A Night Out On The Town

by ilovelocust

Summary:

Keith is such a good boy. He has so few limits when it comes to pleasing Shiro, but the General always likes to push.

Notes:

Witchy-writes over on tumbler helped to beta this chapter.

Chapter 1: Dyed

The razor slides across his skin, removing the last of his fur. He’d had so little to start with, thin with only a few real clumps around his crotch and armpits. Nothing like his fellow soldier’s full coats, but it had been his. The closest thing to standard beauty his small off colored body had ever possessed.

But the General’s tastes ran in a different direction than the norm. He had liked the pale expanses of Keith’s bare skin. Enjoyed how there was no fur between his tongue and Keith’s flesh. Even praised the appearance of his cock and balls without the black curls surrounding them. Shiro had desired him hairless from the neck down, so his fur had to go.

Keith sets the razor aside, carefully stepping out of the tub. The steam has run down the bathroom mirror in rivulets, just leaving the barest hint of an altered image to reflect back at him. His normally pink skin has been dyed a dark deep blue. His lips, nails, anything and everything he’d submerged in the bath has turned some shade of the color. Only his hair remains mostly the same. Barely a tint to the black to show something had been applied. He looks ridiculous. Like a child who decided to roll around in his parent's fur dye. Completely recognizable just dipped in another shade.

Keith snatches a towel from the rack and pats himself dry. The color doesn’t rub off on the towel. He’s going to need a special remover to get it off later. Surely Shiro will provide some, when he’s done for the night. He knows how upset Keith would be if he was forced to report to duty looking like this. The rank and file would have a field day coming up with stories on how he ended up in such a state. Some might even be true. Shiro’s done a lot to him, but he’s always respected Keith’s desire to keep their bedroom life away from public eyes.

Keith tosses the wet towel aside. He’s already cleaned inside, there is only one thing left he has to do.

The container of lube waits on the counter. It’s embarrassingly large, with a big bright label on the side just in case someone might mistake it for anything else. It’s almost empty. He’s only had it for a month. Thank the Emperor, Shiro handles their personal time needs. He’d never recover from the quartermaster’s judgment, if he had to re-up their supply himself. Everyone knows he’s taking it up the ass. Shiro’s so much higher ranked than him there is no shame in that, but there is a difference between knowing about the likelihood of their arrangement and being able to see exactly how quickly he goes through lube.

He gathers up a little bit to rub between his fingers, bends over the counter, bracing his forearm against its cool surface. This is a familiar task, rote movements needing little thought. Other nights, the nights that aren’t this, aren’t filled with the General’s fun, Shiro would do this for him. Spread him out on the mattress and work him open slowly. Hot lips against his neck, whispered praise in his ears. Telling him how good he was, how loved, how nobody could ever replace him. Shiro would tease him, filling him slowly with his thick fingers. Playing with him until he was begging for more at the same time he was wishing it’d never end. Those were his favorite nights. The ones he could have never even dreamed of having before Shiro, and would do anything to make sure he never had to do without again.

But that is not tonight. Tonight there is nothing but his own thin fingers. Readying himself as quickly as possible. No dallying for pleasure. Just efficient action so he’s ready to present before the General grows impatient.

The first finger slips in without a stretch. He’s too practiced at relaxing, or maybe just has been taken one too many times, for even the slightest discomfort from something so small.

He keeps his eyes on the patterned counter below him, as he wiggles the second finger in. There is something a little too lewd about staring at his own slightly parted lips in the mirror. Like he’s putting on a show, instead of just the basics of readying himself. The image doesn’t befit a deadly soldier.

Keith spreads his fingers. The small stretch is nice, if he pushed deeper it would feel even better, but he keeps it shallow. Just barely past the ring of muscles trying to force them back out. Don’t get distracted. Shiro decides where this night is going. Working himself up could make for a miserable wait.

The third finger slides in as easily as the first. Should he be worried about how little effort it takes? There are always stories about those who lent their ass out so much it became useless for anything else, but surely, if he’d done himself damage, the doctor would have said something by now. It doesn’t mean anything, he shouldn’t worry. A few small thrusts, just to enjoy the feeling of something substantial to clench against, and he spreads his fingers. Fighting against the suction, as his body wants to stay closed, to let nothing else in. Then, finally, the sudden lack of resistance as he truly opens up. Cool air tickling his insides. There, now he’s ready.

Keith washes his hands thoroughly, still no bleed off from the dye, it really has soaked in, and heads for their room. The bathroom door slides aside, Shiro’s waiting for him. The General was preparing while Keith bathed. Small containers, toys, and strange overly frilled pieces of clothing are laid out on their bed. He could puzzle out their purpose, if Shiro wasn’t so much more interesting of a subject.

