. Keith, who flies like he was born in the stars and looks at Shiro like he’s the last man in the galaxy, no one is going to be better than Keith.

But sitting on the highway for eight solid hours does give him a good idea though, and it doesn’t take him long once he’s done his spiel at the last school of the day to find a big box store and go shopping. Many of the things Keith said they need can be carried on a hoverbike, but Shiro has the car and the trailer and no one to be accountable to for another eighteen hours. It’s plenty of time.

So, he takes a cart and wanders up and down the aisles, doing the kind of shopping he hasn’t even thought about in years, let alone ever done. Shiro didn’t go to college, not the kind many of his and Matt’s peers went to, and – just like Keith – when they were Cadets their rooms and lives had come fully furnished.

He chooses pillows by squishing them against his cheek, even through their plastic wrapping, picks the nicest mattress in the shop, and selects sheets to fit it which are dotted with stars. It makes a nice change from the standard white and grey of the bedding in his quarters.

The grocery aisles are just as fun – and because Shiro doesn’t have to worry about taking up space with his purchases – he buys whatever well packaged, shelf stable items take his fancy. Obviously, he picks up three two-gallon bottles of fresh spring water, about a dozen different cans of soda, and then a pair of mugs to drink the water out of. One black and one red because Keith doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to want pink or vibrant blue in his house. He is just as free and easy choosing snacks, and far more granola bars, trail mix, sweets, and chips make it into his cart than they’ll ever be able to eat even if they go to Keith’s shack every weekend until he leaves for Kerberos. He gets several of every flavour of jerky on the shelf – even the super spicy one – because Keith can inhale dried meats like no one Shiro has ever previously met.

On his way towards the checkouts, Shiro finds himself wandering down an aisle of small electronics. He pauses, back tracks, and stands with a package of soft-white fairy lights in his hand. He almost puts them back – because it’s stupid and silly to think about how pretty Keith will look in gentle Christmas lighting – but he only ends up gripping the box tighter. Will Keith scoff and roll his eyes, or will he be secretly thrilled? Will he – and Shiro’s heart skips at the thought – flash Shiro one of those wide eyed, lilac tinted blushes? They are so rare and special, reserved only for when Keith is full of more emotion than he knows what to do with. Shiro treasures them all.

He dumps the fairy lights into the cart, and then – because he may as well go all in now that he’s shown his hand – adds an old-fashioned radio too. The idea of Keith, a bed, soft lighting, and background music fills his brain all the way through the checkouts and back to the car.

It’s only as he’s filling both the car and several jerry cans with fuel – both for the trip home and the old, but functional generator he unearthed from Garrison storage and ‘borrowed’ for Keith’s cabin – that Shiro remembers some other essentials. And he doesn’t want to risk forgetting to bring the ones from his room either. He shrugs off his uniform jacket and tries to look as inauspicious as possible when he goes into the gas station to pay for fuel, both the brands of lubricant they sell, and three different types of condom. He has had a pretty good grasp of Keith’s equipment, but he doesn’t actually know what size Keith wears.

He doesn’t even know if Keith knows what size to wear.

He doesn’t even know if Keith will need to use one, because even though Keith made it very clear he wants Shiro to fuck him, Shiro doesn’t know if Keith is going to want to try anything else.

But Shiro was a boy scout, and it’s better to be prepared.


Shiro doesn’t know what excuses Matt will be using whilst he’s away with Keith for the weekend. When Shiro tries to tell him where they are going, his friend and mission-colleague sticks his fingers in his ears and sings Twinkle Twinkle Little Star at the top of his lungs until Shiro leaves the room. He tries to stick his head back in to say good bye, but Matt just starts again with a second verse Shiro didn’t even know existed, and he gives it up as a lost cause.

Neither of them say they are racing to the cabin, but as they leave the well traversed environs of the Garrison and enter into the maze of canyons which make up their personal playground, Shiro finds himself picking up speed automatically. Keith is right along his side – the current landscape gives them the width required for it – and Shiro sees the way the boy grins before he tugs up his bandana over his nose and mouth. There’s a challenge there, and Shiro wouldn’t be able to back down from that if he tried. He guns his engines, the twin cyclone fans kicking up another plume of red dust, and sneaks into the narrower section of the canyon just ahead of Keith. The move is reckless, dangerous, forcing the boy to fan out his ailerons and flaps in order to brake hard and avoid a collision, but Keith’s bark of mixed amusement and aggravation only spurs Shiro on faster.

