Archive of Our Own

it was summer when I saw your face
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That jawline could fucking have its way with me is something Keith feels like he'd text to a friend if he actually had one. In actuality, it's the first thought he has when he sees the guy while perched on the side of the ring toss booth, legs dangling over the side.

The guy is concentrating super hard, which is hilarious since his source of intent is the dumb water shooting game. He laughs loudly, head thrown back, when he beats the friends he's with. It's not even a contest, as far as Keith can tell. His horse was by far the first one across the finish line.

“Stare hard enough, Kogane?” is what the douchebag whose name Keith can't be bothered to remember says as he walks past to man the goldfish booth. Keith flips him off.

Keith hasn't made friends since starting here, and he doesn't give a damn. He's 18, he’s just aged out of the foster care system, and he needs to start making money. That's his sole focus. It's a shit job at an amusement park, but it’s Nevada, and it’ll probably stay open through November at least, so the good thing is Keith can still have this job even well after summer technically ends. That is, if he doesn't get fired before that.

Keith’s got a place out in the desert. The state helped him get it, part of their “providing independent living services” thing. It's a literal shack, but he's got running water and heat, and it's actually pretty cozy most of the time. He moved in a month ago and likes having his own space, no one to answer to.

Keith knows the deal. A lot of people his age who leave the system end up back in even at 18, 19, 20 just because they can't adjust. He doesn't want to be another statistic. His literal one bag was packed and ready to go the day of his birthday.

Keith’s so lost in thought he doesn't realize the guy he's been perving on is now standing in front of where he's sitting, watching him with an amused expression and a quirked eyebrow. And god damn, he wasn't embellishing that jawline: strong and pronounced and practically screaming “I'll ruin you for oral with anyone else.”

“Uh, yeah?” Keith crosses his arms over his chest, needing some walls right now.

The guy’s smirk widens. “I was asking if my friends and I could play, please?”

Friends?

Keith looks over and yep, there's the people he saw the guy with before, looking torn between bored and amused.

“Right, yeah.” Keith swings his legs around and jumps down to grab the rings. His fingers brush the guy's as he hands them over, and the small smile he's given makes his breath catch in his throat.

“Thanks, buddy,”

“Yeah, sure,” Keith mumbles and then does his best to ignore the guy.

He puts his headphones back on but doesn't put the sound high. He can still make out the laughter and camaraderie from the group. The guy is clearly popular with his friends. They're easy with one another, comfortable. Keith has no idea what that's like.

“Way too obvious, Takashi,” someone says. It's the shy, embarrassed, “Shut up,” that makes Keith glance over again.

The guy -- Takashi -- is looking right at him, openly, interested.

Keith’s cheeks heat in equal parts anger and flattery.

Takashi smiles at him -- small and genuine -- and fuck, Keith wants to smile back, yet can't make himself.

He turns away again, closes his eyes.

“Um, thanks,” he hears a few minutes later.

His eyes open, fall square on Takashi with his perfect hair and sparkling teeth and t-shirt that clings to his muscles. Shit, this guy is so his type. So utterly his type.

Keith raises an eyebrow.

“For the game,” Takashi clarifies. He's alone now, his friends off to the booth next to Keith’s.

“No problem,” Keith says, feeling like he's lost the thread. No one talks to him this long. Especially when Keith has his headphones on and his best ‘don't fuck with me’ face on.

“I'm Shiro,” the guy says after a moment of looking like he was about to give up and leave.

“I thought it was Takashi,” Keith says, bored, looking down at his phone.

“Ah, you were listening.”

Keith looks up to find Shiro grinning at him.

He feels his own mouth twitch without his consent. “Yeah, well, you guys are loud.”

“Mm,” Shiro says. “It's technically Takashi, but most people call me Shiro. Takashi feels like the name people call me when they want to give me crap, you know?”

Keith cocks his head. “So your friends were giving you crap, Takashi?”

Shiro grins even more. “Maybe. They'll give me even more crap if I walk back over there without even learning your name.”

This guy is flirting with him. He's smooth and he's gorgeous and he's doing exactly what Keith had been fantasizing about 20 minutes earlier, and yet when faced with it, Keith has no idea what to fucking do.

He isn't some innocent. Casual sex is the only kind he's ever known. But he's usually the one to just throw a look and get a silent hookup out of it. Being -- flirted with is such a foreign concept.

Keith must have been quiet for too long because some of the light goes out of Shiro’s eyes and the confidence in his stance falters.

“Okay, well -- I'll--”

“Keith. I'm Keith.” He blurts it out.

Shiro beams at him. “Keith,” he repeats, holding his hand out. “Good to meet you.”

“Yeah,” Keith says, eying his hand before hesitantly shaking. Shiro’s skin is soft and warm. Keith’s own feels like it's on fire.

They keep holding hands until Shiro cuts his glance to the right and pulls away, clearing his throat.

“So um, I've got some free time on my hands this summer.”

Keith's hand feels cold now that it's empty. But this -- he knows how to do this. He knows the give and take. Knows how to keep someone wanting more.

“Yeah? Well, I'll be here.”

Shiro laughs, delighted. “Okay. See you around, then.”

“Maybe,” Keith replies, like he couldn't care less.

He hears Shiro’s laughter until he's out of Keith’s line of vision.

This job just started looking up.
__________________________

why don't you come a little closer

Keith doesn't always work the ring toss. Thank fuck, or he'd go crazy. He bounces around between booths and rides. He always wears his red and white jacket, red headphones, and black fingerless gloves. Shiro finds him no matter where he is.

