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Lance was going to kill Keith.
That was his only option at this point. He was being driven to the brink of insanity. Sure, Keith has always had an innate ability to worm his way under Lance’s skin and throw a party all over his nerves. Ridiculously, he had also been making Lance’s neck feel warm and his boxers a little too tight since they were in the Garrison.
But it was fine. Until the whole ‘Keith is part Galra' thing. Then it wasn’t fine at all. It brought Lance a whole new set of problems wrapped in a great big fluffy purple bow. Or, one problem. His stupid, useless, unhelpful dick.
Lance had been under the impression that regular, grumbling, human Keith did it for him. With his dumb muscles and infuriatingly perfect face. Who actually needed a jaw that sharp? Don't even get him started on Keith’s hands. Rough and calloused with thick knuckles and fingers long enough to keep Lance up at night, stuffed full of his own and aching for more. He kept telling himself it was fine, he’d figured out how to dance the ‘kinda friends and sorta rivals’ thing, and everything had been under control, really.
Until it really wasn’t.
Keith didn’t change all at once. It started with food. He went from poking and sourly grimacing at his food during shared meals to eating seconds, thirds, and even fourths. Keith was insatiable, going so far as to lick his bowls and utensils clean, which did Lance absolutely no favors. Hunk seemed to think nothing of it while he slopped more protein-based food-goo onto Keith's plate.
Lance began to dread sparring or coming back from a mission, knowing he would be subjected to Keith somehow being more indecent with his dinner.
And that was fine. He could totally deal with watching Keith’s tongue dart past his lips to lap up nonexistent traces of flavorless goo. But then his appetite manifested itself in some kind of Galran growth spurt.
Lance had always been just enough taller than Keith for him to carry a sense of superiority about it. He was going to have to find something else to feel important about, since Keith shot up almost two feet over the course of a few movements.
Unfortunately for Lance, the growth spurt was a little more than proportional.
The taller he got, the more he filled out his uniform. Thick cords of muscle that hid undeniable strength taunted Lance. The fabric of his bodysuit stretched to its capacity in a sight that could only be described as obscene. Lance would almost rather him actually be naked than be exposed to the insultingly mouthwatering swell and ripple of Keith’s body through the almost threadbare material.
It left nothing to the imagination, and his wrists ached from sleepless nights of abusing his poor cock to the thought of Keith, Keith, Keith. Needless to say, he had thanked every space deity he could think of when Allura insisted he needed a more accommodating uniform.
Lance finally felt like he could breathe around the red paladin. That didn't last long.
Blotches of purple started to spread over Keith’s skin. Lance felt the urge to lick them, wondering if he tasted any different. Not that Lance had ever been able to taste Keith, but a man can dream. The ears were cute, cat-like, the way they twitched and flicked around. The tail was too, seeming to have a mind of its own, lightly curling around people or objects in its vicinity. Lance had decided it was in his best interest not to say the ‘cute’ part out loud.
He almost wished Keith’s eyes growing sharper and gaining that signature glowing yellow unsettled him for longer than a varga.
Fantasies of laving his tongue along hard muscle were thrown out of the window when Keith sprouted fur everywhere. They were quickly replaced with images of him being split open on Keith’s cock and leaning into what he imagined was a soft and warm chest. Panting and drooling into the fur that would tickle his face, Keith's now ridiculously large hands grabbing his hips in a bruising grip and using barely any strength to work Lance back onto his dick.
That was his limit. Lance had stupidly assumed there was no possible way he could handle anything else that Keith’s newfound biology dangled in front of his face. Right?
Wrong. Keith’s voice had already been weakening his knees for years. But now it was on a different level. Lance didn't think it had gotten any deeper, but there was a growling rumble that seemed to accompany it shortly after the fur came in. Everything Keith said seemed to come creeping from the bottom of his chest and roll over Lance’s skin in tingling waves. He wondered if any Galran characteristics extended below the belt, too. His mind ran wild with possibilities, each one driving Lance closer to insanity.
He came to the conclusion that he was going to either kill Keith or himself while his cheek was pressed against the cool, metal-like substance of the training deck floor. He’s getting used to Keith winning their sparring matches lately; he would even consider his face and the floor on the way to becoming great friends.
What he isn’t used to is the sheer weight of the red paladin on top of him. Or the pure heat that’s radiating from Keith’s body, pinning Lance’s hips with his own and his hand holding one of Lance’s wrists behind his back, serving as a sick reminder of why his limbs are so stiff.
“That all you got?” Keith leans down to huff into his ear. Lance swears that the warm and damp puff of air against his neck has nothing to do with his heavy breathing and hammering pulse.
Lance closes his eyes and lets out a long exhale. He does not take a longer inhale to catch a whiff of sweaty, worked-up half-Galra. He can do this. He’s suffered for too long in close proximity to his wet dreams to break now.
“Shut the fuck up, mullet-brain,” he bites back.
Trying to ignore the heat pooling in his lower belly, Lance shoves the elbow from his free arm into Keith’s stomach. Or, attempts to anyway, only meeting dense planes of muscle and promptly losing mobility in his arm for his troubles. Keith grabs both of his wrists in one coarse palm and presses them firmly into his lower back.
“At least I use my brain.” A fresh wave of heat coils through Lance’s stomach before his pride is pushed past its limit, hurling curses at Keith and trying to squirm out of his grip with no success
Okay. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Deep breaths-
A wet schlick sound interrupts his pathetic reassurances. Quicker than Lance can process, Keith is lurching away from him and scrambling out of the room with wide eyes and a hand over the lower half of his face. Leaving Lance lying facedown on the floor, blinking in shock and achingly hard. Were those claws? What the fuck was that?
…
Lance definitely doesn’t think about it. Keith Kogane and his freaky alien puberty be damned, he does not think about the way he’d been effortlessly held down or how that makes him feel.
He does notice that Keith is avoiding him. Clipped responses during missions, turning his heel and bolting away the second he lays eyes on Lance in the castle halls, and even missing team dinners. They haven’t even sparred together since that day.
When Keith can’t avoid Lance, he seems to be allergic to eye contact, and his mouth gets all pinched like he was sucking on a lemon. Which really wasn’t even fair. For a while, Lance thought they’d been building a solid relationship, leaning more towards kinda friends than sorta rivals. Now, he was stuck trying not to ogle Keith and tiptoeing on eggshells around him.
Obviously, Shiro noticed, throwing pointed looks and raised eyebrows at them. It didn’t take long for everyone else to realize something was wrong between the two of them.
Which is how Lance finds himself cornered in the kitchen by a wide-eyed Hunk and smirking Pidge.
“So, what did you do to Keith to make him sulk around like you killed his puppy?” asks Pidge with a wicked glint in their eyes. Lance throws up his hands in disbelief.
