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Forever Yours

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Keith makes no sound as he sneaks his way past the two guards stationed outside. It’s worryingly easy to do so and Keith makes a mental note to have a word with the head of the guards tomorrow. Admittedly, Keith has insider knowledge of the castle and his Galra genes make him lighter on his feet than any human, but it doesn’t change the fact that if Keith can sneak into the crown Prince’s chambers then someone else might be able to. It’s an idea that makes Keith’s stomach turn.

That’s a problem for tomorrow though. Tonight, Keith is here and he’s more than capable of protecting him. He also has no intention of leaving the Prince’s side unless he’s asked to so by the Prince himself which seems unlikely.

Technically speaking, Keith’s not allowed to be here. No one is allowed in the Prince’s chambers except for the royal healer, who left not five minutes prior, with a tray of empty vials and an order to the guards not to let anyone in to disturb the Prince’s rest.

Keith’s not exactly just anyone though. That, and he’s never been very good at following orders, not unless they come directly from his Prince. The order to stay away came from the regent and while they might technically have been the one in control while the prince is incapacitated, Keith was loyal only to the Prince.

Keith knows where his loyalty lies and it’s with the man in the bed—with his Prince.

Unaware of Keith’s arrival, the Prince continues to slumber. It’s a light sleep if the prince’s body language is anything to go by—hands clenched in the velvet blanket draped over him. There’s a pale pallor to his skin that doesn’t quite suit him, his starlight hair spilling out over the satin pillowcase.

He looks vulnerable, weak—and Keith’s hand unconsciously moves towards his blade, ready to lay down his life if the wrong person steps into this room tonight. The fact that anyone had gotten close enough to him to try and end his life—that Keith was nearly too late to save him—is going to keep Keith up at night for a long time to come.

It’s his job to protect his Prince, his duty and his oath, and he nearly failed.

Two steps closer to the bed and something painful twists in Keith’s chest as he takes in the slow rise and fall of his chest. No one ever sees the Prince like this—stripped down to his night clothes and his prosthetic removed for comfort as he slumbers. As the crown Prince, appearance is everything. He’s never in public in anything less than his full regal attire—dressed in velvets and clothing embroidered in gold, a circlet on his head and fingers dressed in jewels. It’s an aesthetic he wears well and one Keith knows takes a heavy toll.

There is never room for him to be just a man, there was never a time for him to be just a boy. He was always a Prince first with duty to his land and his people coming above all else, including his own self preservation. The day Keith had found him in a Galra holding cell, a prisoner of a vast war, he’d be sixteen year old and ready to sacrifice his life for his people. Keith had taken one look at the broken boy in the cell and abandoned his people to break him free.

The Prince’s return had been met with joy, and with sadness. The kingdom had been overjoyed to have their Prince back, but distrustful of the means of his return. The regent and the royal guard had tried to exile Keith but the Prince would have none of it. He was barely a day into recovery, still cradling the open wound where his right arm had once been and battered and bruised nearly beyond recognition, when he’d clawed his way out of his room and into the center of the country to throw himself quite literally in front of Keith. Refusing to let anyone harm the man who’d saved him or allow him to be sent back to a kingdom that would have quite easily executed him for his crimes.

They’d been inseparable ever since, much to the chagrin of the regent and the court. No one else liked Keith, no one else trusted Keith. All they saw when they looked at him was the pale purple hue to his skin and the glint of yellow in his eyes when he lost his temper. They saw Galra. They saw danger and dishonesty and the worst of his people in him.

By some miracle, the Prince only seemed to see the best.

Despite the pushback, the Prince’s promise to never abandon Keith never wavered. Whatever the Kingdom thought of Keith, it was not a shared sentiment.

When the Prince looks at Keith there's loyalty and devotion in his eyes—there is trust.

Keith wants to protect him with his life. He will protect him with his life.

Despite his intention to remain in the corner, quiet and without disturbing his rest, Keith can’t remain far away. The pull to get closer, to make sure for himself that the Prince is okay is too strong. Unable to resist the pull, Keith closes the distance between them, hovering above the sleeping Prince.

There’s a furrow between his eyebrows as he breathes in slowly, a bad dream perhaps. It’s not hard for Keith to imagine what. Tonight had been close, too close.