He’s dressed in his parade armor. The one he wears to meet the few people equal and above him in rank. The one who’s crotch can be undone, and will only bite a little into Keith’s ass as he’s railed from behind. Shiro likes how much lower Keith looks, stripped bare beside him while he’s in full uniform. Keith hasn’t told him, but maybe he likes it a bit too.

Keith steps into the bedroom proper, letting the door slide shut behind him. Shiro’s eyes rake down him, examining his work. Keith spins in place. Showing that yes, he can follow simple instructions and get the dye everywhere like requested. Shiro’s hand on his shoulder stops him mid-turn. Shoving his chest against the door.

Keith holds himself still, watches Shiro over his shoulder. Waits. The first cool metal touch of Shiro’s prosthetic has his breath catching. He shivers, as it traces down his spine to dip between his cheeks. Circling the pucker of his hole with his thumb, building his anticipation, but refusing to take the last step and press inside. He shouldn’t want this so much, he just finished sticking three of his own fingers up there. Shiro’s shouldn’t be so different, but they are. The cheshire grin on the man’s face says he knows it too.

Shiro leans forwards. Lets the hard lines of his armor do the job of pinning him against the door, as his human hand slips low to feel his crotch. Shiro’s cock is hidden from him. Protective layers leaving his interest a mystery even when pressed against his ass, but his own dick has no such cover. Perking up with interest, as Shiro’s hand wraps around it.

“Getting hard for me, baby?” Shiro words hot against his ear. He doesn’t wait for an answer, a soft tug against Keith’s dick has him gasping, hips pushing further into Shiro’s hand. A dark chuckle, enjoying how easy he is, “Do you want more?” Shiro whispers. A point of chill as the tip of Shiro’s thumb barely breaches his hole, teasing.

Keith bites his lip, fingernails digging into his palm, before he can speak, “Yes,” He pleads. It would be so easy. He’s ready, Shiro wouldn’t need to wait to push himself inside. Fuck Keith against the door, until the armor left dark purple bruises and Keith came screaming.

Shiro clutches him, face burying against his neck, as if Keith isn’t the only one affected. A shuddery breath, then the ghost of teeth against his skin, “Well then, how could I say no when you asked so nicely. I’ll give you exactly what you asked for,” Shiro’s voice is a promise. One that is too good to be true. The General’s games are sometimes enjoyable, but rarely as simple as this, “Just have to deal with this first,” Shiro’s hand squeezes hard on Keith’s dick, “Stay right here and don’t move,” Shiro kisses Keith’s cheek, pulling away to leave him leaning against the door.

Soft padding footsteps walking to the bed. There were things there, laid out for tonight's game. If he could just recall what they were, he could decipher what Shiro meant. A rustle, maybe even a clink, something is picked up. He just can’t remember what it could be. More soft steps coming back. Shiro tugs on Keith’s hip, turning him. There is something shiny and metal in his hand, but Shiro is sinking to his knees and suddenly that isn’t important anymore. Grey eyes look up at him with a wicked glint as Shiro leans forward. Hot breath caressing his length. Blood rushes south, as Keith’s brain short circuits. Shiro’s mouth, his lips, his sultry tongue. They’ve touched him so many times before, and each was as close to a religious experience as he’s ever come. Shiro is perfect, and each time he lowers himself to pleasure Keith in this way is a reminder that he loves him, chose him, from all the other options. How could he not be consumed by that?

Maybe that’s why he missed the mischief in Shiro’s smile. Eyes slipping closed as Shiro drags his thumb down the underside of Keith’s cock. He takes a shaky breath and…there's a click. A ring of pressure behind his balls. Keith’s eyes fly open. Another click, more pressure. Shiro is securing a shiny metal ring around his shaft. The head of his dick is being shoved into a rigid cap, attached to the rings by Shiro’s clever fingers. Keith stares. Shiro kisses the tip of the cap. Not his dick. No slightly chapped lips against his head, no warm tongue and warmer mouth. Just the too cold metal, snuggly fitted over his sensitive flesh. Shiro stands.

“What-what did you do?” Keith stammers, hand reaching down to touch the cage. It’s too tight, leaves no room to grow without bordering on painful.

Shiro pulls his hand away, lifts his chin so he’s looking into those grey eyes, “You don’t have a dick tonight,” Shiro says, crowding Keith back against the wall. Shiro’s eyes are dilating, betraying how much he’s enjoying Keith’s dawning realization, “You’re going to wear your chastity cage and not touch it, while I use you to my heart’s desire,” Chastity, oh Emperor, he’s going to get everything he wanted just like Shiro said, while being denied his orgasm, “Understand?” Shiro asks.

Keith deflates, “Yes,” He says, much less enthusiastically than earlier.

“Good boy,” Shiro smiles, before dipping down for a kiss.

