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"I love you."
"No." No? "I love you."
"You can't say that," Shiro scoffs. “I said it first.”
Keith leans in and presses a sloppy-wet kiss to Shiro's nose, kinda gross and heedless of the people watching them. "I think you've had too much champagne."
Shiro thinks about that for a moment. This is a celebration, a wedding reception, and while there’s no such thing as too many toasts made in honor of Shiro’s newly minted husband, he sees no reason not to argue the point. "You've had just as much as I have,” Shiro says, attempting to be reasonable. “And you're smaller."
Keith makes a face at that. "Well, you're a horrible dancer."
Shiro smiles goofily at him and shrugs. It’s hardly his fault their friends wrangled them into the torturous first dance tradition using the excuse that the aliens deserved the full human wedding experience, especially if Allura is going to marry Lance someday. Provided he ever gets up the courage to propose. But while neither Keith nor Shiro has much care for dancing normally, it’s a great reason to hold Keith tightly in his arms and stare into his eyes. Keith's face splits into a grin in return—he's been doing that a lot today—and he comes in for another kiss, this time on Shiro's mouth where it belongs. Shiro sighs into it, the smile on his own face threatening to ruin the kiss. Keith doesn't seem to mind.
They pull back when the cheering turns to heckling. Lance had informed Shiro no less than five times today that even wedding receptions had a limit on acceptable tongue-to-tongue contact, and he didn't want to be scarred forever just because he was forced to attend his best friends' wedding.
But this isn’t Lance’s wedding, so Shiro is going to stick his tongue in Keith’s mouth as many times as Keith will let him. Maybe having the audience around them isn’t ideal, but the existence of other people doesn’t make Shiro any less lovestruck when he sees Keith, sees one of their rings, sees something that reminds him of Keith—anything, really, that even remotely references Keith is enough to get Shiro’s heart pounding with excitement. This day has been too long in coming, their initial post-engagement plan to elope quickly destroyed by Krolia’s disappointment at the lack of a real human wedding.
They’ve had the wedding now, though. It’s over, and they ate dinner surrounded by family and friends, and now they have this ridiculous dance. Shiro wouldn’t mind taking Keith somewhere more private instead, but Lance also saw fit to inform him that Shiro is expected to be present for the reception, no matter what, because the party is part of the tradition.
Shiro’s had enough of tradition for one day. He has a brand new husband to attend to.
“How much longer do we have to be here?” Shiro asks.
“Til it’s over, I think.”
Shiro sighs, overdramatic, and he drops his head to rest his forehead on Keith’s shoulder for a brief moment. The stretch of it is almost comedic because of how short Keith is. “What if I told you I thought we should leave? We could sneak out.”
“Mmm,” Keith says, considering. His feet shuffle with Shiro’s vaguely in time to some sappy love song that Lance is, for some reason, convinced is Their Song. Shiro isn’t sure he’s heard this song in his life, but he supposes he almost enjoys the singer’s voice even though the saccharine backing track makes his head ache.
Frankly, Lance is never allowed to DJ again.
“I want to leave, too,” Keith admits. “But we said we’d stay.”
Huffing out a breath through his nose, Shiro grumbles at that. Ridiculous, but true. And yet . . . .
“Don’t you want to be alone, baby?” Shiro tries, his voice hopeful. He squeezes the hands wrapped around Keith’s waist, tries to entice him into the same simmering feeling of arousal Shiro has been dealing with since he fed Keith a bowl of strawberries by hand as an appetizer.
“I don’t want to miss the cake,” Keith says. It’s a surprisingly valid objection.
“Promise we won’t miss the cake,” Shiro swears. He wants that cake, too—it has chocolate and caramel, and Hunk handmade these delicate little frosting roses to decorate the outside. Shiro would like to eat one of those specifically.
“Maybe.” And then only loud enough for Shiro to hear, Keith says, "I really wanna grab your ass right now.”
That’s more like it.
Shiro’s hand travels down Keith’s back, fingers ghosting suggestively over the top of his ass as he slips his hand up underneath Keith’s suit jacket. "Do it," he says.
"Not in front of my mom."
Shiro’s fingers inch down to the waistband of Keith’s pants because he’s been shameless since day one of their relationship. "I dare you."
"Shiro," Keith whines.
"Yeah, baby?" Shiro asks, leaning in close again so his breath fans against Keith’s mouth. It makes Keith’s eyelids flutter. “You like it when I grab you in public, even if you won’t admit it. It’s fun. You should try it.”
Keith blushes and hides his face, burying his mouth in the crook of Shiro’s neck and shoulder. He murmurs something indistinguishable and petulant, and Shiro asks him to repeat it.
“I said that that’s because you’re shameless and have no boundaries,” Keith says. He’s probably scowling, but Shiro can’t see it. Still, he smiles.