No one should’ve been able to get near the prince, no one should’ve been able to get close enough to hurt him. Yet, hurt him they had. Because of Keith, because Keith had fallen for a fake message.

One minute Keith was riding out to the furthest edge of the kingdom to assist a diplomatic envoy that did not exist and the next minute, the horns from the Kingdom were blaring a distress call. Keith had ridden his horse back faster than he’d even ridden in his life, but by the time Keith returned the gates were shut and the intruders had already been driven from the castle by the Prince himself but at a cost—he’d nearly lost his life.

Magic could only do so much and though the healers had been quick to attend to the Prince’s wounds, he was weakened—nearly beyond repair. As a lowly knight, Keith wasn’t allowed into the healing chambers, nor the Prince’s. Instead the regent had refused to let him close and for nearly twelve agonizing hours Keith had paced the grounds, waiting for news of the Prince’s health.

At daybreak the news spread through the kingdom: the Prince was healed.

Keith hadn’t bothered asking for permission this time, and had instead taken his own private route to the Prince’s chambers. Which is exactly how he came to be sitting on the edge of his bed watching him sleep—hand poised above his blade ready to take down anyone should they so much as breathe wrong near his Prince.

As if aware of Keith’s presence, the Prince stirs—pretty eyes fluttering open slowly. The second they land on Keith, his lips turn up in a tired smile that makes pleasure curl low in Keith’s gut. He is not worthy of the way the Prince looks at him.

“Keith, you’re here,” he whispers, as if Keith’s presence is something welcome.

“You nearly died,” Keith chokes, barely able to contain his emotions.

The prince shakes his head, bracing his weight on his forearm as he moves himself into a sitting position. There’s a tremor in his flesh arm that most people wouldn’t notice. Keith notices, moving up the bed and helping him to sit up. Shiro eyes his prosthetic on the side table and Keith is quick in retrieving it for him, well practiced in aiding the Prince with it’s attachment and removal.

“I think that’s a slight exaggeration,” he objects, once Keith’s got the prosthetic reattached. “I had the situation under control. It was...a minor inconvenience.”

Keith nearly wheezes, the sight of Shiro’s battered body lifeless on the front steps of the castle still fresh in his mind. “You nearly died, my Prince.”

“How many times am I going to have to tell you to call me, Shiro?”

“At least once more, my Prince.”

“Once more then,” he says with a radiant smile. “Call me, Shiro.”

It’s not the first time he’s asked as much from Keith. Nor the second or the third. He’s been after Keith to use his name for years, but it never felt right—never felt earned. This isn’t even the Prince’s given name but a nickname, one reserved only for those closest to him.

“Not even the regent calls you, Shiro.”

“The regent is not my friend,” he says, reaching for Keith’s hand. “Nor my equal.”

“Then surely I am not either,” Keith exhales, barely able to breath when Shiro’s fingers skim over his own rough and calloused knuckles—so unlike the Prince’s beautiful hand.

“You are right. You are more.”

“My Prince—”

“Shiro, please,” he begs, and Keith can deny him nothing.

“Shiro,” he whispers, the boldness making his face flush hot.

“I’ll be King soon you know.”

“I know,” Keith agrees, turning his palm up on the blanket as Shiro’s fingers shimmy their way on top. “Three weeks until your coronation.”

“There is room for two to rule,” he whispers, slipping his fingers into Keith’s. “You could be King’s Consort. I’d give you everything.”

Keith’s inhale in sharp. The words are not a surprise. He’s long suspected the Prince returned his affection, but they’ve never spoken about it like this in such open terms.

“Your duty is to your people,” Keith protests weakly, all too aware of the lingering distrust he inspires in many.

“Yes,” Shiro agrees. “I would die to keep my people safe—to protect my kingdom. They may have my life, but they may not have my heart. That is yours, Keith. It has been yours for a very long time.”

“You will be a good king,” Keith says, barely able to make sense of the words.

“I’d be a better one with you by my side,” Shiro tells him with an honesty that renders Keith speechless. “I understand if it’s not what you want. I know that court life is tedious and you despise politics. But outside of that—the people adore you.”

“The people adore you,” Keith protests.