They arrive at the cabin within seconds of each other, both hot and panting despite the chill wind of flying, and Keith leaps from his hoverbike the moment the engines settle. Shiro smiles, opening his arms, expecting a hug, and is nearly toppled backwards by the force of Keith’s kiss. The boy is feral and desperate and Shiro can feel how hard he is through his clothes. When Keith’s fingers weave into his hair and he sucks Shiro’s tongue into his mouth with a groan, they actually do both end up in the dirt, Shiro’s legs still wedged against the side of his hoverbike.

When Keith pulls back for air, he drops a hand from Shiro’s shoulder to his hip, little finger slipping under the waistband of Shiro’s jeans, Shiro arches an eyebrow at him.

“You want to get naked out here when I went to all the trouble of buying a bed?”

Keith stares.

“You bought a bed?!”

Shiro frowns.

“You said there wasn’t a mattress here.”

“And you took that as an instruction?” Keith is already on his feet before Shiro can fully reply, and he allows himself to be hauled up, following Keith as the boy skips up the porch steps.

The differences in the main room aren’t immediately apparent, because the only things Shiro left out on the counter were the two mugs and the water bottles. But the moment he opens a cupboard and a packet of jerky slaps him in the face, Keith’s eyes grow wider. By the time he’s stuck his head around the door to the bedroom, they are the size of saucers.


“You like it?” Shiro worries his lower lip with his teeth. “I can take the lights dow-”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Keith snaps. He reaches out a hand to Shiro, and Shiro goes, forming himself around Keith until his chin is hooked over the boy’s shoulder, arms looped softly around his waist.

“Stars on the bedsheets? Oh Shiro…”

“You don’t like them?” Shiro winces.

Under his touch, Keith’s chest vibrates with a sound so low and on the edge of hearing that Shiro shrugs it off as simply being a particularly loud rotation of the generator.

“You’re such a nerd, Hotshot.” Keith wraps his own arms over the top of Shiro’s, and for a long moment, they stay like that, just clinging together. “Come on, I’m parched.”

Racing through the deserts made them both hungrier than they realised, and Shiro drinks his third mug of water whilst Keith explores the kitchen cupboards. Expressing astonishment at the sheer amount of food Shiro has managed to supply him with all while eating his way through a packet of hot and spicy beef strips like he has a grudge against them. Shiro is fairly certain no one else has even been considered sexy whilst chewing jerky before.

“You realise this is enough food to last like, a year, right?”

Shiro shrugs. He had the space, the time, and the money. It seemed obvious.

“And you set up a generator!”

“For the radio,” Shiro explains.

“There’s a radio?!”

Keith exclamations are mixed joy and bafflement that anyone could spend so much on him, or pick out all his favourite things, and each gasp of surprise makes Shiro feel warm under his clothes. Only once Keith has finished his investigation, and the jerky, does he make his way back into Shiro’s arms, curling close against his front.

“Thank you, Shiro.”

“Of course.”

Shiro’s fingers find Keith’s shoulder and that sweet spot where his neck curves up towards his hairline. The action is unconscious, and the sound Keith makes at the contact appears to be as well. He vibrates against Shiro’s chest, head resting against his pecs, and Shiro fails to remember how to breathe as firm but nimble fingers begin to trace their way up his ribs. His mind reels, playing him a flick book of the last time he stood in this kitchen with Keith in front of him. Shiro knows why they’re here – has known it all along – but suddenly the seriousness of the situation has his palms sweating and chest tight.

And, of course, Keith notices.

“Shiro? You OK?”

“Y-yeah.” Shiro hates that he stuttered. It makes him feel and sound like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He knows what he’s doing. He’s had sex.

“You wanna go sit down?”

Shiro nods mutely.

Keith’s fingers lace through his own as the boy tugs him over towards the couch. It’s still in pretty good condition, and Shiro banged dust out of the cushions and flipped them over when he was here setting up, so when he sits there isn’t any evidence of the years the cabin has sat empty. Keith grins, and settles over his lap. Unlike when he gave Shiro his haircut, Keith hasn’t trapped Shiro’s hands over his crotch when he sits, and now Shiro is unsure where to put them. He hovers, not touching the boy who he loves, who’s body he has worshipped, and who he wants to spend years adoring again and again.

Keith arches an eyebrow, the softest smirk playing over his lips.

“Are you gonna kiss me or not, Hotshot?”

