Chapter Text
It started with an innocent game of hide and seek. Which, in all honesty, may have been less of a game and more of rage-fuelled manhunt after Lance managed to break one of Pidge’s consoles.
In any case, there was seeking involved and Lance was very much interested in finding a place to hide.
Ergo, when Lance heard their echoing footsteps narrowing in on him, he really had no other choice other than to fling himself into the first room that would open for him. Which, by the look of the boots and knives littering every surface, just so happened to be Keith’s.
It was blessedly empty of Keith himself, who would have ratted Lance out in a heartbeat, and was quite possibly capable of as much grievous bodily harm as Pidge if he found Lance in his room unannounced.
Regardless, he decided to take his chances when he heard Pidge’s footsteps come perilously closer, muttering obscenities under their breath, and haphazardly wedged himself into Keith’s closet, drawing the doors closed as quietly as he could.
Once the thunderous sound of blood in his ears quietened to a dull throb, Lance took note of how loud his breathing was in the small space. The heady rush of adrenaline was making all of his senses heightened, and all he could feel was how hot and tight the space was, how little room he had to move. There was the thick scent of Keith’s clothes around him, earthy, deep and metallic.
Lance swallowed. Maybe hiding in Keith’s closet wasn’t such a good idea.
Surely he’d been in here long enough by now, Pidge would be long gone. Maybe he could just -
The sudden approach of footfalls just outside the room had him holding his breath, nails digging painfully into his thighs at the sound of the automatic door sliding open.
The realisation that it wasn’t Pidge - just Keith and Shiro back from their sparring session - made him slump with relief.
He’s fairly sure he’d get a stern talking to from Shiro for hiding in Keith’s closet, but he’d also probably stop Keith from trying to kill him if he apologised enough.
Maybe he could even scare them both half to death if he timed it just -
The next sound of movement had his mind falling silent, brow creasing. He let himself look through the slit of the closet door, and any vestiges of mischief fell from his face when he caught sight of how closely they were pressed together.
If there was any doubt of what they were doing that close, the noise Shiro made low in his throat quickly erased it. The sound had Lance blushing down to his chest and made his toes curl in his shoes.
Whilst their relationship was far from secret knowledge amongst everyone aboard the ship - and indeed, anyone with eyes - they were deeply private people. Lance had never seen them so much as hold hands in public, let alone kiss.
Knowing that they were intimate and seeing them being intimate - hearing them being intimate - were two very different things.
Two very different things which may have also been coincidentally holding Lance’s fairly thin grasp of his sexuality in place.
He needed an out. If he interrupted now, they could all just awkwardly laugh it off, and he could hightail it out of the closet and preferably into the nearest cold shower he could find.
Any minute now they’d have to break for air, right? How long could two people kiss? He’d just wait until there was a comfortable lull, and then he could just -
“Take it off and get on the bed.”
Jesus Christ. That was more about their dynamic than he ever wanted to know.
Since when was Shiro the one taking orders? This had to be a joke, right?
Lance couldn’t think about it too hard or he’d get dizzy. He screwed his eyes tightly closed, taking a steadying breath when Shiro tore off his shirt and started tugging open his belt.
The sound of leather sliding through belt loops and the buckle finally hitting the floor had Lance’s mouth watering - a response he was trying very hard not to think too deeply about.
He swallowed, feeling light headed. He was finding it very difficult to think straight, and the rustling of any remaining clothes being discarded wasn’t helping in the slightest.
With his eyes closed and his breath held, every small noise was heightened. There was the sound of kissing again, wet and desperate. The bed creaked, followed by a shaky breath.
Again, Keith’s voice came, speaking low and saying things Lance could scarcely believe him capable of, least of all in front of Shiro. To Shiro - about Shiro.
Degrading things, degenerate things - words that were filthy, words that wouldn’t stop.
Lance felt on the verge of tears, breathless, even as he felt shame unfurl in his chest and heat pool deep in his gut.
He buried his face into his knees and begged himself to be silent.
Sparring when Keith was this pent up may have been a little reckless, but Shiro secretly loved when he got like this. Demanding, a little mean. After the last couple of weeks they’d had, he needed it. Craved the way it got him out of his head.
“Look at you,” Keith murmured, humming appreciatively at the way that made Shiro’s eyelashes shiver. ”Been needing this, huh?”
Shiro’s breathing stuttered as Keith brought his hand lower, the pads of two fingers pressed between his legs.
“Need it here?”
Shiro reached for him, getting desperate far too quickly. He passed his fingers through Keith’s hair, cupping his face, leaned in to give him needy little kisses. Keith let him, but didn’t reciprocate, keeping his face impassive. He always denied Shiro affection when he was on top, leaving any softness for the aftercare that followed, and it never failed to make Shiro’s chest ache and cock throb with the need for attention.
“Please, baby - "
“Wonder if he’d have you begging this quick,” Shiro took a hiccupy breath, taking Keith’s words like a hit to the gut, and felt his chest go tight with the force of his arousal. “Or would it be the other way around?”
“Keith, we shouldn’t - " He was cut off again when Keith’s teeth at his throat had him going breathless.
“Nah, we should,” Keith told him, low and unapologetic.
“It isn’t right,” He tried, but any authority that statement may have carried was dashed with Shiro’s breathy sigh at Keith’s mouth on his chest. He cards his fingers through his hair and Keith looks up at him, catlike, his tongue hot against his skin. “Keith - he doesn’t know.”
“Can’t hurt him if he doesn’t know,” Keith hums, eyes fluttering shut as he rolls his tongue. Shiro’s hips cant up at the feeling, and Keith’s hand comes up to pin him back to the bed.
“That isn’t the point - ”
“The point,” Keith simpers, teeth tight around his nipple, “Is that it gets you hot, and it gets us off, and it gets to stay our little secret.”
“Keith,” Shiro whines, letting his head fall back, “I can barely look him in the eye anymore - "
“Plenty else to look at,” Keith scoffed, unrepentant. “Did you see him at training yesterday? Shit should be illegal, I swear.”
Shiro couldn’t help but groan at the memory. “We should toss those training suits out an airlock. No one should be allowed to look that good.”
“Right?” Keith hummed, starting to make his way down Shiro’s chest, leaving marks in his wake. “Fucking distracting.”
“Drives me crazy,” Shiro sighs, closing his eyes at Keith’s hot mouth pressed to his abdomen.