It's been two weeks. He's seen Shiro six more times. Last night Shiro hung around after Keith’s shift ended. Keith pushed him up against the funnel cake truck and kissed him, because six nights of Shiro smiling softly and winning him prizes and offering up bits of details about himself that Keith hadn't asked for was more than enough foreplay.

“I was gonna ask you on a date first,” Shiro had gasped into Keith’s mouth all the while pulling him that much closer.

“Yeah, well, you're slacking,” Keith replied and bit at Shiro’s mouth until he was panting and breathless.

Keith’s jerked off to the memory of those hot, desperate kisses twice already -- once when he got home and once in the shower this morning. He'd wanted to go in Shiro’s car, touch him, make him come, but after 20 minutes of making out Shiro pushed him away and said, “Seriously, I'm taking you on a date.”

Keith could barely see from the heat behind his eyes, so turned on and aching for this guy who knows just where to bite at his neck to get a shuddering response, whose hands are gentle but sure on Keith’s waist. “You know I'm pretty much a sure thing, right?”

Most guys would've tugged Keith closer, kissed him harder at that. Shiro, on the other hand, kept one palm flat on Keith’s chest while looking into his eyes and saying, “I don't care.”

Leave it to Keith to find the one gentleman in this town.
__________________________

Their first date is on Wednesday because Keith has off. Shiro picks him up and takes him to the only place in town that serves decent sushi. Shiro dives easily into a story about how his grandparents would come over when he was a kid and they'd have sushi evenings every Sunday, perfecting everything like the art it is. The fondness toward his family makes something stick in Keith’s throat.

“So you're Korean?” Shiro asks around his warm sake, and Keith knows it's meant to be a conversation opener, except he has no idea what to say.

Yes, he's Korean. Except he has no experience with Korean food like Shiro has with Japanese, and his culture is something he's done google searches on rather than experienced for himself.

His parents died when he was 3, his grandparents didn't leave Korea to come get him, and he's never been placed with an Asian family the few times he was outside of an orphanage.

Saying all of this to Shiro seems terrifying for a first date.

So he just nods his head and eats his dragon roll, and if he catches the disappointment in Shiro’s eyes when he looks up, well, at least it's only fleeting.

Shiro picks up the conversation again, telling Keith about how he's on recess from Galaxy Garrison. Keith figured it was something like that. Saw the dog tags around Shiro’s neck that first night. Pulled on them last night as they made out, the metal cold under his fingers and Shiro’s tongue hot in his mouth. He wishes they were back there now. Sex is easy. Conversation is like jumping out of a plane without a chute.

Keith dreamed of the stars, once upon a time. Mostly when he hated everything here on Earth and wanted to escape. It's another bit of Shiro for him to envy.

At the end of the evening, Shiro’s quiet. He drives Keith home, puts the car in park, and says, “I'm sorry if this wasn't what you expected.”

Keith looks at him, eyes wide. “What?”

Shiro laughs but it's not a nice sound. He's staring straight ahead. “C’mon, Keith, you barely spoke to me all night. I -- shouldn't have pushed for a date. It's obvious you --”

Keith’s shaking his head but he can't get the words out, so he just blindly reaches for Shiro’s hand that's still on the gearshift.

Shiro cuts off and looks at him.

“I wanted to. Go out with you.”

Shiro gives him a rueful look. “Could've fooled me, buddy.” The words are soft, a little sad.

“I did!” Keith says, voice raising, pulling his hand away. “Look, I don't date, okay? I don't have friends, I'm not good at this shit. That what you wanna hear?” He's shaking with anger now, other hand on the handle to the door, ready to bolt.

Shiro stops him with a touch to the shoulder and Keith turns hard eyes on him.

“Yeah. Yeah, Keith, that's exactly what I wanna hear.”

Something about the sincerity in his voice, the kindness in his eyes, tears a small, needy, sound out of Keith. And then he's reaching for Shiro and Shiro’s meeting him halfway and they're kissing, desperate and needy.

Keith licks his way between Shiro’s lips and tries to deposit his secrets there. When Shiro captures his tongue, he can almost believe that he has.

“God, Keith,” Shiro moans, minutes or hours later, pressing sharp, sure kisses against Keith’s jaw, his chin, the hollow of his throat.

“Don't stop,” Keith gasps, dragging his hand through Shiro’s short hair, letting his nails scrape along the back of his neck. He holds his head there while Shiro sucks and bites at his skin.

“I want to see you again,” Shiro says. “I don't want to just --”

“Okay, okay,” Keith says, squeezing his eyes shut. “Just keep kissing me, though, huh?”

“As you wish,” Shiro says, smile pressed along Keith’s throat as he drags himself back up and captures his lips again.

Keith knows that movie. He can only hope Shiro isn't quoting it literally, because Jesus, he only just met the guy.

Keith might have wanted his dick in this guy’s mouth the second he saw him, but love is a completely different ballgame.
__________________________

there's something I could tell ya

“Text me,” Shiro had said when he left Keith that night, aching and hard once again.

“O...Kay?”

“It's easier, sometimes. To -- say stuff. Just -- text me whenever you want.”

“And you're okay with that,” Keith replied, flatly. He felt like a child, something to be handled, managed. He was failing at the most basic of human interaction and couldn't imagine why this well-adjusted popular dude was wasting his fucking time on him, to be honest.

“We all have issues, Keith,” was Shiro’s reply. It was warm and understanding, and Keith didn't understand where this guy came from. Maybe he was an alien.

Keith had to kiss him again, and did so until Shiro was breathless, the color on his cheeks matching Keith’s own.

Foreheads pressed together, he'd said, “When can I see you again?” and Keith had said Monday because he needed a breather.