Shiro blinks, Keith’s tone pulling him back out of his head, and he lets his hands settle low on Keith’s hips, just where they both really like them. He doesn’t know if his tight grip last time left the boy with bruises, and the idea that they have the whole weekend together – that this time he will see the marks of his passion – makes his dick twitch and throb through his clothes.

Keith sees, and his grin becomes sharp and sly as he bends his spine and leans in for the kiss.

Shiro forgets to kiss him back, and Keith straightens up with a frown.



Shiro knows he’s fucking it up, and somehow he cant stop himself. This is Keith’s first time, and Shiro wants it to be utterly perfect for him.

“Shouldn’t we be in bed?”

“There’s time for that later.” Keith chews at his lower lip. “Shiro… do you not want to or-”

“Of course, I want to!” Shiro never interrupts Keith when he speaks, because getting the boy to open up and use his words has been a concerted and daily effort since the first time they met, but Shiro has to cut that train of thought off before it gets any further. “I just- I want to make sure it’s perfect for you.”

“Shiro…” Keith’s voice is warm and fond. “Of course, it will be perfect. You’re here.”


“You’re not nervous, are you?” Keith arches an eyebrow, and then his violet eyes go wide when Shiro fails to reply. “Shiro! You can’t be nervous.” Keith’s laugh is bright and shining, and any other time it would be the most welcome sound Shiro could hear. “You’ve been to space! You orbited Jupiter! You taught me to jump a hoverbike off a cliff!”

Shiro can’t hold Keith’s gaze.

“That wasn’t… serious. Not like this.”

“Shiro… it’s still just me.” Keith’s hooks a finger under Shiro’s chin and forces his gaze upward. “It’s just me and you. I’m not gonna bite you. I mean, unless you’re into that?”

“Keith!” Shiro blushes hard, but he refuses to break the hold Keith has on him now.

“Tell me what you’re into?” Keith grins slyly. “C’mon Hotshot, I wanna know.”


“Yeah.” Keith moulds against his front, a warm brand against his chest and over his lap. “I wanna do all the fun things with you.”

“Oh.” Shiro pauses for long enough that Keith actually looks concerned, and then he loses control of his verbal filter and the truth just comes crashing out between them. “It’s been a really long time since I had sex and I think I might have forgotten how to be good at it.”

Keith blinks, visually parsing the blurted string of syllables he’s just been treated to. But the frown Shiro was expecting to see doesn’t come, and the grip Keith has on his jaw snakes around until his short nails rake through the soft buzz of Shiro’s undercut. When Keith speaks next, his voice hooks right through Shiro’s libido and stabs him in the frontal cortex.

“Kiss me,” he commands, and Shiro is utterly helpless to resist him.

The press of Keith’s lips over his is familiar in the best way, but just the knowledge of being here and kissing Keith is enough to make Shiro’s toes curl even before he presses into the seam of Keith’s mouth, opening the boy up with his tongue. Shiro groans at the wet slide of their lips against each other, pleasure sparking up his spine and setting off glittery points of light in his brain. Keith licks into him like he is hungry, and Shiro responds in kind. If Keith wants to devour him, then Shiro is more than happy to offer himself up as tribute for the young man straddling his lap. When Keith pulls back – just a tiny amount – to breathe, he wastes no time in sliding the pad of one finger against Shiro’s lower lip. Shiro knows better than to try and close his mouth.

“You like it when I tell you what to do.”

It is not a question, but Shiro still nods.

“Good boy, Hotshot. Fuck, you kiss so well.” Keith pushes his fingers against Shiro’s teeth, tracing the ridges and points of each one as he distorts the shape of Shiro’s lip. “We’ve already established that you are really good with your mouth.” Keith scratches at the back of Shiro’s scalp. “Now, tell me what you like in sex.”


“Ha ha.” Keith deadpans. “Answer me, Hotshot.”

And because it is a command, Shiro cannot resist. Shiro loves orders, and obeying instructions from Keith has burnt its way into his psyche to become his primary function.

“I’m versatile,” he breathes into the gap between their mouths, watching as Keith inhales his words. “I like- I want to be able to kiss you.”

Keith’s smile would be reward enough, but when he leans in and sucks Shiro’s bottom lip into his mouth, Shiro whimpers with how good it feels.

“Go on.”

“I want to leave marks all over you.”

“Oh good.” Keith wiggles in his lap, and Shiro produces a strangled kind of noise. “And you like me telling you what to do. Obviously.”


“Good. Kiss me again.”