“Oh yeah?” Shiro could hear the grin in Keith voice, feeling his sharp teeth against his hip. “Elaborate.”
“Can’t focus - " Shiro allows, a little shaky, “ - when he’s in the room.”
“Can’t focus,” Keith repeats, sounding contemplative as he moves his teeth to Shiro’s inner thighs. “What’s he got you thinking about?”
Shiro takes a soft breath, letting all thoughts of propriety leave him.
“His mouth,” He admits, feeling himself flush hot at the confession.
“His mouth,” Keith puts on a scandalised tone, and Shiro’s chest tightens at the mock judgement. “Where, Shiro? Here?”
Keith kisses the crown of Shiro’s cock, presses his tongue just under the head and Shiro’s legs go taut at the sudden attention, hands twisting into the sheets.
“Or here?”
Shiro feels Keith shift lower, pressing the heat of his mouth against the base of his cock, his thumb stroking up the thick vein of the underside. Shiro retaliates by sliding his fingers into the thick shock of Keith’s hair, tugging just how he likes. The moan Keith lets out at the feeling vibrates through him, making his toes curl.
When he risks a glance down at the little hellion between his legs, Keith’s eyes are blazing up at him, looking vengeful.
Shiro grits his teeth and Keith pulls back just enough to speak, hot breath ghosting over his skin.
“Oh, Shiro,” Keith breathes, and his voice is a pitying admonishment that instantly has Shiro on edge. “Do you want his mouth lower?”
Shiro feels his breath shudder out of him, eyelashes shivering closed.
“Don’t,” He bites out, desperate, but Keith is already holding his thighs open, pressing his mouth between his legs, and Shiro’s vision whites out. “Fuck.”
His tongue is strikingly hot inside of him, and a noise like a sob is punched from his chest. Keith hums, sounding pleased with himself.
“This where you wanted his mouth, Shiro?”
Shiro manages to make a small sound of dissent, shaking his head against the sheets.
“No?”
“My fingers,” Shiro admits, feeling his ears blush with the shame of it. “Want his mouth around them.”
The admission gives Keith pause, and Shiro feels his forehead come to rest against his thigh.
“Jesus,” Keith breathes out, at length. “That’s filthy, Shiro.”
Shiro sends an incredulous look up to the ceiling. “That’s a little rich, Keith.”
Keith groans, clearly not past it. “Just imagining it - fuck,” He digs his fingers into the flesh of Shiro’s thigh, sharp enough to make him hiss between his teeth. “He’d be so good at it. Would keep him quiet, too.”
Shiro goes up on his elbows to look down at him, finds him looking pretty shaken up between his legs.
“This is really getting you off, huh?” He hums, tucking a lock of hair behind Keith’s ear. “Just the thought of my fingers in Lance’s mouth?”
There’s a sharp noise to the right - small, like an intake of breath - and Shiro furrows his brow, but then Keith is distracting him, mumbling into his lap.
“He’d be so good for us, Shiro,” Keith grumbles, sliding his hands up to grip Shiro’s hips, pressing a kiss to the crease of his thigh. “It’s not fair.”
Shiro rolls his eyes, fond. He tucks his hands under Keith’s arms and hoists him up into his lap, recognising a switch in Keith. It’s no small feat in strength, but Keith is fairly used to Shiro manhandling him in the bedroom.
“I know, baby,” Shiro soothes, tilting his head accommodatingly as Keith comes to suck little marks against his throat. “Wanna ride me to take your mind off it?”
Keith pulls back a little to look at him, his brow creasing.
“I thought you wanted to bottom tonight?” His eyes scan Shiro’s face, trying to gage his reaction.
Shiro grins a little lopsidedly, lets his voice drop an octave. “Changed my mind.”
He watches as Keith’s pupils dilate, and his grin broadens out. He presses the pad of his thumb to Keiths full bottom lip, drags it downward softly before kissing him.
“That okay?”
Keith hums a sound that is halfway between a moan and a noise of assent, nodding gently as he kisses back. “Still in charge, though,” He murmurs against his mouth.
Shiro smiles into it, feeling a little squeeze of affection in his chest. “Always, sweetheart,” He squeezes Keith’s hips before sliding his hands up under his black shirt, waiting for Keith to lift his arms before pulling it off completely.
When Keith presses their chests together, Shiro lets out a little breathy sigh at the heat, closes his eyes as he grinds down into his lap.
“Good,” Keith soothes, giving Shiro an appraising look. “Now put your fingers in my mouth.”
Shiro feels his fingers tighten involuntarily on Keiths hips, and suppresses a shiver. “Jesus, Keith.”
He lifts his left hand, a little hesitant. Keith takes his wrist, presses a warm kiss to the palm before holding it against his cheek, leaning into it with a self-satisfied smirk.
“Not that one.”
Shiro swallows, and the shiver finally grips him. He lets out a shaky breath, begins to shake his head, argument at the tip of his tongue. Keith shushes him, kissing him silent.
“Please?” He takes Shiro’s other wrist, presses his lips to the pads of his fingers. Though he can scarcely feel anything through the prosthetic, the visual is enough to give him phantom pangs. Keith may have been the one begging, but there was a glint in his eyes that showed Shiro he knew exactly what he was doing. “Please, Shiro?”
“Vicious little thing,” Shiro bit out, feeling a flash of heat at the way Keith shuddered. He felt the dynamic between them shift again, just for a moment, and slid his left hand up into Keith’s hair to tug his head back. “Say it again.”
“Fuck, Shiro, please,” Keith keened, and his hands came up to grab Shiro’s wrists, desperate. Shiro seldom got vindictive when they were like this, but Keith always knew how to push his buttons.
“Please what?”
Keiths eyes locked onto his, half lidded. His teeth broadened into a grin. “Please put your fingers in my mouth, sir.”
“Jesus,” Shiro sneered, disgusted with himself and turned on beyond belief. He was helpless to do anything but what Keith wanted, bringing his fingers up to his lips and pressing into his red mouth.
The second his fingertips touched his tongue, Keith’s eyes went blissed out, humming a moan around them. The sound went right through him, and Shiro caught Keith’s tongue between his thumb and forefinger, catching his gaze.
“Clothes off,” Shiro ordered, and Keith gave a little nod, shivering at the way Shiro kept hold of his tongue when he went up on his knees to do what he was told.
