Work Text:
“It’ll let you in, right?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure? It’s kind of intimidating.”
“Are you coming or not?”
“Oh.” There’s a pause. “I’ll be coming alright.”
Keith pulls up short in the center of the hangar just to level Lance a look over his shoulder. “Only if you behave.”
He keeps walking then, pretending to be indifferent to the way Lance says, “Shit,” under his breath and grabs onto the hem of Keith’s jacket, but he can’t fight the smirk off his face. It’s hard to entirely cover up how much he knows those words affect Lance.
Despite Lance’s concerns, the Black Lion opens up easily for them. Keith strolls in first, like he pilots this enormous piece of sentient machinery every day. He did for awhile, after all, but he does his best not to think of that. Lance immediately follows in his footsteps, still clinging to the back of his jacket.
His grip loosens and then disappears once they’re inside. Lance shoves past Keith to get to the front, and looks around as if he’s expecting it to be different from his own lion. It’s not, really, with the exception of the purple glow that lights their way into the cockpit. Keith could’ve told him that. The controls, the way of piloting, it’s all mostly the same. Nothing here is visually different, other than the color scheme. It’s the way it feels in your head that makes things unfamiliar.
Lance throws himself back into the pilot’s seat, lanky limbs sprawling.
“What’s Shiro even so busy with today anyway?” he asks.
“I dunno,” Keith says, and drops himself into Lance’s lap without prelude, straddling his thighs. “Leader stuff.”
“Feels like him,” Lance says, shifting under Keith and settling more firmly into the chair.
Keith knows what he means. The inside of this lion has an unmistakable lingering presence, like a scent. It’s nothing so physical or concrete, though. It’s just an incorporeal warmth that settles around his shoulders, in his stomach, the same sort he gets every time he meets Shiro’s eyes. It’s the idea of Shiro being there, like he could be in the room with them. He just isn’t.
Feeling at ease, Keith leans in and hovers over Lance for a moment. Their eyes lock and Lance licks his lips in anticipation, parts them, blinks up at Keith once or twice before tilting his head. When Keith bows his head to meet him, Lance immediately goes weak and relaxed under Keith, giving himself over when Keith slides his tongue into his mouth. Both of Lance’s hands come up, one to rest on Keith’s chest, while the other fists in the fabric of his sleeve. He tugs Keith closer and Keith is eager to oblige.
He slides forward, settles in against him. In response, Lance gives a breathy little sigh straight into Keith’s mouth that’s got his body warming. Lance reacts too. Keith can feel it even through the layers of clothing separating them. He doesn’t let up, tilting his hips forward, grinding down. He sucks at Lance’s bottom lip, nips at it, lets Lance taste the inside of his mouth.
“Wait.” Lance pulls back suddenly, lips dark and wet and kiss-swollen, eyes a little hazy. Keith watches the way he blinks, like he can shake his dazedness out of his eyelashes. “Is Black okay with this?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” It’s never really occurred to Keith that the Black Lion could mind this, really. Red sure doesn’t, whenever Keith jacks off in her cockpit. It’s a bonding experience. There’s definitely no harm in it. He doesn’t dwell on it, and instead attaches his lips to Lance’s neck. Sinks his teeth in. Sucks. Lance’s pulse jumps under his mouth.
Lance mutters something about Shiro and the head of Voltron, but Keith isn’t paying him much attention anymore. Instead he’s drawn back down to look for the imprints of his teeth in Lance’s skin, the spread of dark blood underneath. Later, Shiro will take notice, thumb at it gently in that way he does, like he’s asking Lance if Keith is too rough with him. Shiro will know that they did this today. If not where, then when and how. Maybe he’ll wish he had been here, maybe he’ll feel a little possessive, and maybe he’ll take a break next time Keith and Lance ask him to hang out while he’s occupied with whatever kinds of things Shiro busies himself with.
Keith bends again to leave another mark, and another, while listening to the hitches in Lance’s breathing. It seems to rid Lance of his inhibitions a bit. He pushes his hands underneath Keith’s jacket at the shoulders, sliding it off of his arms. Keith lets him while licking down his neck, stopped before reaching the ridge of Lance’s collarbones by his shirt. That’s got to go next.
He and Lance seem to have the same idea because there’s grappling, fighting fabric and each other before letting it pile on the floor. Keith dives in again, goes for Lance’s mouth, presses their chests together because Lance’s smooth skin is lovely and warm and Lance’s hands are on the peaks of Keith’s hip bones, rubbing at the exposed jut of them. Keith slides forward, lets Lance feel that he wants him. Even here.