The texting, though, he was doing. And Shiro was right. It was easier. It almost didn't feel real. He started out with stupid things. Complaining about his coworker, talking about how good the popcorn at the park was, telling a story about some kid who tried to steal the huge Panda bear from the ring toss booth.

He moved onto more serious stuff. Like how the anniversary of his parents' death was coming up. How he had his grandparents' names and constantly thought about seeking them out. How he had a corkboard in his living room with all the information he'd found out about them, along with maps, and photos.

I think you're pretty amazing, is what Shiro texted back.

Keith’s heart jerked in his chest at that.

I think you're the hottest thing I've ever seen and want you to fuck my brains out, was Keith’s reply.

The other thing he learned: it's a lot easier to say what he wants to a screen. He suddenly understood why the medium was so popular.

Jesus Christ Keith, you can't say shit like that, Shiro responded back.

Keith smirked to himself. You're the one who started this, man.
__________________

I'm a shot gun running away

Their second date is Monday. Keith meets Shiro at a movie theater in town, parking his bike out front. Shiro is looking at him like he wants to eat him alive when he arrives. Keith feels a little smug, appreciates the lasting affect that text had on Shiro. The tension crackles and pops between them through the buying of tickets and snacks. The second they're in their seats Shiro is on him, hand heavy on his jaw, breath hot against his mouth.

“Haven't stopped thinking about you,” he whispers, kissing Keith soft and sweet. Too sweet. Keith’s heart does that stupid jerky thing again, and it's not fair. This guy isn't fair. He suddenly remembers the private things he's told Shiro since the last time they saw one another. How it no longer feels distant, but overly present. Because Shiro’s right here, and Keith can't hide from him.

He grips the edges of Shiro’s jacket, pulls him closer, kisses him till he can't breathe.

They barely watch the movie.

After, they go for ice cream. Keith takes Shiro on his bike. He's never had anyone on it before, and the feel of Shiro’s hands on his hips while the ground is falling away beneath him is exhilarating.

Keith talks. He talks more than he has before because it feels like he can. Like the space he was given through the phone opened up some invisible lock inside him. Keith talks about movies -- how he has lists of Korean films he wants to see, the ones he's already watched on torrents. He talks about K-pop and how it compares to pop music here in America. He's pretty sure Shiro has deduced that Keith is just trying to find a culture he never had instilled in him, and it makes him feel vulnerable, but for some reason it's not as scary as it seemed even a week ago. Shiro's starting to feel -- familiar.

And Shiro keeps up the thread, topic after topic, and it just feels natural, right, sitting in a park beneath the stars and talking about nothing at all, yet everything all at once.

Keith drives them back into town and parks his bike next to Shiro’s car.

He walks Shiro to it, walks him right back against the door and presses up into his space, leaning forward on his toes to get his mouth on Shiro’s neck beneath the open collar of his jacket.

“Are you a three-date guy or what?” Keith asks, feeling a little flirty, happy.

“Mm,” Shiro hums, his hands slipping beneath Keith’s jacket and over his hipbones, rubbing. “There's no hard and fast rule.”

Keith snickers.

“Don't,” Shiro warns, but he's laughing, and then Keith is, too, warm puffs of air against the skin of Shiro’s neck. He can't remember the last time he laughed. He's pretty sure he's never done it when pressed up against someone.

“You said it,” Keith points out, scraping his teeth over Shiro’s throat.

“Yeah,” Shiro sighs and wraps his arms around Keith higher so it's more like a hug. Keith’s pulse beats triple time, unable to recall the last hug he even had. He finds his arms wrapping around Shiro of their own accord as he exhales shakily, shoulders dropping.

Shiro presses a kiss to Keith's temple, and Keith’s eyes squeeze shut, his stomach flipping, breathing gone ragged.

“I gotta go,” he mumbles, pulling away quickly and not meeting Shiro’s eyes.

“Keith --” Shiro says, voice thick with worry.

“I gotta go,” Keith repeats and blindly makes his way to his bike. His heart doesn't stop racing until long after he's in bed.

He doesn't look at the text he received until morning.

I'm sorry if I said or did anything to make you uncomfortable. We can take this as slow as you need.

Keith feels his eyes prickle at that and blinks rapidly. He has no idea what to say in response. How do you tell a guy you're falling for that you want his dick badly but a hug and gentle kisses send you into a panic attack?

Keith has no answer to the question, so he takes the coward's way out: he ignores Shiro completely.
__________________________

The thing about trying to ignore someone is that it's great in theory and lousy in practice, especially when said someone knows where you work. Shiro gives him space the first few days, a simple text of I hope you’re okay the only contact. It makes Keith grateful and annoyed all at once. On Saturday, Shiro turns up and hangs around the ring toss while Keith pretends to be super busy. By the time Shiro’s thrown down 20 bucks on the game and has a row full of stuffed animals, he caves.

“Just how much money do you plan on wasting here?”

“As much as it takes for you to talk to me,” Shiro says with a casual shrug.

Keith folds his arms across his chest, glares, and then hops over the divider, putting up the “back in 30 minutes” sign.

“C’mon, I'm taking my break,” Keith says, pulling Shiro along with him.

They stop out near the porta-potties behind the Ferris wheel, and Keith pulls out a cigarette.

“Didn't know you smoked,” Shiro says, light, no judgement. He wishes this guy would say something to piss him off.

“Off and on,” Keith replies, flicking his lighter. This week had definitely been “on,” and he refuses to think of why.

Shiro nods, and Keith can feel his eyes on him. Keith exhales sharply, blowing smoke between them. He drags his hand through his hair. “Look, Shiro, you don't want someone like me, okay?”