“What did I do? Why is it my fault?” Lance sputters incredulously. Hunk fixes him with a look that says, ‘you’re the one pushing his buttons all the time,’ which wasn’t fair. Keith was the one who had it out for him.
“Buddy, we can all see the way you’ve been looking at him,” said Hunk. Unwillingly, Lance feels heat creep up his neck, which makes Pidge cackle.
“I haven’t been looking at him like anything!” he insists, crossing his arms and ignoring the way his ears burn.
“Riiiight. That’s why you look like a tomato threw up on your face, and you won’t make eye contact with us,” remarks Pidge, looking him up and down, voice dripping with sarcasm.
”Whatever. Just apologize. This is worse than you eye-fucking each other,” Pidge rolls their eyes at Lance and grabs for Hunk’s sleeve to lead him to who knows where, leaving Lance open-mouthed and gripping the edge of the counter for some semblance of security.
Eye-fucking each other?
…
Lance has accepted it’s not fine. And that’s okay. He’s come to terms with his borderline obsessive attraction to Keith and the fact that the whole team, even Coran, seems to be aware of it, judging by the looks everyone's been shooting both of them for a movement. What he still doesn’t want to admit out loud is that it isn’t all he feels for Keith. Hasn’t been for a long time.
He’s not sure when infatuation turned into Lance being head over heels for Keith. Maybe it started when he noticed that Keith had one dimple on his left cheek when he really, truly smiles. It could’ve been the first time Keith hugged him, slamming into his body with a victorious whoop and crushing embrace when they saved their first planet, or when Keith got caught on an infiltration mission, and his comms went dead in the middle of a report. Lance had lost it, breaching protocol and leaving formation to rush to the nearby Drule ship.
Shaking his head in exasperation, Lance accepts defeat and decides a nice, warm bath would be an acceptable consolation prize.
He plans to luxuriate in the strangely moisturizing Altean water, then pluck up the balls to apologize to Keith. For what, he still has no idea, but Keith is an itch under his skin he can't quite seem to scratch and doesn’t plan to ignore, even if he could.
Maybe Pidge and Hunk were right, maybe Lance at least had a chance at being bent over and stuck on Keith’s cock. He shivers at the idea of what Keith’s dick might look like now.
Pushing his thoughts aside, he makes his way to the communal bath house, his own tub looking like a water bottle cap in comparison to the vast, faintly glowing pools of water it housed. A robe tied tightly around his waist is all he wears, expecting to be alone.
But he’s not.
And those were definitely claws he caught a glimpse of on the training deck. Claws attached to thick fingers that were wrapped around Keith’s cock, tugging furious strokes from root to tip. His head is thrown back, eyes squeezed shut tightly, and his lower lip sucked in between his teeth, his ears and tail fluttering with no apparent destination.
Lance freezes and almost drops his- expensive, mind you- shampoo. The sound of cascading water falling from reservoirs in the ceiling and the blood rushing in his ears is all he can hear, but he can imagine the slick sounds coming from Keith’s ministrations. It has to sound wet and sloppy, based on the way his tip is steadily leaking a thin, sticky substance. What the fuck.
Lance supposes he doesn’t have to imagine just how Galran Keith’s cock is anymore. What he assumes is a Galran dick anyway, humans don’t really tend to have fleshy tendrils covering their urethra. Three of them, to be exact, twitching open and closing to a triangular point around the head. His cock was flushed a dark, painful-looking purple, and the base of it seemed to grow thicker with each passing tick.
Lance draws in a sharp, choked breath, and Keith’s eyes snap open and towards him. He probably looks as much of a mess as Keith does right now; he knows he’s hard. He can feel the flush on his own body, breath coming hard, dripping sweat that has nothing to do with the almost too warm water of the bath house.
His head feels fuzzy, like he’s drunk with lust, and he's about to stutter out an apology and run with his proverbial tail between his legs. Except Keith is stalking towards him like the predator he apparently is now, eyes narrowed into slits. The closer he gets, the more Lance can't seem to make himself move.
“Keith, buddy, man, I’m sorry–I didn’t–I just wanted to-” he’s abruptly cut off when Keith is face to face with him, close enough that Lance swears he smells something sweet, thick, and heady like honey sliding down his throat.
A deep rumbling starts from Keith’s chest, sliding over his body and impossibly making more blood rush to Lance’s dick.
“What. Are. You. Doing. Here,” he says, like he has to pull his voice out of his esophagus, ragged and a little garbled. Lance's eyes flick down against his will and find that Keith is still oozing shiny liquid from his tip, slowly accumulating a small puddle on the blue tile beneath them. He rips them back up, turning his head and not meeting Keith’s burning gaze.
“I was gonna- well, I was going to take a bath, y’know, in the communal bath house, but, I mean–I was gonna say sorry.” Lance hangs his head and pointedly does not look at Keith’s mouth-watering cock. His words seem to snap Keith out of whatever haze he was in, his eyes growing wide and his hand darting out to grab Lance’s arm, then tearing it away like he’d been stung.
“You don’t need to say sorry. It’s not your fault I’m like,” he intones, gesturing in a wide motion to his body, “this.” Keith punctuates his statement with a huff, shaking his head and taking a step back from Lance. “Listen, man, I get it if you don’t wanna see me around anymore. I know I make you uncomfortable now.”
Lance is almost too distracted by the internal battle he’s having with himself over not looking at Keith’s mouthwatering cock to catch what’s being said to him. When he does, he blanches, eyebrows shooting up against his will. An incredulous laugh leaps out of his throat, and before he knows it, he's doubled over and wheezing. Which is apparently the wrong move, when he regains his composure, Keith is looking anywhere but him, his face flushed the same color as his dick.
He’s still hard, still leaking, and Lance finds his mouth pooling with saliva as that smell steadily grows stronger.
Right. Ogling the friend who’s been avoiding him for a movement is decidedly not how he’s going to repair whatever is going on between them. He swallows the lump in his throat and decides it's now or never. What can he really lose at this point? If Keith is disgusted with him, never wants to see him again, he can live with that. Probably. What he can’t accept is Keith, the man of his dreams, secretly sensitive and shockingly thoughtful Keith, thinking he makes Lance uncomfortable.
“I don't know why you think you can tell me how I feel, but you don’t make me uncomfortable. If anything, you should never want to see me again.”
“Don’t lie to me, Lance. I can smell it on you,” he spits, ears flicking back against his head and tail pulling taut to his body. “I can’t get close to you without being punched in the face with it.”
Lance is in disbelief; surely, Keith can see the obvious tent in his robe. There’s no way he can’t notice the labored breaths Lance is desperately pulling into his lungs. He waves his arms in front of Keith’s face, getting a grimace for his trouble.
“You turn me on, dick for brains,” he says, pointedly motioning to the unmistakable lump barely concealed by silken fabric. “That’s what you've been smelling.