It’s the easiest of orders to follow, and Shiro loses himself in the play of their lips against each other, the press of their bodies, and the way Keith’s fingers drag and pull through his hair. When Keith shifts his hips, opening space between their bodies, and places a warm hand directly over the bulge in Shiro’s pants he nearly jumps clean out of his skin.

“Shiro… breathe.”

Shiro does so, and let’s his hands return to Keith’s hips, thumbs playing with the crease between hip and thigh, but not digging in just yet. Keith keeps his hand where it is, but doesn’t press further.

“Why do you think you’ve forgotten how to be good at sex?”

“It’s been-” Shiro can’t actually remember, and that should probably be a bigger worry than it is right now. “-a while.”

Keith snorts in disbelief.

“But you’re… well, look at you!”

If there’s one thing Shiro isn’t under any pretence with, it’s how he looks. He is more than just objectively attractive, and he has worked long and hard to get and maintain the musculature Keith seems to enjoy so much. Shiro does it for his own pleasure, and it’s very nice to be appreciated, but the answer to Keith’s surprise is simple.

“I don’t do casual sex.”

“Oh.” Keith sounds like he wasn’t expecting that answer.

“I haven’t had a boyfriend since before we met, and I sure as heck wasn’t going to get one after.”

And Keith... blushes. Shiro blinks, and tries to remember when he last told the boy with the galaxy eyes how he feels about him.

“I love you.”

Shiro...” Keith is definitely blushing now, a rich, sweet plum shade colouring his cheeks, and Shiro swears that everywhere they touch just got hotter.

“I love you, Keith. It’s always been you.”

“Fuck. Kiss me again.”

Keith barely gets the words out before his lips are crashing into Shiro’s, and it’s imperfect and a little bit messy and utterly wonderful. Shiro moans softly, tucks Keith against his front with a hand in the small of his back and that strange and wonderful vibration kicks up in the boy’s chest once more. It makes Shiro want to chase down the source of that sound, and he opens Keith up with his tongue, relishing the warm wetness which counteracts and the claws against his scalp as Keith writhes. A dozen panted breathes later and Keith is rolling his hips down against the bulge of Shiro’s crotch, seeking friction, his mouth hanging open as he pants and whines with desire.

“Fuck… Spitfire…” Shiro stares in wonderment, because Keith is ethereal despite being extremely solid in his grasp. Each rock of his hips produces a stifled groan in Shiro, his cock straining against the fabric of his pants. “Keith, whoa…”

“No. Now.” The words are bitten off and panted, and Shiro knows there’s no way of stopping Keith and also not enough time to get the both of them naked before Keith reaches his end. He looks wrecked. “Shi-”

The kiss is something between a growling bite and a wet press of breath, and Keith’s hips drag and thrust against Shiro’s abs before he tenses and stills with Shiro’s hands on his waist. Shiro swears he can see the way Keith’s dick twitches and throbs as he comes in his clothes, and he doesn’t think anything has ever been hotter than this.

“You’re so beautiful, Spitfire.”

“Shiro…. Stars, you’re too good.” Keith slumps forward against him, suddenly boneless, and Shiro curls around his boyfriend instantly. “I never want to move again.”



“I love you. Keith. You’re perfect right where you are.”


“Mmhmmm.” Shiro agrees softly. He’s still achingly hard under his clothes, but it’s almost easy to ignore his arousal when he has a happy and sated Keith in his arms. After a while he begins to swirl distracted, meaningless patterns against Keith’s back through his shirt. He hums.

He’s only ten bars in when Keith stiffens and Shiro realises what he was humming.

“What are you doing? Trying to sing me to sleep?”

“Errr…” Shiro does not have a good excuse for why he felt it was appropriate to be humming a nursery rhyme to his boyfriend. “Matt was singing it earlier?”

That gets Keith to sit up as he splutters.

“Why are you thinking about Matt now?!”

Shiro wants to hide behind his hands, but he can’t because Keith is getting up and dragging Shiro with him.

“Come on, it’s dark and the stars will be out. There’s a really good view from here, away from the Garrison.”

“You want to go stargazing?” Shiro asks with a frown. “Aren’t you, er, uncomfortable?” He makes a very vague gesture towards his crotch, then swallows audibly as Keith looks right through his clothes and grins like a cat with a fun new toy.

“We have a radio, and food, and absolutely no functional plumbing Hotshot.” Keith yanks Shiro up by both wrists, and Shiro wonders when he became so strong. “Anyway, it’s not like I’m planning on keeping my clothes on much longer.”

