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The Altean jet crash lands on one of Shiro and Keith’s lab days, a particularly long one that has Keith complaining to Shiro that “my back’s gonna feel so misaligned after this. Think I’m catching your advanced years like a virus old man.” And sure, maybe the jet crash lands with some MFE-shaped help, but its disoriented curlicue in the air and eventual nosedive into the scalloped side of a sand bank (just a few meters away from where Keith and Shiro are standing on the patio) can’t really be described with any term more gracious. It happens while Keith and Shiro are taking their first break of the day, right around a twilight that matches the Altean craft so well, deep blue for deep blue, that for a moment Shiro feels like the earth’s slinging a swell of its sky right at their faces.
Even as Shiro watches uniformed Garrison personnel sprint to the smoking craft, even as the blur of sand tossed up by the crash churns so thick he knows, for weeks to come, he’ll be spitting out grit every time he’s diva enough to breathe next to an open window, he doesn’t mark the moment down as one of true excitement. Since Altean and earthly governments reached their peaceful accord several years ago, random drop-ins like this aren’t the hair-triggers for immediate retaliation, the precursors to protracted interplanetary battles, that they once were. These ships are typically headed by independent Altean freedom fighters who, though supposedly staunch in their anti-Earth stance, lose their fortitude like prom night virginities when they spot the ten to fifteen Garrison rifles trained on them. And Shiro’s not a war-monger or anything but… how boring .
He’d been looking forward to a moment of higher energy. Especially after he and Keith had sunk so many lab hours into conducting electrodiagnostic tests on the nervous system of an Arusian sea anemone Keith brought back from his last discovery mission. They spent about half of the time with ear plugs on once a test of theirs prompted the anemone’s latent parrot-like ability to mimic sounds and it absorbed Hanson’s “MMMBop” as it played loudly from Pidge’s throwback playlist across the hall. After the anemone’s thirteenth run-through of the entire song, Shiro looked at Keith, eyes haunted, and said in his most earnest tone of voice that “the 90s were a mistake.”
Shiro is looking down at his watch, monitoring the length of their break, when Keith whistles low beside him. Keith’s lit cigarette slips from his lips and pitches towards the ground after its own ash. Shiro follows his line of sight. What Shiro finds is not the copse of disgruntled guards that he expects, leading away a manacled fighter whose face reads less “space badass” and more “office intern who’d rather jam the copier to a beep-beep -filled demise than ask for help using it.” Rather, the group of Garrison guards is in total disarray, and Shiro spots two overwhelmed sentries clack the necks of their rifles together like they’re fencing with them.
At the center of the confused half arc, unobscured now that the sand cloud has scattered itself gone, is the Altean fighter. He is a young man in a high-collared white vest. It’s sleeveless, and the discernible bunch-and-release of his lightly toned arms has Shiro raising a brow. There’s a large golden tattoo on his right bicep that tilts and curves with every move he makes. His curly hair is as white as his vest, and for a moment Shiro feels a specific kind of platinum-blonde rapport (as he’s never seen a white-haired Altean in person), like this boy has gone out and hand-picked the exact brand of Unbelievable Stress© that’s changed Shiro’s own hair so drastically from its original black.
For all that the young man’s still several yards away, for all that he’s leaping away from and back onto his jet wing as he brandishes his broadsword to keep back the sentries, capitalizing on the guards’ collective bluff (as they would never actually fatally harm an Altean, no matter the circumstances under which that Altean is discovered), Shiro notes two essential things. One: he is excited, and the boy deserves a potpourri basket and a couple hundred dollars cash for that alone; two: the young man is exceedingly beautiful, and a distinct sort of breathtaking—in face, movement, and demeanor—when agitated. When brought to a brink.
He moves with a bodily grace Shiro’s never seen this close and it, all at once, becomes quite clear to Shiro why Earth’s troops always lost to any well-trained Altean in hand-to-hand combat during the war. The young man pulls off a spin-kick maneuver that even Shiro, who has been doing nothing but observing the Altean’s offensive, is unable to anticipate. In the split-moment that the young man extends his long, strong leg, Shiro takes in the curve of his calf through form-fitting black elastic. The boy is a marvel. Shiro feels himself working his jaw, greedy, before he’s conscious enough of the motion to stop, reminding himself in the process that he’s a domesticated, bipedal creature who’s more than his base attractions. He’s a scientist goddammit.