“And because I really, really like your ass,” Shiro whispers.
“Jeez, Shiro.”
“Do you know how hard it is to keep my hands off you?” Shiro asks. “When you’re in your uniform and your voice gets so deep when you’re in charge? I just want to drag you into the nearest empty room and f—”
Keith interrupts him. He kisses Shiro so hard that Shiro loses the thread of what's going on—he forgets what they were talking about, where they are, who's around them. And when Shiro plants a firm hand on Keith’s forearm and shoves Keith’s hand down from its respectable position at his waist, Keith apparently forgets why he was trying to keep his hands to a more appropriate area.
A loud cheer goes up from the crowd watching them as Keith grabs Shiro’s ass hard, unforgiving. Keith laughs into their kiss, giving one last obstinate squeeze for the hell of it, and he pulls back so he can give Shiro the kind of crinkle-eyed grin he saves for when they're alone.
Shiro wants him so much.
The dance ends too soon; the song, not soon enough. Even though Keith moves his hand back up Shiro’s body, it never returns to the same respectable position it once occupied, and Keith’s eyes are dark when they look at Shiro. He knows what Shiro wants. Keith knows, and still, he spins out of Shiro’s arms and away from him, embracing his mom and asking her for the next dance.
They’re not apart for long. Shiro knows he gets a lot of slack today, considering they’re officially newlyweds, but he has no excuse for this shamelessness. All he sees is his husband in a tailored suit that makes it very clear just how slim and powerful his legs are, how broad his shoulders. Keith has strong, deft hands, but the close fit of his suit cuffs make his wrists look so small, like Shiro could fit just one hand around them both and hold him close. The giant fingers of his prosthetic look especially good.
Keith finds his way back into Shiro’s arms, and Shiro wraps him up in a long, tight hug from behind. Maybe he has had too much champagne, but what he wants more than anything in the world right now is to feel Keith pressed all up against him.
Maybe do it somewhere a bit more private.
Shiro suggests it again by whispering it in Keith’s ear, and all it gets him is Keith craning his neck around to shoot him a considering look. “The party doesn’t end for another three hours,” Keith says.
“Three hours is so long,” Shiro says. “They won’t miss us for twenty minutes.”
“Mmm.” Keith turns around in Shiro’s arms and wraps a hand around Shiro’s bicep, his other clasping the back of Shiro’s neck. An intimate embrace, for him—Keith is hardly reserved about their relationship in public and makes no secret of his affection, but Keith so often contents himself with holding Shiro’s hand and kissing his cheek in greeting. When other people surround them, his love is quiet and unobtrusive but always obvious. Today, then, is the grand exception.
“What else am I supposed to think when you’re all over me like that, baby?” Shiro asks.
“You really want our first time as husbands to be in—what, a bathroom?”
“Well, when you put it like that . . . .” Shiro kisses Keith’s jaw, just below the hinge of it. “Makes me think I’d have to keep you quiet, somehow. Love how wild you get for me when I take you someplace we’re not supposed to be.”
“God, Shiro,” Keith says, almost a groan. Shiro can’t imagine anyone looking over at them right now and not knowing exactly what’s happening. “We really shouldn’t.”
“Baby, I’ll make it so good.”
“Stop using that voice in public,” Keith hisses. Shiro grins, triumphant. He knows when the game is won, too intimately familiar with the sound of Keith’s wanting to miss it now.
“Meet me in the hall,” Shiro says, kissing Keith’s cheek. “Five minutes.”
He steps away from Keith with a wink, turning promptly on his heel to make a circle of the reception room. Carefully skirting a conversation with Lance and Allura with excuses about grabbing a drink from the bar for Keith, Shiro heads to the back and requests two more flutes of champagne from the bartender. Hunk recommended this venue for its indoor reception space and outdoor gardens for the ceremony, and while Keith had balked at the amount of space being too much for the size of their wedding, Shiro is grateful for the catering and bar. It was a good decision, they had generously widened their circle of invitees, and from this vantage point, it appears like everyone is thoroughly enjoying themselves. At the very least, they’re too distracted to notice where Keith and Shiro are for a little while.
He takes the proffered glasses cheerfully and surveys the room one last time to determine that Keith has already slipped away, and then he sneaks as best he can to the door out to the hall and slips outside.
“Took you long enough,” Keith says as soon as the door is shut. “Your timing is ter—”
It’s nothing to transfer both glasses to one hand and use the other to sweep Keith up into a kiss.
The hallway feels almost silent after the roaring reception happening just on the other side of the wall. The barrage of voices and thumping music are muffled down to something easily ignorable, and Shiro uses it in his favor to moan loudly into Keith’s mouth, losing himself in it. Keith wraps both arms around Shiro’s waist, underneath his suit jacket and tucked as close as they possibly could be. He’s warm and responsive under Shiro’s touch, a livewire with a sharply defined jaw that Shiro loves to trace and hold while their mouths are sealed together.