Shiro’s quiet. Too quiet. When Keith sneaks a glance, he finds Shiro looking down at his shoes, jaw tight. “‘Maybe you should let me decide that.”

Keith sighs, shaking his head as he takes another drag. It's hopeless. They're hopeless.

“Unless, of course, it's you who doesn't want me.”

Common sense is screaming at him to agree, to walk away.

Except Keith's not very good at lying to himself. Not for long, anyway.

In the end, he says nothing, just looks at Shiro. Lets him read whatever is there in his eyes.

It must be enough because Shiro takes one step closer and then another. He reaches out, cups Keith’s jaw. Keith looks up through his eyelashes and swallows, hard, when Shiro runs his thumb over his skin.

“You're beautiful, you know that?” His voice is soft, barely there.

Keith tries to snort but it hiccups in his throat. “Give it a rest, man.” He's just trembling because the wind’s picked up a bit, that's all.

“Seriously,” Shiro whispers, fingertips stroking over Keith’s cheekbones.

Keith’s eyes flutter shut. Every bone in his body is telling him to run. That this is exactly why he pulled away in the first place. Yet his feet feel frozen, his knees locked.

He leans into the touch, lets Shiro fill his senses, lets himself be consumed.

They kiss, and Keith can't remember why he wouldn't want this. Can't think of anything but Shiro’s tongue brushing against his own, of the slick, perfect heat of Shiro’s mouth.

“I was gonna ask you to go to the meteor shower tonight, before everything,” Shiro breathes out when they break apart. When it's Keith on his toes, clutching at the muscles of Shiro’s arms, nuzzling his face against his neck.

“Okay, yeah. Sure.”

Keith would say yes to anything right now. He feels drunk on Shiro, hadn’t realized how badly he wanted this, needed it.

Perhaps he was good at lying to himself after all.
__________________________

so come a little closer

Shiro takes him to the roof of the Garrison.

“Uhhh… are we supposed to do this?”

“Classes don’t start up again until September. No one really cares.”

Keith eyes him uncertainly but lets himself be pulled along. Shiro puts a blanket down that he pulled out of the backseat of his car, because he’s a gentleman like that. He tells Keith about how they let a handful of students stay on the base during breaks, and Shiro’s one of them this term.

“Just didn’t feel like heading back home all summer, this time,” he says. Back home is California. “Matt and Kelly are here, so it’s cool.”

Keith feels lost when Shiro says things like this. He has no comparison. No family to speak of, no friends to fall back on.

“And you,” Shiro says, quietly in his ear. Keith’s face burns. This guy is stupidly cheesy and romantic, and Keith’s never really met anyone like him.

Keith turns his head, captures Shiro’s mouth with his own because it’s the one failsafe he has. His ace in the hole. Shiro changes up the script, though, kisses Keith slowly, gently. Every time Keith tries to start something, make it hotter, harder, Shiro pulls back. Nips at Keith’s lips, the corner of his mouth, kisses him shallowly, teasing.

“C’mon, it’s about to start,” Shiro whispers against Keith’s mouth, when Keith’s trying to burrow his way inside, arms tight around Shiro’s waist, fingers flexing.

“Okay,” Keith breathes, tearing himself away but staying close. His body is thrumming, eyes unfocused.

Shiro lays them down, one arm around Keith’s neck. “You ever seen one of these?” His voice is a quiet, lazy murmur. It washes over Keith like the blanket they’re lying on.

“No, but I know about them.”

“Yeah? Tell me.”

So Keith talks about the Alpha Capricornids, Perseids, and Leonids, and the facts about them, and Shiro listens like he doesn’t already know this stuff. Like he isn’t in astronaut school or some shit like that.

But it’s nice, and Shiro feels warm and solid, and watching the shooting stars go by over their head makes Keith -- in this moment -- believe in the same romance that Shiro seems gung ho on showing him.

At some point, Shiro’s hand finds his, and Keith had no idea the simple act of handholding could be so sexy. Shiro’s fingers are long and thick and feel fantastic everywhere they touch him. His palm, the back of his hand, sweeping along his wrist.

By the time the shower is over, Keith has his mouth on Shiro’s neck and Shiro is finally losing that last shred of control, whispering, “Fuck, c’mere,” his hands sliding under Keith’s jacket and t-shirt while shouldering Keith down onto his back and settling against him.

“Yes,” Keith breathes, grappling at Shiro clumsily, uncoordinated, so turned on he has no idea what to do with himself.

“God, I want you,” Shiro groans into Keith’s neck, licking slowly at his skin.

Keith feels an unsteady laugh claw its way out of his throat. “Could’ve had me forever ago,” he says, eyes falling shut at the feel of Shiro against him, the hard lines of his body, the warmth of his breath.

“I know,” Shiro admits quietly, and Keith’s heart dives and swoops.

Then Shiro’s mouth is on him again, his hands fumbling with Keith’s zipper, and Keith doesn’t want to talk, doesn’t want to think, just wants to feel.

Shiro jerks him off with Keith pressed back against the roof, the cold of the cement seeping through the thin blanket and past the heat of his body. Shiro holds one hand down beside Keith’s head and works him over, makes him shake, groan, come apart beneath him. His hand weakly strokes the back of Shiro’s neck, his hair, while Shiro kisses him and jerks him until there’s nothing left for Keith to do but cry out against Shiro’s mouth and arch and come.

“Jesus,” Shiro pants, sucking weakly at Keith’s neck, voice wrecked like he was the one who just saw spots behind his eyes in the shape of stars.