Stunned, Shiro allows Keith to drag him out onto the porch, where they choose a spot with a wide-open view of the sky and the least likelihood of some worn through piece of wood falling on them. Keith leans back on both hands before draping himself over Shiro’s chest. Automatically, Shiro wraps an arm around Keith’s waist, and contentment washes through him with the contact.

Keith is right, it’s just the two of them, just being friends and nearly-lovers, and there’s nothing to feel anxious about.

“I can’t get over how tiny the earth looks from up there,” Keith says, waving his free hand towards the gibbous quarter of the shining moon up above. “I wish you’d been able to come with us.”

“I know. Loved the picture of you waving though.”

“Thanks. I got one of the engineering Cadets to take it. I think he was the one who threw up on the shuttle as we broke atmo, but luckily I wasn’t sitting near him at the time.”

“There’s always one,” Shiro confirms.

“So...” Keith twists in his lap, eyes reflecting the dazzling cosmos above. “You gonna stand on Kerberos and wave at the tiny speck where I’m standing?”

“Keith… I’d wave at you from right across the universe.”

“You’re such a sap, Hotshot.”

“I prefer ‘romantic’.”

“This is plenty romantic.” Keith leans up for a kiss, and Shiro indulges him happily. Each touch is both satisfyingly grounding and startlingly intimate and Shiro cannot get enough. “There are fairy lights above the bed and we’re gazing at the stars. What could be more romantic than that?”

“A shower?” Shiro teases, and gets elbowed in the ribs for it.

“You wanna play a game with me, Hotshot?” There is a note of challenge in Keith voice, and Shiro is weak. “Bet I can name more stars than you.”

“That sounds an awfully competitive of you Spitfire.” Between them, Shiro’s erection gives a helpful – and obvious – jerk. “But I’ll rise to the occasion.”

Keith groans at the sheer awfulness of Shiro joke, and Shiro uses the opening to pick out his target. He points skyward.

“Fine. Name that one.”

There is a beep as he sets a timer on his watch.

“That one?” Keith smirks. “Easy.”

Shiro knows Keith knows what star it is, because the brightest star in Alpha Piscis Austrini is an easy mark, but Shiro also knows Keith struggles with the pronunciation of ‘Fomalhaut’. The ten seconds it takes Keith to work the phrasing out in his head puts him over the timer, and Shiro grins before flicking at the stud fly of Keith’s jeans.

“Lose ‘em, Spitfire.”

Keith wriggles out of his jeans without actually leaving Shiro’s lap, and now Shiro is torn between looking at the star Keith points to, and the view of his boyfriend’s mile long legs squeezing his thighs. The timer goes off whilst he’s staring at the obvious damp patch showing through Keith’s underwear.

“Seriously Shiro? Saiph? It’s like, one of the first ones I learnt as a kid!” Keith is grinning, teeth bright, eyes full of stars. “No more shirt for you Hotshot.”

And so it goes, with the both of them flubbing their way through identifications they can usually make without active concentration. Keith strokes over Shiro’s chest with deft hands, playing with the dip of his navel and the sensitive buds of his nipples so that he fucks up and mistakes Cassiopeia for Andromeda. Keith loses his socks when he aims for Celaeno and misses. And then Shiro asks for Deneb and Keith tosses his shirt away without bothering to answer.

He is a vision in nothing but his cute little red boxers, and Shiro groans, arching upward to kiss him.

“Take me to bed.”

Keith moves far enough off Shiro to allow him to stand, but what he’s not expecting is for Shiro to wrap an arm around his slender waist and haul him off his feet. He clearly doesn’t mind though, and Keith winds his arms around Shiro like an affectionate octopus, nails raking through Shiro’s undercut. And then Shiro drops Keith onto the bed and the boy squeaks as he bounces.


Shiro laughs, and makes to crawl onto the mattress after him, but Keith’s foot in the centre of his chest stops him.

“Uh-uh, Hotshot. Strip. No clothes in bed.”


“My house, my rules. No clothes in bed. Ever.”

Shiro arches an eyebrow, not bothering to mention to Keith that he is still wearing his boxers.

“So, if you didn’t have dorm mates then you-”

“-would walk around in the buff all the time? Duh, of course.” Keith frowns at him. “You mean you have that whole apartment to yourself and you actually spend all your free time being dressed?”

“Well… yeah-” Of course Shiro’s wears clothes in his apartment. You never know when someone from Command might call round, or someone might need assistance, or-

“New rule Shirogane: no more clothes this weekend.”