He was quick to undo his jeans; shucking them down his thighs just far enough for Shiro to get a hand between his legs when his fingers were thoroughly wet.
Shiro raised an eyebrow at his brazenness, and Keith made a little needy noise in the back of his throat at the judgment. He took Shiro’s wrist, clearly desperate for his fingers again, and Shiro obligingly let go of his tongue.
He watched as Keith licked a wet stripe up the palm of his hand, before taking his middle and ring fingers into his mouth, suckling softly and dragging his tongue along the seam of where they pressed together.
He let Keith put on his little display, clearly starved for attention, and felt his cock throb against his thigh.
“Such a little slut,” Shiro breathed out, noting how Keith’s ears went red at the words. “Making me feel good.”
Keith tried to take his fingers deeper, eager to please now he’d gotten Shiro degrading him, but Shiro stilled him with his other hand at his jaw. He began petting his tongue instead, stroking the roof of his mouth, and watched as Keith’s eyes glazed over.
“You’d have to teach him, wouldn’t you?” Shiro went on, and watched as Keith’s eyes began to widen in recognition of what he was saying. “How to make me feel good.”
Keith keened, high in his throat, eyelashes fluttering shut. He pulled back, letting Shiro’s fingers slip from his mouth before surging forward to kiss him, desperate.
“Inside,” He said, breathless, against Shiro’s lips. He’d taken his wrist, was drawing it between his legs. “Inside, Shiro, please.”
“Shh,” Shiro hushes, squeezing Keith’s hip with his other hand, “I got you.”
Shiro feels a tremble telegraph all the way through Keith when his fingertips pressed between his legs, rubbing in concentric circles as he makes a breathy noise and grips his shoulders.
“Easy,” He soothes, humming in amusement when Keith’s hips cant back, trying to get them inside. Shiro rubs a little harder, just to tease, and a noise like a whimper ekes out. “Who’s got you, sweetheart?”
“You do,” Keith says, like the confession had been dragged from him. He slides his hands into Shiro’s hair, drags his tongue across Shiro’s open mouth and then looks him dead in the eye. "Now fuck me.”
Shiro huffs an amused noise, fond. “Brat.”
Keith breath catches when Shiro presses his fingers inside, two at once just to shut him up.
“Fuck,” Keith says, sounding blissed out, repeating it like a prayer. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Shiro hushes him, fucking him on his fingers first to get him used to the stretch before he begins rubbing inside, just how Keith likes. It has him keening, forehead pressed into Shiro’s shoulder.
There’s something about looking down at him, spread open on his fingers and shaking in his lap, that makes Shiro want to tease him.
“You know,” He muses, and feels Keith tense a little at his tone of voice, like he knew what was coming. “I bet Lance could make you come like this with those pretty fingers of his.”
Keith went rigid, a little noise punched out of him like a sob. Shiro just gripped him tighter, pressed a little deeper. “Bet he could rub an orgasm right out of you without even touching your cock.”
Keith growled, pushing back to give Shiro a vicious look. It would have been fairly intimidating were it not for the amount of pre dripping down to his thighs, enough to pool in Shiro’s palm between his legs.
Keith gave him a final withering look before pushing back off the bed, angrily pulling his jeans and underwear the rest of the way off. Shiro kept eye contact the entire time, idly dragging his tongue through the mess Keith had made in his hand.
Keith sneered at him, red all the way up to his ears as he retrieved their bottle of slick out of the bedside drawer. He slapped it into Shiro’s hand, getting up in his face.
“You think you can get inside me without being a total bitch about it?”
Shiro raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Go find out for me, will you?”
Keith rolled his eyes, swinging his leg over Shiro’s lap, facing away from him. “I liked you better when you were a whimpering mess.”
Shiro hummed an amused noise, bringing his knees up for Keith to lean against and present himself. He pressed a thumb beside Keith’s hole, spreading him open. “Shouldn’t have been a little cocktease, then, I guess.”
Keith huffed, clearly annoyed with him, but all the tension went out of his shoulders when Shiro pressed his thumb inside him, pouring slick over his hole and massaging it in.
Keith’s head hung between his shoulders when he heard Shiro slicking up his cock, letting out a shaky steadying breath. Shiro knew he was feeling that little anticipatory shock of heat low in his abdomen, knew the feeling well from the times he would have to wait for someone to finally press inside him.
He took Keith’s hip into his left hand, guiding him back onto his cock held steady by his right. When he finally pressed inside, a soft ‘oh’ was shocked from Keith’s lips, and his nails dug into Shiro’s thighs. Keith pressed back against him, and Shiro watched as he took every inch of him before leaning in to kiss between his shoulder blades.
Keith allowed the little show of intimacy for a few moments, just breathing together, eyes closed, before he huffed an amused sound and pushed Shiro back with his elbow.
“Don’t try act cute now,” He breathed, and Shiro could hear the simper in his voice. “You’re done for.”
Shiro leaned back, fondly chastised, and took Keith’s hips in his hands as he began to move.
All his cocksureness began to ebb with every press of Keith’s hips, and soon Shiro found himself breathless, mindlessly squeezing his fingers into Keith’s skin. Then Keith began making these noises, little satisfied keens and breathy moans, and Shiro squeezed his eyes shut, letting his head fall back against the pillows.
“Wonder if he could ride you like this,” Keith mused, as if the thought had just occurred to him. Shiro’s hands tightened on his hips.
“You’d have to teach him,” Shiro retaliated, voice breathless.
Keith hummed, sounding amused. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He circled his hips in Shiro’s lap, making his toes curl. “If I held his hands while he rode you. Bet he’d do anything for a little praise.”
There was that noise again, faint and distant to his right. Like a little shocked gasp for air. He wondered blearily if he’d made it, and the acoustics in this little room were messing with him.
“Or maybe he likes being degraded? Slapped about a little?” Keith went on, and Shiro felt heat flash hot and low in his gut at the image. “Wonder if he’d beg in Spanish if you messed him up enough?”
“What, like that time you went all Korean on me?” Shiro mumbles, sliding his hands up to Keith’s waist and squeezing softly.
“I was in subspace, that doesn’t count,” Keith countered, as matter of factly as he could whilst Shiro was pressed up against his prostate.
“Was hot, though,” Shiro murmured, sitting up a little to slide his hand along Keith’s abdomen, using his other to tease a nipple. He kissed the junction of Keith’s throat and shoulder, and Keith shuddered out a breath, leaning into him.