“Ngh,” is all Keith can get out, and it makes Shiro laugh. And then Keith is laughing, his chest feeling light and -- happy and shit.

He drags a hand through his own hair and laughs again, incredulous. Shiro smiles against his throat and kisses him some more, nipping little licks until Keith can get himself together enough to remember he’s gotta try and give back as good as he got here.

He rolls them over, kisses Shiro until he’s breathing harder than he already was, slides down his body, fingers working over his pants.

“Oh, oh,” Keith hears above him, as Shiro’s head falls back. They’re the hottest sounds ever and Keith wants to hear them forever.

He gets Shiro out of his jeans and briefs. His dick is thick and long like his fingers, but hotter, smoother. Keith pumps him a few times, mouths along his torso.

Shiro’s hand comes up in his hair and Keith welcomes it, pushes against his hand until Shiro threads his fingers in it and pulls. It’s not something Keith normally enjoys, but he’s coming to realize normally doesn’t really apply to Shiro.

He swipes at the head with his tongue, listens to Shiro’s quick inhale of breath, feels the way his fingers tighten and then relax.

“Keith,” he breathes out like a prayer.

He fits his lips around the head, slides down slowly, mouth tight and Shiro stretching him wide.

Shiro’s fingers brush over the nape of his neck, stroking restlessly. “Oh, god, yes. Keith.”

Keith’s never really cared much for his name until hearing it fall from Shiro’s lips like it means everything. Like this is the most important thing to ever happen, full stop.

It makes him suck Shiro harder, to want to give him everything.

“Ah, oh,” Shiro pants, his hand tight in Keith’s hair again as Keith slides up and down his length, using his hand for whatever his mouth can’t take. Shiro guides him, fingers firm yet gentle, not pushing.

The pace increases and Keith’s starting to feel a little desperate again, his body on fire from the feel of Shiro in his mouth, against his scalp, the moans in his ears.

He rocks downward while Shiro arches up, humming. Shiro’s fingers go slack for a moment before he gasps, “Keith, gonna -- gonna come, baby, pull off.”

Keith shakes his head and sucks him down harder, going deeper than he has yet. The endearment rings in his ears until it's drowned out by the sound of Shiro coming apart around his tongue. He laps it up, breathing hard as he pulls back to catch it all.

“God, God,” is all Shiro can seem to say, and if Keith felt he had the capacity to, he’d grin. Instead he rubs at his own dick that’s still half out of his pants, chubbed up from everything that just happened.

Shiro pulls him up, kissing him deep and hard while Keith frantically presses against him and comes again, crying out while Shiro kisses him through it.

“Jesus,” Shiro whispers against his mouth, their foreheads pressed together. “You’re --”

But he breaks off before finishing, rolling Keith over and kissing him so damn slow and sweet that Keith’s heart breaks a little in the process.

“I need a cigarette,” Keith mumbles when they finally part, and Shiro’s laughter is like music to his ears.

__________________________

They make out in Shiro's car for fifteen minutes when they pull up to the amusement park, until Keith's gotta get out or never leave.

"I'm not gonna be around for a bit," Shiro says, his forehead against Keith's again, as if the action grounds him as much as it does Keith.

The words feel like ice through his overheated body, which is ridiculous. This isn't how this is supposed to go. This odd feeling of attachment, like Shiro’s only supposed to be where Keith is.

"Okay," Keith says, blank.

"Visiting my family for a week," Shiro says, pulling back to look at Keith, who nods.

"When?"

"Monday. We didn't decide till a few days ago."

Keith wonders if it's too pathetic to ask to see Shiro again tomorrow, and then wants to punch himself in the face.

"Hey,” Shiro says, breaking Keith out of his thoughts. He looks up to find Shiro smiling at him. “You'd better text," Shiro murmurs, soft, fond, his hand coming up to push Keith's hair off his forehead.

"I will," Keith says, feeling like he's floundering. The weirdest part is that he means it.

He steps out of Shiro's car and puts his hand up in a wave. Shiro mirrors his stance, smiling wider.

"Shit," Keith whispers as he pulls away.

He's so screwed.
__________________________

you are such a rollercoaster

Keith hasn't been on his phone this much in -- well, ever. He mostly just used it for music before, but now he's sending a ridiculous amount of texts a day to keep up with Shiro and getting shit from his coworkers in the process.

Keith doesn't give a damn, though. The stupid buzzing in his pocket is the highlight of his day.

Midweek he's just about climbing the walls, thinking about Shiro, about what they did and how good it was. Apparently he's not alone because Shiro texts him stuff like can't stop thinking about you and your mouth, Keith and fuck, Keith doesn't even care that he's at work, he just types back how badly he wants it again.

They sext for half of Keith's shift, Keith grateful that it isn't busy and that the booth hides half of his body from view. He's never done this before and immediately sees the appeal. Shiro's shy at first, but once he gets going he's on fire.

It's a slow, torturous tease, with Keith making Shiro come twice before he's even gotten a hand on himself. When it's time for his break, he can barely make it to the bathroom stall of the employee lounge.

call me, was the last text from Shiro. I want to hear you.

He does, fingers trembling around the phone as he undoes his jeans.

"You make me crazy, oh my god," Shiro's saying before Keith has even said hello. He sounds like he's been screaming, voice scratchy and deep.

"Talk to me," Keith gasps, and Shiro does. Tells Keith what to do, what he wants to do to him, how much he misses him.

"Don't --" Keith whispers, and Shiro doesn't ask what he means, and Keith forgets it in a second anyway because he's coming, muffled cries against his forearm while Shiro repeats his name like a mantra.