“Yes,” Shiro says, without preamble. “But they care for you too. You don’t see what I see—your loyalty inspires people. The children chase your horse when you ride through town, you know.”

“That’s because I throw them sweets,” Keith mumbles, thinking of the rations hidden in his saddle bag, that he passes out in the poorest parts of the kingdom.

“You are a wonder,” Shiro murmurs, trying to sit up but failing, his limbs going weak on him as he collapses backwards.

“You must rest. You’re getting worked up.”

Shiro huffs, pouting but thankfully letting Keith settle him back into the bed. “I would rest if you agreed with me.”

“You are quite difficult my pr—Shiro,” he corrects, securing the pillow beneath his head.

“But you can handle me, can’t you, Keith? You’ve always been able to handle me.”

It’s true. Keith can handle him. He’s always been the only person Shiro listened to, the only person whose advice he would take. Shiro is headstrong and stubborn and listens to no one. No one that is, but Keith. Just last year, when Pneumonia had nearly ravaged his body, Keith had been the only person able to get Shiro to stay in bed and rest.

“Yes,” Keith agrees, unable to deny the truth.

“But do you enjoy it?” Shiro asks, eyes wide as they take in Keith. “Sometimes... you are hard to read. I know we are friends. There is no one I trust more. You know that. But I desire more. It is lonely at the top. I do not wish to rule alone, Keith. I wish for someone at my side—someone I trust, someone I love.”

“You could have anyone, Shiro.”

“And yet the only one I desire is you,” he whispers, reaching out to cup the side of Keith’s face with metal fingers. “My beautiful, Keith.”

Keith swallows audibly, his eyes fluttering shut as Shiro’s thumb smooths over his cheek. The metal is cool and hard, but the touch is gentle. Shiro is always so gentle with him.

“I’m not worthy of a King,” Keith mumbles, jaw quivering as he says the words.

“It’s just me, Keith. Just Shiro. I’m the same boy you rescued from the holding cells. The same boy you used to share peaches with under the bridge. The same boy whose room you’d sneak into after it got dark.”

“I snuck in here tonight,” Keith mumbles. “No one was allowed in.”

This brings a smile to his Prince’s face. “See, not so much has changed.”

“Everything has changed,” Keith exhales.

“Everything?” Shiro asks, lifting his hand to rest it on Keith’s chest, over his heart.

“No, not everything,” Keith confesses.

The hand over his heart remains, Shiro’s attention focused there as if he’s counting the beats. When he speaks, there’s a vulnerability in his voice that Keith isn’t used to hearing from his beautiful, confident Prince.

“If I am not your heart's desire I won’t ever mention it again,” he whispers.

“How could you not be?” Keith whispers, overcome.

For so long he’s held back, afraid of taking too much from the boy who gave him everything—he can hold back no longer. His attempts to make sure he never asked for more than he deserves, has somehow resulted in the person he loves more than life itself being unsure of his feelings.

“I do not know how to be a King’s consort. What if I make a mistake?”

“I do not know how to be King. What if I make a mistake?” Shiro challenges.

“Impossible,” Keith gasps. “You care about your people so much. You do what is right by them every day. No one could ever be more worthy than you.”

“And I could say the same to you. You serve me, and the people. You always have. You inspire loyalty and trust in those who know you. The kingdom would be lucky to have a man as honorable and brave as you on the throne. I would be lucky to have you beside me on the throne.”


“I love you, Keith. I have loved you since the moment I met you—wild eyed and terrified but brave. So brave. My beautiful, Keith.”

“You flatter me, my Prince.”

“I tell you the truth,” he says with such earnestness Keith can do nothing but believe him, tipping his head forward and leaning closer.

“Oh, Keith,” Shiro whispers.

I almost lost you,” Keith whispers, dropping down to rest his forehead above Shiro’s. “I will not lose you.”

“Because I am yours, Keith. You will take care of what is yours, won’t you?”

A purr rumbles out of Keith’s chest before he can tamp it down, face flushing with embarrassment. He’s spent many years making sure he never let that sound slip out in front of anyone.

“Do not hide from me, Keith. I am not afraid of who you are.”

“The Galra hurt you, how can you not be afraid I will do the same?” Keith chokes, his tears dropping onto Shiro’s face at the word’s that have haunted him since the day he saved Shiro.

