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It starts, as all things do, in a dark, enclosed space, adrenaline high, and Keith’s hair in his mouth because they're pressed together, throat to thigh to shoes, like little sardines packed in a tin can. Lance hadn’t meant to bring the wrath of two-dozen Galra soldiers down on their heads, but, c'est la vie. Keith is right up on him, one strong thigh wedged up between two of Lance’s own so they could fit, (and they fit just right, too, like corresponding puzzle pieces) and thank christ these suits come with a protective cup to hide the fact that he’s half-hard and counting.
They’re barely breathing, or at least Keith doesn't seem to be breathing by the way the air is so quiet and still. He has his head tilted in an alert-dog type of way, and Lance kind of wants to laugh but the muffled pat-pat-pat of boots right outside this convenient janitor’s closet makes him shut that thought down rather quickly. He knows it’s a janitor’s closet because of the lone broom and dustpan in here, but, digress, and he comes back to the present when there’s the hurried movements outside the door and garbled shouts up and down the hall.
Keith tilts his head at a little more sharper angle and Lance can’t help himself.
“Man, you look like a dog.”
Keith cuts him a scathing look, color bursting up high on his cheeks. It’s a warning signal, Lance knows, that Keith is past the verge of holding onto his temper.
“Lance!” (see) and thank Alfor they’re in a mildly threatening life or death situation because Keith can’t really yell.
“You can’t yell!”
He sees the way Keith clenches his jaw, the strong, curving bone bulging under the skin. “And whose fault do you think that is that they’re chasing us in the first place?!” he hisses.
And Lance does feel just a teensy-tiny bit guilty about that, but the hair tie he keeps on his wrist to know his left from his right is currently holding up Keith’s stupid hair, so, really, it’s actually Keith’s fault that when Pidge said the button on the right, Lance had mashed the one on the left and all the alarms from the command center to the toilets went off.
“Well, if someone didn’t have a horrifying mop of a mullet on top of his head!” Lance hisses back, and there’s a rush of more footsteps quickly passing in front of their door, and, really… “Wow, how did these guys manage to conquer a galaxy, much less the universe?”
“Shut up! You’re gonna get us caught!”
And, by all means, he does, shut up that is, but all that does do is bring back around the fact that they’re still way too close together and his calf is starting to cramp and he’s going to have to come down from his toes and that’s going to make him want to ride Keith’s thigh to kingdom come-
“I think they’re gone,” Keith says, breath hot and close on Lance’s neck. He’s able to suppress a groan but Keith definitely feels the full-body shiver that zips through him because of the sudden questioning look he gives him. “Lance?”
Lance gives a quick snap of his head. “Don’t-!” as Keith shifts to inspect him and christ- “Don’t!” he says again, shoves at him and Keith grunts, gets knocked back within their shared space and jesus jumped up christ! grabs at Lance’s waist to balance himself.
Keith's eyes are hard cut gems that glitter in the low light coming off their armor, brow quirked with confusion and concern.
And why- why did it have to be him? Keith. Of all the fucking people Lance has ever met or said hello to or bro-nodded across the way at or spoke through a drive-thru speaker with- it’s this guy, right here, that he’s had the biggest crush on since Allura, who’s also turning his crank at such speed and deftness in the most inopportune moment imaginable- that he’s the one stuck up against in this too skinny closet, pressed from tits to toes, and in any other circumstance this would be any guy’s 7-Minutes In Heaven wet dream-
And, also, why, again, is it, in the entire eternity of the fucking universe, does this one man have to be sharp at this exact moment when all other times he absolutely isn’t. Is oblivious to the signs Lance throws out every now and again to get a feel for how Keith might, maybe, you know, want to reciprocate? Why is it now, half-hard and in an almost we-might-get-captured-and-possibly-tortured-and-strung-up-for-the-space-crows situation that his eyes sharpen and clarity takes over his face like the fog was just blown away by the gale wind of understanding-
Keith alert-dog tilts his head again, but really, Lance should akin it more to a cat with his wide-eyed, unblinking stare. A sound rises up, a questioning hum from Keith’s throat.
The hands that were on his waist move slowly across the exposed under-suit, and Lance shivers again, skin pebbling. “Dude, what are you doing-” he screech panic-whispers, wiggling to try and shake them off-
But those hands steadily move over his stomach, the belt, down the outside of one thigh- back up and over to the other and his touch is a burning brand right through the smooth fabric. Lance grunts, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation.
And. Jesus. Jumped. Up. Christ- one of Keith’s hand comes up and his fingers squeeze at Lance’s cheeks and his eyes fly open. Keith’s palm pressed right up against his mouth and every single nerve ending in Lance’s body tingles as Keith leans just a little forward, leans in a just a little harder, thigh just pressing just a little tighter to him.