After, Keith can't stop letting out bursts of incredulous giggles to himself, alone at the booth, shaking his head. He opens his phone and blank message.

We sexted for four hours straight. Is this really what my life has come to?

He closes the text immediately after because he's got no one to send it to, but it felt good to just type the words, to put these foreign feelings into the void, even if they'll never be delivered anywhere.

He flips over to Shiro's thread, thumbs over his last words.

three more days.
__________________________

Sexting becomes a thing after that. Keith's dick is getting more action with Shiro away than it was when he was here.

He says as much Saturday night, when he's smoking on his break and thinking about the way they got off together this morning, phone sex this time, Shiro's warm, sleepy voice in his ear.

For a guy who won't fuck me, your dick is out a lot when we talk

Keith smirks down at his words and tosses his butt aside, heading back to the bumper cars.

"Hey, I know you!" a voice says when he's made his way there.

He squints at the guy who's in line, arms folding over his chest. He looks vaguely familiar.

"Matt! Shiro's friend."

"Oh, right."

Matt smiles at him. "Shiro's told us a lot about you."

"Okay…” Keith replies. His skin itches.

"Maybe we can all go out when he gets back."

"Um yeah, sure."

"Great!"

Keith nods and starts letting people on the ride, brain going a mile a minute.

Afterward, Matt smiles at him. He's with a young girl who looks like him, but she's not paying them any attention. "He really likes you, you know," Matt says in his ear as he walks by.

Keith stares after him, mouth open.

As if on cue, Keith's phone buzzes in his pocket.

patience is a virtue

Keith snorts. This guy is such a dork and he "really likes" Keith and -- Jesus Christ.

There's another text before he can reply.

you have no idea how bad I want to. I've wanted to since the second I saw you.

Heat spreads through his body like wildfire.

His fingers are nimble as he types. you can have anything you want, Shiro.

Keith holds his breath until the reply comes.

two days

“I really like you,” Keith says down to his phone, just to try it out. He can't wrap his mind around Shiro apparently saying it to Matt. The entire concept seems completely foreign, yet the words on his tongue feel oddly right.
__________________________

never thought we'd take it that far

Keith invites Shiro over to his place the night he gets back. He's never had anyone over, is the thing. His place is sparse and too hot during the day and too cold at night. He finds himself scrubbing the bathtub, which makes no sense. Like Shiro’s gonna look at the bathtub.

All the while, the interaction with Matt plays on a loop in his brain. When Shiro finally knocks on the door, Keith has chain smoked five cigarettes and nearly taken off through the back door.

“Hey,” Shiro says. He's gotten some sun, a white strip on his nose from where his sunglasses must have rested sticking out like a sore thumb. He should look ridiculous, but Keith’s never been into someone more.

“Hi,” Keith says, before pulling him down and crushing their mouths together.

Shiro makes a surprised sound, kicks the door shut behind them before backing himself up against it.

He breaks away to bury his face in Keith’s neck, breathing him in, pulling him close. Keith lets himself go, fighting against the panic in his chest.

“Smoking,” Shiro says, thoughtful hum to his voice.

“Yeah,” Keith says, breathing him in.

His heart beats rapidly as Shiro hugs him, as he whispers, “Missed you,” against Keith’s hair.

Keith opens his mouth but the words refuse to come. He does what he can: tugs Shiro backwards, kisses him again, makes his way to the bedroom.

“Don't I get the tour?” Shiro laughs into his mouth.

“Later,” Keith promises.

Shiro gets on board quickly, presses Keith into the mattress, rucks up his shirt to kiss his chest while working on his jeans. The first touch of Shiro’s mouth on his cock is like everything he imagined and more. Keith watches him for as much as he can, lips parted, cheeks flushed, fingers curved along that jawline that he noticed from across the amusement park that first night.

His head tips back on a gasp when he can't hold it up anymore, when Shiro sucks him down to the root and makes Keith’s toes curl and thighs quake.

“Missed you,” he breathes out, the words barely audible, as he comes. Shiro moans around his dick and Keith is pretty sure he heard it.

After, when they've jerked Shiro off together, kissing the entire time, Shiro tells him about his trip home, and Keith listens without feeling bone crushing envy. He considers it a small victory. He shows Shiro his place and takes him up to the hill to sit out beneath the stars.

He almost asks Shiro to stay the night, and when they part at his door, Shiro looking slightly disappointed, he has to wonder why he didn't.
__________________________

you let your clothes fall to the floor

Shiro starts up at the Garrison, as he calls it, in a few weeks. He wants to get some training in so starts heading to the gym. Keith goes with him when he's not working.

“Okay, you're crazy good,” Shiro says when Keith tells him he's done some martial arts and offers to spar with him.

Keith shrugs, runs his gloved hand through his hair. “I'm alright.”

Shiro shakes his head. “Keith, you're better than alright.”

Shiro starts focusing more on Keith and what he can do, and less on himself. He gets this tone in his voice when they train: commanding, in charge. Telling Keith when he's stepped in wrong, put his hands in the wrong spot. Praising him when he's done something right, It makes Keith imagine what he's like at the Garrison, and he finds himself captivated by this side of Shiro that he'd only seen glimpses of thus far.

In between the training and hand to hand combat drills, they go out with Matt and Kelly. It feels too much like a double date. Dinner at Dave and Busters and then games after. The games Keith can handle: his competitive side comes out and Shiro, well, Shiro's seemingly delighted by it all. The dinner is weird, though. Having to talk about himself with people who are just trying to be friendly, get to know him. It's not their fault it makes Keith feel like he's on trial.