Especially here, where Keith can feel the residual imprint of the Black Lion on his consciousness when he closes his eyes. With that comes a vague whiff of Shiro, a rush to his already-buzzing nerve endings. The Black Lion rumbles, low and placid, while Lance grinds up into Keith and moans sharply overtop. Even if it’s not really the three of them, it almost feels like Shiro’s here. Almost.
Then Lance’s fingers are at his belt buckle, so Keith goes for Lance’s in return. Easy, practiced, Lance pulls Keith’s belt off and drops it onto the floor behind them, then tugs Keith’s pants and underwear down just far enough to expose him to the thick, humming air. Keith sighs in relief, bucks forward as Lance grips around him, fingers tightening just in the way that Keith likes. Keith grabs for Lance too, and their wrists knock against each other until they settle into a rhythm.
Keith’s breathing is already a little accelerated as he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against Lance’s. Lance’s eyes are shut, head tipped back a little to lean against the chair. He looks like he’s basking; maybe in the weight of Keith on his lap, maybe in Shiro’s unpresent presence.
It’s been awhile. Keith is glad for this opportunity to unwind a little bit, and it’s not bad , just him and Lance. Especially here in the Black Lion, where they can at least feel as though Shiro is with them. But it’s not the same without him actually being there.
“I miss Shiro’s dick,” Lance says, his thoughts seemingly having led him in the same direction. Or maybe this is the lion’s influence on them. Either way, Keith agrees.
Before he has a chance to voice it, Lance is pushing him off, trying to stand. Though he misses the hand on his cock, Keith allows Lance to reposition him, shoving him back unceremoniously into the space he just vacated, pulling his pants entirely off his legs. The seat is still warm from his body heat, but if Keith closes his eyes he can imagine that it’s Shiro’s, persisting here inside of the Black Lion, and that the three of them have luxury of wasting time together. That it’s not just Lance goading, “First one to come loses!” and dropping to his knees between Keith’s thighs.
Keith opens his eyes again and looks down at Lance. He can afford to lose this one if it means Lance is going to be staring up at him with his lips around Keith’s cock.
“Yeah,” Keith says, sinking back into the chair and watching Lance give a few tentative strokes before licking up the length of his shaft. “I wish Shiro was here too.”
In response Lance lowers his mouth around the head of Keith’s cock, explores it with his tongue. Keith shudders at the warmth, the sensation. He draws his eyes away from Lance for a moment to look around himself, survey the Black Lion’s cockpit, the purple glow, the smooth surfaces. It’s exactly the same as the last time he was in here, but it feels a hell of a lot more comfortable when he knows its true Paladin is at least on board this spacecraft.
Lance works his way down Keith, sliding his tongue along the bottom of his shaft, taking in a little more of him with each slow bob of his head. He’s good at this, wet and warm and practiced, the soft gliding heat of his mouth making Keith buzz all over. Keith lets himself relax, go slack entirely, and just watches Lance’s lips around him. They make eye contact, and Keith swears he can see a gleam of a smirk in his eyes just before Lance gives a hard suck.
Keith jolts, sits a little more upright. Part of him wants to grab Lance by the back of the head and show him exactly what smug looks like that will get him, but Lance seems to already be in the process of initiating whatever Keith would have. Every time Keith thinks there’s no way Lance can take more, Lance pushes further, opening his throat without a hint of discomfort. In fact, he shuts his eyes, hums around Keith, and Keith finds himself gasping for breath.
Lance’s motions accelerate. He starts slow and teasing, then picks up until he has Keith moaning. Keith closes his eyes. Curls over himself, shaky and surrendering. Reaches out and braces his hand on the nearest surface.
“Keith?”
Keith’s spine jerks straight, and not just because of what Lance is doing with his tongue. His eyes fly open and he finds himself face-to-face with Shiro on the viewscreen. He glances down to where his hand has landed on the comms button on the dash, and looks back up at the screen with wide eyes.
Luckily it appears to be only Shiro, eyebrows raised, alone on the bridge, because Keith is having trouble biting back his moans.
“Shit,” he breathes, breath hitching, and goes to turn the comms off, but then Shiro is talking again.
“Are you in the Black Lion?” he asks. “Where are your clothes?”
“No, I--!” Keith’s hips jerk again. “Fuck, get off , Lance!”
He sinks his hands into Lance’s hair, tries to tug him off, but Lance just buries Keith into his throat. It’s got Keith seeing stars, and his head tips back, hits the back of the chair as he sucks in a ragged breath. When he manages to center himself again Lance looks far too pleased for someone with a cock in his mouth, and Shiro’s staring at him with his jaw agape.