And this is it, this is where Lance is found out- this is where Keith’s going to move his hand down just a few more inches to wrap around his throat and end his misery.
The sound of footsteps, Keith’s stupid head tilt and slow cat blink, eyes cutting to the door, and fear bursts through Lance’s chest. He’s going to die with an almost full blown erection behind enemy lines! and right before utter catastrophe, Keith murmurs Finally, and drops his hand, straightens his spine, and the closet door slash sardine can opens, blinding Lance with the overhead hallway light.
“There you are! What the hell are you two doing?” and Pidge gives them a quick once-over, relief and surprise and sisterly disgust and a look at Keith that says I’m going to grill you about this later and she spins on her heel. “Never mind! Gross! Don’t care,” and she’s lifting her arm to check some sort of holographic map on her watch. “We have eighty seconds before six guards come from over there,” she says, pulling out her Bayard. “Good job alerting everyone and their moms by the way,” she grouches, turns to stalk down the hall.
Keith’s hand, the left one, hidden by their bodies- unseen by Pidge- gives one, last squeeze to Lance’s waist, and Lance’s eyes jump to look at him, but he’s already slipping past Lance to follow Pidge, a slide of fingers over his stomach. “Come on,” he murmurs with a small jerk of his head and if Lance wasn’t looking right at him, he would have missed the small smirk that curled one corner of his mouth.
They escape with all their limbs and extremities intact and they absolutely do not talk about what happened on the ship back on the castle but there's a tense sort of atmosphere brewing.
Hunk, ever the empath, pulls Lance aside after breakfast one day and says, “You gotta get whatever it is out of your guy’s system, okay?” his hand big and warm on Lance’s elbow. “My nerves can’t take much more,” he adds. He gives Lance some big doe eyes, and it’s worked on him in the past, and it might work on him now, but Lance guiltily looks at the wall over his friend’s shoulder to avoid those eyes.
He kind of knows what Hunk’s talking about.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lance deflects, pulling his arm out of Hunk’s grip. “Me and Keith are fine.”
Hunk gives him a look, doe eyes morphing into a wolf’s glare. “I didn’t say you and Keith, you said you and Keith.”
Ah, shit-balls.
“Shit-balls,” he curses. “Look, it’ll, we kind of,” he sighs. Bites his lip. Looks at Hunk for a split second. It’s a second too long because he realizes that Hunk is sincere in his worry. The weak wall he was trying to build around this situation starts to crumble at the base. He makes a gesture with his hands miming two objects fitting together awkwardly. “Like that! And I liked it! A little too much!” He drops his chin to his chest. I want Keith to like it as much as I did. I want him to want it as much as I do. He sighs. “It’s complicated,” he finishes lamely, dropping his hands.
Hunk puts a hand on his shoulder.
Pidge breezes by. “It wouldn’t be if you just suck his dick,” she interjects, tossing a small fruit back and forth between her hands.
“What?” Lance spits the same time Hunk sputters.
“Or let him suck yours,” she amends with a shrug, biting into purple and green flesh. It’s kind of off-putting.
“You’re horrible,” Lance says as he turns on his heel.
“No, I’m Pidge!” she yells at his back. “But, also, more importantly, I’m right!”
Which she isn’t (she is), but at least Hunk is forcing him in the right direction about the whole talking it out thing, (and maybe Lance has been influenced by those doe eyes yet again) so Lance trudges down the hall to stand awkwardly outside the training room where he can hear Keith grunting and smacking and breaking the ever-living-shit out of several training bots.
He waits five minutes, ten. Long enough that he thinks Keith should be wrapping up. He ventures inside after he realizes that Keith’s not going to come out. He finds Keith shiny from perspiration and red high up on his cheeks from the exertion. His hair is pulled back from his face in a tight bun (with Lance’s hair tie still!) and sweat rolls down his throat in a kind of very sexy way that causes Lance to have the urge to lick off but ew, no, but also, hell, yes. No, no. He has to get a firm grip. He has to get his shit together. He needs to talk to Keith and they need to deal with whatever it is that’s going on between them.
He sits down on the bench lining one side of the room, hiking his foot up to rest on a knee. He props his chin in his hand and just watches. It would be weird if he pulled out his communicator to fuck around on and just hang out in Keith’s space. It might be more weird watching, but, whatever, he's sticking to his guns.
Lance gets a little roller coaster built by a swarm of butterflies in his stomach in the ten minutes that Keith goes through the rest of his katas. There’s not enough time for a test run so Lance and his fluttering friends both might just crash and burn as he watches Keith finish a form that involves a lot of mid-air kicks and spins that are totally bad-ass and utterly devastating.