They’re both panting when they pull away. Keith’s lips are slick and shiny in the dim light, and Shiro can’t resist nipping at his bottom lip just to turn it red and swollen.
“I love you,” he says, a whispered confession.
Keith sighs, “Takashi,” and kisses him so thoroughly that Shiro loses the sense of the ground underneath his feet. “You know I love you too.”
Dizzy, Shiro fumbles to pull himself back enough to hand off a glass of champagne to Keith. “A toast,” he says. “To us.”
“And our future.” Keith’s smile is brilliant as the sun, and they toss back the drinks in unison.
Shiro kisses the taste of champagne off his lips and takes the glass out of his hand. Depositing them on the floor to grab on their way back into the reception, he wraps an arm around Keith’s waist and drags him down the hall. Keith laughs, and maybe Shiro is being too eager, but he can’t take this anymore.
Keith looks incredible in his suit. He always looks incredible, but a tailored suit makes his legs look miles long and turns his waist into something tiny enough for Shiro to wrap both of his hands around and bruise. Shiro’s mouth hasn’t stopped watering since he met Keith at the end of the aisle before Krolia wrapped her arms around the both of them and walked them up the aisle. Maybe it’s inappropriate to be having dirty thoughts during your own wedding, even through tears during the vows, but one of Shiro’s favorite things about Keith is how much he wants to be with Keith all the time. There’s no awkwardness, no hesitation—it’s the most comfortable relationship Shiro has ever had with another person in any context. And he never wants to lose that desperation to have his hands on any inch of Keith’s skin he can touch.
“Did you plan this?” Keith asks right around the time Shiro wrenches open the door to the space he staked out earlier, sufficiently far enough away from the bathrooms and the banquet hall to afford them some privacy.
“Knew I wouldn’t be able to wait to touch you, baby,” Shiro says. The door slams shut behind them, leaving them bathed in darkness.
As soon as it’s closed, Shiro slides his hands up Keith’s arms, over his shoulders, to take his face between both hands and kiss him hard. Keith moans, shameless, and falls into it, his deft tongue taunting Shiro with teasing movements that leave Shiro more desperate than ever before.
“You know,” Keith says into the dark space between their mouths, “I’m starting to think you’ve got bad intentions dragging me in here.”
Shiro gets a hand on Keith’s ass, gripping hard and pulling Keith’s hips in to meet his own, pressing a thigh between Keith’s just to feel his arousal. “Is that what you think?”
“Maybe you just married me so you could get away with this all the time.”
In response, Shiro kisses him, bites his lip with uncompromising sharpness just to feel Keith’s gasp, and his hips move in a slow, steady roll that makes it impossible to miss just how hard they both are. “You’re so goddamn hot,” he whispers. “All the time, looking like you were made just for me—yeah, baby, you like that?” He touches Keith’s cheek, palm to scar. “There’s nobody else in the world as perfect for me as you.”
Keith’s breathing is stuttered and gasping like he can’t drum up the words to respond. Shiro pushes harder into Keith, pressing him into the wall. Keith’s limbs tremble around Shiro, and his fingers knot themselves into the top of Shiro’s hair.
“Talk to me, baby,” Shiro murmurs. “Tell me what you want.”
“I thought—thought you had a plan when you dragged me in here.”
“Please, baby? Please tell me what you want?”
Keith whimpers and Shiro rolls his hips harder.
“Please,” Keith says, begging loud and without a hint of reluctance. “Please, I need you.”
Shiro curses under his breath and bites at Keith’s jaw. It’s so hard to restrain himself, but they have two and a half more hours of a wedding reception to attend, and after that, he’s free to mark Keith up as much as they please. “You gotta tell me what you want,” he tells Keith. It’s always so good when Keith begs him, when he confesses his fantasies and Shiro gets to make them come to life. Shiro slaps a hand at the wall next to them, aimless but needing the light. He wants to see Keith’s face, and the sight of his swollen lips is everything.
“Let me kiss you,” Keith says.
He angles his mouth towards Shiro’s, but that would be too easy. Shiro can’t help the smirk that appears on his face, and he refuses to close the gap. He teases Keith, watches his dark eyes go wide with shock when Shiro doesn’t immediately capitulate. Shiro stills the movement of his body and raises an eyebrow. He gets a thrill out of torturing Keith like this.
“You didn’t ask very nicely,” Shiro says. He tilts his head and admires how beautifully Keith’s long hair frames his heart-shaped face.