“You doing okay?” Shiro leans over to whisper to him when they're playing skeeball.

Keith nods, smiling up at him. He can do this, do it for Shiro.

After two weeks of dates and training, they find their way back at Keith’s place, kissing before they're even in the door. They've gotten fully naked by this point but still haven't gone all the way. It feels like it's on tonight, though. Shiro’s hands are everywhere, and he seems desperate in a way Keith can't remember.

Keith doesn't want to ask why, just wants this. He kisses Shiro harder, puts everything he can into it.

“Keith. Need you,” Shiro whispers, sharp bite to his jaw, his neck.

“Told you, you can have anything.”

Shiro groans loudly, and then Keith’s being hoisted up and carried back to the bedroom and he'd laugh and protest if it weren't one of the hottest things he'd ever experienced.

“Shiro,” Keith gasps, surprise and wonder and -- fuck, so much affection laced in his voice.

“Keith,” Shiro whispers back, and then their eyes lock and it's like time stops.

Keith wants to look away. Shiro’s gaze is too naked, all-consuming and terrifying.

He refuses to be a coward though and holds strong.

“Keith,” Shiro repeats, and the word sounds like love. Keith shuts his eyes and accepts the gentle press of Shiro’s mouth against his own, his heart pounding so loud that he's positive Shiro can hear it.

They kiss long and slow until Keith is trembling.

“Hey, hey, you with me?” Shiro’s saying, hand warm and heavy on Keith’s face.

“Yeah,” Keith says, nodding and slowly opening his eyes. “Yeah, I'm good.”

Sex, Keith can do. Except this doesn't feel like sex. This feels like something else entirely.

“We don't have to--”

Keith surges up, cutting Shiro’s words off with his mouth.

“I want to, want you,” Keith whispers.

Shiro pulls back to regard him, eyes serious, like he does when they train. Like Keith is something he needs to protect. Keith flushes hot and meets his stare, unwavering.

Shiro nods, a quick, jerky motion, and bends to kiss him again.

Keith moans when Shiro drops down onto him, does it again when he's rolled over so he's on top. He loves the feeling of Shiro’s body -- broader, taller, all strength and muscle. Keith knows he's strong too, knows Shiro is well aware of that now, too. But he's more compact, lithe, while Shiro is just big and solid and can make him breathless just from the way he presses Keith’s body into the mattress.

When he's on top of Shiro like this, it feels weird, like he's already used to being covered, enclosed. Weird, yet he still loves it. Loves when he can pin Shiro into the mat at the gym, loves when he can make him boneless with just his lips and tongue in bed. Tonight, he thinks he wants it this way. Wants to climb on top of Shiro and watch him fall apart.

From the way Shiro is letting him move, letting Keith take his wrists in one hand and bring them up over his head, he's thinking they're on the same page here.

They undress slowly, getting tangled up a few times, breathless laughter leaving their mouths. It feels less fraught than before but still significant. Keith tries not to think about it, about all these emotions swirling inside him. Instead, he focuses on getting the condom from the table near the bed and finding the lube.

Shiro works him open while Keith’s still straddling him. He kisses Keith's neck, clavicle, nipples, while he does it. He whispers things into his skin that blur together in Keith’s mind. By the time Keith’s sinking down onto Shiro’s cock, he's gasping and shaking, and it's not fair. Shiro was the one who was supposed to come apart at the seams.

Keith bites his lip, drags his hands up and down Shiro’s chest, looks at the wall, the ceiling, anything.

“Look at me,” Shiro whispers.

Keith squeezes his eyes shut.

“Keith,” Shiro says, in that way he always says Keith’s name. In the way no one's ever said his name. His hand cups Keith’s jaw. “Baby, c’mon.”

Keith does, and his breath catches. It's cliche as hell, falling in love during sex. Keith's ashamed of himself, honestly.

“You good?” Shiro asks, lips parted, chest heaving.

“Yeah,” Keith says, laughing, feeling a little manic. “Yeah, I'm good.”

He starts to move.
________________________

They do it all night long, stopping in between rounds to regain their breathing, Keith lying on top of Shiro, cheek pressed against his chest, loving the way he fits against him, body nestled perfectly against Shiro’s broad frame. Shiro murmurs quietly in his ear, strokes his hair, rolls Keith over to kiss him until Keith’s opening his legs again and pulling Shiro closer until he gets the hint and finds his way back inside.

This time, Keith doesn't have to ask Shiro to stay; they pass out sometime during the night and pretty soon it's morning.

When Keith wakes up it's to Shiro carrying in a tray with fresh coffee, eggs, and an application to Galaxy Garrison.

“Um,” Keith says, sitting up against the wall and blinking.

“Good morning, you're incredible,” Shiro says, sitting next to him, kissing his bicep, his shoulder.

“And that's an application to the Garrison,” Keith says, ignoring the heat he feels at Shiro’s praise and focusing on his annoyance that he can't cross his arms because the tray is now in the way.

“It is,” Shiro says easily. “Eat before it gets cold.”

Keith eyes him but takes a bite. They taste better than his own scrambled eggs. Fluffier. He should've known this guy would be good at everything he sets out to do.

“We’re talking about this,” Keith warns.

“Can we shower first?” Shiro asks, standing and shedding his briefs, the material pulling tight over his ass as he tugs them off and heads to the bathroom.

Keith’s never eaten faster in his life.

After an enthusiastic round of shower sex, Shiro pleads his case. That the Garrison accepts enlistments. That it isn't just people applying straight out of high school or college. That Keith would gain so much from it, and he has fighter pilot written all over him.

“I've got a GED and history of problems with authority figures, and you want me to enlist in a space military program?”

