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Take me on the floor, yeah, I adore the way it's yours
And no one else can do it right
Elevator, kitchen table, any flavor, what's your favorite?
Tell me what you like
It doesn’t always end up like this; though, it happens enough to maybe consider common, but not really a habit. It might be an adrenaline thing, or it could just be an attraction stronger than anything else. He won’t lie: Shiro looks good in a tight A-frame tank top and sweatpants, but even better when he gets too sweaty and takes off the tank top. Not to be outdone, Keith, of course, has to do the same. Turnabout and all that. This time, like probably too many other times (okay, so maybe this is a habit), it becomes less about sparring and more about the power of pinning each other to the mat. Sometimes Keith wins – he’s fast and he’s lithe, more power in the slight, tight muscle than anyone would think until they witness him beat people three times his size. With Shiro it’s different, it’s not the size or even the strength difference – not entirely – but that Shiro knows his moves with unerring accuracy and it’s hard to surprise him. Granted, Keith is more than a little familiar with Shiro’s fighting style, and he’s quick to match him shot for shot, but it’s experience that lets Shiro win often. Sure, in truth, he is stronger than Keith, but it's not the focus. It’s not something Keith can actually explain well in words – not that he is great with words to begin with – it’s something more felt than anything. Still, the dynamic changes, the competitive streak in them changes – it’s less about fighting and more about the heat of it.
“Are you going to circle me all day or do something?” Keith says. Goading Shiro used to be easier, but he likes that Shiro makes him work for it now.
“Patience yields – “
“Yeah, yeah,” Keith says, a slight upturn to the corner of his mouth. “Fuck the patience, more focus, Shirogane.”
“Oh, we’re moving to last names? Okay, Kogane,” he says. “Remember that you started this when you’re flat on your back.”
“Promises, promises.”
The look in Shiro’s eyes changes; Keith knows it’s a horrible cliché, but it seems like the color of his irises darken, though it’s more the look itself. He can’t really explain that either. Still, the dancing around each other charges another notch and when Shiro does get ahold of him, it’s a bigger struggle than he thought. He wonders when the hell Shiro got that fast and he wonders when he became such a cheater. Instead of grabbing Keith’s arm, pulling it behind him, and planting a palm between his shoulders as he takes him down, he grabs the waistband of Keith’s sweats and twists it tight; he yanks it forward, pulling Keith off balance, and then shoves all of his body weight against Keith to take him down to the mat. Shiro is heavier than Keith by at least fifty pounds, maybe more with the goddamn bulk of muscle, and uses that to his advantage – which is fair – but the leg he jams between Keith’s legs, pressing his thigh to his groin is a cheat; he also takes the opportunity to push Keith’s arms over his head and pin his wrists down.
“That was a dirty move. You cheated,” Keith says, breathing hard.
“I don’t see it banned in the rule book,” Shiro says in return, pressing his leg a little harder, until Keith has to swallow the embarrassing moan that threatens to spill out. “And you never play by it anyway.”
“I don’t put you on your back and grind my leg against your dick, either.” Keith says, always saying exactly what he’s thinking without a filter. He’s learned how to think before he speaks with strangers – most of the time – but with the people closest to him, especially Shiro, it’s just not in his programming.
“Keith, the last time we did this, you sat on top of me and purposely put your ass over my dick,” Shiro says. “That was a calculated move. Also, a dirty one. Remember, you started this game.” And, okay, Keith was an instigator. He got a thrill from seducing Shiro into doing things he wouldn’t have, probably still is apprehensive about, until Keith goads him a little further and he gives up in favor of a different kind of dirty move. The way Shiro smiles at him now is less joy and more heat. “Kinda feels like you’re enjoying how I cheated.”
“Who wouldn’t? There is this hot guy pinning me to the ground. And it’s pretty obvious you’re enjoying this, too.” Keith can feel the hard line of Shiro’s cock pressing into his own thigh. “You gonna do anything about it?”
He used to think it was weird, listening to guys talk about sex in the locker room and someone making their “cock jump,” but he gets it now because he can feel the same from Shiro. Keith’s heartbeat kicks up just a little and he can feel the heat flushing his cheeks; maybe he occasionally has a little bit of an exhibition kink. He thinks, in the moment, it might be hot to have people see that he belongs to Shiro but thinks if it actually happened he might literally die from the embarrassment of being seen in that position (especially if it was on all fours). Still, he rolls his hips up and it makes Shiro let out a breath and bite his lip, so he does it again. He lifts his head just enough that their mouths barely touch. As always, Shiro takes the bait. He grabs the waistband of Keith’s sweats from the back this time, pulling them down just enough to expose the top of Keith’s ass as he sits up on his knees, hauling Keith’s lower half up and onto his thighs. Keith plants his palms on the floor to push his upper body up, almost like a bridge, keeping their mouths close.