“When did I say I wanted to be nice?” Keith says with a snort. He looks so indignant, like Shiro is asking for this absurd thing. A wisp of hair falls into his face and he tries to blow it away, but it gets stuck on his mouth, wet with spit. He scowls as he brushes it away.
Shiro sort of—breaks. A shocked breath of laughter makes its way out of his mouth, and then a giggle, and then, while he stares at Keith’s stubborn face, lips swollen and one eyebrow raised, he bursts out laughing. It doesn’t take Keith a full two seconds before joining him, his breathy, hitched laughter warming Shiro’s heart down to the very depths as they collapse into each other. Shiro tries to muffle himself in the side of Keith’s neck, but it doesn’t work very well and he ends up wheezing unattractively against Keith’s skin.
“You’re the worst,” Keith says when he calms down. His hand squeezes Shiro’s shoulder warmly, a balm for his harsh words. Then, in a mocking tone that’s supposed to sound something like Shiro’s voice but absolutely doesn’t, if you ask Shiro, he adds, “You didn’t ask very nicely. Uh-huh.”
“You,” Shiro pronounces, “are the biggest shit I have ever met in my life.”
“Can’t believe you would marry someone like that,” Keith replies without missing a beat. “I think that’s what Pidge would call ‘wack.’”
Shiro snickers. “Maybe if you listened to what I say—”
“Are you pretending you don’t like it when I’m uncooperative?” Keith interrupts. He grins with all his teeth and tugs at the collar of Shiro’s shirt. Then his face changes, his eyes turning into big, dark moons and his chin jutting out the tiniest bit. “Stop teasing me, daddy,” he says, his voice breathless and soft. “I want you now.”
It’s absurd how much Shiro likes that, likes it even knowing how affected it is and how awful of an actor Keith is. What gets to him isn’t just the look, or the name that Keith knows makes Shiro weak-kneed, but how Keith is anything but subtle when he’s making fun of Shiro and still behind the mirth, there’s real desperation that sings through him. Leaning in, Shiro acquiesces to Keith’s demands and brings their mouths together again, kissing Keith slow and dirty. The way Keith clutches at him is hot, almost scrabbling but not quite, and the way he presses his whole body into Shiro’s, hips writhing as best they can, is almost too much. Shiro drags his hand up and down Keith’s chest and starts undoing the buttons of his white shirt. He needs bare skin, needs to feel the heaving pressure of Keith’s breathing.
It doesn’t hurt that once he gets his hand inside, just enough buttons undone to fit the width of his palm, he can drag the pad of his thumb over Keith’s nipple and make him startle. The kiss breaks on accident, and Shiro tries to catch his breath even as he tries to make Keith lose his. Keith whines underneath his touch, pushing his chest into Shiro’s fingers. His mouth falls to Shiro’s neck, pressing messy kisses up the line of it as Shiro tips his head back for more.
Leaning back just enough, Shiro gets his other hand involved to start pulling Keith’s clothes off him. He throws Keith’s tie over a shelf on the wall next to him and starts pushing the jacket off Keith’s shoulders to follow it.
“Take yours off too,” Keith says, the hint of a whine edging into his voice, and Shiro laughs.
“Mm, I don’t think I want to.” He kisses Keith on the cheek, teasing, and it gets him a loud, gruff grumble.
Shiro takes his time touching Keith’s skin underneath his half-buttoned shirt, tracing the contours of his body. Maybe it’s more time than they have, considering someone has to have noticed already that they’re missing, but Shiro is pretty sure it’s his right as a married man to treat his husband like the beautiful creature he is.
At least, until Keith grows impatient and bites at Shiro’s neck.
Shiro startles out of his reverie, back to the present, and he snaps back so his skin is out of Keith’s reach. “No,” he says sternly. Keith pouts. “No marks.
“But, daddy—”
Shiro silences him with a kiss and finishes removing Keith’s shirt without finesse. He loves when Keith gets like this, whining and pushing his bottom lip out just a little bit, just enough to be distracting, but there’s not the time to spend on taunting or teasing. Maybe he has to save the proper worshipping for later, but there’s no reason he can’t treat Keith right. No reason not to fuck him as hard and close as he deserves.
The kiss breaks, and Keith pleads with his big eyes.
“You think just because you call me that I’ll give you whatever you want?” Shiro asks. He leans their foreheads together, holds himself just out of reach of Keith’s mouth straining for another kiss. “Baby, you’re not listening.”
Keith sighs heavily through his nose. He doesn’t look cowed, not in the least sense, but he relaxes and stops looking at Shiro like he’s being purposefully attacked.
Except when Shiro kisses him again, Keith tries his best to bruise just underneath Shiro’s jaw before he can get out of the way.
Shiro shoves Keith back against the wall, his hand spread across the base of his neck over his collarbone. Keith shoots him a cheeky grin and swipes his tongue slowly over his bottom lip. He looks like the best thing Shiro has ever seen but also like the kind of man who’s going to get Shiro in a lot of shit with their friends if he doesn’t straighten up.
