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For My Own

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The first thing Shiro notices is that he’s warm.

Awareness trickles in slowly through the thick haze of his mind, scraps of memory flickering like the faint embers of the campfire he can feel warming his face. He was--he’d been outside the cave, he’d ventured out into the cold despite Sendak’s growled warning, and---


The second thing Shiro notices is the feel of fur curled around him, softer than the ragged pelts they’d made from Sendak’s hunts of the bear-like creatures living on this planet. It’s warmer, too, more solid: alive. Shiro should move, should tear away from his enemy’s embrace, but beneath the lingering shock and disgust there’s something else, something new: it feels good. He doesn’t remember the last time he was close to another body like this, that he was held as closely and - the realisation shakes him - as tenderly as this.

Sendak is half-curled around him, Shiro tucked against his chest, his remaining arm folded over Shiro’s waist, pulling him in close. Sendak’s chest rumbles where it’s pressed against Shiro’s back; he’s making a noise, halfway between a growl and a purr, low and deep in the back of his throat like a predator after its first kill.

The sound sends a faint thrill of fear shivering up Shiro’s spine, some primal instinct rising up within him. It isn’t an entirely unfamiliar feeling; it’s struck him occasionally, in the weeks since his Lion crashed on this desolate ice planet consisting of population: one stranded - and furious - Sendak, that if it came to a hand-to-hand fight, especially now that they’re each down an arm, after Shiro's was irreparably damaged in the crash, that Shiro would undoubtedly lose.

That awareness had driven him, along with the mutual understanding that they’d need to learn to co-operate if they were going to survive this planet’s harsh climate. So they’d worked together; had carved out this tiny life for themselves in a small cave at the foot of a mountain so tall they couldn’t see the peak, steadily supplying themselves with whatever they needed to stay live: food, water, fire, warmth.

Beyond their first fraught encounter on this planet, several hours after the Lion crashed, they haven’t fought, not really. At least not until yesterday, when Shiro had geared up and prepared to head out for more firewood only to be stopped by a fierce growl from Sendak. No explanation, no words, just that pale yellow eye narrowed to a slit, sharp canines exposed as the growl deepened. After a few tense moments Shiro had shoved past and left anyway - Sendak’s been acting strangely all week and this was no different - and then---the memory slips through his fingers like sand. All he can remember is the feeling of being so cold that he’d been sure that he’d never be warm again.

Now, the warmth is almost stifling. Shiro shifts, trying to ease himself away from Sendak’s warm bulk, and comes to a third, startling realisation: he isn’t wearing any clothes.

Without warning, the grip across his waist tightens, the rhythm of Sendak’s breathing changing. He’s awake.

Shiro tenses, bracing himself for an attack; no better time for Sendak to take him out than like this, at his most vulnerable. He stays completely still as Sendak ducks down and nuzzles at Shiro’s neck, right over his racing pulse. The next moment Shiro jolts at the sensation of something warm and wet against his throat, followed by the realisation that Sendak is licking him, over the back of his neck and then beneath his jaw, sharp teeth just barely grazing the sensitive skin there. Maybe it’s the strange newness of this whole situation, or the fact that it’s been so long since he’s been touched like this, but when Sendak presses in closer to mouth at his throat, Shiro can’t help arching his back and leaning into the touch, faint embers of heat beginning to flicker low in his belly.

Then Sendak slides his arm up to curl over Shiro’s chest, and the sensation of soft fur brushing over his nipples drags a startled, bitten-off gasp from Shiro’s throat. This--this shouldn’t be happening, he shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be liking this. Shiro thrashes, trying to shove Sendak’s arm away but his own arm is pinned too tightly to his side to do anything more than twitch, and it’s useless anyway; apparently Sendak has taken his struggles as an invitation to increase his efforts, licking and biting more fiercely at every bit of Shiro he can reach, marking up his shoulders and neck and throat before tracing the stinging skin with soft swipes of his tongue.

Something about the contrast between the two - the sharp pain followed by soothing warmth - is beginning to stoke the low fire in Shiro’s belly, the heat of it sparking suddenly brighter when Sendak’s rough palm moves to rest directly over Shiro’s left nipple. Every time Shiro so much as twitches, the stimulation only grows, and it doesn’t take long for the flesh to grow hard and peaked beneath Sendak’s hand.