“You realize anybody could walk in,” Shiro says. His hands are now just under the curve of Keith’s ass, under his thighs, and he squeezes once.
“Guess you better hurry up then,” Keith says. This time his lips brush against Shiro’s as he speaks.
“You’re such a – “ but he doesn’t finish because he’s slotting their mouths together in a kiss that is anything but tender. Keith bites at his bottom lip – not enough to hurt him, but enough for Shiro to feel it; it’s a challenge, Shiro knows it, so he fists Keith’s sweats and tugs a little more, pulling them down enough that Keith’s entire ass is out, but the front of his pants get caught on his dick. It’s awkward, but he knows Shiro in every way and knows he’s doing it on purpose. He pulls his mouth away and sucks Keith’s earlobe into his mouth.
“Stop fucking teasing, Shiro.” Now Keith feels a little breathless. Shiro knows damn well that it’s a colossal erogenous zone for him.
“What, exactly, do you want me to do?” he asks, his mouth now just under Keith’s ear, right at the pressure point. He scrapes his teeth and Keith tips his head back to let out a harsh breath bordering on a moan.
“You should fuck me,” Keith says in return. “Right now.”
Shiro has the nerve to give a breathy laugh. “I don’t exactly carry lube everywhere, Keith.”
“I do,” Keith says and Shiro pulls back to look him in the eyes.
“You cannot be serious right now.”
Keith nods over to his gym bag and smiles wicked. “Little zip pocket on the side. Why do you think they make travel sizes?”
“You’re something else,” Shiro says. Still, he bends back down to press his mouth to Keith’s, slide his tongue between his lips and then bite at them. “Don’t move.” Shiro lets his hips slide back down to the mat; the tent in his sweats is obscene and Keith smiles.
Shiro moves quickly. When he comes back, sweatpants riding dangerously low on his hips, Keith’s mouth practically waters. He drops the little bottle next to Keith as he kneels back down between Keith’s bent knees. Shiro grabs the front of Keith’s pants, Keith lifts his hips, and he pulls them down to mid-thigh to match where they’d been resting in the back. He pauses for a minute before pulling them down the rest of the way, yanking them over Keith’s feet and dropping them to the side. Keith doesn’t expect what Shiro does next – he expects to hear the bottle click open, feel the shockingly cool lube and Shiro’s warm fingers pressing into him; instead, without a word, Shiro bends down, puts Keith’s legs over his biceps and slides his mouth down over Keith’s cock.
“Jesus – “ Keith immediately reaches down and grabs the tuft of hair at the front of Shiro’s head, making a fist tight enough in it that it has to pull at least a little. “Fuck, Shiro.” Shiro gets to work with no pause and has Keith breathing hard in about 30 seconds. “Give a guy some warning.”
Instead of responding Shiro just looks up at him, mouth full of Keith, and keeps going; it’s one of the hottest things Keith has ever seen, Shiro holding eye contact while he’s blowing him, and he will never get tired of seeing it. One thing about Shiro, he never does anything halfway, including sex. He goes to work in earnest, making Keith tip his head back, eyes closed, breathing hard through his mouth; both of his hands are in Shiro’s hair now and he’s trying not to pull or lift his hips because he doesn’t want to make Shiro choke – even if he has Shiro do it to him on purpose.
It can’t be more than two or three minutes, and Keith is pulling Shiro’s hair. “Shiro… stop, stop. You’re gonna make me come.”
Shiro sucks hard, pulling up and off slowly, making Keith drop one hand down and pound a fist on the mat. “You can come twice,” Shiro says. Keith wants to say he can’t, that he’s not 17 anymore, but Shiro’s done it to him before, so…
“Jesus Christ,” Keith says and Shiro goes back down. It’s embarrassing how little time it takes. Keith is so close his legs tingle with it and he can’t help the way his hips twitch up. “Shiro…” And then Shiro is sliding a finger over his hole, just pressing enough, and Keith comes so fast he can’t breathe. “Fuck, fuck, Shiro – “ His moan is probably too loud, and Shiro, he keeps going until Keith hisses from the sensitivity and pushes at his head.
When he pulls off his lips are red and shiny with spit and Keith is breathing hard. He reaches for the lube and Keith watches him open the cap and pour it on his fingers; he doesn’t waste time, slides two fingers right down and pushes them into Keith.
