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Even though his bones are telling him they're tired, and his muscles and tendons and ligaments are chiming in even more loudly, Keith still has too much adrenaline coursing through his system to sleep right away.
So he goes to YouTube to watch a playlist he put together of videos that never fail to soothe him at a cellular level: rain falling in a forest, rain falling on a tin roof, rain falling on the ocean, rain falling on sand and rocks in a spectacular lighting-illuminated desert...just a lot of rainfall. He knows he could get a white noise machine with a rainfall setting, but he likes the YouTube videos because they're made by real people who actually stood in the rain to record it. He likes that human connection; it calms him almost as much as the rain itself.
As he's scrolling he overslides and instead of clicking his rainfall playlist, he ends up in "View Full Playlist" of the one next to it. He could simply back out—but even as he's thinking that with one part of his brain, another part is already skimming the titles of the videos in his "✰" playlist:
- 10 Minutes of Takashi Shirogane Highlights
- Top 10 Takashi Shirogane Saves of All Time
- Interview with Goalie Takashi Shirogane, 2x Stanley Cup Champion
- Takashi "Shiro" Shirogane In Action!!
—and that's as far as he gets: there are over a dozen more clips in the playlist, but Keith clicks the play button, goes to full screen, and watches Takashi Shirogane in action.
Different colors flash across the screen, uniforms changing as the teams do, plays from multiple games edited into one action packed highlight reel:
Shiro goes to his knees, lifts one of his legs, and sends the puck flying away from the net with an explosive kick to the side.
A forward swoops behind Shiro as he comes out, getting between Shiro and the net in time to receive a pass. But as the player slaps it in, Shiro reaches back and throws the paddle of his stick down before the puck can actually reach the net.
A shot flies in from the side and Shiro rolls from his stomach to his back, glove hand shooting up to snatch the puck out of the air. It looks more lucky than masterful, but Keith couldn't agree more with the commentator who proclaims, "It might not seem like technique, but that is technique!"
As he slides, following a pass, the blade of Shiro's stick gets caught in a deep groove on the ice and he falls onto his belly with jagged momentum—then, without missing a beat, as if he meant to do it all along, he lifts his back leg and kicks the puck away.
The puck sails past him—only to angle away from the net. The replay shows Shiro extending his arm back, blocking the shot by changing the puck’s trajectory with the tip of his finger.
That's followed by a clip Keith hasn't seen before. His pulse spikes, his heart racing as the puck makes it way through heavy traffic in front of the net and finds an opposing forward's stick, then hurtles towards the net—and Shiro's stick jumps up to block the shot. He gathers the loose puck in with his glove as he falls on it, and lies on the ice grinning.
"No rain tonight?"
Embarrassed that he was so into the video he didn't hear the door open, Keith hits pause as he looks up, opening his mouth to say—
Nothing.
His heart thumps wordlessly and he doesn't say anything as he looks at Shiro standing in the bathroom doorway, hair damp and tousled from a rough towel dry, stray droplets glistening on his skin because he never dries off fully after a shower, fluffy towel wrapped around his waist because even though they've been teammates for three years and roommates on the road for just about as long, Shiro has this sense of modesty that for some reason makes a heat crawl up the back of Keith's neck every time.
This time is no exception. He drags his gaze up over Shiro's body back to his face, shaping his breath into a whistle but only blowing out a thick, soft sigh when their eyes meet.
Shiro's gaze slides off to the side as he returns Keith's smile, and Keith smiles more.
"What are you watching, then?" Shiro's hair is damp enough that it stays slicked back when he runs his fingers through it as he comes over and leans down to look at the screen of Keith's tablet. When he sees the title of the video, he puffs out a small laugh that Keith knows is more self-deprecation than anything else.
His next breath opens up into an oh when he looks at the video itself and sees the moment paused there. His brows hitch up into a mild arch. "This is—is that from tonight?" He glances at Keith, who nods confirmation, then back at the screen. "Wow, they move fast."
"Yeah, they do. Well, I mean—they're your Number One Fan," Keith says, paraphrasing the channel name.
Shiro exhales another laugh, his mouth still curved in a smile as he settles on the bed and looks at Keith. Keith wasn't making fun of whoever runs the channel or of Shiro himself, and he thinks Shiro knows that...
He rolls onto his side to face Shiro, then forgets what he was going to say as he realizes they're mirroring their positions in the video. On the ice tonight, Keith had overstretched while trying to reach behind himself to block a shot before Shiro would have to, and lost his balance; he ended up laid out, hip to the ice. Half a second later Shiro had sprawled onto his belly next to Keith as he claimed the puck he'd blocked himself after all.
The video is paused right at that moment, the save made and the game saved, the two of them smiling at each other, Keith grinning so hard the announcers had even commented on it.