Maybe it’s because he knows Keith can’t fully enjoy it, but Shiro makes the kiss good. A hand against the small of his back, pulling him flush, bare flesh against amour. Another tugging against his hair, demanding he open up. Teeth biting at his his lower lip, a tongue invading his mouth. Wet sounds as Shiro’s mouth claims his own, trapping him against the door. Dizzy, because to pull away to breathe means to stop. Then it’s over. Keith’s all but dropped, left panting and clinging to the wall for balance. The metal around his dick grown ever tighter.

Shiro’s takes his wrist and pulls him across the room to stand in front of their bed. There’s clothing laid out there, undergarments and all. Most in a style he doesn’t recognize, save one. A dress that’s a favorite of the escort class on a local planet.

Shiro wraps himself around Keith’s back, hand’s resting possessively on Keith’s hips, “You’re always so good for me. Doing whatever I ask, but tonight I want something different,” Shiro kisses Keith’s neck, caressing his sides, “Tonight, I want you to be my own personal whore.”

Notes:

There will be two more parts, but as long as this part was sitting in my drafts, I found myself rewriting it over and over again instead of moving forward. Hope you guys enjoyed.

Chapter 2: Want

“It’s a fashion accessory,” Shiro says, pulling the contraption constricting Keith’s abdomen tighter. Fashion must be a synonym for torture where the General’s from if this ‘corset’ is anything to go by, “The modern ones are more about support than shape,” Shiro continues, ignoring Keith’s discomfort at his every tug and pull, “but considering where we’re starting from, I thought you could use the extra help of something more traditional.” Shiro ties a bow in the strings, while Keith tries and fails to breath deeply.

Shiro leans back appraising his handiwork, fingers running down Keith’s newly covered sides, “The women on my planet used to wear these every day to change their shape,” Shiro murmurs in a low voice, hands coming to rest above his hips, thumbs rubbing circles into Keith’s lower back, “Over time they’d cinch their corsets tighter and tighter until their bones began to shift and all their organs would push up into their chests.” The image of a chest expanding like an overripe fruit under the heel of a boot pops unbidden into his mind. Keith snaps his head around, eyes wide. Shiro grins, the cat who’s caught his canary, “By the time they were done, you could encircle their entire waste with your hands,” Shiro squeezes Keith’s own waist in emphasis, and he’s suddenly aware of how many inches still lie between the General’s fingers and thumbs. How much he’d have to lose to accomplish such a feat.

“Would you like that, pretty boy,” Shiro asks, steel grey eyes locking with his own, pinning him in place, “Would you like me to mold your bones, push your organs out of the way, shape your body until you’re just the way I want?”

“I,” His breath catches, and he can’t blame the corset, “I..,” Does he want that? The General’s never asked him to give something he can’t take back before, hair regrows, skin can be scrubbed clean, bruises fade, but this? Will he let him twist his form, until his body is more Shiro’s than his own. Would he love Keith more if he does?

Shiro chuckles, as if he can see Keith’s churning thoughts, “Mmmmm, but if I were to do that, then you wouldn’t be as strong or as quick with a blade,” Shiro sighs, patting the thigh Keith keeps his knife when not in bed, “I guess we’ll just have to imagine, then,” Shiro says, before giving a parting nip to his lobe.

Shiro steps around him, grabbing something frilly and red off the bed, “Put this on,” He says, tossing the scrap at Keith, and that’s all it really is, a scrap of cloth, more missing than actually there. Keith stares at it a moment, trying to imagine the purpose of a covering that doesn’t cover, before a cleared throat gets him moving again. The silky underwear slips up his legs with barely a whisper, settling to rest snugly over his chastity device. Who knew there was a step below naked on the demeaning chart. Trust the General to both know this and make sure that Keith experienced it first hand. The lacy red material more frames than hides the swell of his ass. Cut out patterns dragging attention to his offering for the night and topping it with a bow.

“Red always has been your color, even when your blue,” Shiro hums, holding up two much more substantial items for Keith to put on. He can’t help but notice they’re also not lacking in lace and bows. Like Shiro is wrapping a present to himself with each article Keith dons.

He tries to be graceful. He knows theoretically there is a way to make this sexy, to make it satisfying for Shiro to watch, to put on a show, but its just not a theory Keith has ever mastered in practice. The best he can do is try not to fall over while rolling the thigh high stockings up his legs. Shiro’s not helping, either, circling him slowly. Taking his fill of Keith’s clumsy attempts to act natural. Keith shivers, as he finishes one and starts the other. Exposed more in some ways than when he came out of the bathroom. At least then he was just naked. There’s honesty in being naked, practicality in stripping, but what he’s wearing now serves no purpose. He’s just trussed up for display, a pretty thing for a shelf. It’s not a feeling he’s built for.