Keith’s reaction is instantaneous, crowding Lance against the cool tile behind him and glaring down at him. “It’s not fucking funny, you know how I feel about you,” he growls. Actually growls at him, which shouldn't send sparks down his spine, but it does.
“Yeah, dude, you made that pretty fucking clear while avoiding me this whole movement,” he says bitterly, feeling the lump reform in his throat.
It’s Keith’s turn to blanch, moving to place a hand on Lance’s arm that he doesn't remove this time. It’s grounding in a way Lance won’t admit, his anger fizzling out with the contact. “I thought we were friends, Keith. If you hate me that much, just tell me now so I can tell Allura she needs a new pilot for Blue.”
Keith’s grip on him tightens, his other hand- the hand that had just been wrapped around his cock, oh fuck— finds its place on Lance’s shoulder. “I don’t hate you, Lance. It’s pretty hard to hate the—,” he cuts himself off, voice low and hushed, before he shakes his head and drops his hands from Lance’s body. “You don't have to try to make me feel better, I can literally smell your emotions.”
He scoffs, offended and irritated with the stupidly sexy alien-man in front of him. “Oh, yeah? How about you feel them instead since you can't seem to wrap your stupid head around the fact that I want you.” He grabs for the hand lying limply at Keith’s side and brings it to cup his own aching cock.
“Fuck,” Keith groans.
A startled gasp shakes loose from his chest when Keith squeezes his palm around Lance, and he can't help but jerkily rock into that unfairly huge hand. Keith’s other hand moves to clutch Lance’s hip, dragging him into a languid roll that tingles all the way up to his eyes. There’s a weird sound coming from Keith, not purring, but a deep trilling sound that had started as soon as he’d touched Lance.
Keith leans down, the rumbling noise growing louder and somehow more insistent when he begins to nose at the crook of Lance’s neck, inhaling deeply and shuddering. His hot, slick tongue darts out and licks a stripe from Lance's collarbone to his earlobe, ripping a muffled whine from deep in Keith’s sternum. All he can feel, hear, smell is Keith, and he already feels like he's falling apart at the seams.
Keith chuckles darkly, blowing hot air over the sensitive, damp skin of his neck. “I think I get it now.”
He hasn’t stopped pumping Lance’s dick in a steady rhythm, plucking little gasps and choking moans from him like he's an instrument only Keith knows how to play. He lets go of Lance, earning an indignant whine, and reaches for his own cock, dragging his hand through the liquid still dripping from it. How is that even humanly possible?
It’s not, he thinks, definitely not normal, and Keith’s not human. Apparently, it isn’t unusual for a Galra and shows no clear sign of stopping anytime soon. And then Keith is grabbing his dick, sliding over Lance in a slick, filthy pace like he hadn’t stopped, and oh—oh, shit, that’s also not normal. It’s warm, almost painfully so, spreading from his pelvis and creeping along his skin in waves that make him feel like he’s fucking melting.
Lance is so close he can taste it, feels the coil in his stomach tighten, and his body grows taut.
He’s so hot, mouth and nose full of that smoky sweet taste, sweat sliding down his temples, and if Keith flicks his wrist on the upstroke one more time—
‘BEEP. All paladins, please report to your respective hagars immediately. I repeat, all paladins, please report to your respective hagars immediately.’
They groan in unison, Keith’s head landing on Lance’s shoulder in a frustrated thump.
“Shit,” Lance says emphatically, wriggling free of Keith’s hold on him. Keith grunts in acknowledgement, flinging the remaining pre-cum like substance off his hand with a rough shake.
…
Lance is drifting somewhere between consciousness, and the heavy pull in the back of his head is telling him to just sleep. He’s vaguely aware that his body is fairly stiff and not moving as quickly as it should, which he should be bothered by, but all that cuts through the haze in his mind is the fact that he can hear Keith.
Or rather, snatches of his voice. Too loud, piercing his ears like glass, but filtering in and out. Lance is vaguely aware of his name, ‘please,’ and what almost sounds like crying. But that doesn’t really make a lot of sense. Keith doesn’t cry. At least not in front of others. He’s seen Keith’s puffy eyes rimmed in red and heard the scratch in his throat, but never any actual tears.
He can’t help himself, involuntarily coughing out a giggle and lolling his body to the side, which is met with a strange resistance. Lance cracks open his eyes, and it makes his head throb, but he blearily decides it’s worth it to look at the sight in front of him. It’s undeniably Keith’s chest, his armor discarded and tufts of that soft-looking fur poking through the collar of his undershirt.
Is he sitting on Keith’s lap? He’s vaguely aware he’s warm, and that he’s definitely perched on Keith’s thighs, each of his own legs sliding through the back of a red pilot chair. He must be imagining the hard length brushing the side of his hip; surely, Keith doesn’t have a boner while he’s crying.
Lance snorts and doesn’t have the impulse control to stop himself from reaching his fingers up to card through the inviting coat of hair in front of his face. It is soft, maybe even softer than it looks, his hand easily passing through it back and forth.
“Lance?”
He glances up and is struck by Keith’s appearance. Which isn’t unusual, but he’s never had the privilege of seeing tear tracks lining his cheeks, dampening the fur there in dark stripes. He vaguely thinks it’s a good look on Keith, even that raspy, croaking voice thick with mucus is pretty.
Lance decides there’s no way this isn’t some kind of weird wet dream perfectly tailored to his deepest desires. Lance reaches up and rubs one of those cat-like ears between his fingers, sighing out, “Pretty,” before he slumps forward on Keith’s chest and promptly passes back out.
…
This time, when he comes to, he’s falling out of a healing pod. Strangely enough, it seems like he's right back in the dream he’d just had because all he can see is Keith’s torso, faceplanting into surprisingly squishy pecs.
Flashes of bright light burn behind his eyelids, him running towards Keith with a scream bubbling out of his chest, the harsh, blunt force that had exploded from his temple and spread until he crumpled to a heap on the ground. Oh. Right.
Their rescue mission had turned out to be a trap, obtaining Keith and all his newfound Galran glory the apparent goal. Shiro, Hunk, and Pidge had separated from them in an attempt to find the nonexistent prisoners held on the ship. Lance and Keith had taken the offense, an unapparelled team, even with the tension that bled between them.
He’d noticed too late what the soldiers wanted. They had Lance swerving, ducking, and pouring sweat by the time he realized he was being intentionally distracted. Disengaging, Lance turned to see the majority of their enemies surrounding Keith, and one had an opening. They raised their arms high, aiming a bludgeoning strike to the back of Keith’s head.
The only thing he had registered before slipping into unconsciousness was a bellowing growl that felt like it shook his bones.
Lance can't find himself to be too upset about the events resulting from him charging towards them and taking the blow meant for Keith. After all, he’d been cradled in Keith’s arms for the second and third time in such short succession. Keith wasn’t captured, he was here, his unfairly large palm sliding up to cradle the back of Lance’s head. His other arm comes up to secure his hold on Lance, wrapping it around the back of his legs and holding him up with Keith’s hand landing on the outside of his thigh.