"I really wanted to kiss you out there," Keith says, grinning anew as his gaze shifts back from the video to Shiro.
"Me too." Shiro's smile gets soft and softer, not fading exactly—it's still there on his face even though the line of his mouth is more a hint than an actual curve as he looks at Keith now and moistens his lips.
Their physical positions may be similar to how they were at the end of the game but they're not on the ice here. There are no teammates or opponents, no live spectators or cameras. There's nothing but the two of them, and Keith closes the distance that Shiro leaves for him without hesitation.
There's no mask in the way of their mouths meeting, but there are teeth in the way of their tongues. Shiro's is clever and finds its way into Keith's mouth, opening a path for Keith to go into Shiro's with the next breath.
As they go on, the breaths they share in the space between them don't so much break the kiss as continue it, until their hands join in and the kiss goes full body, fingertips moving over skin, tracing scars and mapping musculature with purposeful appreciation; the adoration Keith feels in every one of Shiro's touches overwhelms his post-game pains and aches, lights him up.
He presses a knee against the edge of the towel as he rolls Shiro onto his back, exposing him fully. Shiro's cock is half hard and Keith takes a moment to gaze at it before he looks up into Shiro's eyes. He presses his tongue against the back of his teeth as he grins. "Want me to blow you?"
"Yeah," Shiro says, his gaze slipping off to the side.
Keith's brow furrows as he tilts his head. He knows from conversations they've had that Shiro is into oral, both giving and receiving. He thought he knew it from experience too but—"Do you not like the way I do it?"
"No, it's not—that's not—" Shiro shakes his head. His lashes flutter as he shuts his eyes and takes a breath to collect himself. When he opens his eyes half a heartbeat later, he looks at Keith but doesn't hold the gaze. "It's just—are you okay with my cock?"
Keith doesn't know what he thought Shiro was going to say, but it's definitely not that.
He doesn't gather himself in time to ask where that's coming from before Shiro goes on, on his own: "I mean, we've been road roommates for a few seasons now. We were watching hotel porn together even before we hooked up, so I have a pretty good idea of what you like, what gets you going..."
He trails off and Keith wishes to the hockey gods—the only gods he believes in—that he knew what Shiro was getting at, not only because he wants to understand and respond but also to spare Shiro the obvious mounting embarrassment he's feeling as he tries to articulate it.
"I'm not saying you're a size queen." Shiro flashes a grin, shaky around the edges and fading quickly. "But, you do seem to go for guys with big dicks. A lot bigger than mine—"
"Shiro." Keith does his best to ignore his own blush as he sits up. Shiro isn't wrong about his taste in porn but, "I love your cock." He tilts his head, trying to catch Shiro's gaze. "It's better than porn size. It's actual real person size." When Shiro finally looks at him with a half grin and starts to open his mouth, Keith knows what he's going to say and shakes off the words before they're spoken. "I'm not just saying it. Your cock is so much better than a porn cock. It fits so nicely, everywhere I want it to fit."
Shiro laughs and Keith grins, then softens his gaze as he turns serious again—because he is serious about this, all of it. "And you stay hard as long as I want you to when you get hard. Guys with dicks that big, when they get around double digit length, they don't have enough blood to maintain an erection for very long at a time, you know?" Keith doesn't know from experience, but he watched a behind the scenes of a solo scene by one of his favorite porn stars once, where the twenty minutes that were featured on the website weren't actually continuous but had to be filmed over the course of several hours. Shiro watched that behind the scenes with him, so Keith knows he knows.
"Not only that," Keith says, gaze lingering with Shiro's just a moment longer before he switches it to Shiro's cock, "you have such good command. You control when you get hard and when you stay soft."
"I don't know. I mean, you have some say in that."
Keith looks up, and when he sees the way Shiro is smiling at him, his lashes mimic the flutter of his heart. Shiro's tone bordered on jocular, but this isn't a joke to Keith and he declines to indulge Shiro's attempt at lightening the mood. Wordlessly he returns his gaze to Shiro's cock, soft now. A thick, solid, five inches of softness. It lengthens to five and a half when hard, which is nothing to be ashamed of, and Keith doesn't think Shiro is ashamed—he walks around the locker room with no apparent self-consciousness, after all. It's just with Keith that he's shy about his dick. But if there's one person in the entire world Shiro should feel confident with about his dick, it's Keith.
Keith lies down, tucking his hand under his head as he gazes close up at Shiro's cock. "It's so pretty." He sighs the words more than says them. He's close enough that some of his breath probably reached Shiro's cock wirh those words, drifting over it, but Shiro hasn't flinched or stirred. Keith moistens his lips. "Your cock is so pretty," he says again.