“Keith,” he tries, but Keith shakes his head.

“They hurt you,” Keith sobs, thinking back to the months after his rescue when Shiro had refused to come out of his room, when the castle had been full of the sounds of his terror, night after night. Keith had sworn he would never hurt Shiro the way others had. Never.

“Yes, they did. Very much,” Shiro agrees. “But you, you saved me. You always save me, don’t you?”

Keith nods, too affected to speak.

“How many times will you save me, Keith?”

“As many times as it takes,” he affirms.

“Then how could you possibly be unworthy?” Shiro asks, sliding his palm up Keith’s chest, across the hollow of his exposed throat and up along the side of his neck. “If you do not deserve me, then no one does.”

“No one else may have you,” Keith says, shocked at his own boldness, and the possessiveness that threatens to curl around his heart at the idea of anyone else touching his beautiful Prince.

“Because I am yours?” Shiro breathes, looking for confirmation.

“Yes,” Keith confirms, the confession making his own heart race. “You are mine.”

Shiro’s eyes light up, Keith’s confession bringing out a light within him—a happiness Keith has not seen in many months. The idea that Keith could be the cause of so much joy is nearly impossible to believe, and yet there is no mistaking the light that shines in Shiro now.

“Show me,” Shiro says, halfway between a command and a plea. “Show me what it means to be yours, please.”

“You are hurt,” Keith protests, stroking his fingers through Shiro’s hair and marveling at the way it’s like starlight as it slips through his fingers.

“No, I’m fine,” he protests.

The Prince’s fine is never to be trusted. Keith’s seen him say he was fine when he lost an arm, when he fell off a horse cliff jumping and nearly broke his back, and just last night when he nearly died.

“Magic comes at a cost,” Keith reminds him, delighting in the way Shiro arches his neck, trying to press his head into Keith’s hand in clear request for more touches.

“I’m strong, I can handle it,” Shiro murmurs, but there’s an exhaustion in his voice and his body that is undeniable. Not even he may out stubborn the toll that magic takes on the soul. It will be many days before the Prince is returned to his full vigor and though Keith has no doubt that he will be fine, for now he is vulnerable and weak.

“You must rest, my Prince.”

“Do you not want to touch me, Keith?” he asks, eyes hooded as he turns his gaze on him.

Keith is almost certain that Shiro is playing him, that Shiro knows exactly what he’s doing right now, but not even Keith’s mental resolve can stand up to those eyes.

“You know I do. You are beautiful. But you should not overexert yourself.”

“You could take care of me,” Shiro whispers. “You’re good at that.”

The words send a rush of pleasure to Keith’s gut as images of Shiro splayed out beneath him flood his mind. Shiro is his, and Keith takes care of what is his.

“You will tell me if anything is too much,” Keith says, yanking his tunic off and tossing it to the floor.

Shiro nods, eyes riveted to Keith’s body as he undresses, hyper aware of the differences in their bodies. He doesn’t look like Shiro, or like any of the other humans here. He looks—

“Beautiful,” Shiro breathes.

That's the thing about Shiro, when he says something you don’t question it. There’s authority and conviction in his every word. It’s what inspires men and women to lay down their lives and swords for their Prince and future king. It’s what inspires the people to cheer his name, not with fear but with pride. When Shiro says something, you listen.

Keith has never felt more beautiful than he does in this moment.

“You may look all you want, my Prince. I am not much, but what I am is yours.”

“You are breathtaking, and when I’m not too weak to get out of my own damn bed I’m going to banish everyone from this half of the castle and spend the entire weekend showing you how well I too, can take care of what is mine. I cannot wait to get down on my knees and show you.”

“You are a Prince,” Keith weakly protests, unable to imagine such a thing, the sheer idea of it making his cock throb and his heart ache. It is Keith’s duty to serve him, not the other way around. Though he’s hard pressed to deny how appealing the idea is.

“I am, and I kneel for no one. But I would kneel for you.”

The words are too much—such devotion and adoration from his Prince makes Keith feel wrong footed and undeserving. Yet there’s nothing but love in Shiro’s eyes, nothing but desire. Keith has never been able to deny his Prince anything, including this.