He sounds so confident, so self-assured, that Shiro cannot help but screw with him. He reaches forward and hooks his fingers into the waistband of Keith’s boxers – giving the boy a split second warning before he yanks them down his long legs. The movement causes Keith to sprawl across the duvet, giggling.

“Well, that rule goes for you too, Keith.”

“Say it again.” Keith’s eyes have gone dark and soft, a swirl of distant nebula.


“Strip.” And this time, the word is a command, a direct order from the boy who will one day very soon be superior to him in every way. “Slowly.”

Shiro’s fingers quiver as he stands on one leg and removes his only remaining sock. Each tooth of his zipper seems loud in the little cabin as he watches the way Keith’s chest rises and falls in the soft glow of the fairy lights. Shiro eases his jeans down his thighs, momentarily cursing the tightness which forces him to stoop to get them off. But when he straightens, Keith has moved. He kneels on the bed, cock stiff and attentive, the whole of his attention focused on Shiro. It is devastating to be the subject of such intense focus. Keith never does anything without throwing everything he is fully into the task, and Shiro knows that this isn’t going to be any different.

“Look at me, Shiro.”

Shiro complies instantly, his eyes sweeping from Keith pretty cock, up the rises of his taut abdomen and over his chest to his face.

“I love you.”

Shiro groans. Keith’s words are hot and forceful like his touch, and Shiro shivers as he is caressed by that voice.

“Keep going.”

Shiro rolls his boxers down by fractions. It is torture, his dick aching, straining against the fabric, much of the length revealed before the next ease of the fabric allows the tip to spring free and smack him in the abs. Keith makes a little involuntary whine of need, and then Shiro is being yanked down onto the bed by a tight grip in his hair.

“Lie down.”

“Yes, sir.”

Keith preens, a little thrill running through him at Shiro’s words. There is a glow in his eyes that Shiro knows he must be imagining, but as Keith settles over his thighs, he thinks the boy looks too otherworldly to be real. There is a long moment where they both just stare at each other and breathe, arousal heavy and obvious between them, and then Keith’s eyes flick away to the sex supplies Shiro had the intelligence to lay out earlier. Keith bites his lip, fingers hovering with indecision.

“Um…” Shiro blushes. “The gold ones.”

Keith scoops one up eagerly.

“Big boy.”

And the effect that has on him is very obvious.

“You OK with me doing it?” Keith’s question is at odds with his otherwise confident demeanour.

Shiro licks his lips, and watches the way Keith eyes track the motion of his tongue.


“Good boy. Get comfy.”

Shiro already feels better than he has in his entire life – because Keith is here and so is he, and there is no one else for twenty miles in any direction to disturb them – even though he is also extremely on edge. So he gathers a pillow under his head, folding his arms under it to pull at his obliques. The movement has the desired effect, and Keith groans and leans forward to kiss him – the wet slide of their lips and tongues is everything Shiro could ever want to get lost in – before arching his spine into a tight curve in order to mouth at the muscles in question. Shiro shivers, almost feeling ticklish, and then groans when Keith’s teeth sink into him. He worries the skin with little nips and sucks before sitting back over Shiro’s thighs.

“I like to leave marks, too.”

Shiro thinks he might actually expire from the hot flush which courses through him.

The view is magnificent. Shiro’s cock stands hard and proud, doing its best to point to the low ceiling of the cabin, twitching as Keith – all long smooth lines of developing muscle and nimble, slender fingers – tears the condom wrapper open, discarding the gold foil to the floor as he leans forward. Keith’s breath – hot and damp – ghosts over Shiro’s cock, and Shiro’s belly lurches, his breath coming short.

No one has ever been as sexy as this while putting a condom on another person. That Shiro is sure of, as Keith rolls the latex down over his dick just as slowly and carefully as Shiro rolled his own underwear down under Keith’s watchful gaze. His hands look so small where they touch Shiro, and the suddenly that size difference feels important and inspiring in a way it never was before.

The snap of the lube cap opening is gun-shot loud.

“You- um…” Shiro’s gaze zooms – without his permission – to the space between Keith’s splayed thighs. His balls sit high and tight under his beautifully proportioned cock, and Shiro’s angle allows him the smallest glimpse of Keith’s taint, even though his destination is concealed by the twin swell of ass and thigh. “Can I prep you?”

Keith tips a squirt of lube into his hand.