He loves Shiro's cock. It's not what he fell in love with, not what drew him to Shiro in the first place like the way Shiro says he fell for Keith's mouth, his smile on the ice. But he's fallen for Shiro's cock by now. He loves it when Shiro's cock is hard beneath his fingertips, against the roof of his mouth and his tongue, in his throat, between his thighs. And he also, maybe especially, loves it when it's soft, like it is now.
There's something about looking at Shiro's soft cock that's better than rain. Looking at it like this soothes him, not just down to his molecules but into his soul. He could meditate on it—he has meditated on it at times. Shiro has let him do that.
Oh. He breathes in slow and deep, lets the breath out easy and just as slow. That's what the something is: it's not just the softness of Shiro's cock, it's the way Shiro lets him look; it's the way Shiro shares his own softness with Keith.
He moves closer, resting his cheek on Shiro's thigh now. This time he sends his breath to Shiro's cock deliberately, then moves closer and nuzzles it with his nose, his lips. "You," he murmurs, but he can't voice the rest of the sentence. He doesn't know if Shiro understands anyhow or if Shiro even heard that word, but Shiro sighs and touches Keith's head, though he doesn't stay.
Keith pulls back and arranges the soft flop into a curl. It occurs to him that Shiro's cock is as flexible and limber in Keith's hands as the man himself is on the ice. A smile blooms in him at the revelation but he doesn't want to explain the smile to Shiro, doesn't want to give Shiro an excuse to deflect this into something light-hearted.
So he swallows the thought and the smile as he runs a fingertip along Shiro's curled length. His fingertip lingers as he runs his tongue along his lower lip; he starts to open his mouth wider—but his teeth catch his lip, digging in and then releasing it. He takes a breath and lets the arch of his eyebrows ask his question without the boundaries of words this time, so Shiro can give any answer he wants, any way he's comfortable giving an answer.
Shiro offers a half grin again and this time meets Keith's eyes as he says, "Yeah." The sweet curve of his mouth opens up and evens out. "Yes, please."
For a moment they're back on the ice, lying there and grinning at each other.
"Hey," Keith says. "Want me to take my teeth out?"
Shiro squirms even as his lashes flutter. "If you want to." He smiles again, already coloring with heat.
Keith takes a moment to bask in Shiro's flushed smile before removing the partial denture he put in for post-game interviews earlier this evening. He flashes Shiro his natural grin, missing the top four teeth in front, and a deep sigh goes through Shiro. Keith would have smiled at Shiro anyhow just now, but he did that quick, wide flash because it's the way he grins at the hometown fans after he scores, and Shiro once told him that was the first thing that attracted him to Keith—that winsome, toothless grin. "So cute," Shiro had said.
Another sigh rolls thick and easy through Shiro as he smiles back, then moistens his lips. Keith knows Shiro wasn't just saying it when he told Keith he wanted to kiss him on the ice tonight; he knows what Shiro really wanted was to slip his tongue into the gap between Keith's teeth.
He also knows anticipation now is going to make it even better for Shiro, who has the temperament to wait, whereas Keith—doesn't have that temperament. At all.
With one more grin to make Shiro flutter, Keith settles between his legs. Shiro lifts one leg to rest on Keith's shoulder, and Keith curves a hand around his thigh as he uses his other hand to guide the head of Shiro's cock to the gap. He opens wider and then, when Shiro's cockhead is just inside, Keith bites down carefully around it until he feels Shiro's cock against his gums. He moves back and forth, fractions of an inch, and lets his eyes fall shut as he feels Shiro's warm, soft cock nearly fill the gap, sliding against his teeth, sliding against his gums.
There's nothing like this. There just isn't. Keith swallows his own moan and listens to Shiro's, a growly purr that goes straight to Keith's cock. This is a pretty high end hotel and the sheets are probably at least 1,200 count Egyptian cotton; the sheets aren't as soft as Shiro's cock, of course, but they'll have to do as Keith rocks his hips, rutting lightly against them.
He welcomes Shiro's cockhead, rolling his tongue back to flick across the slit, curling around the shaft as he coaxes Shiro in deeper. He keeps his jaw open as he licks and suckles. He's not about to knock out his own teeth deliberately, the four front ones in the bottom—but if a flying puck or a high-stick or an elbow to the face ever did it, well, okay.
Just thinking about closing his jaw and having Shiro slide through into his mouth makes Keith's toes curl as he presses himself against the bedclothes. He feels his moan vibrate up Shiro's cock and go through him, coming back to Keith in the way Shiro's fingertips quiver against his face.
Careful not to dislodge Shiro, Keith tries to cheek himself against more of Shiro's hand—and then as Shiro matches his movements, he realizes that Shiro is keeping his hand on Keith's cheek not to feel the bulge of his own cock in Keith's mouth, but because he's touching the scar. Shiro knows Keith likes to suck him soft almost as much as he likes to look at Shiro soft, and he's keeping himself soft by reminding himself of how Keith got that scar.