Keith reached back and ran his hand through Shiro’s hair, drawing him in for a kiss. Shiro felt his cock twitch inside of him when their lips met, like a Pavlovian response to a reward.
Keith pulled back just far enough to speak, lips moving against his in whispering strokes, “I want you to pretend I’m him.”
Shiro pulled back a little, shaken by the request, but Keith kept him still with his hand in his hair, “Close your eyes and say his name when you fuck me.”
“Keith - “
“Not his name,” Keith admonished, sounding sternly fond. “Try again.”
“Isn’t that - “
“Going too far?” Keith cut him off again, and Shiro could feel the smirk against his lips. “Maybe. Do it anyway.”
Shiro let his forehead drop to rest on Keith’s shoulder, tries to get his racing thoughts under control. After a few calming breaths, he feels himself nod.
“Alright,” Shiro concedes, and begins lifting Keith’s hips a little to encourage him to go up onto his knees. “Lie down.”
The look Keith gives him is almost comical, thrown over his shoulder, offended.
“What?”
“What, you think Lance’s first time would be in my lap?” Shiro huffs, “He gets missionary, like everyone else.”
“We didn’t fuck missionary our first time,” Keith counters, wincing a little as Shiro’s cock slides out of him.
“Yeah, that’s because you’re a slut,” Shiro tells him, and manhandles him onto his back. “And we were in a broom cupboard.”
That shocks a laugh out of Keith, hearty and delighted. Shiro smiles at the sound, fond as he settles between Keith’s legs. He kisses him, once, and holds his legs apart as he looks him in the eye.
“Ready?”
Keith nods, wriggling a little to get comfortable. “Ready,” He assents, and kisses him again as Shiro presses back inside.
Keith must admit, the missionary order had thrown him a little. The smile Shiro had given him after was still warming his chest, though, so he kissed back happily as Shiro began fucking back into him again.
“Legs around my waist, darling,” Shiro tells him, and Keith does what he’s told, a little dizzy from the pet name. “That’s a good boy, Lance.”
The heat that shocks through him at that is almost enough to make him come then and there. Shiro feels him tense and soothes him, stroking his hair and kissing his temple.
The clarity that comes after is searing. Shiro had never called him darling. He thinks maybe he’d feel jealous if he weren’t so painfully turned on.
“Lance,” Shiro says again, low in his ear, and Keith feels his chest blush as he clenches down on Shiro inside him. “Play with yourself, sweetheart.”
Keith knows that if he touches his cock now, it’ll be all over, so he begins playing with his chest instead, rolling his nipples under thumb. Shiro seems to like that, hips stuttering a little, and Keith tamps down a smirk.
“Like this, sir?” He asks sweetly, just to be a tease.
“Just like that, darling,” Shiro praises, lovingly, and Keith feels his stomach flip. “Doing so well for me.”
Keith feels a little bead of pre dribble out of his cock at that, sliding down between his legs to meet the wetness where Shiro was fucking into him. The thought of his own come being fucked back inside him made him feel lightheaded.
He feels fully encompassed with Shiro cradled around him like this, huddled up close and breathing hot against his throat. Hearing Shiro’s laboured breathing in his ear makes his hands curl into the sheets, so he puts his arms around his shoulders and pulls him in closer.
“Hmm?” Shiro murmurs to him in askance. “What do you need, sweetheart?”
Keith presses his hips up into Shiro’s, feels the angle shift inside him into something mind-melting.
“Lift my hips?” He asks, trying to sound demure despite clearly knowing the best angle to hit his prostate.
“Baby,” Shiro breathes out, ragged, like the term had been dragged out of him against his will, and that - that was doing something to Keith. “Won’t you come too soon if I do that?”
“Wanna,” Keith mumbled, realising the needy lilt to his voice was genuine this time. “Wanna come soon.”
Shiro shook his head, fond.
“You gotta hold out for me, darling,” He told him, but he was lifting his hips anyway, and there was a glint in his eyes like it was their little secret. “Not done with you yet.”
Keith couldn’t help the noise he made when Shiro fucked into him again, nailing his prostate dead on. He kept letting out little shocky gasps every time he did, and Shiro cradled his head, kissing his cheeks, the corners of his mouth, his throat.
“You close?” He whispered, his voice dark, and Keith realised the question was just for him, outside of the little game they were playing.
He nodded tightly, clutching Shiro’s shoulders but letting the drawl back into his voice when he says, “Nearly, if you keep fucking me like that.”
Shiro huffs in amusement, squeezing his hips. “You gonna get me there?”
“Fuuuck,” Keith sighs out, toes curling as Shiro grinds into him. “Fuck yes, I am.”
He tucks his hands under Shiro’s arms, pushing him up, encouraging him to lean over him, and Shiro soon gets the idea. When his chest is braced above him, Keith leans up, taking a nipple into his mouth, alternating between firm sucks and kitten licks. Shiro shudders out a moan, holding Keith’s head to his chest with one hand.
“Good boy,” He breathes out, shaking. “Fuck, such a good boy, Lance.”
Keith moaned at that, letting his eyes slip closed as he sucks, teasing his other nipple between his fingers. Shiro kept fucking him through it, but his usual rhythm was soon interspersed with staccato motions, desperate little jerks of his hips that told Keith his orgasm was building up.
He pressed his mouth to the other nipple, smoothing his hands down Shiro’s sides, over his hips and coming to rest on the pert swell of his ass. Every muscle of his body worked like a weapon; firing, winding, reloading and Keith loved it, loved him.
“Love you,” He said before he could stop himself, hushed, against Shiro’s chest. Shiro’s hips definitely stuttered at that; he always did love sappy shit when they were intimate.
“Keith -“
Keith slapped his side a little in reprimand. “Not my name, darlin’,” He admonished, soothing his hands over Shiro’s ass, urging him a little deeper inside him.
Shiro let out a breathy laugh, 2 parts amused and 3 parts turned on. He let his fingers slide out of Keith’s hair and went down to his elbows in the pillows above Keith’s head, pressing his chest needily into his mouth.
Keith soon realised that - with Shiro leaning over him like this - he could press his fingers between Shiro’s legs. Not enough to press fully inside, but enough to tease, and definitely enough to get him off. He grinned against his chest, teeth tight around his nipple. Shiro flinched at the bite, letting out a low moan when Keith soothed him with the lave of his tongue.