“You’re an idiot," Lance groans into the warm fur on his face, and to his astonishment, that not-quite-almost-purring noise begins rumbling from Keith’s chest, vibrating into the side of his face as Keith runs claw-tipped fingers along his scalp.
“Says the one who had to be carried out of a mission.” Lance barely has time to smack Keith’s chest in incredulous offense before Pidge interrupts, stepping out from behind the pod’s controls.
“When you two are done acting like you haven’t seen each other in years, we gotta talk about some things,” Pidge intones, their arms crossed, “Freaky alien sex things.”
Keith shuffles back slowly and loosens his grip on Lance, seemingly reluctant to let go, taking his time untangling his fingers in Lance’s hair and gently sliding him down to stand. On the way down, Lance feels a stiff, large lump skate across his abdomen. Is Keith hard? Again?
Pidge shoots Keith an unimpressed glare, rolling their eyes before pressing a few buttons on their watch. A holo-screen projects in the air above it, displaying a headline that makes Lance’s stomach drop to the floor.
‘Galran Mating Cycles - How to Best Support Your Partner’
Lance barely catches a glimpse of Keith’s face flushing before it’s covered with his hands, and he lets out a sound that would almost sound like a whimper if Lance didn’t know any better. His own mouth falls open dramatically as understanding dawns on him.
The bathhouse. The launch pad. The Red Lion-
“Turns out Galras go through mating cycles semi-regularly. They typically occur after puberty, which is basically what he’s been going through.” Pidge scrolls farther down the article, and Lance reads, ‘knot, claim, breeding lubrication,’ and something that roughly translates to ‘destiny partner.’
He feels heat creep up his neck and grows appreciation for the move Keith pulled when Pidge had presented them with the article.
“In layman's terms, you guys are basically married,” snickers Pidge.
“How did you gather that,” Lance gestures wildly between him and Keith, “from this?” He's pointing an accusatory finger at the holo-screen when Keith mumbles something into his palms before scraping them down his face to reveal the dark patches of purple high on his cheeks and ears.
“What? Just spit it out, man, I feel like I’m losing it,” Lance says with an edge in his tone that he can’t decide if it’s desperation or fear. Keith looks like he’s steeling himself, rolling his shoulders back and lifting his head higher despite the blush that is still heavily apparent across his face.
“I can’t knot until I meet my mate.”
Knot? Like a dog? He barely has enough time to register his lack of a brain-to-mouth filter before a wounded look flashes and quickly disappears from Keith’s face.
“Buddy, I didn’t mean it like–“ He doesn’t get the grace to finish his blunder of a sentence before Keith literally tucks his tail and runs.
“Great job telling the guy you’re in love with he’s basically a freak of nature,” Pidge snorts, patting his back.
Lance groans into his hands emphatically, mourning the death of any tact when it comes to Keith. You’d think years of pining would make him careful about how he presents himself in front of the man (alien?) of his dreams.
Apparently, it just makes Lance stick his foot down his own throat.
…
Lance finds himself stomping through the castle halls, disappointed with himself and irritated with Keith. He doesn’t have an exact destination, his mind running faster than he can keep up with.
His head is swirling with fragmented thoughts all boiling down to one annoyingly attractive half-Galra. Who had apparently been in rut because of Lance. Because they were mates.
Yeah, that hard lump at the base of Keith’s cock? Turns out, a knot actually was synonymous with a wedding band. Galra's mate for life, which he tries and fails to pretend he’s not ecstatic about.
As much as he’d love to put everything he learned from actually reading the article into practice, like ‘scenting’ and a ‘claiming bite,’ he knows Keith probably doesn’t want to see him after being equated to a pet.
That should not put images in his head of Keith crawling on all fours towards him, clad in only a leash with his long, dripping tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth, but it does, so sue him.
His brain can clearly only take so much information at one time because he hasn’t even fully processed everything he’d read. Surely the whole ‘mates for life’ and the ‘I can’t knot until I meet my mate’ thing meant that Keith felt the same way about him.
When he’d denied as much in front of Pidge, they must’ve met their threshold for homoerotic drama, because they had thrown up their hands in exasperation, walking away muttering about ‘stupid, hard-headed, rocks for brains dumbasses.’
Lance is starting to think they might have a point. Maybe Keith is just as hopelessly hard in the dick and mushy in the heart for Lance as he is for him.
It would explain his crushed demeanor in the bathhouse, the blind rage he’d apparently fallen into after Lance dropped like a sack of potatoes, and if Hunk was telling the truth, his refusal to let Lance’s limp body go until they got back to the castle.
Irritation falls away to longing, an ache in his heart and stomach that’s akin to hunger, the way it shreds him from the inside out. Maybe they were just as stupid and hard-headed as the green paladin, and evidently everyone else in the castle thought.
His thoughts are interrupted by a door in his face, unceremoniously smashing his nose into it. He grunts, bringing his hand up to harshly pinch the sides and tilt his head forward, hoping the blood won’t stain his clothes. He uses his other hand to lean against the offending door while he scans his surroundings.
Right. This is definitely Keith’s private quarters, his last name flashing in bright letters just above the exterior control panel to his room.
‘Lance Kogane,’ he thinks to himself. Or maybe ‘Keith McClain?’ He muses about hyphenating them and the practices of alien marriage; would they even exchange last names?
His train of thought is effectively derailed when he stumbles forward, catching himself on something firm and soft. Not again. But it is decidedly Keith’s chest he’s groping for balance.
He must not have noticed the signature whoosh and click of the metal door sliding open, too lost in thought about the man now solidly in front of him. He pushes himself up, awkwardly patting the pec under his palm before straightening.
“Hey, so, like, I’m really sorry, dude,” he says, scratching the back of his neck and looking anywhere but at Keith. Namely, the sight directly ahead of him, arms covered with thick muscle and padded with fur pushing Keith’s chest together in an insultingly mouthwatering display, sweatpants slung low on his hips.
When he's met with silence, he braves a glance at Keith's face to find him staring at Lance, eyes glazed over. Upon further inspection, he realizes Keith is huffing, chest rapidly rising and falling with the sharp intakes of each breath.
And he is most definitely not listening to a word out of Lance’s mouth.
He raises his hands in front of Keith’s face, waving them back and forth and forgetting his nose-bleed long enough that a warm trickle slides over his lips.
He’s about to open his mouth and ask Keith if he’s paying any attention, but he doesn’t get the opportunity to. He snaps his lips closed when Keith brings a finger to Lance’s face, following the trail of blood down to the bottom of his chin.
Keith seems to be in a daze, looking down at his red-stained finger before bringing it up to sniff and, oh—that is Keith’s finger slipping between his lips and pushing Lance’s blood onto his waiting tongue with a pleased growl.