For such a hot-headed guy like Keith, he’s calm and collected as he shoulder-throws the last bot across the room where it lies in a pitiful heap.
There’s no way that Keith doesn’t know he’s there. He’s roundhouse-kicked enough times to get a three-sixty view of the room.
Keith stands from his crouch, wiping the sweat from his upper lip with the side of his wrist. It’s utilitarian and hot. It’s also infuriating that it can turn Lance on so thoroughly and so quickly.
He throws Keith a towel as he nears, and the small pack of water that was sitting on top of it. Keith catches them both easily, one after the other, and Lance's insides builds another attraction and soon his heart is the first in line for another loop-de-loop on the new ride.
“Where’d you learn those?” Lance asks, just to get the conversation started, something, anything.
Keith tilts his head, cracks open the water. The muscles engage in his forearm attractively. It’s really nothing special but the way Lance’s tongue feels swollen in his mouth makes him realize this is a New Problem that needs to Be Addressed.
“Krolia,” is all Keith offers, squeezing the pack into his open mouth like heathen.
Lance hums, jitters his knee as Keith bends his limbs, stretching, cooling down. “How is she?”
Keith twists his spine causing a bright cracking sound to erupt all down his back. His stomach muscles bunch and flex and Lance has to look away or he’s going to lose his mind and do something incredibly rash and stupid.
“She’s good,” he answers. “Helping Kolivan contact any wayward Blades,” he adds.
And really, it’s words going in one ear and out the other for him. Lance takes a second longer than needed to be part of a coherent conversation as he tries to look anywhere else but Keith and the sweat rolling down his neck and throat and the shadowed dip of his clavicle-
“Okay, what?” Keith spits, guard up, words sharp. He drops his arms, water packet crushed in his hands.
“Nothing, it’s,” and Lance swallows. He looks at that fist. He’s been hit by Keith before, tussled with him, in the early days where Lance thought he had to show out, had to roll around with him on these very same mats to prove- what did he ever need to prove to Keith? It seems all so removed now with how his dick only sees these things as interesting plot points that’s been building up to this weird mano a mano that might just happen-
And now he’s thinking if Keith would pin him down- if he pinned Keith down- how that would play out, if Keith would even let him put him in that position. The fighting and struggling and the rush and the danger of those eyes and strong hands on him-
When he pulls himself from that thought Keith has his head tilted in that alert-dog-unblinking-cat way and Lance is suddenly a small animal trapped under that gaze.
“It’s. What.” Keith asks, demands really, but his voice soft and probing, and christ, what is he supposed to do with that tone- he doesn’t know.
“I don’t know,” he finishes, pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes. Bright spots appear in the darkness and he's hurting his brain with the pressure of it.
Then there's fingers wrapping around his wrists, pulling his hands gently down and away from his face.
“I think you do,” Keith tells him matter-of-factly. He bites his lip right after, as if he's trying to trap the rest of the words in. Lance can see the way the flesh indents, just a little, with the compression of his teeth. But some escape anyway. “Is it, do we have a problem?”
“No,” Lance says, immediately. “No, we don’t- it’s not a problem, not really, well, maybe.”
Keith huffs out of his nose. “Well, which is it?” but he doesn’t sound mad. Definitely a little annoyed, but not mad. Maybe confused, maybe curious. Maybe Lance won’t spoil it if he just honestly says what he’s been kind of wanting to say for a while now.
“Look, listen, I just,” he sighs, digs the fingers of one hand into the well of his eyes. “When we were running from the guards and were,” in that closet pressed together so close I could feel your heart beating, “Stuck.” Keith blinks, cat-slow. He lifts his chin just a little, at an angle, like it’s helping him hear more, or hear better- hear what Lance is trying to say but it’s still all jumbled up- “I, you- and you slammed me up against the wall, and your thigh was, and your hand!” god, he’s not making any sense.
“My hand what?” Keith presses calmly, like he’s teasing out fine spun sugar.
“It was a little much, okay! You’re a little much!”
Keith looks up at him from under his lashes, the thick curl of them daunting and sexy and a little bit intimidating. Lance doesn't think he's ever pulled with just a lift of his lids like that, but it seems like Keith’s got the market cornered on that front- of using his fucking jet black princess lashes and glittering gem eyes to reel in some interested party-
“Did you like it?” and Lance’s danger sense is either broken, or lagging, or something, or maybe he just plain wants it, because he’s getting drawn down, like it’s nothing, hypnotized and lured like a little fish in the deep seeing a blinding light- ready- willing, to be devoured.
His brain is picking out all the small things about Keith’s person and zeroing in on them: the breaths coming out of his nose, the sweat shimmering off the crest of his forehead, the light dusting of freckles on his cheeks- how absolutely blood red the inside of his mouth is and his teeth, just under his lips, white and straight and giving Lance the vapors.