“Are you two having sex in the Black Lion?” Shiro asks, a scandalized edge to his tone. His head whips around, twisting in his chair to look behind him, then turns a stern frown on Keith. “Allura was in here just a moment ago. You shouldn’t have--”
Shiro finishes his statement but Keith doesn’t hear it, thanks to Lance’s tongue digging into his slit. It takes him a moment to find his voice again so he can choke out, “I didn’t mean to.”
Here is where he reasonably should apologize, say goodbye, and turn the connection off. But Shiro is staring at him unwaveringly, his forehead creased, his lips slightly parted. Keith wonders what he sees, what makes him look like that. Just Keith’s own bare shoulders, probably, heaving with his unsteady breath. His ruddy face and bitten lips, the strands of hair that stick to his forehead with sweat.
Shiro swallows visibly, then licks his lips. His mouth curls into a frown.
Lance gives an especially hard suck, and Keith clenches his fingers in Lance’s hair again, chasing that feeling. He’s close, god he’s close. He can feel himself tightening up everywhere, his thighs trembling. He shuts his eyes.
“Lance, hold on,” Shiro says, and it’s got a low, rough quality to it that wasn’t there a moment ago. If Keith wasn’t unbearably close before, he certainly is now. “Stop what you’re doing. Don’t let him come yet.”
Lance pulls entirely off Keith with a wet drag at the same time that the screen in front of Keith clicks off.
“Fuck,” Keith says, because he aches , and the pink of Lance’s mouth looks so good and welcoming as he grins up at him.
But when Lance next opens his mouth it’s not to take Keith back inside. It’s to tell him, “I think we did it.”
“Did what ?” Keith snaps. He’s disoriented and burning now, thoughts too scattered to make sense of much other than the need for friction and the feel of Lance. Lance just wiggles his eyebrows and keeps grinning, which makes Keith just want to shove back into his mouth, until he’s abruptly distracted by the sound of the door sliding open in the back.
Lance hops up to his feet, drapes his half-naked self across the back of the pilot’s chair, while Keith turns his head and leans over to see. Shiro’s standing in the back, looking, just looking.
“Took you long enough,” Lance says.
And then Shiro’s coming towards them, eyes dark, mouth pulled into a tight, no-nonsense line. “I should be disappointed that you’re debauching my lion like this,” he replies.
And then makes it absolutely clear that he’s not disappointed at all, by sliding his hand up against Lance’s jaw and leaning down into him for what must be a bruising kiss.
Keith shifts uncomfortably, watching them. It was bad enough before, having been abandoned by Lance when so close, but now Lance is making a low pleased sound in the back of his throat as Shiro pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. Lance tosses his arms around Shiro’s neck, wrapping him up, pulling him closer, pressing his bare front against Shiro’s clothed torso. Shiro’s hand cards through his hair, while the other snakes down to the small of his back. Under normal circumstances, this is something Keith would be content with watching. But right now he’s pulling apart at the seams. He clears his throat.
Shiro pulls away, swivels his head, his cutting gaze landing fully on Keith in the pilot’s chair. Lance’s eyes follow more slowly, like he’s moving underwater, his pupils dilated and unfocused.
“So why here?” Shiro asks, almost conversationally, as he disentangles himself from Lance. He keeps their hands clasped as he makes his way around the pilot’s chair, and Lance follows as though homing in on Shiro’s warmth. Shiro bends to where Keith’s belt is resting on the ground beside the pile of clothes, and shuffles through one of the attached pouches with his unoccupied hand.
“You were busy,” Lance says with a shrug.
“We wanted to feel you,” Keith adds, hoping that he’ll get to feel Shiro very soon.
Shiro looks over at Keith again and stands up straight, having found what he was looking for. He has the small bottle of lube Keith keeps in his belt pouches in hand. Wishes do come true, apparently.
Shiro takes his hand back from Lance and goes to his knees in front of Keith. Almost instinctively his thighs widen to let Shiro between them, especially as he pours lube over his fingers and oh god . It’s his right hand.
Lance drapes himself over Shiro’s back, arms hanging over his shoulders, to watch as Shiro reaches forward. One hand he wriggles under Keith, getting a firm grip on the curve of his ass, pulling him apart. The other, his right, he traces, light and slow-shifting like a cloud, around the outside of his hole. Keith whines in the back of his throat.
“I’m sorry I’ve been so busy,” Shiro says, turning his head to press his lips against Lance’s chin. He still doesn’t breach Keith, and Keith fidgets in the chair, spreading himself wider, shifting forward, as though he can slip Shiro’s fingers inside of him himself. “I guess a break right now wouldn’t hurt.”