It shouldn’t send a bolt of heat straight to Lance’s dick, but it does. He feels himself filling out entirely too quickly to be reasonable. To be fair, he’s never described himself as reasonable when it comes to Keith.
He must smell Lance’s arousal, whatever haze clouding Keith’s head melting away and leaving thin slits of black that lock onto Lance’s own dilating pupils.
“Mine,” he breathes, warm and moist air puffing down onto his face from where Keith stands above him.
“Yeah, mullet-brain, apparently.” Lance lets out his own huff and breaks their eye contact so something other than Keith, Keith, Keith can enter his thoughts. “Hey, I really am sorry. I don’t think you’re a dog.”
Keith blinks, shakes his head, and when their eyes meet again, the slits aren’t as thin. His cheeks begin to flush again, and he scrubs his (non-bloody) hand across them like he can push the blush back into his skin.
“It’s not your fault I’m in fucking rut,” he spits the word like it’s coating his mouth in oil. Lance frowns, his heart tugging at the obvious disdain Keith is directing towards himself.
“C’mon, man, you can’t help biology. It’s not like you wanted this,” he says, trying to loosen the tightness in Keith’s jaw. He’s met with a scoff, and Keith’s head shaking bitterly.
“I’ve always wanted this, just not when it means I’m forcing you with my fucking ‘pheromones.’” His big, fluffy ears press back against his head, and he makes finger quotes in the air like he didn’t just spin Lance’s world upside down.
“You’re an idiot, you know that? Are you literally incapable of opening your eyes? Or using your all-telling nose?” He pokes Keith in the chest, anger trickling back into his tone. “I don’t think we read the same article.”
“What are you talking about?”
There's an almost hopeful tinge to Keith’s voice, and Lance would strangle him if the urge to kiss him didn't overpower it.
“You can’t force me to do anything. And your pheromones damn sure can’t either,” he says, marking his statement with another sharp prod to Keith’s chest.
“Dude.”
“Dude!” Lance throws up his hands.
“That’s what gave you a boner. It didn’t happen until they were released.” Lance feels like his eyes are going to bug out of his head. Why is his type emo morons with mullets?
“It didn’t happen until you stuck your bloody ass finger in your mouth!” Lance shouts. “It was hot, okay?”
“Hot?” Keith mumbles.
Lance closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He must need to spell it out for Keith to listen to him.
“We wouldn’t even be mates if I wasn’t in love with you too,” Lance bites between clenched teeth. “The article said-“ he’s abruptly cut off by lips and teeth smashing onto his own.
It hurts and makes an unpleasant noise, causing both of them to reel back. Lance takes a tick to register the heat behind Kieth’s eyes and the blush staining all the way up to his ears before he grabs a fistful of that silky black hair and tugs their mouths together again.
That sweet, honeyed taste explodes across his taste buds when their lips meet. It coats his throat and warms him down to his stomach when Keith’s mouth opens and prods insistently at Lance’s lips with his tongue.
Lance can’t help the deeply satisfied groan he draws out in between their mouths. Keith whimpers in reply, delving his tongue further into Lance’s mouth, flicking and twisting along his teeth and gums like he wants to taste every bit of him within reach.
Lance loosens his grip on Keith’s hair to pull himself back. He sucks in a heaving breath, making eye contact with half-mast lids and thin slits, “Not that I’m not loving this, really, buddy, I am,” he pats Keith’s shoulder, “but we should probably move this somewhere else.”
“Don’t call me ‘buddy’ after my tongue was just down your throat,” he scowls back petulantly.
“Your tongue was never in my throat, moron.”
Keith’s ears twitch, and he rolls his eyes before grabbing Lance's wrist, easily encompassing it beneath his fingers. After years of training, missions, and multi-planet wars, this is no small feat. Lance is very proud of his build, but heat burns through his stomach and drops lower at how much bigger Keith is in comparison.
He’s being tugged into Keith’s room, metal sliding shut behind them with a finality, and Keith’s tail eagerly flicking ahead of him. The first thing that hits him is the smell, just like the substance from the bathhouse and the taste of Keith’s spit.
The next thing he realizes is that his bathrobe is on Keith’s bed. The beautiful satiny material is crumpled into a ball next to a pillow on Keith’s bed.
Lance stops them in their tracks, yanking his hand away from Keith and gesturing furiously to the robe, “Dude, that’s mine.”
“I know, I was using it for my rut.”
“When did you have time to even think about that?” Lance asks incredulously.
“Before the mission, I didn’t know if that was ever gonna happen again.”
“What, your hand on my dick?”
Keith’s tail flicks, looking above him like he’s reasoning with the universe, and he hisses,”Yes, Lance, my hand on your dick.”
“I still want my robe back.”
“You might wanna wash it then,” Keith looks back at him smugly.
“Dude, ew, what the fuck?” Lance says even though he's fully hard, straining uncomfortably against his pants. He starts to crowd Keith towards his bed, until his knees hit the back of it and force him to sit down.
Lance clambers on top of his lap, using Keith’s shoulders for leverage. He makes sure he’s partially seated along the throbbing length beneath him, briefly noting the dark patch beginning to form on Keith’s sweatpants.
He leans up into Keith’s ear and whispers, “You can put your hand on more than just my dick right now.”
Keith starts making that rumbling noise in his chest, reaching his hands up to grab Lance’s hips, gripping his cheeks with long, thick fingers.
Lightly rubbing and scratching with his fingertips and claws, Keith kneads the flesh in his palms and drops his head to nose behind Lance’s ear. A stuttered gasp gets ripped out of Keith’s chest, but is immediately swallowed by a groan as soon as his tongue touches Lance’s neck.
“Wanna make you mine. Lance, baby, please.” Keith opens his mouth wider, lightly scraping along the column of Lance’s throat with those needle-sharp teeth.
Oh. ‘Baby,’ is new, but Lance doesn’t mind at all. Whatever floats his sexy alien (boyfriend?) companion’s boat works for him. The desperation bleeding into Keith’s voice, in combination with the nickname, sets Lance on fire.
He grinds down on top of Keith, a slow, filthy roll of his hips. Keith tightens his hold on Lance, using it to press the cleft of Lance’s cheeks harder along the thick length under him.
“Lance,” he begs, insistent nips and comforting licks covering Lance’s neck in between the rattling groans being punched out of Keith’s throat. “You smell so good here, baby, it’s driving me crazy.”
In an effort not to be completely mauled yet, Lance snakes his fingers underneath Keith’s jaw and pushes him away from his ministrations, getting a testy whine for his troubles.
“Hey, mullet-brain?”
“Hmm?”
“You should take these off,” Lance points to his pants, wiggling his hips for emphasis, “So you can get these in me.” He punctuates his statement by threading Keith’s fingers with his own.
Keith reaches down to palm himself, thrusting into his hand and subsequently, Lance. “Yeah, baby, please, please let me inside. Gonna be so perfect for me, so tight.”