“N-no?” Lance says, but with the slow blink of Keith’s eyes, he changes his answer. “Kind of, yes, maybe, yeah.”
There’s a quiet quick huff of breath over Lance’s face, a small curl of a smile, amused and, and fond. “Which is it, Lance?”
A hot heat flushes up Lance’s throat to his face. “I don’t know! You’re just- you’re so!”
And Keith’s hand, previously fisted, previously just hanging at his side, reaches up and cups Lance at his waist, such a strange and intimate thing, felt twice now in the span just two days. Lance jumps at the touch.
Keith’s mouth is moving, slowly, or Lance is just processing it slowly because he’s paying attention to twenty things at once. “‘Just so’, what, Lance?”
Lance licks his lips, unsure- he’s always been unsure when Keith is close against him like this. “You’re so much that I don’t, I can’t,” he trails off, trying to find the words.
“You’re a big boy, you can,” Keith tells him, voice almost a purr now. “Just tell me what you want.”
He’s so close and Lance’s thoughts are a thousand miles away, so far away in fact, that it’s back in that little sardine closet on the enemy Galra base, back up against the wall with Keith wedged up against him and it’s almost like an overlapping mirror with Keith and that stupid dog-tilted-head-and-wide-eyed-cat-stare and Lance is two seconds from just grabbing his face and- and-
The training room lights dim, the auxiliary lights flare along close to the floor and start flashing Emergency Red and Lance glances around thinking that Galra are going to storm the training room right this second-
And when he looks back, Keith’s eyes are still intent on him, intense, boring into his own, and there’s such an underlying current there that it paralyzes him in place.
“We’re not done, okay?” he tells him. “I want to hear what you have to say.”
And Keith is pulling him by the hand out of the training room and it’s a little weird running down the hall like this but it sends out giddy heat tingles from where they’re touching all the way down to the soles of his feet.
“Okay,” Lance whispers in agreement, and it echoes in his head as he slides into his Paladin armor, as he gets into Red and flies out into space. It’ll probably be enough time, at least some, to marshal his thoughts into some sort of order.
Okay he had said, anticipating Okay as Later, but it’s like the universe is either sending him a big fuck you or it could be telling them to hurry up and get their shit together, because on another mission on another enemy ship, they somehow end up back in a closet because they had to run from a whole fleet of guards. At least this time it was Keith's fault for alerting them by throwing one onto the alarm button. Irony.
And Lance can arguably say that this situation that they’re in now is better worse- much better worse than the first time, because this closet is even smaller (how) but now he’s pressed up to Keith’s back, the soft give of his ass fitting right into the cradle of his pelvis.
They have a moment of stillness, listening to the sounds of booted feet outside the door.
Two minutes become three, three turn into five, and Lance starts to relax his muscles because it seems like the coast is clear.
But it drives home the fact that Keith is also relaxing, is also coming down from being up on his toes, an almost tear inducing parody of how Lance had struggled imitating a ballerina that time before, and snugs close to Lance’s suddenly very interested dick and he really, really, really needs to cut that part of his brain out, or maybe have Pidge put some kind of microchip in his head so that whenever he starts to get Dangerous Thoughts in Dangerous SItuations, he’ll get shocked back to reality.
Maria, please, help your child because he is suffering…
Until… he really isn’t?
Keith is breathing a little harder than strictly necessary. It's not like they ran a marathon and his huffs are warranted, but the switch in Lance's brain flips all the way on and he shoves forward, shoves Keith into the wall, pressing against the thick, shapely thighs that could probably crush his head like a watermelon-
“Lance,” Keith whisper-warns, sharp and quiet and thrilling.
“Shh, they’ll hear,” he murmurs back.
“Then quit-”
And Lance fits his hand around Keith's jaw, feeling around for his mouth, slotting his palm over Keith’s lips, effectively shutting him up.
It’s a complete switch from the first time and it’s not lost on him.
There’s a grunt and a huff against the back of Lance's fingers and Keith sort of bends at the waist within whatever give this closet will allow, and really, who is designing these war ships-
“Can you get off like this?”
Keith shakes his head a wild no, but Lance thinks he can so he slides his free hand over the curve of Keith’s waist, the cut of his hip, squeezes at the joint, and holds him there. The Paladin suit doesn’t allow him to touch all that well at what he really wants to, but the spaces between the armor give him free reign over the flight suit, Keith’s skin hot right underneath.
Keith squirms against him; the only give in the space is up onto his toes, and Lance’s cock grows to being almost full.
Keith shakes his mouth loose, hair filling Lance’s mouth again, sweat and adrenaline and the sharp, bright smell of industrial soap.
“I’m gonna-”
“Yeah?”