Hah, straighten.
He doesn’t say anything to Keith, just spins him around and flattens him against the wall. Keith sighs, pushes back into him not like he wants to get away but like he wants closer, wants to be touching Shiro from head to toe.
"Should I fuck you?" Shiro whispers into Keith's ear from behind. "I'm not sure you deserve it."
Keith wiggles and whimpers in his arms, his pretty voice falling from his throat as soon as the words begin to leave Shiro's mouth. He's so gorgeous, his soft skin hiding the muscle toned from years of dedication to martial arts and fighting, and Shiro just loves to have hands on him. To drag fingers over Keith's sides, reveling in the texture of his skin and the pockmarks of scars littering his body. He shifts and his belly tightens in a way that's so distracting, and Shiro might not have more than general sensation in his prosthetic hand, but he knows perfect strength when he feels it.
Shiro covers Keith's mouth with his metal hand, clamping tight to keep his jaw from being able to move. "Answer me, baby."
Keith's response is muffled but no less enthusiastic. He hums in the affirmative, loud, and tries to bob his head up and down despite Shiro's grip. Shiro smiles into the back of his neck, pressing a biting kiss to the little knob of spine sanding out and just begging for that sort of treatment. Had they the time, Shiro would absolutely drag teeth and tongue down the line of Keith's spine, all the way to his ass, and dive deep into his hole. He could make Keith feel so good, so needy and desperate, but that will have to wait. They do have that honeymoon coming up, after all.
"I'm going to let go of your mouth," Shiro says. "Can you be quiet? We don't want anyone to hear us, right, baby?"
Keith nods as best he can, and Shiro gradually withdraws his hand. Surprisingly obedient, Keith remains silent, only the sound of his labored breathing increasing as Shiro pinches one of his nipples tight, holding it for a count of three before he lets it go. Yet another thing he doesn't quite have the time for but wouldn't mind playing with when they begin their upcoming vacation.
Shiro's hands wander down to Keith's belt buckle and begin a slow process of undoing it. The tension in Keith's shoulders climbs higher with every clink of the metal, and Shiro buries his mouth in Keith's shoulder to hide a smile.
"So eager for me," he whispers. "I like watching you get needy like this."
Keith starts when Shiro slaps his ass, practically light and definitely dulled by the fabric of his pants. But Keith is nothing if not responsive, and he jolts anyway, a moan slipping out unbidden, and he whispers a harsh yes under his breath.
Shiro pulls the belt through Keith's pants. It's supple black leather, very stylish with a dark, nondescript silver buckle at one end and a series of punctured holes in the other. Shiro eyes it for what must be a second too long, and then an idea that he just can't put off comes to mind.
"Hold still," he says, snagging both of Keith's hands from the wall, planted about at the height of his shoulders. There are better places to put them.
It's nothing at all to place Keith's wrists in the position Shiro wants them. Even Keith catches on instantly, the gasp that drips from his lips intoxicating. Shiro laughs and loops the belt into a simple, serviceable knot. He might have significantly better props available at home, but none of them compare even remotely to how good Keith looks in something rustic like this. The black leather is a deep contrast to the tender, vulnerable skin of his inner wrists.
Shiro tightens the belt to an appropriate degree.
Keith hisses, "Yes, daddy . . . ."
"I gotta make sure you don't try to get away," Shiro tells him. "Wouldn't want you to decide to take things into your own hands and make too much noise, either." He claps a hand over Keith's mouth, seals his words in. "Should I fuck you like this, baby? Should I use you while you can't move, can't even speak?"
Keith moans, head bobbing furiously despite the hold on him.
Unfortunately, Shiro has to drop his hands in order to push Keith's pants down completely. He gets his fingers in the waistband and tugs, letting them fall to Keith's ankles, and that's when Shiro's brain loses all higher function.
Right there, right in front of him, is something dangerous. All of Shiro's hard-won ground with Keith is abruptly destroyed as he's rendered immediately wordless, mindless, staring dumbly at the delicate lace highlighting Keith's ass.
It's not as if they haven't experimented with lacy underwear before in a number of ways. But Keith has never worn pure white ones that lay across his skin this beautifully. Shiro has never witnessed a pair that so delicately highlights the curve of Keith's ass and draws attention to how small his waist gets as his body narrows from shoulder to hips.
Shiro thought the tailored suit was the thing to undo him. He was wrong.
"Surprise," Keith says, a note of laughter in his voice. "I was supposed to be saving this for our wedding night, but I guess—"
"Fuck."
“Do you like them?”
As if Shiro would only ever like them.