When Shiro looks over at Keith again, Keith’s already watching him, an inquisitive eyebrow raised. He’s amused by something, but instead of addressing whatever it is head-on, Keith says, real conversational like they’re waiting for a taxi and not watching their colleagues get their asses hacky-sacked then handed to them on a shared silver platter,
“I think his face is doing about 40% of the work, functioning as a diversion and all that. He has you distracted and you don’t even have a gun in your hand.”
“Who’s distracted? I’ve never paid closer attention to anything in my entire life.”
Keith hums, thoughtful. “I bet.”
Shiro starts to work his jaws again, so he changes the subject. He nods over at the crashed jet as one of the guards catches the flat of the young man’s broadsword on his shoulder blades and is forced into a clumsy forward somersault.
“Think they need backup?”
“Like, by us? Kid’s not that good.”
“Wow, I can’t believe you’re still working through that little competitive jock phase. I’ll get you some misplaced angst and a tracksuit to live in.”
Keith rolls his eyes. The young man finally succumbs to a well-placed hit with the butt of a rifle to the back of his head. Keith whistles low again, then says, his voice carefully blank,
“That stamina, huh?”
—
Keith expects that, by the end of the night, the Garrison will have this latest Altean interloper—whose name, according to digital ship logs recovered from his grounded jet, is Lance—on a defanged, weaponless (Garrison-issued) ship towards home. They will send his jet, as they usually do, back to Altea a few weeks later, especially addressed to the Altean government so that they will be aware of the offender’s attempt and withhold the vehicle from him. But whenever Keith goes downstairs a level to retrieve samples in the hours that follow Lance’s capture, he finds Lance still in one of their holding cells, hands shackled in front of him and pretty face annoyed as hell through the one-way glass. The fourth time Keith descends to the holding cell level to grab more gel matrices, Lance scoffs through the glass and says,
“So heavy-footed. If you all didn’t insist on sending a choir’s worth of reinforcements after a single man, every last graceless wretch in this building would be sitting in their ergonomic desk chair with their neck broken.”
Keith finds himself gritting his teeth, goaded by the words and the sharply arched, perfectly sculpted dark brow Lance raises as he speaks. Keith approaches the glass and says,
“If you’re really as good as you seem to think you are, a choir’s worth of reinforcements should have made no difference.”
Lance’s eyes settle on Keith, and though Keith knows the Altean can’t actually see him, his blood runs warm at the lovely blue gaze. Keith’s mind is veering towards the thought that Lance, with his gorgeous face and round ass (which Keith noticed through the young man’s clingy elastic trousers even while he fought the Garrison guards), is just the sort of boy Keith would instantly clock across any room and pursue with the dogged attention of a sailor gaping at land through his nautical brass telescope. But then Lance laughs,
“Were you one of the little scientists I saw in the distance? You could take me just fine, huh? That’s why you were under the roofed patio the entire time, right?”
An Imax-vivid flash streaks through Keith’s head before he can collect himself: his hand around Lance’s slender throat as he bullies his other hand past Lance’s waistband to grab at the flesh of his ass, the Altean’s full lips parted for moans only, no rude remarks. Lance has a mole right above his collarbone, a flattened little pit of black that’s only visible now because his outfit is disheveled and unzipped to the chest. It’s pretty cold on this level, Pidge complains about it all the time, and Keith can make out the hardening nubs of Lance’s nipples through the fabric of his vest. Lance doesn’t squirm, but Keith can tell by the quick, short dart of his eyes downwards, towards his chest, that it’s a near thing. Keith says,
“I wanted to see how well you’d do. You were quite disappointing.”
“Let me out of this cell and I’m sure I’ll be able to make it up to you.”
“I like my throat as unslit as it is.”
“I thought you had nothing to worry about.”
“I’d be an idiot to underestimate you for even a second, sweetheart.”
Lance doesn’t smile, and when he does open his mouth to speak, Keith finds his canines quite sharp. What had Shiro called him under his breath, as though he’d forgotten that Keith was right beside him? Ah yes. A marvel. Lance says, almost hisses,
“Remember that.”