“Stop grinding on me-”
“You’re the one doing it, sweetheart-”
A hitch in his breath and Keith keeps circling his hips.
“Lance, please-”
There’s the heavy thud thud thud of boots on the floor and a frisson of heat rips down his spine. Lance grunts, buries his face at Keith’s nape, his forehead bashing against the hard polymer of the suit. “Jesus fuck.”
That brings him back from the edge, just a little, and he stills his hips. Brings Keith to him.
“I want you naked when we get back to the castle,” he murmurs against Keith’s skin. “Let’s get off together, okay?”
“Yeah, yes. Okay,” and Keith is turning in his arms, the warmth of his ass getting replaced by the absolute furnace of his crotch and Lance nearly does come on the spot from the mere thought of it.
Keith’s eyes are glittering in the semi-dim light that the suits give off, can almost make out his expression. He leans just a little forward and Keith’s eyes start to lid, start to droop, his lips parting and Lance can see the shiny insides of his mouth-
There’s a knock on the door.
“Uh, guys, it’s safe to come out, now,” and it’s Hunk, thank christ, and not Pidge who would have screeched the entire sector down in disgust and teasing, and Lance would never be able to live that down. “I’m going to open the door?”
And there's a second more of hesitation and the door cracks open, then a little more boldly as Hunk peers around the edge of the frame.
He looks at them skeptically. “Did you guys talk? Or... something?” and his eyes jump to Keith's hand on his waist.
“Or something,” Lance tells him, stepping out into the hall first.
The flight back from the enemy ship is normal, but Keith wastes no time when they’re in the hangar, snagging Lance by the elbow and hauling him down the corridor towards the sleeping quarters.
“Debrief later, stay away from the dorms,” he half-growls at Shiro as they pass, and Lance will actually die of mortification. He gives a little apologetic bow to Shiro as Keith almost yanks his arm from his shoulder socket as they walk.
They're going to Keith’s room, the left one, third down the line, and Lance is panicked because Keith is holding onto his arm so hard that he knows there’ll be a bruise and he doesn’t want any sort of space police getting called on for some domestic.
Keith slams his palm against the keypad, the lock flashing a bright blue and the door whooshes up to allow them in and Lance has a second to realize, oh shit, oh no, and he’s being hauled into the lion’s den.
It’s clean, as a boy’s room would go, lived in but messy- and that’s really the only impression Lance gets as he’s getting pushed up against the door that’s only just closed, his back hitting the metal with no-such-delicate force, the wind getting knocked out of his lungs.
“Keith, woah, man-”
And it's like they're back in that little closet on the enemy ship, but definitely not like that at all because this space smells wholly of Keith, not of dust or their sweat-induced fear, no, it’s Keith settled into everything, sweet and familiar. Something homey, too dangerous and familiar that, for a moment, makes Lance weak in the knees.
And there’s a bed, too, another stark difference, not even two feet to his left.
He can’t register it, not really. Only in the vague sort of way because it’s a room, but Keith has the grip of life on him, distracting, as his fingers dig into one of the crevices of the paladin armor, and, and-
And he’s kissing him, fiercely, sucking on his bottom lip, tongue on his teeth like a man starved and Lance is having a hard time rubbing two brain cells together to form a coherent thought other than ‘Good’, ‘Mouth’, ‘Wet’, and ‘This is insane’.
Keith mewls and it knifes heat right though his gut. Lance grunts into the shared space between their mouths as Keith squirms, rolls his hips, hands everywhere and he just won’t stay fucking still-
Lance flips them, pushes Keith into the wall and Keith moans, loud and long, spreading his legs to allow Lance between them, gives a little hop to wrap his legs around Lance’s waist and Lance either needs to get the fuck with it and balance out the weight or tumble them both to the floor. He doesn’t think Keith can get any tighter against him, but he’s wrong, so wrong, as Keith squeezes with his thighs and knees, hooking his ankles together around the small of Lance’s back, and hell-ooo; that’s the closest he’s been to Keith’s cock, the apex of his thighs scorching.
“Bed,” Keith manages between his teeth and lips against Lance’s.
Lance nods, shivers, hoists them around.
And Keith’s not… heavy-heavy, but he’s still a full-grown man, almost as tall as Lance himself, and he’s distracting as much as Lance is distracted, his dick so hard he could break rocks, but the way Keith bounces on the mattress as he lands and fucking giggles is more than worth almost tripping over his own feet.
“Off, hurry, I want, you’re so,” Keith pants as he pulls at the latches of Lance’s chest plate, the armor coming loose with a hiss. Keith yanks at it, the heavy polymer clacking against his gauntlets. It gets dropped to the floor with a loud clunk.