“No.” He leans down, covering the shock of cold slick over the crown of Shiro’s dick with a kiss. He nibbles on Shiro’s lower lip before leaning back again. “Not like that. I just- I wanna feel everything.” Keith’s eyes are like diamonds: Shiro feels like he is being bored into.

But it’s Keith’s first time, and Shiro’s brain pulls up the memory of the time Keith wanted to leap off a cliff after him the very first time he saw it done. Shiro doesn’t want Keith to get hurt.


Keith leans in to kiss him again, and this time, the sweetness of lips and tongue is followed by a more deliberate bite.

“It’s what I want, Hotshot.” Keith squeezes around the base of his cock, and Shiro jerks in his grasp. “You gonna give it to me?”

And there is nothing Shiro can do against that tone.

“Yes, sir.”

Keith’s chest swells, his smile going sharp.

“Good boy.”

Shiro concentrates on his breathing – in, hold, out – as Keith slathers him with lube, careful but generous. He can be good for Keith, it’s all he wants. Keith puts the lube aside carefully – every movement now so deliberate – and then reaches behind himself, presumably to wipe his fingers over his hole, but Shiro cannot see. And then he shifts upwards, his knees gripping Shiro’s ribs, one hand balancing his weight over the tender flesh of Shiro’s lower belly. Shiro is effectively pinned.

Not that Shiro would go anywhere. He never wants to leave this sight, because the awesome wonder of interstellar travel surely has nothing on the view of Keith lining himself up with Shiro’s eager cock.

The first touch is almost too soft, and then Keith meets his eyes, grins, and bears down on Shiro’s cock. For a moment where Shiro cannot breathe at all, the tightest pressure he has ever known wraps around the head of his cock, and then there is an almost audible pop as he breaches fully into Keith.

Shiro groans, and Keith… stops.


“Good.” Keith sounds breathless, but incredibly smug. “Big. Stay.”

It is the slowest first push in history. Keith takes him millimetres at a time, and long before he’s even half way down, Shiro has to wrap his hands around the headboard in order to resist the almost overwhelming urge to grab Keith’s perfectly sized hips and fuck up into him. Keith’s thighs quiver, his cock jerks in time with his pulse, flushed almost purple along his length and shiny at the tip as his foreskin opens to show a glimpse of the sensitive crown. His fingers rake over Shiro’s abs and belly. Shiro is unable to do anything other than breathe through it all, as his soul is squeezed out through his dick under the incredible, intense tightness of being inside Keith.

There is no comparison Shiro could make, this is not like anything else, there is no metaphor. He is inside Keith, and Keith is tight and warm and looks at him like he’s in love.

And then finally, finally Keith’s ass is settling against Shiro’s loins, and the whole of his length is sunk deep inside his supremely talented protégé. Keith exhales, unconscious pride showing in the action, and Shiro’s cock jerks inside him.

“Shhh…” Keith strokes Shiro’s belly with a soft smile. “Don’t move.”

“K-Keith…” Shiro is not proud of his desperate whine, but he’s also a long way past the point of caring how he sounds. He relinquished control of himself to Keith a long time ago. He belongs to the shining boy, heart, body, and soul.

What follows after that is a kind of exquisite torture. Keith grinds his hips and Shiro’s breath hitches with the pressure of it. Keith combs his fingers through his own hair, every line of him gorgeous and incandescent as he rises again, rolling his hips in the slowest of waves, clearly intent on his own pleasure. The boy wants to feel everything, and Shiro wants nothing more than to let him. He can be good, good for Keith.

“So big, Hotshot.” Every breathy word is like an arrow to Shiro’s heart, and each one is welcome. “Fuck- I swear I can feel you all the way up…” he grinds down again, cutting off his own words. “So perfect, Shiro. So good for me.”

Shiro burns under the praise. He longs for more, but equally his body strains to just fuck Keith until he forgets his own name. Everywhere they touch is hot like a branding iron, and Shiro wants to get burned.

Time loses all meaning. It might have been an hour of Keith rising and falling and grinding against his cock, or it might have been years. Shiro doesn’t know, he doesn’t care. His heart beats only with one thing.

Ke-ith, Ke-ith, Ke-ith, Ke-ith… thundering like hooves on hard ground, the engine of a distant freight train, the pulse of the tide pulled up the shore by the moon. Shiro is strung out and barely cognisant, but he will do as he is commanded. The grip of his self-control is all his has.

Keith leans down to kiss him, hips stilling, and the softness of his mouth has Shiro groaning, licking up into that wet heat, sighing with the simplicity of it. He wants to kiss Keith forever.