Around hour seven of Lance’s detainment, when Keith and Shiro have exhausted their list of experiments on the (now asleep) Arusian anemone, they find out exactly why Lance has yet to be released. Admiral Sanda comes into their lab and explains to them that as they processed Lance for temporary detainment, the scanners picked up on some sort of unknown biological aberration of his. Though both Altea and Earth have agreed to respect the bodily integrities of each side’s people, it’s equally as important, Sanda insists, that they be aware of any of Altea’s potential advantages, allies so quickly become enemies under the right sort of pressure, do you both get my meaning ? And Keith has very few qualms about prodding at the Altean, especially after their little exchange on the basement level, but he so wishes that Sanda would skip the theater kid monologue and get to her point.
Some time later, a handcuffed Lance, his hands in front of him, is escorted into their lab by two sentries. But he’s straight-backed, and the way he purposefully juts his sharp, well-formed jaw is so imperious that the whole entrance feels like a rich young Altean lord’s elaborate joke, like any moment now he’ll shake off the cuffs and go egg the poor or whatever it is wealthy people do with their free time. It looks like someone has redone his shirt zipper for him, (unfortunately) closing the vest up to his neck once more. As the sentries lead Lance to sit on the sterilized examination table under Keith’s direction, Shiro heads over to the small console in the corner and shuts off the room’s cameras. Keith raises a brow, but says nothing. Once Shiro has returned and the sentries have left, Lance regards Shiro and says,
“I’ve known adolescent girls with harsher eyes than you. You’re not the torturing type.”
“Well you certainly are,” Keith remarks, “else you’d shut up.”
Lance replies, “How charming. You seem like the type to make me appreciate all things I’ve taken for granted, like my jail cell.”
Lance seems like he’d like to say more, but he’s thrown off kilter as Shiro lays an ungloved palm against his cheek, thumbing at the pale white triangular markings right below his eyeline. Shiro asks,
“How old are you?”
“Ooo can we choose what to share instead? I’m a Leo according to your Zodiac, I hate juniperry, and I’ve wanted to do few things more than I would like to smash your head into the row of beakers there. They’re almost glinting. Freshly cleaned, huh?”
While Keith stews in an arousal-streaked agitation that has him digging his nails into his palm, Shiro tilts Lance’s head to one side as though he hadn’t heard a single word the young man just said. Shiro runs his thumb along the faint creases of Lance’s neck, and Keith walks up behind Lance and holds him steady by his shoulders when he starts to thrash. Shiro makes a thoughtful noise.
“Hm. This body is quite young. Early twenties, I’d say.”
When Keith makes eye contact with Shiro over Lance’s shoulder, he finds that the man’s expression has darkened, and Keith knows his likely looks much the same. After years of working together, it’s pretty easy for them to read each other like this. Keith’s grateful for it. Shiro finds Lance’s zipper where it dangles right below the bob of his throat and starts to pull it down. Keith peers down as Shiro reveals snatch after snatch of smooth brown skin to him. Shiro pauses once he’s unzipped the shirt to Lance’s bellybutton. He pulls a panel of the shirt aside to bare a perked brown nipple. Lance splutters,
“You fucking —”
“Hm,” Shiro interrupts. “Responsive too.”
As he says it, his eyes flash like a lecher, and Keith’s never liked him more than he does right now.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Lance demands, his arms tensing in Keith’s grip.
Shiro thinks for a moment, then smiles a bit as he settles on an answer. His big hand slips beneath the flap of Lance’s shirt, and he cups the young man’s ribs as he swipes the pad of his thumb against the stiffened point of his dark brown nipple. Lance twitches terribly (wonderfully) between Keith’s hands and Keith can tell by the play of muscles in his jaw as he clenches his teeth that the Altean is biting back a sound . Shiro says,
“Our review must be exhaustive. Isn’t that right, Keith?”
“Meticulous,” Keith agrees.