In response, Sendak makes a pleased sound low in the back of his throat, momentarily pausing in his ministrations to rub his huge hand more purposefully over the muscle of Shiro’s chest. When he splays his broad fingers to pinch and stroke at Shiro’s right nipple, toying with it until it almost hurts with how good it feels, Shiro’s helpless to stop the thin, shuddery noise that escapes him, or the rush of mortification at the realisation that he doesn’t want this to stop. And not only that, but worse: he’s beginning to get hard.

He can’t remember the last time he was actually hard - trying to form Voltron and fight the Galra hadn’t left a whole lot of time for jerking off - and much of the year spent in captivity is still a messy haze of scraps of memory and sensation. This, now: it’s only natural, Shiro tries to tell himself; it’s just the result of being deprived of touch for so long. By even as he says the words to himself he knows it isn’t true. It’s more than that, somehow. It’s the solid heat of Sendak’s body beside him, touching him, the faintly sweet musk of his thick fur surrounding him, keeping him warm, keeping him safe. It’s the growing realisation that he can’t remember the last time he felt as good as he does right here.

Shiro is startled out of his reverie by the feeling of his thighs being nudged apart by Sendak’s knee. The next moment something hard is slipping in between them, something slick, rubbing up between Shiro’s thighs until the wet tip kisses the underside of Shiro’s balls. Shiro can’t suppress his moan, his thighs shaking at the stimulation as Sendak pulls back before working his cock back into the tight space between Shiro’s thighs, rutting up against him.

It’s so----much, so far beyond anything that Shiro’s ever experienced and every time Sendak bumps up against his heavy sac it drags another helpless groan out of him and shouldn’t be---he shouldn’t be getting off on this, shouldn’t be rocking into Sendak’s touch, eager. He needs more; his cock is swollen and beginning to drool, desperate for touch.

Shiro snakes his hand down, reaching for it - anything to ease the burning heat pooling in his gut - only to be stopped by the sharp sting of teeth on his shoulder as Sendak bites down, growling, the meaning clear: no touching.

In retaliation Shiro presses his legs together, squeezing at the thickness of Sendak’s cock until, with a snarl, Sendak heaves them both onto their front, his huge bulk pinning Shiro in place as he begins to rut more forcefully against Shiro, sliding easily through the mess of precome he’s leaving. Shiro has to be slick everywhere by now; wouldn’t take much for Sendak to change the angle and press forward, press in.

As if hearing Shiro’s thoughts, on his next press inwards the tip of Sendak’s cock nudges against Shiro’s hole, lightly, just enough to tease the thickness of it. The force of before is gone, replaced with something softer, more tentative: Sendak’s being careful. And for good reason: even just pressing against him Shiro can tell that Sendak is huge, no two ways about it. Fitting him inside isn’t going to be a simple task.

Luckily, Shiro has a few ideas.

Sendak’s precome is thick and wet and slick like lube. It should do the trick.

Shiro nudges at Sendak’s bulk, easing him back enough to reach down and get a hand on Sendak’s cock. It’s so big he can’t even get his hand around it, the skin darker than the fur around it, pulsing hot in Shiro’s grip. He strokes it, lightly and then more firmly, until he gets what he’s after: a thick blurt of pale precome dripping from the tip.

Shiro gathers it up with his fingers, smearing it until they’re nice and slick, before turning back over onto his front. Sendak’s gaze on him feels like a physical touch, curious and pleased all at once, his growl deepening when Shiro reaches back, circling two fingers over his twitching rim before slowly, slowly easing them inside.

Beneath the faint sting there’s the feeling of a sharp ache being soothed as the pleasure wells up, sparking brighter. He’s already revved up from before, and the slow pump of his fingers is only stoking the fire; won’t take much more to get him there. A few minutes later he registers at the scrape of Sendak’s claws on his leg, broad palm curling around his upper thigh as he shifts his position behind Shiro. He’s up to three fingers, now, curling them, trying to open himself up wider, jolting as a new sensation joins the rest: warm, wet; Sendak’s tongue, licking right over where his fingers are thrusting away.