He finishes pulling the last one up. Left with nothing to do but become more and more aware of himself, and the stark contrast between the gleam of Shiro’s armor and the soft nothing covering him. He doesn’t mean to shrink in on himself, but as the General’s gaze lingers, his hands drift to obscure the General’s view of their own accord, “Are you shy, baby?” Shiro sounds pleased, and Keith can feel heat building in his cheeks. If he’s lucky the dye is hiding his blush, “Do you not like the clothes?” Shiro’s voice is suddenly much closer. A proprietary hand slipping between his thighs, groping him like it belongs there, which of course it does.

Keith’s cock responds to the proximity without his consent. He shift uncomfortably, not trying to dislodge him, but maybe get an inch more space, “Shiro,” He says quietly, a small plea. He doesn’t know what game the General is playing tonight, buts its not fair to tease him like this.

The hand disappears from between his legs, only for him to be shoved unceremoniously face down onto the bed, “Present for me sweetheart,” Shiro says with a laugh. Keith stares up at him, bewildered with the sudden change in game, “Ass up, knees spread,” Shiro’s gestures to illustrate exactly the position Keith’s to take, “Like you want me to fuck you.” He says, and Keith scrambles to comply. It’s not like he has to pretend, even knowing it will probably hurt. He always wants Shiro to touch him, to use him. To want him.

“Do you know what you look like right now, baby?” Shiro asks, hands grabbing his cheeks, squeezing and kneading around the red lace. He’s not certain he wants to know the answer to that question. Cheap, whore, desperate, all spring to mind, but Shiro wants him to know, so Keith shakes his head and braces for the answer. Nails dig into his ass, “You look like your mine,” Shiro growls, and Keith’s heart stutters in his chest. Not cheap, not desperate. His. Shiro thinks he looks like he’s his.

An almost feral smile spreads across Shiro’s face. All vicious teeth and possession, “Do you know what that does to me baby?” Shiro croons, leaning over him, “Do you know what that makes me want to do to you?” He asks without waiting for Keith to answer, and Keith’s caught, trapped in the honeyed web of being wanted. Hanging on Shiro’s every word, “It makes me want to beat you, baby,” Shiro whispers a moment before the unforgiving metal of his prosthetic strikes skin.

Keith nails scratch through the sheets, “It makes me want to take a cane to your pretty thighs, and whip you until your skin is as red as your panties.” A hand fists in his hair, shoving him into the mattress, “Can you imagine it, sweetheart?” Shiro says, a mad frenzy building in his voice, “You’d take it so well. Yell and shout, but wouldn’t ask me to stop. You’d spread so sweetly for each hit. Taking as many as I gave you.” He can imagine it, he would take it. He would take it until he bled to satisfy the desire dripping in Shiro’s voice, “Then after, you’d let me fuck you. Let me take you as hard as I wanted to, even though each thrust would slap against your welts,” The metal of Shiro’s armor grinds against his ass in a mimicry of sex, “You’d even touch yourself, if I asked you to. Pinch your tiny tits till they were raw. Rub that poor little thing between your legs until your cage bites. You’d hurt yourself, even though you know you can’t cum. You’d do it to make me happy wouldn’t you?” Keith’s shaking under Shiro’s hands. He would, he would to make him happy, Emperor he would. Shiro slaps Keith’s ass again, making him yelp, “Wouldn’t you?” He repeats louder.

“Yes!” Keith shouts.

“Of course you would,” Shiro murmurs, dragging Keith up off the bed by his hair. The cold metal of Shiro’s prosthetic wraps around his cock, as Shiro’s lips find Keith’s neck, “You would because you’re perfect,” hurried open mouth kisses trail from his collar bone to the hinge of his jaw, “and beautiful,” a cold metal hand squeezes down on his prick ruthlessly, sharp pain ringing out in response, “and you love me.” The kiss, like all Shiro’s kisses, is devastating. Hollowing him out and leaving him weak. Taking everything.

Shiro lets him go and his knees give out.

Keith struggles to catch his breath, as Shiro adjusts himself, before casually returning to the items laid out on the mattress, “I think you should put the dress on next,” Shiro says, holding up the piece of clothing Keith had spotted earlier in the night, “Then we can lace up your boots and you can convince me your presentable.”

When he doesn’t move immediately, Shiro snaps his fingers, “Now, we have a schedule to keep.”

Keith scrambles to obey.

Notes:

I almost ended up not writing this chapter. Skipping straight to the next one with just references to this happening, but the idea of Shiro just fantasizing at Keith, while he dresses was so strong. I'm really glad I ended up writing it.

Fun fact I realized while reading this series again. We've seen the aftermath of Shiro rutting against Keith (A heat to chase away the chill), but we've never once seen Shiro actually fuck him. It's at least partly why Keith is getting so much more from this night than their normal ones (even with mental whiplash). Shiro's not using a proxy for once.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 10 of General Shiro AU