Chapter Text
Keith considers himself polite, both respectful and respectable. At least that’s what he tries to convey on his application to the house-sitting agency. He must be convincing because they call him back and set him up with his first and only client for the summer.
It’s weird being in a stranger’s house but he gets over it with all the amenities he’s never been afforded in his life—a big, sprawling kitchen, a bed that would take up the entire floor space of his studio apartment, and a fucking pool.
It feels like a vacation, even though he’s been left with a long list of duties—chores, really, but upkeep is what they’re paying him for. As he’s testing the PH levels in the pool, getting ready to clean it, he hears a sliding door open and shut. An unreasonable fear flares in his mind—had he gone to the wrong house?—but no, it’s from the house next door, and Keith squints against the clear sky to catch a glimpse of the neighbor, almost dropping the testing kit in the process.
The neighbor is tall and broad-shouldered and seamlessly tanned, sunlight gleaming off the metal of his right arm. Silver fox, Keith thinks from the color of his hair, but the guy hardly looks a day over thirty-five in nothing but a black Speedo.
And it would be quite rude if Keith didn’t return the neighbor’s casual wave.
Hours later, the doorbell rings; the same neighbor brings him a bottle of wine, dressed in relaxed jeans and a tight black shirt. He introduces himself as Shiro after Keith explains he’s house-sitting for the summer. To that, the neighbor smiles and says, “Well, if there’s anything you need, I’m right next door.”
It’s not an invitation, not really—the guy’s probably just being nice—but Keith can’t get that smile off his mind as he helps himself to the gifted wine. He’s more of a beer guy but as far as he can tell, it’s good stuff. And much later, before bed, Keith jerks off in the enormous master shower at the thought of riding Shiro until his legs ache.
The neighbor is outside the next day, not swimming but lounging on his own deck and he’s—not wearing the fucking Speedo, or anything for that matter; his body glistens with tan oil in the sun like a statuesque wet dream.
It’s rude to stare, Keith knows. He can’t decide if he wishes the fence between them was higher or nonexistent. And Shiro has to know what he’s doing, especially when he tips his aviator sunglasses up and gives Keith a wave that feels way more familiar than it should. Keith chuckles nervously and waves back, feeling like his tank and shorts are formalwear in comparison.
This continues through the week, though Keith has mixed feelings about the fact that Shiro doesn’t tan nude after that. Keith spends most of his house-sitting time outside, swimming laps in the pool, which he finds preferable to any piece of gym equipment.
At one point he comes up for air at the pool edge and notices Shiro is standing at the fence, watching him with his arms folded along the stained, shadowbox wood.
“I was gonna grill some steaks for lunch and wanted to see if you’d be interested.”
Keith knows it would be incredibly rude to turn down such a hospitable offer. He couldn’t live with himself if his clients heard how impolite he was.
And in all honesty—when Shiro presses him against a wall inside his very nice house—it would be doubly rude if Keith didn’t return the hungry kiss. And wow, would his behavior ever be considered appalling if he didn’t sink down on his knees and tug Shiro’s Speedo out of the way and release his half-hard cock from its polyester prison.
“God, you’re so sexy,” Shiro murmurs above him, carding his fingers through Keith’s damp hair.
Compliments necessitate gratitude, which Keith shows by shoving Shiro’s plump cock into his mouth. It forces his jaw wide, flattening his tongue—everything he’d hoped for since he jerked off with Shiro in mind.
“Look at you,” Shiro says, pushing Keith’s hair to the side as their eyes meet. “You been thinking about this?”
Honesty is the best policy so Keith nods, saliva pooling out of the corners of his mouth with the motion. Shiro rewards him with a pleased groan, fingers sinking into Keith’s hair as he holds his head still and rolls his hips.
Shiro fucks his mouth like a piston, the muscles in his thighs flexing provocatively beneath Keith’s fingers. Keith can normally take any dick down his throat with no fucking problem but Shiro’s is meaty and thick and pulsing, ramming in the back of Keith’s throat like a jackhammer. If he gags he hardly feels it, hardly notices the saliva dripping down his chin over the blissed-out buzz in his brain.
“Fuck—gonna come—”
Keith barely gets out a hum as Shiro pulls back and fists himself, coming half in Keith’s mouth and half on his lips, milking himself until his noises pitch up. Keith flicks his tongue over the spongey head of Shiro’s cock to clean him up—campground rule, of course, always leave things the way you found them.
Shiro tucks himself back in before he pulls Keith to his feet like he weighs nothing, grinning from ear to ear. “You still hungry?”
Keith laughs, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “Starving.”