“You're smart as hell, a natural for hand to hand combat and sparring, and have fantastic intuition,” Shiro counters.

“I'm a trainwreck, Shiro,” Keith says. “You're literally the only person who's seen something else.”

“So let other people see it. Enlistment goes to mid September. Take the test and try out, Keith.”

Keith breathes in and out. It's too much to think about. Too much to even imagine.

“Just think about it,” Shiro says, voice quiet. He puts his hand in Keith’s.

Keith holds on tight.
__________________________

and I don't say no

Shiro doesn't bring it up again. Time passes quickly, spent in a haze of sparring and fucking and working. Before Keith knows it, Shiro’s starting up at the Garrison again.

They go out the night before classes begin, because pretty soon Shiro won't have the freedom he's had the past few months. Keith thinks about that. Thinks about having to live on a base and give up his place and his independence. Thinks about having to listen to instructors and officers. Thinks about being with Shiro, learning and training and trying to reach the stars.

“Do you like the Ferris wheel?” Shiro asked him the other night when he picked up Keith from work.

“I'm not really one for heights,” Keith had replied, but they rode it anyway, and Keith couldn't stop looking at the sky while sinking into Shiro's warmth beside him.

“I'll do it,” Keith says, when they've back at his place and Shiro’s so deep inside him that Keith can't tell where either of them begins or ends. “Shiro, I'll --”

“Fuck, Keith,” Shiro groans, and fucks him harder, lifting his legs over his shoulders and mouthing his shoulder. “I love you.”

Keith’s eyes fly open, his heart tripping over in his chest. He wants to say something, needs to. Except he can't do anything but hold on tight, hands slipping across Shiro’s slick skin as he rides out the wave of emotion.
__________________________

I think about it every day and night
I can't let go

two years later

He’d missed the shack, but returning to it under these circumstances isn't something Keith envisioned. It's become a place of research now, as opposed to one of escape, the old notion of finding his grandparents replaced by maps and renderings of something essential that he can't put into words. He no longer feels at home here, but misplaced, like he's waiting for something: a sign. The night it happens feels different than the previous pulls. Stronger, more intense.

Keith resents it because he hasn't felt this much in years and he never wanted to again, honestly, was well honed in avoiding any emotion that wasn't anger or indifference. The pull tonight is too strong, though, and Keith’s helpless to fight it. And just like that, it's like he knows. He just knows, because there was only one thing in his life that he was helpless against before this. Knows because he never truly believed it. Because there had to be an explanation beyond the story that had been fed to them and the press.

Keith breaks onto the med bay of the base, his old motorbike traded for a hover one, still red. He always thought Shiro would've liked it.

Keith fights on instinct because it's all he's ever had. He takes out the guards and officers and sprints across the room. When he sees the body on the table, his heart stops. Coming closer, he tugs down his mask, hands trembling and eyes burning as he reaches out and gently touches the skin of a face that looks so familiar yet so foreign.

“Shiro?”

Like a switch being flipped, Keith no longer feels the numbness in his chest that's taken up residence there since Shiro’s been gone, well over a year now. Since he was pronounced dead, and Keith’s heart -- that had never wanted to love anything to begin with -- closed in on itself.

Keith had been angry at first, resentful. Pissed at Shiro for bringing him to the Garrison only to discover out he’d be going on mission no less than seven months later, leaving Keith all alone. It'd been a surprise to both of them, Shiro’s selection.

“I can say no,” he had said one night when they were huddled together on the roof, watching the stars. It felt nothing like the last time. Keith wasn't even sure who he was anymore.

“I'm not letting you do that,” Keith replied, and Shiro tangled their fingers together.

"I feel shitty, though. Leaving you."

I'm used to being alone, Keith had thought, but the words didn't feel as accurate as they once had. It was Shiro he was used to now, who carved his way inside of Keith in such a short period of time without the possibility of ever clawing his way out.

"I'm not going anywhere," Keith replied with conviction in his voice, meant it with every fibre of his being. It was the first time in his life his fight or flight instincts weren't kicking in. He'd be here when Shiro got back.

The first six months Shiro was away were spent with stealth Skype calls and even stealthier Skype sex. Keith was excelling in his classes and had made fighter pilot class. The entire time he had the sense memory of Shiro’s voice in his ear, guiding him.

Prior to Shiro’s leaving, Keith had become friends with Matt and Kelly and others in Shiro’s group. He hadn't considered them his friends, really, but they were more than he’d ever had. When Matt and Shiro left, Keith tried to keep up the connections he'd made at the Garrison. Until the announcement, that was. In that moment, it all changed.

In that moment, nothing really mattered anymore. Not his course work or his combat sims or anything he and Shiro had been working toward together. Not if there wasn't a Shiro.

Touching Shiro now feels like coming home to a home he's never truly had. Like Keith’s been given a second chance, and his only thought is that he's not about to let Shiro out of his sight again.

“It's good to have you back,” Keith tells him later, his hand firm on Shiro’s shoulder, when he finds him on the hill. Their hill. The contact is as much for himself as it is for Shiro -- the need to touch him again, prove that he's real. That this isn't some dream that Keith’s about to wake up from, gasping and alone in the dark, reaching out for nothing.

Keith knows they have a lot to talk about. Knows that this time it's Shiro who has the emotional baggage.

He's ready for it, though. Because when Keith says those six words to Shiro, what he really means is “I missed you” and “I love you” all rolled into one. And Shiro -- well, Shiro always was the best at cutting through Keith’s walls and knowing exactly what he needed, what he was trying to say.

Keith thinks he's ready to return the favor.

[end]