Bringing his right hand up to his mouth, Keith got two of his fingers thoroughly wet before putting them between Shiro’s legs. He put his mouth back to his chest to distract him before pressing firmly against his hole. Shiro jerked in his arms, hitting Keith’s prostate so hard his vision whited out.
“Oh, fuck,” Keith groaned, blinking his vision back. He began stroking between his legs properly, and Shiro began to shake.
“Ke - Lance, Lance, Lance,” Shiro began mumbling, near incoherent. “God, god, god -”
“You know,” Keith posited when he got his wits back. “He could fuck you like this while you fucked me.”
The noise Shiro made at that sent a shiver down Keith’s spine, and then he was pushing back, up on his knees, gathering Keith’s legs and holding them both over his right shoulder. Keith felt himself shudder in anticipation for what was coming, loved when Shiro fucked him like this, when he’d pushed him too far.
Shiro took his cock in his left hand and Keith felt his toes curl at the heat of his palm, the way he jerked him in time with his hips. The look on Shiro’s face was dark, and heat pooled low in his abdomen, building and spreading between his legs.
“Bet you could make him come just by spanking him,” Keith told him, knowing it would rile him up, knowing he was close. “Bet he’d be dripping just from being put over your lap.”
“Sure you’re not thinking about yourself?” Shiro countered, voice calm and low. “I’m sure he’d love to watch.”
Keith screwed his eyes closed at the thought, letting out a little involuntary gasp.
“Say his name, sweetheart,” Shiro urged softly, stroking him tighter. “Let him know why you’re being messed up like this.”
Keith swore, felt himself pushed right up against the edge. “Close,” He gasped, coming up to scrabble uselessly against Shiro’s chest. “So close, Lance, please - “
“Let go, baby,” Shiro told him, rubbing his thumb under the head of his cock. “I got you.”
When he began to come, the force of it had his ears ringing, legs going taut. He could feel himself clenching around Shiro, felt when he started coming inside him, pushed over the edge by the force of his own. Distantly, he could hear Shiro’s rumbling groan, could feel it vibrating in his chest under his fingers - then, underneath it, a high-pitched whine, ragged, to his right. His brow creased at the sound, knew it wasn’t coming from him, and felt the confusion gather once his aftershocks had ebbed out.
His eyes met Shiro’s, noted the same look of concern on his face.
“Was that you?” He asked, eyebrow raised, a little breathless.
“Fuck off, was that me,” Keith huffed, shoving at Shiro’s chest. “Sounded like a girl.”
Shiro rolled his eyes at him, amused, but Keith heard another muffled noise and clapped his hand over Shiro’s mouth, hushing him.
There, faint but audible, breathing. Hitched, like someone crying. He went up to his elbows, forcing Shiro to back up, and trained his gaze on the closet.
He pushed Shiro the rest of the way off of him, gritting his teeth when his soft cock slipped from between his legs. He moved to get off the bed, and Shiro was instantly alert beside him, moving together with him across the floor.
He caught Shiro’s gaze briefly, once, before reaching out and pulling the closet doors sharply open.
When the world righted itself, there was Lance’s tear-streaked face looking up at him, hands clamped over his mouth, shaking.
Keith didn’t know he was about to lurch at him until Shiro’s arm shot out across his chest, and Lance flinched like he was going to be hit.
Lance looked as shaken and Keith felt when he finally looked up at them again, face red from crying, and Keith felt his stomach drop.
He’d heard everything. Everything.
And then he was seeing red, and Shiro’s arm across his chest was the only thing between him and Lance’s throat, because Keith was going to kill him.
Lance could scarcely breathe. The second Keith had taken a step toward the closet, it was like all the oxygen in the room had been sucked out.
He doesn’t know how long he’d been crying, but his face was stiff with tears, shame flaring in his chest and heat low in his gut. There was a wetness between his legs that he was steadfastly not thinking about, and every movement he made sent little shocks of overstimulation up his spine.
He didn’t think he could speak, but Keith was looking more feral by the second, and Shiro - Lance couldn’t even look at Shiro. He doesn’t want to know the expression on his face; doesn’t think he’d survive it.
His hands shake as he pulls them away from his face, eyes impossibly brimming with tears again.
“I’m sorry - " He doesn’t even sound like himself, voice wrecked from crying. “Please - I’m so sorry - "
From his periphery, he saw Shiro go down on his haunches so they were eye-level, but he didn’t dare turn his head; there was nothing stopping Keith now, and Lance felt like something small pinned by a something dangerous under his gaze. He forced himself to keep talking.
“I didn’t mean - " He couldn’t speak beyond short little gasps of breath, felt his chest clenching, “I swear - I was hiding from Pidge - and then I heard you - heard you come in - "
He had to stop to breathe, his vision tunnelling.
“God, I was going - going to come out, I swear - but then you were kissing - and saying things - and I just froze - "
“Alright,” Shiro calmed him, using his commanding tone, and Lance had to fight against the urge to squeeze his eyes shut. “Alright, Lance. Just take a breath.”
He tried to do what was asked of him, but his lungs ached, and his legs were going numb, and he felt dizzy.
“Keith,” Shiro spoke again, and Lance focused on the low cadence of his voice, counting his breaths. “Go get him some water.”
Keith tsked under his breath, clearly still seething, but left to do as Shiro asked, grabbing his jeans from the floor as he went.
Lance kept his gaze trained on the ground, and could hear everything heightened in his head, Shiro’s steady breathing beside him, Keith angrily clattering around in the washroom. Every sharp sound made him flinch, overwhelmed.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Shiro stand, pull on a pair of sweats to cover his decency. Every indecent thing he’d spoken over the last hour or so flashed through Lance’s head, and he felt sickly amused at the irony. He buried his face into his arms.
“I’m sorry, Shiro,” He managed bleakly, muffled into his skin. “I didn’t mean to.”
Shiro was silent for a long time after that, and Lance tug his nails into his arms, feeling wretched. Then, he spoke.
“Me too,” He said, quietly. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”
His stomach clenched with shame, feeling Shiro’s disappointment like a bolt through his chest.
Then Keith was clattering back into the room, half dressed in jeans, throwing what looked like a damp cloth at Shiro before thrusting a glass of water towards Lance.