The Black Lion rumbles, humming its agreement. Lance grins into Shiro’s hair, and slides further down his body, hands dragging down his chest, his stomach, and then dipping into the front of his pants. Keith watches with interest as Lance wrangles Shiro’s pants open enough to draw out his cock, wrapping his slender fingers around it. This seems to spur Shiro on, as he finally, finally , pushes a metal fingertip inside of Keith.
He always expects it to be cold, like any other metallic object left out in open air, but it’s the same as any other part of Shiro. It’s firmer, smoother, than his left hand, but not any colder. Shiro, in the past, was always hesitant to use it to touch Keith and Lance, but neither of them have really bothered hiding their liking for it.
There’s something about having a weapon inside of him, about it being used to bring him pleasure instead of pain, that turns Keith on more than it should.
Still, this, like most things, Shiro does with unbearable care. Even when Keith reminds him he’s done this a million times before, it doesn’t hurt, he’s not going to break , even with Shiro distracted by Lance’s languid pumps and the kisses he’s peppering over the buzzed hair of his undercut and the back of his neck, it takes him forever to open Keith to the point where he feels comfortable adding a second finger.
Impatient, with his eyes darting from Lance’s motions to Shiro’s attentive expression and back again, Keith finds his hand inching towards his cock. He doesn’t fully realize what he’s doing until Lance says, “Hey, not so fast,” and Shiro grabs the hand with his human one, sliding his fingers between Keith’s. The movement is so affectionate, so innocent, that Keith is caught off-guard when Shiro presses forward in a testing thrust that jolts sparks up his spine.
“Shiro, more ,” he says, voice rough and rasping, still feeling the aftereffects of being neglected while so close to orgasm earlier. Shiro had better make it up to him now, he thinks.
The look Shiro gives him is one part melting and two parts infuriating, a smile soft enough to be fond and knowing enough to give himself away. He’s drawing this out on purpose, surely, just because Keith wants it hard and fast, and because Lance is murmuring disgusting things into his ear while glancing smugly up towards Keith’s face.
It’s another eternity, then, before Shiro adds a third finger. As he works it inside, Keith finds himself growling, babbling, “ Enough already. I’m ready, Shiro,” but then he’s closed in on all sides with the idea of patience . The Black Lion is feeding it to him, Shiro’s got it in his thoughts, and even the eagerness that lights up Lance’s eyes is lined with the desire to see Keith falling apart like this.
But then, finally, Shiro pulls his fingers out entirely. Keith feels them slip from him and whines. With another kiss to the side of Lance’s jaw, Shiro shakes him off and rises to his feet.
“Switch with me,” he tells Keith, while Lance helps divest Shiro of his clothes.
Keith moves to scramble out of the seat with a low, rasping, “Yes, sir,” because he knows where this is going and he likes it. He keeps his eyes on Shiro as Shiro moves to sit in the recently-vacated chair, raking his gaze down from the solid strength of his shoulders across his scar-striped chest, past the defined muscles of his abdomen to where he stands openly aroused.
Shiro’s barely settled into the seat before Keith is backing up into his lap, straddling his thighs so they’re chest-to-back. Shiro steadies him with one hand, the rough, human one, while the other goes to feel around and inside Keith’s entrance one more time. Without hesitation, Keith reaches beneath him, and strokes Shiro twice before lining himself up.
“Easy, Keith,” Shiro says, but then Lance is standing above them and leaning in to kiss Shiro over Keith’s shoulder. It makes it pretty difficult to focus on easy . Instead Keith slides down, feels the burn, the sting, aching deep inside of him, but lets himself be taken over by the haze of watching the way Shiro moans into Lance’s open mouth. They’re both breathing hard as they part, and Keith lifts himself up experimentally, then grinds back down.
“On your knees, Lance,” Shiro says, and Lance immediately drops to the ground. Keith is momentarily disarmed by the fact that he didn’t have a protest about this, until he sees that the grin on Lance’s face is self-satisfied and anticipatory. He’s looking forward to finishing what he started.
Keith’s movements have been testing, slight, so when Shiro holds him close and thrusts up into him it sends a tremor up his spine. It’s met by Shiro’s lips on his shoulder, kissing gently before the teeth come out. Lance’s hand settles around Keith, and Keith’s head bumps clumsily against Lance’s lips as Shiro drives into a vigorous rhythm. Keith moans. There’s no way he can hang on for very long.
He can feel the Black Lion’s approval in the purrs that buzz around them, an engine humming, a pleased whirring of machinery. Two of its Paladins are enjoying themselves here, with each other. Taking care of each other in a human way, making each other feel good. Maybe it feels good for the lion too. Maybe it just makes it happy. Keith’s fingers tighten on Shiro’s thighs and he moans.