Lance slides off of Keith’s lap, legs too unsteady to make sense, considering they’d barely hit second base. The sudden movement makes him realize his head is a little fuzzy.
Not like he’s high, but warm and tingling like he’s been stretched out in the sun. The back of his throat tastes like Keith, and he can still feel the phantom grip on his hips.
‘Breeding lubrication’ was what the article had called the sweet liquid leaking from the tip of Keith’s dick, but it hadn’t said anything about it being in Keith’s spit.
The substance was supposed to loosen Lance’s muscles, make him pliant and ready to take a monstrosity up his ass, as well as serve as a mild aphrodisiac. Which would explain the way his body felt, relaxed, yet burning up from the inside out.
Lance shoves his thoughts to the side in favor of shimmying his pants down to his ankles, using a hand on Keith’s thigh for balance as he kicks them off.
Keith slips a claw underneath Lance's undershirt, gingerly lifting it to reveal a sliver of tanned skin. “This too?” he pleads, imploring Lance with wide, hopeful eyes.
“Dude, that’s not even fair. You gotta get a lot more naked than that if you want a piece of me,” tuts Lance, lifting an unimpressed brow.
The words have barely left his mouth before Keith literally rips the shirt off his body, his claws making short work of the offending fabric.
Lance begins to protest, but snaps his lips shut when those claws change course, impatiently shredding through his own clothes. It exposes what looks like miles of dense muscle, making Lance’s mouth pool with saliva.
“Is this fair enough for you, Lance?” Keith smirks up at him, entirely too pleased with himself. He wants to kiss that stupid grin off of Keith’s face, so he does. He stands between Keith’s open legs and nips, licks, and pecks those plump, gorgeous lips until they grant him entrance.
Keith moans into his mouth, sliding rough palms up and down Lance’s back, periodically squeezing the smooth flesh underneath his fingers. Lance wraps his arms around Keith’s neck, weaving his fingernails through the long strands that fall down Keith’s shoulder blades. He tries and fails to ignore the slick slide of his cock on Keith’s abdomen. He's undoubtedly making a mess of the fur there, but Keith seemingly couldn't care less.
His only apparent focus is devouring Lance’s lips. Keith’s tongue is hot, licking into his mouth and swallowing any sound that makes it past Lance’s throat before it can reach fruition. He feels dizzy, breathless, and warm, his insides clenching in anticipation.
“Baby,” Keith breathes in between kisses, “Please, Lance, let me taste you.”
Lance scrunches his brows together in confusion, “Your tongue was just in my mouth.”
“No,” Keith whines, “Wanna taste you here.” His fingers skate down until the pad of one of them is lightly circling Lance’s hole. “Please, baby, just wanna make you feel good. Need you on my tongue, you smell so good.”
Lance shudders against him, cock seeking more friction as he imagines being split open on Keith’s tongue. “Yeah, yeah, sounds good, buddy.”
Then he’s being picked up like he weighs nothing– fuck that does something to him– and being tossed on the bed abruptly, his back hitting the mattress with an ‘oomph.’
“Keith–” he cuts himself off when said alien grips the back of Lance’s knees, pushing them to his chest to expose his twitching hole. Lance struggles to get his mind and mouth to connect before every thought melts out of his ears, Keith’s nose pressing firmly into his perineum. “Fuck.”
Keith answers him with a deep growl, inhaling deeply and pulling back to pant hot air across Lance’s backside. “Hold yourself up for me?” he asks sweetly. Lance’s hands replace the grip behind his knees, and he nods dumbly.
“Thank you, baby, so good for me. Look so pretty like this.” Lance bites back a sarcastic reply when a hot, wet tongue slides up from the bottom of his crack to the top of his balls. Fuck, Keith can order him around anytime he wants if the end result feels like this.
Keith’s hands fall to his hips, yanking them into the air for better leverage, and wastes no time pressing his tongue to Lance’s hole. He’s groaning into the puckered, dark skin, moaning like he's the one getting his ass eaten, sloppy kisses and gentle prods making Lance feel like he's going to dissolve into Keith’s palms.
“Keith, Keith, please–I can’t– need more, please,” he pulls his knees tighter to his chest, unable to move his hips like he wants with the deathgrip Keith has on them. Keith’s tongue becomes more insistent, lapping roughly at the furled muscle underneath him, hands holding him so tight he feels bruised.
Lance’s neglected cock jumps, begging for attention it won’t receive. He hopes there will be bruises on him, wants to poke at them until he hisses, have physical evidence of Keith’s touch on his body.
Keith is keening and purring against his hole, sending tingling vibrations straight inside of him. Every tick that passes, Lance feels hotter, sweatier, like Keith’s tongue is scorching through him and reducing him to ash. The slick, squelching noises make his ears burn, tongue feeling heavy in his throat, the taste of Keith still permeating it.
Keith’s alien sex juice must be doing its job, his tongue slips into Lance’s opening without any resistance. Keith’s non-stop rumbling somehow grows louder when he slides further inside. It doesn't hurt thanks to Keith’s thorough preparation, but it doesn’t feel super sexy either. It’s nothing like the uncomfortable burn and stretch that usually accompany his own fingers initially.
It's so wet, the noises coming from his body are only getting more embarrassing the deeper Keith goes. The flush in his skin intensifies, whining at the sight of inky black hair and the sounds coming from between his legs. Keith is literally slurping him up like he’s candy, claws pricking into his skin, and wriggling further inside of Lance until he flicks the spongy ball of nerves, tearing a startled gasp out of Lance.
Keith groans desperately in response, doubling his efforts to melt Lance into a puddle of goo. He starts to piston his tongue in and out of Lance, stiffly jabbing his prostate every time it sinks into the rapidly loosening muscle.
“Yes, yes, yes–fuck–yeah, just like that, c’mon, fuck me,” he warbles to Keith. “Hnng, does it taste as good as you thought?”
Keith pulls away from Lance’s hole with reluctance, lips shiny with spit and flushed a bitten purple. “Better,” he swears, diving back to Lance’s entrance like it’s air and he’s drowning. “You taste so sweet,” he mumbles against it before shoving his tongue deep inside of Lance, using the muscle to thrust relentlessly like he'd never stopped.
Lance falls apart, moans and sputtering whines spilling out of him like water, dick leaking steadily onto his belly. He’s so hard it hurts, every cruel flick against that spot inside of him making him dip closer and closer to insanity. He needs Keith’s dick stuffing him, like, yesterday.
The coil in the stomach tightens, crawls up his spine, and sinks back into his pelvis, making his balls feel tight. A finger—declawed, thankfully—joins Keith’s tongue, crowding against it and rubbing the space between his tongue and Lance’s hole. “Fucking finally, dude, I was starting to think your dick was just for show,” Lance pants, acting like he's not losing his mind.