Keith keeps one hand clamped tight around Lance’s smooth arm—partially masking the gold-inked tattoo he can now see is a vertical run of about five ringed planets—while he glides the other one along the pleasing dip where the Altean’s trim waist curves out towards a slightly flared hip. Keith forgets his primary objective for a moment, distracted as he is by the dip, and cups his hand around Lance’s waist there instead. Lance inhales sharply. Keith smirks, nipping at the tip of Lance’s pointed ear, as he wonders aloud,
“Oh? You have an off-switch, sweetheart?”
“Stop calling me that,” Lance hisses, but whatever venom the demand might’ve carried is neutralized by the breathy, winded tenor in which he says it.
Keith glances down and finds the reason for that particular tone. Shiro’s pulled Lance’s shirt apart completely to bare his chest, and he’s tugging on one of the nubbed nipples he’s trapped between a thumb and pointer finger. With his other hand, he tips Lance’s face up by the chin so that he can watch his reactions. The last time Keith ever saw Shiro’s attention so rapt on anything, the man’s simple repair of a floor lamp in his office turned into a multi-day affair that eventually filled the room with the tacky, counterfeit fluorescent lighting of a Home Depot. Shiro has redirected all of the energy of the hapless engineer toward cataloging every one of Lance’s reactions. Shiro’s tug on a pretty nipple becomes sharper, his brow raised.
“ Nnh ,” Lance moans.
Lance’s back arches before he can stop himself, and Keith watches the pointed tips of his ears collect a lovely red blush. Keith sets a hand against Lance’s nape and, from there, slips his fingers into the thick, soft hair at his crown. His hair is the rich, unabated white of freshly shaved ice. There’s something about Lance that makes Keith want to give in to any impulse he has. So he buries his face into Lance’s hair and finds it smelling of something near citrus (something too blunted to be of any Earth-based citrus plant), before he tightens his grip on Lance’s curls and pulls his head to the side to nose at his jaw.
“Ah!” Lance moans.
“If not ‘sweetheart,’” Keith murmurs, his voice a low burr in Lance’s ear, “then what should I call you? Brat? You certainly are. Doll? You’re as pretty as one, to be sure. Love? You haven’t quite earned my kindness.”
Shiro digs the pad of a thumb into the plushness of Lance’s bottom lip, and when the tip of it slips inside the young man’s mouth, Lance bites down hard enough to draw blood. Shiro doesn’t even flinch, simply raises a brow like he’s riding through the crest of a puppy’s tantrum.
“‘Brat’ it is,” Shiro says. He taps the back of Keith’s hand, where it’s decided to set up camp on Lance’s waist, signalling that he should let Lance go. By the heavy, contemplative expression on Shiro’s face, Keith knows that whatever’s coming next will be well worth the temporary departure from his little Altean.
As soon as Keith moves his hands, Shiro grabs Lance’s hips, with the proprietary, authoritative ease of someone long accustomed to getting what they want, and draws the young man off of the table to set him on his feet. Before the yelp is fully free of Lance’s mouth, Shiro has spun him around so that his front faces the examination table and Keith, whose blood buzzes at the unfettered sight of not only Lance’s sensitive nipples, but also a delicate mother-of-pearl gem that dangles from his bellybutton. Though Lance is tall, Shiro is still taller than him by at least a quarter foot, and he takes advantage of the height difference to tuck his head against Lance’s temple to look at Keith. Shiro reaches around to unzip Lance’s shirt the rest of the way, and Lance’s long-lashed eyes flutter as Shiro’s knuckles glide against the newly exposed patches of perfect brown skin. He wraps a hand around Lance’s delicate throat, and glides his other hand, the one that, for just a moment, hovered over the adorably telling bulge deforming the front of Lance’s elastic trousers, back to the belly button piercing. Lance looks right at Keith, defiant, the set of his jaw terribly aggrieved, but all Keith’s picturing is how bleary his beautiful eyes will be when they touch his precious little cock, when they spread open his round ass. And his lips are so full about 40% of Keith’s brain space immediately fucks off to imagine devouring that pretty mouth. Shiro’s hand tightens around Lance’s throat just a bit, just enough to have Lance shifting from foot to foot, readjusting as his long-lashed eyes flutter faster. Shiro holds Keith’s gaze as he gives Lance’s dangly mother-of-pearl gem a teasing flick with the tip of his finger. Of the piercing, Shiro says,
“Thought you should see it yourself. I knew you’d like it.”