Lance’s tongue is on him, slipping over him, as his hand works at his base in sync with Shiro’s thrusts. It doesn’t seem to Keith like there’s much technique involved there, but his muscles are going weak anyway, his nerve endings burning, his grip shaking as he settles a hand into Lance’s hair. His other hand stays on Shiro’s leg as a way to steady himself, sinking his fingertips in. His nails meet skin and Shiro groans against the side of his neck.
He’s barely doing any of the work anymore, instead Shiro keeping him still as he thrusts into him from below, Lance’s lips dragging around his cock like he’s ravenous for it. Both of Shiro’s hands are hot and strong and steady at his hips. He can feel Shiro’s breath against his spine, hear the little grunts of exertion he makes with each thrust. Lance looks up at him through dark eyelashes, and Keith is so lightheaded with it all that it feels like the Black Lion’s thrum is the only thing keeping him together.
It all rushes up to meet him at once. Lance’s mouth, Shiro’s voice. Something inside of him giving out and the shooting pleasure, sharp and hot. He probably says something, or at least makes noise, because he’s aware of his vocal chords vibrating and his chest heaving, but too many things beyond Shiro and Lance are outside of his comprehension right now as he shakes, jolts through it.
In another half a moment he’s prying Lance off of him, unsteady and oversensitive. Lance swallows thickly and then grins up at him while Shiro slows and then comes to a stop, still sheathed inside. Keith’s limbs feel unresponsive, but he does his best to gently slide Shiro out of himself and then get off of him. He offers a hand to Lance, hauls him to his feet, guides him forwards so that Shiro and Lance are face-to-face and Lance is in Shiro’s lap.
Neither of them have come yet, but they can figure out what to do from here.
Keith kneels against the edge of the seat, towards the side, and watches as Lance and Shiro regard each other from this position. Lance grinds down slowly into his lap, licking his lips. Shiro’s eyes flicker down, and brings a hand up to cup against the side of Lance’s neck. His thumb smoothes over the bruise there, and he drags his gaze from that, to Lance’s face, to Keith. Keith, still a little dizzy, smiles.
Lance leans in, kisses Shiro, and Shiro surges into it. Lance opens his mouth, lets Shiro’s tongue inside. Sucks. Nips. Lance can use his mouth and it’s a disarming pleasure to feel but somehow it’s also an invigorating spectacle to behold. Shiro sighs and tilts his head like he’s trying to drink in more and more of Lance.
Keith takes advantage of their distraction to snake his hand between them, hold them together and pump. They both moan against each other. They don’t break away but the kiss goes sloppy, inattentive, gasping into each other’s mouths and pulling breaths from each other. Lance’s hand joins Keith’s, dragging his palm over their heads, which has himself crying out and Shiro jerking upwards. Then it’s Shiro hand overlaying Keith’s, the smooth metal guiding his motions, tightening around him, speeding him up.
Lance comes first, with a hard jolt of his hips. He doesn’t manage to quite pull away from Shiro’s lips and his broken whines are muffled into Shiro’s mouth. His hand quivers against Keith’s as Keith continues to stroke the both of them. Lance’s cum makes the affair wet, slippery, loud. As Lance collapses and pants against Shiro’s chest, overstimulated and whimpering, Shiro’s grip goes lax, his eyes clench shut, his breathing comes in harsh snatches.
Then he’s hot and spilling over Keith’s hand too, twitching against his palm, against Lance. He makes only a low, throaty sound, the kind that would have Keith instantly hard if he hadn’t just come. Keith lets his hand slow, spreads the mess over the two of them one last time before pulling his hand back to wipe it on Lance’s thigh.
“Hey,” Lance protests feebly, peeking at him from where his face is still pressed against Shiro’s neck. “Gross.”
Keith looks pointedly to the splatters of cum now dripping down Lance’s own stomach, but says nothing and instead lets Lance wrap an arm around his neck and draw him in. There’s some shuffling before they’re comfortable, but then Shiro has his arms around both of their waists, and they’ve claimed ownership of a thigh each, and Keith is lazily nibbling at Lance’s throat.
“I should get back to work,” Shiro says, after just a moment of catching his breath.
Keith raises his head to exchange a look with Lance.
“Better idea,” says Lance. “We take this to your room. Cuddle for awhile. Take a nap. Have round two. Then you can get back to work.”
This actually sounds like a decent plan to Keith, who nods his agreement.
Shiro looks from one of them to the other, and sighs very seriously. “Well, looks like I’m outnumbered here.”
Keith grins.