“Ah, Shiro.” Keith winces just a little from the sudden, sharp stretch. He knows Shiro won’t hurt him, but he knows the kind of mood this is right now – this is fast and hard, a way Keith likes more than he probably should – and Shiro is nothing if not a giver. Shiro pushes his fingers deep a little too hard and Keith’s back bows upward. “Easy,” he says.
“Sorry, sorry,” Shiro whispers, running his Altean hand up and down Keith’s thigh to soothe him. He eases up, still pushing deep but not with as much force; then, he curls his fingers up and forward and Keith arches up again. Keith’s dick twitches, but he’s still mostly soft.
“Okay, okay – I’m good. Hurry up and fuck me.”
“You sure?” Shiro, ever the caretaker. He takes better care of Keith than anyone ever has or will, not that he has any sexual experience with anyone but Shiro.
“Yes, yes, come on.” Keith uses the heels of his feet, pressing against Shiro’s lower back.
Shiro nods, pushes his sweats down enough to get himself out, pours lube over his cock and takes himself in hand to slick up. He wipes excess lube on his pants. Keith expects Shiro to blanket his body and slide in; he does lean down, pressing the head against Keith’s hole, and pushes in halfway. It punches the breath out of Keith. “Okay?”
“’M good,” Keith says, nodding, and Shiro pushes the rest of the way in. Keith reaches down and grabs Shiro’s forearm, squeezes tight. It’s his signal to wait, don’t move; Shiro is not exactly average and he’s a lot to take that quickly, but Keith likes the burn, the inexorable stretch, and the ache. It takes maybe a minute before he loosens his hold and nods. Shiro pulls out and pushes back in, watching Keith’s expression. A little discomfort, but it’ll bleed into pleasure quickly. Maybe a dozen thrusts and Keith is pulling him in with his heels again. “C’mon.”
Shiro’s gaze is so intense, so full of heat that Keith can feel it burning through him. Shiro does something unexpected then – he slides his hands under Keith’s hips, grips them both, and hauls his lower body up while Keith’s shoulders are still pressed to the floor. Keith shouts, way too loud for being in the public training room, as Shiro hits the right angle, the perfect angle. Shiro tells him to shh and he literally has to bite his bottom lip to keep quiet. His dick is already filling out again, half hard against his stomach.
“Good?” Shiro asks, sounding a little more strained now. Keith doesn’t know if it’s the activity or the way it feels – maybe both.
“You – unh – yes,” Keith says, reaching down to take his cock in hand. He gives a few strokes, almost entirely hard now, and Shiro grabs his wrist with one hand. “Shiro – “
“No,” Shiro says. Keith can’t believe Shiro’s denying him. “Not yet.” At least Shiro isn’t going to stop him entirely – not that he really could, but it’s a little game they play, making the other hold out. “Goddamn it, fuck, you feel so good, baby.”
Keith practically whines; he’s so hard now, wants so bad to reach down and jerk off, but he listens to Shiro’s instructions. He watches Shiro’s brows knit together, the way he tips his head back with his mouth open, the way his throat moves when he swallows. Keith moans, too loud again, as Shiro’s thrusts quicken, are a little harsher; his quads must be burning with the effort of this position and Keith almost whines when Shiro pulls out. Shiro doesn’t leave him empty for long; he pushes Keith down, hips back on the mat, pulls Keith’s legs up and over his arms – nearly at his shoulders – and leans over him, palms planted on the floor next to Keith’s head. Keith is nearly bent in half, and it’s good, God it’s so fucking good that now he’s dripping precome onto his stomach. Keith is gasping, digging his fingers into Shiro’s shoulders, toes curling. Shiro’s looking at him now, panting and sweating. There is recognition in his eyes, a different kind of fire in the way he’s watching Keith’s face, and Keith knows the whites of his sclera have bled to yellow. Shiro keeps a quick, sharp rhythm, fucking into Keith so deep Keith swears he can feel Shiro’s cock in his stomach. With his Altean hand, Shiro cups his face, runs his thumb down the scar there, and Keith turns his head to suck the bionic finger into his mouth.
“Look at you,” Shiro says, sweat beading along his hair, in the hollow of his throat, and Keith wants to bite, to lick the salt from his skin, so he leans up and does exactly that. Keith slides a little on the mat with a particularly hard thrust, body jolting with each one.
“I’m – “
“Can you come like this?” Shiro asks, interrupting whatever Keith was going to say.
“Fuck.” Keith arches his back, digs nails suddenly too sharp into Shiro’s skin, drags his teeth over his bottom lip to feel sharpened canines. “Yeah – yes – Shiro.”