There's a brief moment where Lance wants to tease Keith, to say “so what” in retaliation for their tête-a-tête earlier in the training room, but Keith is so hot and squirmy and right there, that Lance’s thoughts are getting too knocked about, his own sentences starting and stopping on a dime that, really, he’s in the same boat.
He has enough of a mind to get his fingers around the tab at his throat to pull down the zipper. Keith’s hands, already sneaking inside, slides across his chest, pushing the fabric aside.
Keith puts his mouth to the skin of Lance’s jaw, breath sweet and hot and as Lance is starting to find out, addictive. “God,” he breathes out, fingers brushing over a nipple, “Your skin,” stinging suction at his throat as Keith nips down and over and around.
Lance grunts, gets the rest of his flight suit off his shoulders to pool around his waist. Keith’s still too over dressed, and Lance makes quick work of Keith’s own zipper but he’s unable to push the fabric aside with the leverage he’s got. The dark trail of hair under Keith’s navel knocks away too many neurons loose and Lance can only stare at it, the way it whorls and shoots an arrow straight down like a sign: ‘Past here is the point of no return.’
“You gonna do something, or just stare all day, Lover Boy?”
Lance licks his lips, clears his throat. “You, uh, is this too fast? Are we going to?”
Keith lifts himself up on his elbows. He’s… lovely, really. There’s no other word: pale from throat to stomach, and pretty pink nipples that are raised to sharp peaks from exposure.
If this is Lance's first (and hopefully not, last) time looking at Keith’s almost naked body, he’d be a little embarrassed by how much he thinks he’s starting to like looking at it.
“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he says.
“But you want to?”
Keith wets the plump jut of his bottom lip. “Yeah, but,” and his breathing is rather shallow, but it’s starting to even out. “You look like you’re freaking out.”
“I’m not!”
Keith gives him a disbelieving look.
“I mean, okay, maybe, a little, maybe-” and somehow Keith’s hand, broad but slender, touches at his waist. It’s grounding. “You’re just,” but he can’t finish. Again. Keith just has a way of pushing out all the words in his head because he takes up the whole of it.
“Just?”
“Just you’re like, really hot, okay, like really. It’s kind of- you just fuck me up! And it’s like, you’re like, the first person I like that I’m seeing like this and doing this with and I want it to mean something other than some flash in the pan,” and Keith mouths flash in the pan, “Yes! A quick fuck, a one-time only deal, or whatever you wanna call it! And I just want you to look at me sometimes, you know, and you’re just-”
Keith takes Lance’s wrist, places it against the dip in his sternum.
Keith’s heart is thundering.
“You’re “just”, too, you know,” he says softly and there’s so much packed into those words that Lance kind of feels his muscles weakening in relief.
It’s a heady thing, the thumpthumpTHUD of Keith’s heart under his palm, their sweaty skin touching, the smell of metal polish and woodsmoke, and, slowly, amazingly, he’s starting to smell a little like Lance, too.
Keith leans up and presses his mouth to Lance’s- sweet and lush, and Lance groans, falls on top of Keith, hands in his hair, against his neck, touching him wherever he can, and Keith responds in kind; cupping his shoulder blades, trailing fingertips down the dip of his spine, gripping the globes of his ass under the confining fabric of the flight suit.
“Off,” Keith murmurs between their mashed together lips, pushing as much as he can with how Lance is pinning him down.
Lance rolls to the side and they start the painful process of wiggling unsexily against the bed to get the rest of their suits off but it's worth it to fully see the long expanse from Keith's throat to this navel, to the dark hair right under it, around the hard length of his cock, dusky-pink and curved and standing straight up, rosy at the tip and glistening with a small bead of pre-come.
His mouth floods with saliva and he leans over and rubs the flat pane of his tongue against the slit, licking up that salty-sweet taste.
Keith grunts, a short guttural sound and it slithers straight down Lance’s spine. Makes him want to keep going, to take the head past his lips, tongue flat along the underside, half-way, all the way, until his nose is right up against the flat plane of Keith’s heaving belly.
“Lance- oh, fuck, fuck,” and Keith twists, curls, brings his knees up, and Lance has just enough wherewithal to pin his hip down and push him back into the mattress. He works Keith over, bobs his head, reaches up and twists his hand down the shaft. He slurps, sucking up his own thick saliva- “Jesus fuck!” and Keith comes, suddenly, hot and bitter and good, cock pulsing in Lance’s hand hard.
Lance pulls back with a soft lick.
“Christ, sorry,” Keith pants.
Lance smirks as he inches back up the mattress to lie next to Keith. He rolls his hips a little against Keith’s side. “Why are you sorry?”
“Didn’t get to warn you,” he pants. He’s got his arm thrown over his face but Lance can see his cheeks cutely flushed.