He watched the liquid settle a little before reaching out to take it, unable to meet Keith’s eyes. As soon as he took it Keith stepped away from him, arms coming up to cross over his chest.
He held the glass to himself, curled around it, thinking if he tried to drink he might choke. He took a sip regardless, forced himself to swallow it, and his throat felt immediately better for it. It was unbearably hot in here, hunched over himself, feeling like he was burning up from a fever. Still, he daren’t move, least they see the mess he’d made of himself.
Out of his periphery, he saw Shiro cleaning himself up a little with the cloth, his hands, the back of his neck, his stomach. It made his mouth go dry, and he took another greedy drink from his glass.
“You gonna fucking say something?” Keith’s voice was low, lethal, and Lance felt shattered by the anger in it, the hate he was spitting at him.
“Keith,” He said, desperate, and it came out like a whine, like a plea. “I’m sorry, please - I wouldn’t have done this to you for anything - wouldn’t mess with your trust like this, you know that - "
“You think I’m gonna trust you? After you sat there and watched us, you filthy little freak - "
“Keith!” Shiro’s voice made Lance’s hands clenched, almost spilling his water. “That’s enough.”
“What, you’re fine with this?” Keith turned on him, and Lance felt sick at making them fight with each other. “With him listening in to everything I just did? Everything you just did?”
Shiro sighed, sounding tired, and Lance felt his chest ache.
“We’re both in the wrong here, Keith,” Shiro said, trying to sound calm even though Lance could see his hands clenching at his sides, anxious or angry or both. “He shouldn’t have had to hear that.”
“And he wouldn’t have if he’d respected our fucking privacy - “
“Keith, we brought him into our - " Shiro seemed to struggle finding the words, frustrated, "Into this - with no regard to his permission or consent. He shouldn’t have had to hear us say those things, regardless of the circumstance.”
Keith was strangely silent after that, and Lance felt himself speak before he could stop himself.
“Why did you? Say those things?”
The regret for opening his mouth was instant, sickening, amplified by the deathly silence of the room.
“You fucking tell anyone what you heard, I swear to God - "
Lance grit his teeth, suddenly sick of Keith’s accusatory tone, sick of the deep-seated guilt at the pit of his stomach.
“Or what, Keith? You’ll slap me around a little?” He saw Keith’s eyes flash at that, livid, but didn’t stop. “What would I even tell them? ‘Oh, by the way guys, our commanding officer and his bitch fantasise about me in bed - '"
Keith did lunge at him then, feral like an animal, and Shiro caught him around the waist, pushed him back. Lance caught his glare over Shiro’s shoulder and gave as good as he got, both of them breathing ragged.
“Keith,” Shiro spoke, in that grounding way of his. “He has every right to be angry - just as we have every right to be angry. No one is hitting anyone.”
Keith’s eyes finally cut away, and it felt like a dismissal. That was somehow worse, and Lance felt it twist in his gut along with the knowledge that Shiro was angry with him.
When Shiro deemed it safe to let go of him, he turned back to Lance, going down on his haunches in front of him in a way that forced him to catch his eye.
“Lance,” He addressed, and Lance steadfastly pushed back all the different ways he’d heard the man say his name. “You good to stand?”
Embarrassment flared in his stomach, and he shook his head.
“Your legs numb?”
Lance could only nod, hoping they’d believe that was the reason, unable to come up with a better excuse.
“Do you need some help?”
Lance felt like he was going to cry again at that, at Shiro being kind even though he was angry with him, even though he probably hated him at this point. He shook his head again.
“Just give me a moment,” He muttered, but knew he was merely prolonging the inevitable. Knew that he’d have to stand sooner or later, and his shirt wasn’t enough to cover him, and they’d know. They’d know that he’d heard them speak about all the things they would do to him and had come untouched in his pants like a fucking freak.
He grit his teeth against the shame of it and unsteadily got to his feet, tugging his shirt down as much as he could, but it was no use. He heard Shiro swallow, saw Keith look away, shocked, red in the face, as if Lance had embarrassed him.
Shiro cleared his throat again, ever the diplomat. “Why - why don’t you go get cleaned up? And we’ll get you some clothes.” Lance felt the urge to cry again, tamped it back. “And then we can talk, okay?”
He felt himself nod, feeling so shameful he was numb with it. He didn’t look up as he made his way to the washroom, unable to look at either of them now and the door closed behind him with a soft hiss of the hydraulics.
He stripped himself mechanically, uncaring where his clothes fell, and turned on the hot water as he clambered into the tub, sitting with his back to the wall and let it wash over him - the guilt and the water both.
Lance isn’t sure how long he stayed like that, eyes closed and face tilted up into the spray, but it was long enough for the door to hiss open once more, admitting a very sheepish looking Keith.
When Lance turned to look at him, keeping his face carefully blank, Keith held up the change of clothes like it was an explanation and a white flag all at once. He allowed himself the barest hint of a smile, grateful they weren’t going to make him walk back out there in nothing but a towel, all awkward limbs and broad shoulders.
Keith took that as permission to come in, and laid the clothes beside the sink, turning to lean up against it with his shoulders hunched in on themselves, arms folded.
“Bet we gave you the shock of your life, huh?” He said, awkward as anything, and Lance saw it for the olive branch it was, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back. He felt a small laugh rumble out of him.
“Thought I was gonna have a heart attack,” He admitted, meekly, and was rewarded with a small sound of amusement.
“Can’t believe you were in there for all of that,” Keith muses, sounding equal parts shaken and fondly miffed.
“If it’s any consolation, I felt like I was blacking out for the most of it,” Lance said, pressing his thumb and index finger into the hollows of his eyes, feeling a headache coming on from all the crying he’d done. “Nearly had a fucking panic attack.”
There was a small stretch of quiet then, just toeing the line of uncomfortable, and when Lance opened his eyes to gage Keith’s expression he found him staring at his disregarded clothes on the floor. He felt his face heat, and when Keith caught him looking his face did the same.
“So you, uh - "
“We’re not - going there, nope,” Lance shook his head, adamantly turning his gaze up to the ceiling. “Not happening.”
Keith was quiet for mere moments, and Lance felt every second charged with what he was building up to say next. He silently begged to go suddenly and inexplicably deaf, just so he wouldn’t have to hear it.
“Were you touching yourself in there?”
Lance felt his stomach drop out, filling with dread. He tried to meet Keith’s eyes to convey how much that question had shaken him, but Keith was looking at the floor, face carefully nonchalant.