“Come on, baby, let me see it,” Shiro says and then he takes Keith’s mouth in such a filthy kiss that Keith thinks he could come from that alone. He shifts just a little, bending Keith just a little further, and Keith breaks away from his mouth to suck in air and moan shamelessly.
“Shiro,” Keith gasps. “Fuck, I’m coming – “ Keith says it almost like he’s surprised. He feels it up his spine, down to his feet, shaking with the intensity of it, covering himself in his own come all the way up to his chest. Shiro is breathing hard, face flushed. He bends down again to take Keith’s mouth, even this spent Keith puts every ounce of energy into it; he bites Shiro’s bottom lip too hard and tastes the slightest hint of blood. He’s going to apologize but Shiro’s face drops into the curve of Keith’s neck, takes the skin between his teeth and then soothes the delicious hurt with his lips.
“’M gonna come,” he says into Keith’s sweat slick skin.
“Come inside me,” Keith says. It’s only for effect since Shiro does every time anyway.
“Jesus, Keith.” Shiro rails into him, thrusts becoming rough and erratic, until his slams into Keith hard; he doesn’t even pull out all the way as he keeps going, trying to get as deep inside as he can. Keith watches his face through hazy eyes, watches as Shiro chases the oncoming orgasm, watches as he comes and fucking loves it. He never thought he’d be the person to get a thrill, that shock of pleasure, knowing his partner was coming inside of him, but he does every time. Even if he won’t say it out loud, there is something almost special in it. It’s a level of trust and love he’d never give or want to give to anyone else. He remembers the first time, when Shiro told him he was about to come, asked where Keith wanted him to do it, and Keith said in me, and the way Shiro breathed and swore and moaned at the answer. He feels an aftershock of orgasm run through him and Shiro groans at the sudden clench of Keith around him.
They stay like that, heavy breathing, for a minute before Shiro lets Keith’s legs fall from his arms and holds himself up over Keith. His hair is damp at the front, little pieces sticking to his forehead, and Keith loves seeing Shiro look like this. He smiles and says, “You look wrecked.”
“You should see yourself,” Shiro says and Keith huffs a laugh. He can only imagine what he must look like – freshly fucked and fucked well. “And I would love to lie here, but we really need to get dressed and go.”
“Mmm, just one more minute.”
“Pretty sure we don’t have a minute,” Shiro says. “You were so loud I think the entire floor heard you.” He leans down, kisses Keith’s forehead, and eases from his body; Keith still hisses at the sensation and groans at the loss.
They watch each other – Shiro fixing his pants and putting on his shirt, Keith putting on all of his clothes – like they haven’t seen it a million times. Shiro laughs first, watching Keith grimace as he pulls his shirt on, smearing his own come inside of it, and Keith scowls at him. Shiro gives a short, quiet laugh again, and then grabs Keith by his waistband again to tug him forward into a kiss that is in such sharp contrast to the way they just fucked on the training room floor. He winds his fingers into Keith’s hair, long enough to pull into a ponytail now, which is something Shiro has repeatedly told him he likes. Keith’s eyes are still closed when Shiro pulls away.
“Come on, let’s go back to our place and shower.”
Keith looks down at himself, scrunches his nose, and nods. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”
“Yeah? I’ll wash your hair. I’ll even wash your back,” Shiro says, pulling Keith as he grabs the duffel bag and heads for the officer’s door at the back. Keith gives a short, sharp laugh.
“The last time you washed my back, we fucked in the shower.”
“Maybe I’ll wash your mouth out,” Shiro says. He’s laughing now, too.
“I have a better idea for my mouth,” Keith says and Shiro’s gaze doesn’t falter for a second.
Shiro looks over his shoulder, making sure the training room is still empty, and then crowds Keith up against the wall. He gets one arm behind Keith, taking a handful of hair and pulling until Keith tips his head back slightly. With the other hand, he palms Keith’s ass and squeezes once. “Better be ready to put your money where your mouth is.”
“Mmm,” Keith hums. “I think you mean put your dick where my mouth is.”
“Jesus Christ, Keith,” Shiro says. Keith thinks the way he looks and the tone of his voice, Shiro might be half turned on and half exasperated. Keith is good at doing that to him. He tips his head back a little further and Shiro loosens his hold enough for Keith to push up and kiss him. Shiro lets him go, opens the door, and holds it open. “What would your mother say if she heard that mouth?”
“Do not bring my mother into anything involving our dicks.” Keith says, glaring at him. Shiro huffs a laugh and kisses Keith again, slapping his ass once as they head out into the hallway.