“I’ll attribute it to my skills,” he says, petting at Keith’s chest. He has hair around his nipples and down the center of his sternum but little else.
“Mmm,” and Keith is rolling towards him, rolling Lance onto his back and he shimmies against the mattress to lay more in the center so Keith's knees can bracket his waist. “You up for a little more work?” Keith asks, licking his lips as he reaches up and pulls his hair back to put into a little bun at the top of his head. Lance shivers as he watches him.
“What do you have in mind?”
“Open me up and I’ll ride you,” he says, tone matter of fact, but Lance’s cock throbs at the thought.
“Putting out on a first date?”
“You haven't even bought me a drink,” but mouth is playfully curved.
“Later,” he says. “Ill get you whatever you want, mami,” and Keith’s eyes bloom black. “Yeah? Get you nice and fucked up and run you into the mattress?”
“Yeah- yes,” Keith moans, leaning over and reaching into the small drawer in the nightstand. The muscles right above his ribs stand out like a fucking marble statue’s, and Lance devours the sight of his shoulder and forearm flexing. Keith’s cock is half-hard and getting harder and Lance helps it along by wrapping a hand around it, giving it a little squeeze and pull. It’s still a little tacky from his mouth, but soon, a small drop of precome eases from the slit and he swirls his thumb against it, chalks the head, spreads it around.
“I’ll give it to you however you like, Keith,” he murmurs.
Keith grabs his wrist and pours lube over his fingers. It’s pink and glittery and smells like roses. “Hard,” and he’s guiding Lance's hand back, slotting them up against his hole. It’s small and dry and it flexes as Lance touches it.
“What if i wanted to give it to you soft and slow, huh?” and he's pressing up with the tip of one finger, gently easing in. “Fuck you deep.” He moves it around gently. “I won’t even pull out all that far,” slides all the way to the knuckle, pulls back slowly, mimicking what he wants to do.
“Lance,” and Lance can see that Keith’s blood flushes all the way to his chest. His nipples are hard and the cut of his abdominals appear on every exhale. “I-” He looks torn, piqued at the new thought put in his head.
“I know, I know,” he says, pushing another finger in, this time quick and dirty, and Keith gasps, jerks his hips, and a string of precome lands on Lance’s stomach, long and gossamer. “Later, I’ll give that to you later, yeah?” and he spears his two fingers deep, slicking him up. Keith is so hot inside, walls softening the longer he fingers him.
“Come on,” Keith pants. He’s fully hard again and he rings the base of his own cock, gives it one, tight pull, forearm flexing as he squeezes and twists. Lets go.
Lance smooths his hands over Keith’s hips and thighs. “Put it in,” he urges, planting his feet.
Keith’s hand wraps around him, thumb pressed up under the head to give it support as he nudges it against his hole, as it breaches past one ring, then the other, and Keith’s long sigh as his body tightens- as it loosens- as he shifts his knees wider and sinks inexorably downwards. “Fuck, fuck,” he moans, tipping his head back. It throws his chest and throat in stark relief, the smooth curves and sharp ridges of his body as it expands and collapses as he pants.
“Yeah, god- mami, you’re so fucking hot Keith.”
He’s just this side of tight, and Lance fights every horny instinct to fuck up into him.
But-
“Do it,” and Keith grinds his hips against Lance’s.
“Keith-”
“Please!”
And Lance is digging his nails into the thick flesh at Keith’s flank, holding him still as he rolls his hips down then straight up, the hard smack of their skin loud and startling like a gunshot- until Keith moans, long and sounding like a wounded animal-
“Are you-”
“’m good,” and he’s bracing his hands on either side of Lance’s head, “Again,” bearing down, thighs tense and bulging, and god Lance is going to die between them-
“Wha, what happened to,” he pants, licking sweat off his upper lip, “To riding me?” hands sliding up Keith’s back, the sweaty furrow of his spine, up, into the hair at the base of his neck. Grips the tense line of his nape between his thumb and fingers.
Keith’s eyes blaze, but he’s pinned by Lance’s arms around him, only able to take the hard snap of his hips. Keith leans down and kisses him, lips and chin and cheeks, bites at the skin under his jaw, sucking a hot bruise at the side of his neck.
Lance grunts when Keith squeezes, and that stupid dog-head-tilt-and-wide-eyed-cat-gaze is back- Keith squeezes again, again, fucking again, milking Lance’s cock, pulling Lance’s orgasm close to the surface. Keith bites at his ear, pulls at it with his teeth and Lance shudders, his skin breaking out in goosebumps all over. “Come, come in me,” he says, “Fuck it all into me.”
And Lance moans, his balls drawing up, and Keith squeezes at him one more time- bears down, and Lance can feel the tense pressure of Keith’s body, a soft hot thing for him to use up, and Lance groans as he comes, slow and heavy and hard-
His hands slacken from Keith’s hair, arms dropping like overcooked noodles.