If Shiro believes him worthy, then Keith will spend his entire life showing Shiro that his trust and love is not misplaced. Keith might not be sure what he’;s done to earn the heart of the Prince, but he will do everything in his power to deserve him.

“I love you, Keith,” Shiro says, reaching up to tug on the small ribbon that keeps Keith’s hair off his face. It’s just long enough to get in his ears if he doesn’t try and keep it back, and though Shiro has never voiced it out loud, Keith’s long suspected the Prince enjoys his hair. His suspicions are confirmed when Shiro continues to pull until the ribbon falls free, sending Keith’s hair tumbling down around his face.

Keith turns his face, pressing a kiss to the inside of Shiro’s metal wrist—surprised at the sharp inhale it earns him.

“What?” Keith asks, afraid he’s misstepped.

“Come here,” Shiro gasps, tugging him down for a kiss that has Keith seeing stars.

Shiro’s lips are sweet as honey and soft—so impossibly soft. He’s not shy about what he wants, his tongue slipping out to tease at Keith’s mouth. He groans with pleasure when Keith lets him in, letting out his own soft groan when Shiro licks into his mouth.

The Prince has never been shy, so it’s no surprise he isn’t now either—right hand tangling in Keith’s hair as the other skims down the line of Keith’s bare back.

Keith might be inexperienced in the ways of sex, but it is surprisingly easy to shed the rest of his clothing between kisses without any reservation or insecurity. Easier still to tug Shiro’s blankets away and climb atop him without thinking twice about his naked state— easiest of all to love Shiro.

“I have dreamed of this,” Shiro murmurs against Keith’s lips. “Of you.”

“You think too highly of me,” Keith breathes, mouthing against Shiro’s jaw. Words are not Keith’s forte but in actions at least he can try to convey some of his feelings.

“I object. I think exactly as high of you as you deserve. My beautiful, Keith. So powerful and strong. So smart and beautiful. So very good for me.”

Keith keens, the words piercing his heart. It’s unfair that one as beautiful as Shiro might also be as skilled with words. Keith’s heart doesn’t stand a chance.

“You enjoy being good for me, don’t you?” He asks.

“You know I do,” Keith huffs, sitting back to fuss with Shiro’s nightshirt. The ridiculously complicated lacing near the collar is already mostly undone—to make room for the substantial breadth of his chest most likely. The material is unlike anything Keith has ever felt against his own body—silky smooth and clinging to every one of Shiro’s muscles, of which there are many.

Eager to see more of him, Keith scoots down the bed to get a better vantage point to tug at the nightshirt which falls down just around mid thigh, his glorious muscles in his thick thighs on full display. Keith has spent more than one occasion adjusting his own tunic to discreetly hide his erection while admiring Shiro on horseback—those beautiful thighs spread wide and gripping his horse as he galloped. Still it’s nothing compared to the sight of them bare.

“You know you can do more than look,” Shiro says, earning him a wry smile from Keith.

“Merely appreciating the view, my Prince.”

“Are you now?” Shiro grins.

“Yes,” Keith murmurs, skimming his fingers over the width of Shiro’s thighs—mesmerized by the way he trembles beneath Keith’s touch and spreads his legs wide in silent invitation. Keith would almost believe this moment was a dream, but he’s always been too pragmatic to dream of anything as glorious as bedding the Prince.

He pushes the flimsy material up further and out of the way, revealing Shiro’s cock. Like the rest of him, it is large—the crown flushed a dark pink and his arousal dripping from the tip. Keith’s seen many men naked—a hazard of communal living for those who serve in the royal guard. Not a man alive compares to his Prince.

“I can leave the shirt on,” Shiro offers, almost off handedly. There’s a hint of a blush spreading across the bridge of his nose, the gentle rise and fall of his chest stilling as he holds his breath.

Pain lances through Keith, that Shiro even considers it. Keith knows all too well what lies beneath the silk—the scars of Shiro’s survival, gnarled flesh and burn wounds that mar once perfect flesh. He knows too, that no one besides Keith has ever been allowed to see him without a shirt on. At his return to court he’d caused quite a scandal by refusing to allow his previous valet to serve him. There had been whispers all through court and rumors galore about the newly returned Prince with the scarred face and a metal arm. The regent had been sure over time the Prince would return to his previous habits, but as the years passed the Prince had only become more private with his body. Always wearing perfectly tailored suits and richly embroidered linens that hid all but the metal of his right hand.