“You’re incredible,” Shiro says, low and rough and honest. He shifts the both of them so he can get his mouth on Keith’s and try to convey just how much he likes the knowledge that Keith, beautiful, breathtaking Keith, wore these during their wedding in order to surprise Shiro later.
“Mmm.” The kiss breaks when Keith starts making noise. “Come on, you’ve got me tied up and I need you to do something.”
“Something?”
“Do it between my thighs.”
The bluntness makes Shiro laugh, and he presses close so he can roll his hips tight against Keith’s ass, can show Keith just how hard he is. “You don’t want me to fuck you?”
“We don’t exactly—ah—have the stuff for it.”
Shiro runs his hand over the front of Keith’s underwear, up and down, feeling out the shape of him and how good it is to touch him over soft lace. He’ll have to be nice to them; many a pair of lacy underwear have met their deaths underneath Shiro’s excited attention, but these are worth keeping around, at least until tonight when they have free range over an entire bedroom.
“Don’t we?” Shiro asks, and he takes his hand off Keith’s dick to reach into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He waves the travel-sized bottle next to Keith’s face.
“Takashi Shirogane,” Keith says, sharp like knives, “did you seriously marry me with a fucking bottle of lube in your jacket pocket?”
“Are you gonna be mad if I say yes?” Shiro mutters, too busy taking off his jacket and then pulling the bottom hemline of Keith’s underwear out of the way to pay much attention to what he’s saying. Keith looks incredible like this, his wrists bound tightly together and his ass pushed out toward Shiro. It probably wasn’t the wisest choice to rip all his clothes off him and risk wrinkling them but the long, supple line of his spine is tantalizing and dangerous, and Shiro loves to stroke a hand down it to admire the size of his hand on Keith’s back.
“I didn’t, for the record,” Shiro says, dipping down to suck a bruise on the back of Keith’s shoulder. “But I definitely planned ahead.”
Before Keith can respond, Shiro pushes a finger inside him and crooks it up, habit after years of intensive practice learning exactly what Keith’s body needs. Keith starts to swear at him but cuts himself off at the sensation of Shiro following it up with a second finger and pushing in deep, as deep as he can go.
“Can’t believe you won’t even take off your damn shirt,” Keith complains, but his heart isn’t in it. That’s the tone he uses when he just wants to have something to complain about.
Instead of answering, Shiro adds a third finger inside Keith, his teeth nipping again and again at Keith’s shoulder, right behind where his braided hair drapes over it. He soaks up the little sounds of Keith’s wanting, the ones that are hard to hear—tiny changes in breathing, gasps that cover up moans, moans that cover up shouts, the rippling, guttural sensation of growling that tells Shiro Keith’s eyes are turning yellow and fangs are dropping into his mouth.
“You want it that bad?” Shiro asks over the nasty wet sounds of his fingers inside Keith. “I haven’t even done anything to you yet, baby.”
“I’ve noticed.” Keith’s words are more sass, of course, but his voice wobbles through the three syllables. He’s unsteady, physically and mentally, and his body strains to push his ass in Shiro’s direction and spread his legs at the same time, trying unconsciously to make himself available, inviting, and open.
He was made for Shiro.
With his free hand, he slaps Keith’s ass again, right over where the lacey fabric is bunched up over his skin, and Shiro whispers, “I love you.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Keith gasps. “Can you just fuck me already?”
“We’ve been married for two hours and already you won’t tell me you love me,” Shiro says, twisting his fingers roughly inside Keith to make him moan Shiro’s name. He knows Keith’s body almost better than his own, knows exactly what it takes to move Keith from defiant to pliant.
Keith’s response gets caught in his throat when Shiro repeats the movement of his fingers and smacks Keith’s ass at exactly the same time. Shiro presses his smile against Keith’s shoulder blade, kisses him there, and finally withdraws.
Shiro yanks the waistband of Keith's underwear down just enough to expose his ass, leaving it wrapped tight around his thighs. Between that, the belt wrapped around his wrists, and the pants trapped on his ankles, Keith isn't going anywhere. He's completely at Shiro's mercy.
"Fuck," Keith whispers, seeming to finally realize what Shiro's going for.
His answering laugh is dark, and Shiro pets down the long line of Keith's spine, using his touch to push Keith even more firmly into the closet wall. He nudges a foot between Keith's ankles and forces his legs as far apart as they'll go, and Keith's breath stutters when he realizes the lack of his mobility.
They’re silent except for their breathing as Shiro fumbles his belt and pants open, taking himself in a slick hand. Shiro strokes himself twice, too light to be anything but a tease for what’s coming next, and he uses one hand to spread Keith open for him, giving him room to settle into position. Keith lifts up onto his toes, pushing his ass back as much as Shiro’s crushing weight against him will allow, and he sighs when the head of Shiro’s cock presses against his rim.