“Now,” Keith says, licking the sweat from his upper lip, and all of Lance’s danger senses are going off as Keith sits up, hands on Lance’s shoulders, and lifts his hips to slam back down- and this, this was the mistake of challenging Keith, sees it in the fire burning in his eyes as he watches Lance from above, as he fucks himself on Lance’s spent but still hard cock, his hole wet and hot and so good, so good that it hurts-
Pain and pleasure twist up together and christ fucking almighty in heaven-
“Keith! Ah- fuck!”
Keith smirks at him, riding him hard, a man possessed, color high on his cheeks, his eyes two black holes that Lance is falling into forever-
“Give it to me- I want it,” Keith demands. “I want you,” he whispers, lover soft.
Lance grips Keith's wrists, lifts and pulls and twines their fingers together, and Keith smiles kindly at him, pulls their joined hands above Lances head. Slows, but fucks against him hard. The heavy thwap against the tops of Lances thighs is the most sweetest torture.
“I’m going to come, Keith, please, fuck, fuck, ugh-”
And it hurts. It hurts. And it’s perfect.
His body pulls itself taut, and he grips at Keith’s hands like its his only lifeline. It’s getting to be too much- his nipples are tight, the skin of his pelvis is burning, and Keith rides him without slowing.
A sob rips from Lance’s throat and a tear cuts down from the corner of his eye.
“Yes, fuck, yes, baby-” and Keith leans that much closer, lips pressing against the round of his cheek, kissing away the salt, and another tear escapes his other eye. He can’t wipe them away, his hands too occupied with just fucking holding on.
Keith whines, puts his mouth against Lance’s, doesn’t have any braincells left to kiss him properly as Keith shoots up the crease of Lance’s abs, thin but enough to make a mess. His hole flutters, a soft, rippling motion, and Lance’s whole body jerks, legs straightening out on the mattress, heels burning from the sudden friction against the sheets. He manages to grab at Keith’s waist, to hold him still, as he scrapes his nails down Keith’s side to grip at his hips. He hiccups. Sobs. Fucks into Keith wildly. There’s almost no air in his lungs as it gets punched out of him with the force of his coming for the second time, coming from a deeper place within, turned inside out, the softest part exposed for Keith and Keith alone.
“Good,” Keith murmurs, lips sloppily rubbing against Lance’s. “That’s it, like that.”
Lance whimpers into his mouth. “Don’t move,” he pants, gritting his teeth as Keith rocks against him. “Mierda.”
Keith’s bangs are in his face, fallen away from the tie that started it all. Lance brushes his hair back, tucks the strands behind Keith’s ears. His fingers drunkenly trace over Keith’s face, petting at his fuzzy eyebrows and the ticklish tips of his eyelashes, down the heated skin of his cheek. Keith nips at his fingertips when they stray close to his mouth.
Keith gets to his knees, gingerly putting his weight onto Lance’s lap. Lance rubs at Keith’s thighs, feeling him up and appreciating the firm muscle. “Nice,” he has to say.
Keith smiles at him, huffing out a laugh from his nose. “Gonna move,” he warns, before slowly lifting up and off and away to the side where he collapses in a heap next to Lance. He lifts his arm and tucks Keith against him, hair getting in his mouth, sticky cock pressed against his hip. Keith throws his arm around Lance’s waist, fingers stroking the skin back and forth with his knuckles.
“Just so you know, we can’t fuck like that every time,” Lance tells him, twirling a strand of Keith’s hair around his finger. “Even the air is hurting my dick.”
Keith snorts. “How romantic,” and he rubs the hard tip of his nose against Lance’s shoulder.
“Tuesdays and bank holidays are good.”
Keith bites his pec. “Oh, are they, now?”
“Or every other weekend,” he says as he pinches Keith’s cheek.
“Hmm, might have to clear out my schedule for that,” Keith says. He sounds tired, sounds like he’s ready for a nap. Lance can get on board with that.
He rubs his lips against Keith’s forehead. “Why? You got other hot guys lined up to fuck?”
Keith sits up on an elbow, head tilted and eyes half-shuttered, all animal instinct, staring down at him. The sweep of his lashes over his cheeks are beautiful.
“No,” and he reaches down and gently cups Lance’s cock, tugs at his sac. He tucks his hand against the crease of Lance's leg, under his thigh- pulls up, drapes the crook of Lance’s knee over his own hip and ignores Lance's pleading Keith as he curiously touches at his hole with one finger.
Impossibly, Lance starts to get hard again.
“Just you,” he says, and Keith leans down to whisper in Lance’s ear. “It’s always been just you.”