Keith’s seen him of course, in the summers when no one was around and Shiro would relax enough to loosen his shirt or shed layers. Keith has always done his best to avert his gaze—to offer the Prince the privacy he's always so deeply craved. He wonders if he went too far in not looking that his Prince might somehow believe himself unworthy of Keith’s gaze.

“May I?” Keith asks, toying with the hem of the nightshirt, hoping his intentions are clear.

“Oh,” Shiro breathes, swallowing. “Yes.”

Keith is not a patient man, but he’s patient now—painstakingly slow as he drags the silk up Shiro’s body inch by inch to reveal miles and miles of skin. With every exposed scar Shiro holds his breath tighter and Keith resolves to worship him further.

When he is done, there will be no question in Shiro’s mind of what Keith thinks of his body.

“It’s not—” Shiro starts, but Keith silences him with a look, pleased at how easy Shiro acquiesces to Keith.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Keith knows all too well the physical and emotional toll that being royal takes—has had Shiro’s head in his lap as he refused to cry, has dried blood and tears off his beautiful face. They are vulnerabilities that Shiro lets no one else see. Not his healer nor his advisors, and certainly not the Regent.

There is no one Shiro trusts more than Keith, and that trust will be rewarded tenfold.

Privately Keith is not sure if he is fit to be the King’s consort, or fit to rule, but there is one thing that he knows without a shred of doubt: he is fit to love Shiro.

“My Prince you are too beautiful for words.”

“I know that some of it is not pretty, but I hope that—”

“Shiro,” Keith interrupts, the use of the name getting his attention. “You said you would let me show you how well I take care of what is mine. I treasure what is mine. I see it’s beauty. I see your beauty. Are you going to let me have you, my Prince?”

Slow but sure, Shiro nods as he lifts himself off the pillow and allows Keith to pull the nightshirt off completely. It ruffles his hair, sending tufts of white strands across his face and into his eyes as he stares up at Keith with such trust.

Right now he’s not the perfect Prince the Kingdom adores, the fierce Prince that rival Kingdoms wouldn’t dare to challenge, or even the compassionate Prince that most Kingdoms seek as their ally. He is just a man—just Shiro.

There’s a look in his eyes that is new, something terrified but hopeful. It reminds Keith of the broken boy he’d rescued from Daizbaal all those years before. It occurs to Keith now that he has the power to do what no one else has ever been able to do—break Shiro.

Over the years people have tried to break his body and his spirit, but they have failed. Keith though, he could break his heart, and Shiro knows it. There’s a look in his eyes that says quite clearly I’m giving you everything I am, please take care of me.

Keith knows he would burn down the entire world to keep this man safe. There is nothing Keith would not do for his Prince.

A sense of calm overtakes Keith as he smooths a hand down Shiro’s chest. This he can do. This he will do.

“I love you,” Keith says, and though the words are not as easy for Keith to say as Shiro, they are the most true words he’s ever spoken in his entire life.

“What on Earth did I ever do to deserve you?” Shiro asks, eyes turned up onto Keith’s face with a look of such adoration that Keith feels himself begin to tremble.

“You loved me first,” Keith whispers. “You loved me when I did not even know how to love myself.”

“Oh, Keith. Loving you is like breathing. Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life.”

“A mouth as pretty as the rest of you,” Keith huffs, overwhelmed by the praise and delighted by the way Shiro’s chest flushes pink. “Look at you, my Prince. So exposed, for me. Only for me.”

“Always only for you,” Shiro whispers, adjusting himself. He lifts his arms, as if to cross them over his chest then stops and drops them to his sides instead. Keith is so proud of him it hurts. His Prince is so brave.

“You are the most beautiful man I have ever laid eyes upon,” Keith says, stradling Shiro’s thighs as he bends down to mouth at the biggest scar on Shiro’s body—a nasty looking jagged thing that runs from his shoulder down his left pec where a cursed blade had nearly ended his life at eighteen. Where Shiro sees the ugliness in his scars, Keith sees the beauty—the survival.

There is not a man alive that is braver or more fit to rule than Shiro.