“Jesus, Keith, no - I swear - "
“Alright,” Keith raised his hands, trying to calm him. “Alright, Lance, I believe you. It’s okay.”
Silence.
“So you just - "
“Nope,” Lance could feel the heat in his cheeks spreading to his chest, the tips of his ears. “Nope, absolutely not, no - "
“You came just from hearing us?”
Lance screwed his eyes shut, slowly began thumping his head into the wall behind him.
“You just - "
“God, yes, okay - Jesus Christ, is that what you wanted to hear? It felt like I was dying.”
He felt it all spill out of him, desperate to shut him up, to get him to stop asking.
“In a good way?”
Lance stared up at the ceiling, incredulous.
“Fuck off.”
“I’m serious - "
“So am I,” Lance countered, feeling his headache slowly shifting into migraine territory. “I’m not answering that.”
“You realise that’s pretty incriminating, right?” Keith mused, and whilst Lance was glad for the teasing in the wake of all that anger, he hated him a little. “You might as well of asked for a lawyer.”
“Get out,” Lance ordered, unable to keep the fond annoyance out of his tone. “Seriously, fuck off now.”
Keith laughed, that little delighted noise of his when he was up to mischief, but did what he was asked, leaving Lance to his thoughts.
He took as little soap as he could, already feeling like he was encroaching way too far into their space, and got himself cleaned up. He didn’t take a towel, Keith hadn’t mentioned them and he didn’t want to presume, so he just drip-dried a little, shaking his hair out before getting dressed into the clothes they’d given him. Shiro’s, by the size of them, shirt loose around his collarbones and sweatpants pooled around his feet. He rolled them up, not wanting to trip and embarrass himself anymore than he already had, and found his hands were no longer shaking.
That steeled him, if nothing else, and he found himself opening the hydraulic door without too much fanfare. Of course, the regret was immediate, catching Keith and Shiro in some heated whispered debate on the edge of their bed.
They stood when they noticed him, ramrod straight and shamefaced like a couple of cadets up to no good. He immediately felt out of place, like something alien they were staring at through a pane of glass. Then Shiro spoke, breaking the uneasy silence.
“Jesus, Keith, you couldn’t have gotten him a towel?”
Lance stepped aside when Shiro walked towards the open bathroom door, not wanting to accidentally brush against him, knowing if either of them touched him right now he might shake apart.
Shiro, however, had none of the same inhibitions, and began towel-drying Lance’s hair, apropos of nothing. For his part, Lance kept absolutely still, not daring to move.
When Shiro pushed the hood of the towel back a little, Lance made the mistake of looking up at him. He didn’t know what expression he was making, but Shiro went very still, staring back with an unreadable look.
Keith cleared his throat, sounding amused, and Lance looked away, face burning.
Shiro took the towel, disappearing back into the bathroom for a few moments before coming back. Now his hands were empty, he didn’t seem to know what to do with them, clenching them awkwardly at his sides, going to cross over his arms over his chest before settling on putting his hands on his hips. It gave none of its usual authority; he looked lost.
“We should - we should talk. Clear a few things up between us,” He said, uncertain. “Lance, would you like to sit down?”
“Oh, no, it’s okay - "
“Sit down, Lance,” Keith huffed, nudging him towards the bed. As he thought, the hand on his arm burned like a brand.
He did what he was told, knowing if he was stood while they did this, his legs might give out. Still, he couldn’t help but feel like he was being told off with them standing over him like this.
“So, just to clarify, you were - hiding from Pidge?” Shiro prompted, sounding tired. Lance curled in on himself a little at the tone.
“I broke one of their consoles,” He told them, by way of explanation, and watched as they exchanged a little knowing look, like his story checked out with the rest of his mayhem. “It was an accident.”
“And you couldn’t let us know you were in here because - ?”
“I told you, I froze.” He couldn’t look at either of them as he said it, tripping all over himself but desperate to explain. “I kept thinking any minute now I’ll jump out and scare you guys, make a joke out of the whole thing - but then you were kissing, and Keith was ordering you about - and I was too shocked to move. Not that - I don’t have a problem with any of that - I just wasn’t expecting - Jesus, I’m messing this all up. I just froze, okay? And by the time my mind came back online, it was - I couldn’t. I couldn’t come out knowing you would know what I’d heard - and the longer I stayed, the worse it got, and I just - God, I don’t know what I thought. That I’d just sneak out when you fell asleep or something. My brain wasn’t working, it’s fucking hot in there.”
He took a little self-deprecating sigh, hanging his head, hands clasped between his knees. “And if anyone mentions the irony of me being stuck in a closet, I swear to God I’ll scream.”
That shocked a laugh out of someone, low and exhausted, and Lance was a little shaken to realise it was Shiro. The sound gave him the courage to look at them, wanting them to see the sincerity in his face.
“I really am sorry,” He told them, willing them to believe him. “I wouldn’t do this to you guys for the world.”
Shiro’s expression softened a little at that, and some of the tension went out of his shoulders.
“We’re sorry, too, Lance,” He spoke, and Lance could hear the truth of it in his voice. “You shouldn’t have had to hear those things.”
Lance looked away then, overwhelmed. There were questions, burning in his chest, but one hurt more than the others. If nothing else, he needed to know.
“Were you - " He felt himself falter, and hated himself, feeling weak. “Were you making fun of me?”
When neither of them said anything, he forced himself to look up, to gage their reaction, but all he saw was the blood leave their face.
Shiro took a little step towards him, then stopped, hands frozen in a little aborted move to reach out.
“No, Lance, “ He sounded strangled, voice quiet and hurt. “No, sweetheart, I promise you it wasn’t that.”
Something flinched in his chest at the pet name; he felt dizzy.
At length, desperate, he asked; “Am I allowed to ask why?”
“Jesus Christ,” Keith breathed out, agitated, like Lance was stupid, like this was something he should understand. “You wanna know know why were were talking about you while we fucked?”
The tone of his voice had Lance’s hackles up in an instant, and he gritted his teeth, defensive.
“This might come as a surprise to you, Keith, but this hasn’t exactly happened to me before," He sneered, angry.
Keith swore, rubbing a tired hand over his face before pinning him with a look.
“We wanna fuck you, okay?” He spat out, like it was a threat instead of something that made heat shock through Lance’s stomach. “So bad we get desperate, and tease each other like this. Does that answer your question?”