Shiro presses his face into the ragged pelt below him and moans, arching his hips and spreading his fingers apart to let Sendak in deeper, the rough thrust of his tongue in perfect counterpoint to the slick rhythm of his own fingers. Apparently the noise only serves to spur Sendak on. Soon he’s licking and mouthing everywhere, over Shiro’s fingers and knuckles, the insides of his thighs, ducking down to lap at the swell of his balls.

Combined with the way his cock is rubbing up against the rough furs below him on every roll of his hips and it isn’t long before he can feel the telltale signs as the pleasure begins to grow unbearable. Not yet, Shiro tells himself, willing himself to hold back, pulling his fingers free, but apparently Sendak has no such compunction, shifting to lick into Shiro uninterrupted and with renewed vigour, his pointed tongue hitting depths not even Shiro’s fingers could reach. Simultaneously, Sendak plants his hand on Shiro’s lower back, pinning him in place as he writhes under the stimulation, half-moaning with every thrust of Sendak’s tongue inside him.

A few more licks is all it takes before Shiro’s whole body tenses as he comes, nearly sobbing as it overtakes him in three powerful waves, his cock jerking as it spits thick ropes of white on the bedding below. Sendak doesn’t let up, not until Shiro’s finished shaking through it, gasping wetly when Sendak finally slides his tongue free with a slick noise.

Fuck. Fuck. That was. That was incredible. Shiro can’t help the blissed-out laugh that bubbles from between his lips, the noise quickly transforming into a low groan as Sendak gets a hand on his hips and moves him into place, pulling him back until he’s practically seated in Sendak’s lap, legs splayed wide over Sendak’s own.

Then he’s lowering Shiro down, the fat head of his cock nudging at Shiro’s sloppy hole before easing inside. The orgasm of a few minutes ago has done its job of loosening him up: his body lets it in easily, the muscle fluttering around the thickness of it as it sinks in deeper, stretching Shiro open wider.

When it’s over halfway inside Sendak lifts him off before pushing him back down, further this time, working Shiro down onto his cock again and again until he’s buried to the hilt. Slumping back against Sendak’s broad chest, Shiro lets his body by guided into rolling his hips, feeling the way Sendak moves thick and heavy in his gut, pressing everywhere at once. On the first few thrusts in all Shiro can do is spasm at the overstimulation every time Sendak brushes over that aching spot inside, his limp cock twitching at the sensation: too much and not enough all at once.

If he thought he’d been warm before, now he’s burning up, he’s on fire everywhere Sendak’s touching him; slick with sweat and come and wanting more, wanting everything Sendak has to give him. Soon he’s arching his hips to meet Sendak’s thrusts, slamming himself down onto the length of him over and over again, the pleasure sparking brighter with every frenzied thrust. It doesn’t take long for his cock to thicken from the feeling of Sendak rubbing right over that spot inside every time he plunges inside.

Sendak is everywhere: behind him, inside him, beneath him, rough palm stroking over Shiro’s thigh and belly and side before settling on his chest. The next moment his fingers are pinching and pulling roughly at Shiro’s nipples as his mouth closes over the sensitive skin at Shiro’s jaw in a two-pronged assault that Shiro’s helpless to defend against. He’s going to come again, and soon; his balls feel tight and heavy, his cock blurting another pearl of precome on every powerful thrust inside him. By the harshness of the other’s breathing he can tell that Sendak is close too, his rhythm beginning to falter as it overwhelms him.

“Come on,” Shiro urges, voice ragged, “Come on -- ah -- just like that,” and that’s all it takes: the next moment Sendak’s teeth clamp down on the meat of Shiro’s shoulder, his hand on Shiro’s chest keeping him in place as his cock jerks deep inside, spilling stream after stream of come into him. It feels endless, like it goes on forever; distantly Shiro registers his own weak orgasm splattering over his thighs as he seizes and shudders on Sendak’s cock, twitching anew every time it shifts inside.

Time passes in a blurred haze; the next thing Shiro knows, he’s curled up on his side, a familiar warm bulk curled half-over him, rumbling with a low purr of contentment. Shiro feels his own mouth curve into a smile, nestling deeper into Sendak’s embrace.

He’s warm. He’s safe.

The firewood can wait.