“So beautiful,” Keith repeats, mouthing down the scar.

Shiro goes still, so still that Keith is afraid he’s gone too far. When he drags his eyes up it’s to find Shiro’s left arm thrown over his face—wetness staining his cheeks.

“Should I stop?” he whispers.

“Please don’t,” Shiro croaks, and Keith can feel the weight of what this vulnerability is costing him with the tremble in every syllable.

Keith did not think it possible to love him more, yet love him more he does.

Patience comes easy yet again, and though Keith wishes to touch all of him it’s easy to take his time—easy to map out Shiro’s body with his hands and mouth. With every new scar he touches, Shiro falls apart more until the body beneath him is shaking. Bit by bit Shiro too becomes bolder, sniffling as he removes the arm from over his face.

It’s a bravery Keith rewards—pausing mid stomach kiss to slither up Shiro’s body and kiss him until Shiro’s hardness is pressed against his thigh and he’s making sounds that Keith has never heard him make before.

“Oh please,” Shiro cries, hands moving all over Keith’s back as if he can’t decide where they should be.

“Please what?” Keith grins, rocking down against him and marveling at the way Shiro’s mouth falls open on a moan. He’s so pretty when he falls apart.

“Please everything,” he gasps. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop touching me.”

“My Prince, now that I have permission to touch, I do not intend to ever stop.”

As if to prove his point he scoots down, eyes on Shiro as he takes his length in hand and gives it a firm stroke. Shiro arches off the bed with a sound loud enough for the guards outside to hear.

“Shhh,” Keith laughs, dragging his free hand over Shiro’s full lips. “Someone might hear you. Then they’ll know you’re not resting.”

Shiro snaps his mouth shut and nods. He’s such a good boy.

“That’s it, you can be quiet for me, can’t you? Quiet enough to give me all the time I want to touch you.”

“Yes,” Shiro answers, voice barely above a whisper.

Keith smiles, dropping down to resume his ministrations—kissing his way across a small but thick scar next to Shiro’s belly button. True to his word Shiro is quiet, broken off little whimpers falling through closed lips as Keith drags his teeth over the scar tissue, mouthing a love bite directly over it.

He doesn’t stop there, sucking more marks into Shiro’s pale skin everywhere he goes—the jut of his hip, the delicate area next to his cock and the juncture where his thigh meets his hip.

“Keith,” Shiro whines as Keith moves lower—his hair tickling Shiro’s upper leg as he begins to suck at Shiro’s left thigh, digging his fingers into the meaty flesh and tenderly smoothing his palms over every scar with the same amount of tenderness he shows the unmarred skin. By the time he’s worked his way down Shiro’s legs, even kissing the delicate ankle bones, Shiro is a boneless heap in the bed—mouth hanging open and eyes blown wide with lust. His chest rises and falls rapidly, his cock jutting out and dripping against his thigh and half his body covered in purple marks Keith put there.

Arousal and pride flood Keith as his gaze roams over Shiro, who looks more relaxed than Keith has ever seen him. He makes up his mind to do this as often as he’s allowed. His Prince bears so much responsibility, he works so hard—he deserves this.

“Look at how beautiful you are,” Keith murmurs, grazing his palms across Shiro’s thighs as he moves upward, once against straddling his hips as he hovers above him.

“Keith,” Shiro mumbles, the blush on his face deepening.

“I love when you say my name.”

“Keith,” Shiro repeats, reaching for him. “My beautiful, Keith. Mine.”

“Yours,” Keith confirms, turning his face to kiss Shiro’s palm before he slides it over Keith’s cheek and into his hair.

“You’re so good to me,” Shiro murmurs, fingers twirling through the hair at the back of Keith’s neck.

“Only as good as you deserve,” Keith insists.

“Oh, I don’t kn—oh,” Shiro gasps as Keith rolls his hips.

Delighted by the way Shiro’s eyes nearly roll into the back of his head, Keith does it again, rutting down against Shiro and fighting off his own moan as their coks slide together.

“”Shhh, be a good boy and stay quiet,” Keith reminds him when Shiro lets out an indecently loud moan.

“Can’t,” Shiro groans, moving his hands down to Keith’s ass.