Shiro takes it slow, letting them both feel every inch of Keith opening up around him. It’s an involved process and a heady, animal sensation, and by the time Shiro is all the way inside, his stomach is pressed to Keith’s bound arms and Keith is positively quivering. Shiro wraps an arm around Keith to splay a hand low across his belly, just above Keith’s cock, and when he pulls back to roll his hips back into Keith’s again, Shiro swears he can feel himself moving through Keith’s skin.
Keith pants hard, his head tipping back to rest against Shiro’s shoulder. It wouldn’t be possible if Keith wasn’t so damn flexible, years of training combined with alien genetics turning his spine into something supple and catlike. Shiro cranes his neck around to kiss Keith, wet and messy, and he delights in the half-mewl that his next thrust pushes out of Keith.
“Love you,” Keith says against his lips. His eyes are shut, and Shiro can just see the tiny crease between his eyebrow that appears when he’s still adjusting to the size of Shiro inside him.
“Baby,” Shiro whispers, and he grinds his hips as deep as he can with Keith’s legs trapped so close together. “Love you like this. Feels so—so good around me.”
Keith moans. “Daddy, please,” he says, and Shiro can feel his fingers flexing, looking for a way out of Shiro’s hold, but Shiro is confident in his ability to keep Keith where he wants him. He starts moving a little faster, a little surer, and Keith relaxes back into him like it’s nothing to give himself over. Nothing for him, perhaps, but Shiro can’t shake the thought that it’s everything.
The way they move together is practiced but still manages to feel new.
Keith is sensitive, so much so that Shiro eventually has to break down and wrap his hand over Keith’s mouth as he promised, because they’ve already been gone so long that surely someone has noticed by now and he doesn’t want them to face an interruption. And he reacts so beautifully to Shiro, whimpering behind Shiro’s hand and doing his best to grind back into Shiro’s cock. It’s hard not to spin him around, and get the rest of his clothes off so that Shiro can hoist him up against the wall, get Keith’s legs wrapped around his waist, and kiss him within an inch of their lives.
He wishes they had more time, wishes it was acceptable for newlyweds to disappear for an hour to get this out of their systems, but Shiro will take what he can get. It’s not a hardship to pull his shirt up over his stomach so he can get a look at the sight of his cock sliding into Keith’s ass, watch the way Keith moves when Shiro has him pinned.
Even stretched and out of place, the white lace of Keith’s underwear still looks gorgeous against his skin, and Shiro can’t wait to ruin them later. He wants to fuck Keith until he’s full up, pull them back over Keith’s ass, and then lick at Keith’s cock until he makes a mess of the front.
He wants to make Keith filthy. He tells that to Keith, and it just makes him moan louder, so loud that there’s no way Shiro’s hand can stop them from being heard.
Too soon, Shiro is forced to face the fact that he can’t hold on like this forever. He bites at the back of Keith’s neck, chest shuddering with the effort to slow down and stop himself from coming immediately even as he reaches around Keith to take his cock in hand.
His hand drops from Keith’s mouth to his collarbone, and the first thing Keith says is, “Don’t—don’t you dare come inside me.” He gasps with it, his stomach tensing and relaxing underneath Shiro’s fingertips. “I am—oh, fuck, I am not walking around for the rest of the party like that.”
“I don’t know,” Shiro says, voice uneven. He grinds deep inside and pulls Keith’s hips back to meet him. “I like the thought of you all open for me, wet and waiting for me to fill you up again after it’s over.” His teeth find Keith’s earlobe. “You don’t want to be ready for me? I bet I could have you again before we even have to leave.”
Keith shudders all around him. He’s tight and wet around Shiro, hips twitching with every rough drag inside. Shiro gets why Keith doesn’t want to deal with the mess, but he has a few tricks up his sleeve and he knows how much Keith loves the feeling of it raw inside him, loves when Shiro comes deep inside and pulls it back out with fingers and tongue, all the while telling Keith how beautiful he is.
“I promise I’ll make it worth it, baby,” Shiro says, nudging his nose against the hollow behind Keith’s ear. Keith chokes out a sob and nods, one side of his face pressed completely against the wall, and Shiro kisses his cheek. He’s too sweet and beautiful, skin flushed with arousal and lips parted as he struggles to catch his breath. “Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me you want it.”
“Come inside me,” Keith says immediately, voice too wrecked to offer anything but sincerity. “Please, Shiro, I—I need you, need it inside, I’m not—”
His voice cuts out when Shiro picks up the pace, abandoning deep and slow for quick and harsh.
Keith says, “Daddy, I’m—” in that way he does, and Shiro doesn’t even think. He claps his hand back over Keith’s open mouth, muffles the scream that tears out of Keith as he comes all over Shiro’s hand. Shiro growls in his ear, praises him for being so good, and Keith shudders from head to toe.