“OK, big boy.” Keith voice sounds as wrecked as Shiro feels, bit a smile dances in his violet eyes. “Now you can fuck me.

Shiro’s self-control snaps.

Keith yelps, fingers grabbing onto Shiro’s shoulders as his world tilts on its axis. Shiro almost doesn’t notice as he flips them over, gets his knees underneath himself, and grips Keith’s thighs hard enough that he thinks he might bruise his own fingers from the force. But his hips are already moving, pounding into Keith and driving him deep into the mattress, seeking friction in the incredible tightness of his body.

“Shi-” Keith gasps, and Shiro silences him with a kiss which is mostly a bite, hips snapping hard into Keith’s tender ass.

He pants, some kind of feral animal noise rising from his throat as he fucks harder and harder into Keith, head hanging low. Keith’s shoulder is right there, such sweet, unblemished skin, and Shiro bites him. Keith cries out, and it’s joyful and full of pleasure.

Shiro feels shredded, nothing in his mind for a long glorious moment except how good it feels to plunge his cock inside Keith’s perfect body. He bites Keith again – his neck this time – consumed with an untamed joy at feeling the boy’s pulse against his tongue, and then he comes.

His orgasm breaks over him like the release of being shot through the Earth’s atmosphere, a sudden liberation of pressure and tension throughout his entire body. Shiro doesn’t think he has ever come so hard in his life.

He pants, euphoric, licking the teeth-marked skin beneath him, coming back to himself as he feels the wetness of his emission around his cock. He rocks his hips, pushing the slick of his come around, and Keith whines with desperation.

Keith hasn’t come, and that won’t do.

Shiro rolls his pelvis, pushing himself down into Keith, grinding deep inside him, feeling the tight clutch of his hole as he pulls back just enough to complete another thrust. He is oversensitive, and its so good that it almost hurts, but there is no way he going to let Keith down.

Keith’s fingers wrap around the back of his neck, keeping him close, and Shiro pants almost into his boyfriend’s mouth as he changes the angle of his hips slightly, and fucks deep against Keith’s prostate.



Keith loses all his cool at once as he begins to babble a litany of praise and Shiro’s name. Every word is broken off into a whimper as Shiro pounds into him with unrelenting accuracy, putting aside his own desire to sink into the boy and slump against him as he seeks Keith’s orgasm. Keith’s fingers rake the back of his skull, grab the longer hairs of his bangs and Shiro’s prickling pain is balanced by the bite he leaves on the sweet curve of Keith’s neck where his hand so often rests.

“Fuck- god- Shiro-”

Shiro growls.

Keith shudders under him and comes, suddenly, messily, all over them both.

Shiro rocks inside him, loving the soft wetness around his sensitive cock as he drops, finally, from the high of his and Keith’s orgasms and back into a semblance of himself once more. Keith’s hole still twitches and grips around him, but the hold is weak now, his flesh looser for a little while before he recovers. It makes something deep and animal inside Shiro swell with pride.

Keith smiles at him, dazed and sated.

“Good boy.”

It takes some time, and some amount of soft grunting and effort, but eventually Shiro slips from the comforting heat of Keith’s body, discards the hastily tied condom onto the floor, and finds himself with his arms full of a very warm, very snuggly boyfriend. He curls around Keith automatically, not a shred of clothing or spare space between them, and that soft rumbling sound picks up in Keith’s chest once again. Shiro places his hand over the boy’s sternum, trailing kisses over the red-raw bite marks on his neck and shoulder, and thinks to himself that it feels exactly like a cat’s purr. If the cat was a lion, maybe.

Shiro could stay here forever. He wants to. He never wants to let this boy go. Not to go into space, not to go and get snacks, not for anything. He places soft kisses behind Keith’s ear and over his hair, nuzzling close.

“I like you like this.” Keith says softly, hand coming up to thread his fingers with Shiro’s, holding them tight together.

“What, naked?”

The jab in the ribs is not unexpected. Shiro makes a soft oof as Keith twists around to face him again, still pressing close.

“Naked in our bed.”

Shiro feels his cheeks heat with the blush, which is ridiculous considering everything they’ve just done together.

Our bed… I like that.”

The next kiss is long and slow and soft, the both of them humming in easy pleasure as they indulge without haste or concern of interruptions. Keith eyes are shining when they stop to breathe properly again, and Shiro can think of no better sight.

“I like you in our bed too.”