“I suppose I will simply have to make you be quiet then,” Keith says, dropping down to cover Shiro’s mouth with his own—swallowing down the salacious sounds Shiro makes as Keith continues to rock against him.

The more he rolls his hips, the better the friction gets—their cocks leaking as they each get that much closer to release. Shiro, it turns out, is not so good at being quiet and even with Keith kissing him he makes the most primal sounds—whimpers and moans falling from his lips as his fingers dig into Keith’s ass.

Shiro is a greedy man, whining and writhing as he devours Keith’s mouth and it’s all Keith can do to remember to keep rocking his hips. Keith comes first, his thrusts turning frantic as he spills his release all over Shiro who makes his loudest sound yet, a moan so loud the very castle walls echo with it, as Keith reaches between them to wrap his hands around Shiro’s cock—now dripping wet from Keith’s release. All it takes is a few firm strokes before Shiro is flat out wailing and not even Keith shoving his tongue into the Prince’s mouth is enough to quiet him.

By the time Keith’s got him to quiet down, and cleaned him up, the expected knock at the door comes.

“Oh no,” Shiro groans. “It’s probably the Regent.”

“Let me handle this,” Keith says, pressing a kiss to Shiro’s forehead before dragging the heavy velvet blanket up to cover Shiro’s naked body.

Another knock sounds and Keith doesn’t waste time looking for his own tunic, grabbing Shiro’s nightshirt off the floor and tugging it on, uncaring how loose it hangs on him as he moves to the door, yanking it open.

Sure enough standing in the doorway is the Regent looking shocked, her eyes roaming over Keith. There is no mistaking what they’ve been doing, and a weaker man would pale under the Regent’s icy gaze. Keith merely smiles.

“I believe I made it clear no one was to disturb the Prince.”

“And yet here you are,” Keith says with practiced ease.

“Such insolence,” she gasps. “How dare you.”

“Oh, he dares,” Shiro says, shuffling behind Keith, dressed in nothing but the bedsheets and his ruby circlet. “The future King’s consort may do as he pleases.”

“The future—” but she breaks off, mouth opening and shutting.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Sanda?” Shiro asks.

“No, my Prince. I was merely checking on your well being. There were reports of noises from your chambers.”

“Ah yes, I can assure you Keith has been taking quite good care of me,” Shiro says with a straight face, gifting her one of his most blinding smiles.

“Then I will leave you,” she says, cleaning her throat before taking a step back.

Keith takes no small amount of pleasure in slamming the door shut. He’s never cared for the Regent, especially not since it’s always been clear that her sole interest in Shiro is how his power and prestige may benefit her.

“You didn’t need to get up,” Keith tells him, wrapping an arm around Shiro. “You’re still weak.”

“I’m fine,” he says, though he allows Keith to bear most of his weight as they make their way back to the bed. “Besides, the bed is too empty without you. Now that I know what it’s like to have you in my bed, I’m afraid I have no intention of letting you go.”

“What a hardship, I’m not sure how I’ll cope sleeping in the royal bedchambers.”

Shiro laughs, his smile relaxed as he allows Keith to guide him back to bed. “I’ll make you happy, Keith. I promise.”

Keith’s heart clenches as he climbs into bed, settling himself in Shiro’s lap and brushing the hair from his eyes. His circlet tips sideways as he lays his head onto the pillow, the picture of royal debauchery.

“You already do, Shiro.”

Shiro’s smile turns soft as he reaches up, pulling the circlet off his head and depositing it on Keith’s.

“I’m going to commission one of your own soon, you’ll need it once the coronation is complete. For now though, I hope this will do.”

“I need no crowns or jewels to show me who I belong to, my Prince.”

“And who is that?” Shiro asks, smoothing a thumb over Keith’s cheek. They both know the answer, but if Shiro wishes to hear the words spoken aloud Keith is more than happy to indulge him.

“You, of course. My Prince, my future King, my heart.”

Shiro’s exhale is audible and Keith knows that will never get used to the feeling of being so clearly beloved.

“I love you, Keith.”

“And I love you, Shiro.”

Shiro pulls Keith closer, resting their foreheads together as he smiles radiantly.

“My beautiful, beautiful Keith.”

“Yours, Shiro. Forever yours.”