Shiro fucks him through it, steady and unrelenting like Keith loves, and each thrust forces a little hurt noise out of Keith. Keith whimpers and Shiro switches his hands around. He pushes his come-covered fingers past Keith’s lips, and Keith licks happily at them while Shiro grips his metal hand tight around Keith’s hip, holding him in place. He doesn’t know which one of them this is supposed to be grounding for, but it’s the thing that finally tips Shiro over the edge—Keith’s slim hips, sharp hipbones, the tight cut of muscle just above, it’s all too much.
Trying to muffle his own sound in Keith’s skin doesn’t work very well, and Shiro leaves a bruise that he isn’t certain Keith’s shirt collar will cover, but it’s hard to care. His hips stutter inside Keith as he comes on a white-hot rocket of sensation, pressed up against his husband.
It’s funny, afterward, how their breathing syncs up. Heave in air together, blow it out as one. Shiro’s never been one for yoga but he could probably handle something like this.
After a few moments of coming back into himself, Shiro moves to undo the belt around Keith’s wrists, only to find Keith is already free from it. He makes a noise of pure confusion, and Keith just laughs at him.
“You thought I couldn’t get out of that?” he teases, twisting his torso just enough to look at Shiro. His eyes sparkle with happiness. “Babe, I thought you knew me.”
Shiro stares at him in disbelief for a second and then starts laughing. He pulls out of Keith gently and then spins him around for a kiss.
“Mm, wait,” Keith says, leaning back. “What exactly were you gonna do about that mess?”
“Pushy,” Shiro says stepping away to find his planned solution, but Keith is already turning back around and bracing himself against the wall. He looks over his shoulder at a dumbstruck Shiro and raises an eyebrow.
“Show me what you’ve got, daddy.”
So Shiro reaches into the pocket of his jacket where it lays over Keith’s clothes, pulls out his prize, and drops to his knees behind Keith.
Keith doesn’t feign surprise at the first touch of Shiro’s tongue. He’s too knowing for that and Shiro is too transparent, but still, he hopes he has something up his sleeve that Keith doesn’t expect. He’ll find out soon.
Shiro teases his tongue around Keith’s hole for a moment, but he doesn’t waste too much time. He wants to keep Keith as full as he can, wants him to be reminded with every step he takes that Shiro is still inside him. Instead of eating Keith out like he normally would—and it’s difficult to hold himself back from doing so anyways—Shiro pushes a thumb inside as a test, and then fumbles the plug up to Keith’s hole.
Keith gasps as it slides in easy, settling right in where it belongs with ease. Keith turns on wobbly knees to look at Shiro, who doesn’t give him a chance to speak before he starts licking over Keith’s soft cock, cleaning up the last traces of come there. He doesn’t quit until Keith is half hard again, and then Shiro tugs the relatively undisturbed lace underwear back up over him, smoothing out the edges of it over Keith’s hips and the curve of his ass. The whole while, Keith stares down at him with eyes the same color as the desert night sky, and Shiro finishes with a soft kiss to Keith’s clothed cock. White lace looks even better from the front, he decides.
“You’re going to pay for that later,” Keith says. Shiro rises from his knees and kisses Keith hard, biting his lip one last time.
“Baby, I promise I’m gonna make you feel so good, you’re not even gonna be mad about it.”
Keith gazes at him, steady and conniving while Shiro fixes his pants and buckles his belt. “One hour. We’re staying at this party for one hour, and I don’t care what we have to do in order to leave.”
Shiro grins and steps closer, gets his hands on Keith’s waist again. “That what you want?”
Snorting, Keith pushes him back with a hand in the middle of his chest and then bends down to pull up his own pants. “That’s what I’m getting,” he says, so sure he’s almost haughty.
“They’re gonna make fun of us.”
Keith shrugs.
“I can’t believe I’ve finally corrupted you.”
Keith pauses in re-buttoning his very, very wrinkled shirt to stare at Shiro. His serious facade slips for a second when the corner of his mouth twitches, and he says, “You’re not the only one with surprises planned for tonight. The sooner we leave, the better.”
The perfect combination of arousal and love explodes in Shiro’s chest at that, and he yanks Keith into another deep kiss. “Have I told you today that I love you?” he asks Keith in between kisses. Keith laughs at him, and Shiro can’t resist kissing his scrunched up nose.
“We got married today,” Keith says, “so I think you have.”
“Think is not enough,” Shiro says, “so just to be clear, baby, I love you so much.”
Keith’s gaze softens, and he presses an even softer, close-mouthed kiss to Shiro’s mouth. “I love you, too,” he whispers. “And I’m going to keep telling you that all night.”
"All night," Shiro affirms, "and the rest of our lives."