For a second, it felt like the room was spinning. Like the world’s axis had to right itself to align with what Keith was saying. He supposed it was the obvious answer, the easy answer, the answer he wanted but could scarcely believe.
He turned to Shiro, shaken.
“Is he messing with me?” He demanded, feeling hysterical at the way Shiro was avoiding his gaze. “Shiro, I’m serious - “
“No,” Shiro cut him off, voice quiet. “He’s not messing with you. I wouldn’t have - phrased it, quite like that, but that’s not the point.”
Lance looked between them, neither of them looking at him, and he suddenly felt sure-footed, like he was finally in on the secret.
“The point being - you want me,” It felt odd to say, but hearing it aloud made it take root somewhere in his head. Wanted. He smiled at that, just a small slice of teeth, feeling a rush. Couldn’t stop himself from asking, all false-bravado; “So, is this strictly a fantasy type thing, or - ?”
Shiro sighed, sounding exasperated. “We’re not - doing this right now, Lance,” He said, like he was really tired of Lance’s shit, and that was fair, Lance thought, feeling the smile slip off his face. He was getting pretty sick of himself, too.
Blearily, through the sinking feeling, he felt all the fake confidence leave him. All the adrenaline, all his conviction, washed out of him all at once.
For a split second, Lance felt it all show on his face; the hurt, the shame of thinking maybe they wanted him like he wanted them - and then sick to his stomach, because Keith had noticed it, had seen the whole thing.
He swallowed, shut his face down, but it was too late. Keith was still looking like he’d been hit.
“Right, well - I should go,” Lance forced his voice steady, laid out the sarcasm. “This has been awful, I hope we don’t do this again sometime.”
He stood, tugged at the shirt over his chest. “I’ll clean this and give it back to you, and then we can pretend this never happened.”
Lance smiled, desperately glad when neither of them looked like they knew what to say, thrown off guard by his dry humour.
He’d already turned and was halfway to the door when someone caught his arm, tugging him back, and of course it was Keith, an earnest expression creasing his brow.
“He didn’t mean never, Lance,“ Keith told him, and the vulnerable sincerity in his voice made Lance feel unsteady. “You know that, right? This is - like, the worst way you could’ve found out about us, but we want - we want to do this properly, with you.”
Lance didn’t even want to let himself hear it, could already feel his façade slipping again, and he’d be damned if he let Keith see it twice. He forced the last of his nonchalance into his voice, like he had somewhere better to be, like he didn’t care either way;
“Look, man, do you want me or not?” Too earnest by far; he almost flinched at himself. His voice shook, and he screwed his eyes closed, going for broke. “‘Cause I don’t think I can take getting my hopes up aga- “
Keith kissed him silent, lips pressed together desperately - and his hand around his wrist was like a blaze of light, the mouth on his own burning him up. When he pulled back from him, Lance couldn’t help the cracked open expression on his face, and leaned in again, aching.
“Jesus, Keith,” Shiro said, at length, and Lance finally jerked back, face red. “What happened to doing this properly?”
“Look at him, Shiro,” Keith took his face in his hands, showing him to Shiro like a stray puppy he’d found in the street. “How am I supposed to not kiss him, he looks like a little angsty movie star.”
Lance raised an eyebrow, quickly shifting from disbelieving happiness to thoroughly unimpressed. “I resent that, for the record.”
“You’re a fucking drama queen,” Keith told him, so fond Lance couldn’t even feel hurt by it.
“He’s in shock, Keith,” Shiro went on, sounding like he was quite possibly on the edge of a stress-induced breakdown.
“He’s not in shock!” Keith threw back, rolling his eyes.
“I’m not in shock,” Lance confirmed, though his voice was hardly convincingly. He was, in fact, in shock.
“See?” Keith sounded triumphant, and started kissing him again, indulgent and catlike, arms curling around his shoulders.
“He just spent the last hour and a half in our closet,” Shiro pointed out, sounding put out, as if he already knew it was a losing fight.
“Yes, thank you, Shiro, I’m aware of that,” Keith hummed, running his hands through Lance’s hair. “Metaphorically, though - it’s a little on the nose, don’t you think?”
“I hate you,” Lance told him, and Keith grinned, like that delighted him. Then he was walking him backwards, pushing him down onto the bed. He didn’t break eye contact as Lance bounced a little, curling his hands into the sheets when Keith climbed into his lap.
“We’re not doing this,” Shiro said, quickly sounding like he’d lost his train of thought.
Lance turned to look at him, standing in the middle of the room like the final puzzle piece, and Keith began kissing his throat.
“Yeah?” Lance addressed, imitating Keith’s signature simper. He may not have done this before, but he was quick study, and it seemed like they were squaring back in wanting him territory, “Even if I beg you in Spanish?”
Something sparked through him when he saw Shiro shiver, saw his face slip into something desperate.
“God help me, there’s two of them,” He heard Shiro mutter, and felt Keith grin again his collarbones.
Then Shiro was crossing the floor, clambering into bed with them and manhandling them how he liked beneath him. When he was done with them, he had a hand pinned beside both of their heads, one knee pressed between their legs.
“Only kissing to start,” He ordered, pinning him with a look, and Lance felt a shiver go through him, electric.
“Yes, sir,” He nodded, biting back a smile. He saw Shiro’s little intake of breath at the honorific, before he turned his attention to Keith.
“No touching below the waist,” He told him, and Keith looked ready to argue before Shiro raised an eyebrow. “Not until we’ve talked about this properly.”
“Yes, sir,” Keith drawled, managing to sound only partially mutinous.
Shiro looked unconvinced, but let it slide, smiling a little and bringing a hand up to press his thumb to Lance’s bottom lip.
“Come here,” He said, voice low, and Lance went up on his elbows to kiss him, feeling small, and desperate, like a puppy licking the mouth of a wolf for forgiveness.
He felt Keith kiss his shoulder, and turned his face to kiss him too, dizzy with want for the both of them. He could scarcely believe it was real, warm in the space between them, feeling held and encompassed and overwhelmed.
The more they kissed him, the more of the world fell away, blurry and abstract. All he could feel were their hands and their mouths, hot on his skin, and he closed his eyes against it, dizzy.
Blearily, through a euphoria so intense it felt like vertigo, he found himself thinking; maybe hiding in Keith’s closet was a good idea, after all.