It was an accident. A freak accident, really. At an off-season practice, Keith and Shiro went down almost simultaneously in close proximity; the strap of Keith's helmet gave and the helmet itself flew off on impact, just before Shiro slid into him, his blade catching Keith's face and sliding across even as Shiro tried to stop and jerk back.
There was a lot of blood and a lot of shouting, but that's not what Keith really remembers. He also doesn't remember the pain; game adrenaline—even at a practice game—protected him in the moment. What he remembers is the way Shiro tossed away his own mask, ripped off both blocker and glove, the way he took Keith's face in his latex encased hands. In practicality and retrospect, he knows Shiro was doing it to staunch the flow of blood until a medkit made it out onto the ice. But as he had looked into Shiro's eyes back then, Keith had felt cradled in his gaze, cradled in his hands.
Anyhow, Keith doesn't mind about the scar and he doesn't blame Shiro. He doesn't want Shiro to blame himself either. They've talked about it before, but Keith has a feeling they need to talk about it more.
Not now, though. Now Keith pulls back slowly, inch by inch, opening wider at the end so Shiro's cock slips out from between his teeth and into his waiting hand. As he cups Shiro's cock, Keith looks up. "Let yourself get hard now, okay?"
Shiro looks at him without saying anything. His lips part and Keith sees the tip of his tongue curling out from behind his top teeth, pressed against them. Shiro's tongue flicks across his lip, then curls back inside his mouth. Keith's hand rides the arch of Shiro's hips; he bends to press a kiss to Shiro's hipbone, reaches up with one hand to touch Shiro's throat and feels the arch there too as Shiro's head falls back on the pillow. He reads the vibrations of Shiro's silent purr like Braille, and moans against Shiro's skin in response.
Stretching, he reaches up to Shiro's mouth. He traces the curve of Shiro's smile and shivers when that smile opens and Shiro licks at him. They've done that before, Shiro's tongue on Keith's finger mirroring the flicks and swirls of Keith's on his cock, but Keith withdraws his finger this time and trails it wetly down Shiro's body. This time he wants Shiro to focus on what it feels like to fit so perfectly in Keith's gap.
Propped with one hand at the base of Shiro's shaft, the other cupping his sac and rubbing little circles just behind it, Keith licks his length once before putting Shiro back in his mouth. As Keith's tongue plays with him, Shiro swells to fill the space entirely, pressing against his canine teeth.
Eyes fallen shut, Keith holds still and lets Shiro do the active sliding this time, his cock surging between the teeth rooted to Keith's mouth and stimulating Keith's gums with every thrust of his hips. Both of Shiro's hands are on Keith's head, not pulling or pushing, just burrowing into his hair and holding on.
Keith starts to move, going up and down on Shiro's cock, letting out a choked moan as the head hits the back of his throat. He could let Shiro slide down into his throat but he doesn't; his tongue wants to play more. He laps and curls and flicks as his lips form a protective seal, his upper teeth open to Shiro's cock, the lower ones scraping bluntly and making Shiro's whimpers pitch lower; Keith's own moans deepen too.
As he sucks, Keith is only his mouth, and Shiro fills him.
By the time Shiro fills him with come, Keith is rutting against sheets damp with his own spunk. He slows, easing off, suckling Shiro as he softens in Keith's mouth, sliding across Keith's gums one more time as he slips out.
Keith crawls up Shiro's body without touching him. As he hovers over Shiro they share another smile though they aren't gazing into one another's eyes, because Shiro is focused on Keith's mouth. Keith lets his grin flash wider, the come he hasn't swallowed yet spilling from the corner before he closes his mouth and leans down to offer himself to Shiro.
When Shiro nudges the seam of Keith's lips, Keith parts for him. This time the softness sliding over Keith's gums is the tip of Shiro's tongue, exploring the gap even though Shiro has been there many times before; not exploring but revisiting worshipfully. Shiro goes in deeper, sliding back and forth, gently fucking Keith's gap as he licks his own come from Keith's mouth.
Shiro rolls them so he's on top, and then his tongue slips away as he sits back. He swallows visibly, deliberately; Keith watches his adam's apple, tracking the path of Shiro's come on its way down. He touches Shiro's belly, runs his fingers over the smooth, sculpted muscles, and gazes up at his too beautiful face. "I love you so much."
As they're meant to, the words make Shiro squirm and smile and flush a little more. He swings his leg over as he moves to settle beside Keith. "When are you going to let me say it first?"
"You just have to be quicker." Keith flashes a grin and Shiro kisses him.
Smiles soft and kisses him again.