Keith’s eyebrows pinch together briefly, a mean glint in his eyes replacing the pang of hurt that flashed across his face. He doesn't bother gracing Lance with a response, instead choosing to shove his finger alongside his tongue.
It makes Lance feel fuller, the finger pressing and curling to find that bundle of nerves. Lance is half sure he’s dying, choked gasps spilling from his lips in time with Keith’s thrusts. Keith’s fingers are so much bigger than his own, stuffing him to the brim.
Then another finger slips inside of him with no warning, and he’s sure he’s dying. Keith is pulling him apart, piece by piece, dragging filthy noises out of his mouth and stretched opening. He’s so close he can taste it, shaking in Keith’s grasp. Every blow to his prostate sends shocks through his body that seem never-ending.
“Please, Keith, ‘m so close, gonna cum,” he heaves desperately. Keith pulls away, replacing his tongue with another finger, his steady rhythm of press, curl, press not faltering. Keith stares down at where his fingers breach Lance’s body, the way his hole is stretched taught over them.
“Then cum, baby. Cum all over my fingers, you don't even need your pretty dick touched, do you?” He coos before leaning down and swallowing Lance’s cock in one fell swoop, seemingly determined to ignore his own statement and destroy Lance.
A strangled cry erupts from him, trying to squirm away from the stimulation but unable to with the vice grip of Keith’s hand on his hip.
“Fuck, cumming, gonna—oh, fuck—gonna cum–” The apathetic hum around his dick is what sends him over the edge, waves of pleasure cresting and falling over him. He’s barely aware of the sounds coming out of his mouth, vision stung and blurry, his body making aborted jerking motions. There’s nowhere to go that isn’t burning white-hot pleasure behind his lids, inside of him, around his pulsing dick. Lance whines, riding out his orgasm as Keith milks every drop from his cock.
It becomes overstimulating quickly, making Lance struggle in earnest against the grip holding him in place. But Keith doesn’t pull off, doesn't stop curling his fingers inside of Lance. He pushes feebly at Keith’s head, but is granted no relief. His head is thrashing wildly, eyes burning, pleasure mixing with pain in a concoction that sends his stomach somersaulting.
“Keith,” he pleads, “too much, hurts, please.”
“Sorry, I thought you didn’t want my dick inside of you since it's just for show,” he says, finally releasing Lance’s cock from his mouth.
That’s all the solace he’s allowed, apparently, the wet heat of Keith’s mouth encompassing him once again. Damn this alien and damn Lance’s smart mouth. He should’ve known better; of course their competitiveness would come to play during sex too.
He pushes at Keith’s head to no avail, his eyes no longer stinging, tears welling past his waterline and dripping down his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he chokes, “‘m sorry, Keith, I want it, ‘s not for show—need you inside of me, please.”
Keith's fingers and mouth slip away from him all at once, a smug smirk coming into view. “You’re an asshole, dude,” Lance pants, screwing his face up in as much irritation as he can muster. It must fall flat because Keith’s smile only grows wider, toothier, fangs glinting in the low light of the room.
“What? I was just trying to satisfy my mate,” Keith simpers at him, shit-eating grin fully plastered on his face. He lowers Lance’s body against the bed, crawling over him until their lips can meet again. Lance groans at the taste of himself on Keith’s tongue, honey sweet and musky flavor invading his mouth. They kiss languidly, Lance’s hands coming up to tangle into Keith’s hair. He’d lie like this forever if he could. Bask in the warmth of Keith’s embrace until his last breath. But he's a little too impatient to fully appreciate the moment, especially when Keith’s dick is leaking a pool of fluid onto his stomach.
He grabs a fistful of hair, yanking Keith away from his lips. “Your mate would be a whole lot more satisfied if you’d just stick it in him.”
“Dude, ew, who says that?” Keith blanches, fixing him with a disgusted expression that's betrayed by the fondness in his eyes.
“A sexually frustrated man whose alien boyfriend won’t fuck him!” Lance receives a snort in response, Keith not taking him seriously at all.
“Are you that impatient,” he coos, “Need me inside of you that bad?”
“Yes, dude, why are you only just now realizing this?” Keith hums thoughtfully at that.
“You’re right, it'd be a shame to let all my work go to waste, wouldn’t it?” he abruptly plunges three fingers back into Lance, like he needed the reminder of what work Keith was referring to. “Still so open for me, baby, all loose and ready for my dick, huh?” Lance hisses at the intrusion, rocking back onto those thick fingers.
Keith tuts at him, stilling his fingers, “Let me give you what you need then, how's that sound?” Lance nods frantically, hands sliding up and down Keith’s sides encouragingly.
“If you don’t fuck me right now, I will kill you and throw you out into space,” he says, trying to cover his obvious urgency. It doesn’t work, Keith chuckling at him despite the threat of bodily harm.
“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you,” he reassures, sliding his fingers out of Lance to swipe through the pool of liquid on his stomach and bring it to his own dick. Keith strokes it from root to tip, spreading the alien lube across his length.
“You fuckin’ better, I didn’t take your stupid fin—” he’s rudely cut off by Keith yanking his body down, pressing his knees back up, and sliding the head of his cock inside of Lance’s rim with no preamble. The tendrils seem to separate, tickling and stroking the inside of his entrance. Lance chokes on his words, an undignified yelp forcing its way out of his throat. Keith is thick, making him feel stretched to his limit with only the tip inside of him.
All of the cocky bravado leaves Keith as soon as he sinks fully inside of Lance, their hips meeting and Keith shoving his face into Lance’s neck with a drawn-out whine. He’s shaking, making little whimpering sighs as he licks the sweat off of Lance’s throat. Otherwise, he stays still, letting Lance adjust to the intrusion.
Lance was sorely mistaken if he thought he’d been burning up before. Pure fire licks up his spine, a dull ache throbbing inside of him. He’s fuller than he’s ever been, and he can feel Keith’s cock pulsing inside of him with every shuddering breath he takes. He slides his legs around Keith’s hips, digging the heel of his foot into Keith’s ass to spur him on. “F-fuckin’, just move, man. I can take it.”
“You sure?” Keith mumbles into his neck, “Don't wanna hurt you.” Lance scoffs and presses harder with his foot, needing Keith to get the memo and fuck his brains out of his head.
“Yes, I’m sure, dumbass. Wouldn’t have said anything if I wasn’t,” he says, rubbing a soothing hand down the back of Keith’s neck despite his tone. He feels Keith nod against his neck before he's sliding his cock halfway out, slowly sinking back inside. “Yeah, buddy, just like that,” he breathes, rocking back onto Keith’s dick.
“Lance,” Keith whines, hips stuttering and pulling back out farther, until just the squirming head of his dick is inside of him. He slides back home, a touch faster this time. Keith raises his head, leaving Lance’s neck with a parting kiss. When their eyes meet, it almost seems like Keith’s eyes are glowing brighter than before, thin black lines are all that's left of his pupils. “Mine, you’re mine.”
“Yeah—shit—all yours, Keith. No one else's," he pants, struggling to keep his voice steady. Keith starts a slow but measured rhythm, the tendrils around his head tickling inside of Lance and reaching for that spot with each thrust. Lance feels like he’s melting with every firm piston inside of him, his body buzzing and his hole clenching against the sluggish onslaught.
Keith is so big he swears he can feel it in his throat, each breath he pulls into his lungs taking herculean strength. But it’s still not enough, an ache in his abdomen slowly eating him alive. Everything burns and tingles, and he wants more.
“Keith, harder,” he pleads, clenching around Keith and nudging his heel back into the meat of his ass for emphasis. Keith whimpers, grabbing his legs and lifting them to rest on his shoulders. Keith’s eyes are glazed over, a deep purple flush spreading down to his heaving chest. He snaps his hips forward, punching a startled gasp out of Lance.
“So pretty like this, baby, can't get enough of you,” he slides his hands down Lance’s stomach, claws unsheathing to trail lines of pink in his wake. “So tight around me, like you don’t wanna let me go,” he says in wonder.
Lance jerks against the touch, the sting of Keith's caress only serving to drive him crazier, meeting every one of Keith’s thrusts with a desperate roll of his hips. They're both panting, breathing hot, sticky air into each other's faces.
Keith is pumping inside of him with abandon, slick and wet, and so so good. He’s nailing Lance’s prostate, beating into it insistently, not giving Lance a tick of reprieve. Keith becomes almost frantic, like any second he isn't completely inside of Lance is causing him pain.
It’s when Keith starts making little whining cries that Lance notices the base of his dick slowly getting thicker. His fucking knot, he thinks blearily. Holy shit, he’s gonna put that thing inside of me.
He realizes his eyes are getting watery again, fire curling in his veins and spreading to every limb. Then Keith reaches a claw-tipped finger to scratch across Lance’s nipple, and he loses it, blubbering for more, more, more. It gets pinched and pulled, rolling between Keith’s fingers until it hurts, and he targets the other one, giving it the same rough treatment.
He’s not the only one making nonsensical noises. Keith sounds close to crying, whining about how tight Lance is, how wet he is, and how he belongs to Keith. His knot is thick and inflated, pushing persistently against Lance’s rim every time he bottoms out.
“Need to fill you up, Lance, please let me. Need to see it drip out of you, make you full, baby, please,” he begs, voice thick with tears, still playing with Lance’s nipple.
“C’mon then, fill me up, Keith. Shove your stupid knot in me and make me yours,” Lance keens, arching up into Keith, pushing at the swollen base of his cock. The effect is instantaneous, Keith folding him damn near in half, making his knees touch his shoulders. “Fuck, yes, just like that,” he groans.
Keith’s fully crying now, shoving in and out of Lance with brute force. Lance leans forward as much as he can, licking the hot tears off of Keith’s jaw and moaning at the taste. He feels like he’s being split open, his body’s only purpose to take Keith as deep as he can go. His dick is already leaking again, the rough friction of Keith’s fur and the wet slide of his own stomach making it feel raw.
He’s getting close, every snap of Keith’s hips inching him to the edge. He can feel sweat sliding down his temples and his neck, muscles tightening in anticipation. He’s nearly screaming, wrecked sobs coming from both of them and mingling in the air. He’s so full, every part of Keith’s dick branding him and ruining him for anyone else.
The coil in his stomach winds sharply into his pelvis, every brush of Keith’s knot bringing him closer and closer. When it finally pops inside, Lance feels fucked out and delirious, can taste his orgasm on his tongue. “Keith.”
“Y-yeah, baby? You gonna come apart all over my—hnng—my dick?” he stutters back. Lance nods furiously, not trusting his voice, there’s no telling what kind of noises will come out if he tries to talk. Unable to pull out anymore, Keith grinds hard and filthy on that bundle of nerves, shooting white sparks of pleasure behind Lance’s eyes.
“So perfect, Lance, you were made for my dick, made for my knot,” he sobs, voice cracking. “Can’t wait to fill you up, baby, keep you stuck on my cock with nowhere to go.”
Lance shudders, bobbing his head up and down and scratching harshly along Keith’s shoulders. Keith leans down and licks a sloppy line across his jaw, nibbling on his ear and rolling his lobe between blunt teeth. “So pretty, baby. I want you like this forever. Love you so much, Lance,” he whispers into his ear.
The coil in Lance’s abdomen snaps, careening him towards a blinding orgasm. His cock spurts between them, making Keith growl and rub his dick harder against his prostate. His vision tunnels, his ears rushing with blood, and he can’t stop the strangled cry that comes out of him. His hole is spasming around Keith, milking his cock. Wave after wave of heat crashes around him and drags him under.
Shocks of overstimulation slowly start to hit him, Keith still grinding against him in short, quick thrusts. “C’mon, dude, thought you wanted to fill me up,” he goads weakly. Keith whines brokenly, nuzzling and panting into his neck. His knot swells, stretching Lance further to the point of aching. “Show me I’m yours,” he hisses to Keith, needing him to cum.
“Lance,” he cries, “F-fuck, gonna fill you up, baby, gonna—shit—cum inside you.” Keith’s hips thrust erratically, shattered movements that swallow Lance up until he feels like he’s drowning. With a wrecked sob, Keith seats himself as deep as he can within Lance, knot fully expanded, and cums. It's hot, each pulse making his stomach feel stuffed. Keith whimpers and jerks inside of him, cock still pumping him full.
He’s licking any spot of Lance’s skin he can reach, smearing tears and spit over his neck. He winds down, little whines becoming soft contented sighs when his cock stops spurting inside of Lance. He presses wet kisses to Lance’s cheek, thanking him fervently.
Keith eases Lance’s legs back down to the bed as best he can within the limited space between them. He’s making satisfied trilling noises, petting Lance’s hair, and rubbing his neck and shoulders.
“Keith?”
“Yeah?”
“Love you too, man.”
Keith snorts at him, pausing his gentle touches to look him in the eye. He’s exuding so much self-satisfied joy it makes Lance sick. Or it would, if he weren’t so far gone for this man.
“So…” Keith starts, cocking an eyebrow at him, “Boyfriend, huh?”
Lance’s ears burn, but he scoffs indignantly at Keith, “Boyrfriend is a lot less serious than mate. I wasn’t the one crying about filling me up.”
“Dude, my dick is still inside you. Pretty serious, at this point.”
Lance scowls, “What, I’m not ‘baby’ anymore?”
“You’re whatever you want to be,” Keith says softly, lowering his eyes and giving him an obvious out.
“Then I’m yours, dumbass,” he rolls his eyes and tugs Keith into a smacking kiss. Like he would let anyone else near Keith and all his freaky alien sex juice.