Then, Shiro bends Lance right over the examination table, the young man’s manacled hands flailing forward to grip at the opposite edge.
“Hey!” Lance protests as his stomach hits the table’s padded top.
Though Lance’s cute affronted face is an absolute treat, Keith walks around the table to stand beside Shiro as soon as Shiro grabs at Lance’s waistband. He wouldn’t miss this unveiling if a pack of wild coyotes broke in and chased Pidge onto the roof of her filing cabinet.
And fuck if Pidge’s temporary distress wouldn’t be worth it. Because what Keith and Shiro find as Shiro works Lance’s pants down to his thighs, ignoring the young man’s panicked, embarrassed flailing, is a flawless, shapely ass that reveals itself to be fatter and fuller with every successive inch that Shiro bares. By the time Shiro has Lance’s trousers bound around his toned thighs, every one of the young man’s squirms sets the flesh of his lovely ass to quivering, till Keith’s biting the inside of his cheek at the constant motion. Shiro grabs Lance’s hips again, mean thumbs digging into the small of his back. Lance shudders, then momentarily stills, before he tries to go back to all his squirming. Keith resists the urge to grip himself through his own trousers. He doesn’t want to at all risk getting too worked up to fully appreciate the… exhaustive physical review of their little Altean. Shiro raises a hand and, just as quick as he’d lifted it, he’s bringing it down on the thickest part of a tempting, peachy cheek. There’s a rich, telling clap as Shiro’s big, heavy hand sets Lance’s ass to bouncing.
“W-wait…!” Lance yelps.
He grips the opposite edge of the table like he might try to get away, then arches his back, lithe waist bowing, as he presses his ass towards Shiro, then goes back to attempting his half-hearted escape. Seconds later, a light, delicate red spills across Lance’s cheek in the near-shape of Shiro’s hand. When he looks over his shoulder, Keith sees that his blue eyes are shiny, shocked, and his cheeks are flushing. When Keith slips a rude hand between the edge of the table and the young man’s legs, he finds his slender cock hard as steel, positively dripping . There are light, textured ridges that lead up to a slightly tapered tip, and Lance’s precum is far more pearlescent than a human’s. Whatever’s left of Keith’s rational science brain has him wondering is this the biological aberration? Then Shiro grabs the ass cheek that he’d just hit, rough with it, and kneads it greedily. Lance whimpers before he cuts himself off and whatever mildly scientific thought Keith almost had circles the drain. Shiro rears back his hand, then claps another sharp, well-aimed hit to the other side of Lance’s ass. Lance’s arch deepens as he moans, and his pretty cock spurts more precum over Keith’s fingers. Shiro says,
“Although I didn’t show it, you hurt me quite a bit Lance. This is only fair.”
“I should’ve taken the whole fucking finger off!” Lance shouts as he throws that affronted look over his shoulder.
Shiro smacks him right over the newly tender spot on his ass, hums appreciatively as a newer, fresher red overlays the previous mark he’d left. Shiro keeps his hand on the spot as this latest hit sets Lance’s generous ass to jiggling, and he closes his fingers slightly in a knead just as harsh as his previous one. Lance whimpers before he cuts himself off with a sound like he’s choking. Shiro says,
“I’m sure you’ve been quite the little terror to Keith as well.”
And Keith takes his cue. He releases Lance’s cock, but before he gives that lovely ass his own series of smacks, he walks back around the table and brings his precum-damp hand to Lance’s mouth. Lance stares him down with wet lashes. Keith taps his soft bottom lip and says,
“Open.”
“D-didn’t learn anything from y… your— mmn —partner, huh?”
A rapid look over Lance’s shoulder shows that Shiro has pulled his cheeks apart, fingers digging into the plush, yielding meat of them, and is now thumbing at the young man’s hole. His face, save for the dark look Keith’s only ever seen on most mainland predators, seems completely impassive. Fuck, why is that hot? Keith looks back down at Lance, his curls attractively disordered. Keith leans down and murmurs, like it’s a secret,
“You’ll be good. We’ll make you.”
Lance scoffs, then whines. Keith looks up to find that Shiro, the absolute deviant, has already buried his face between Lance’s cheeks. Keith slips his hand, still slick with Lance’s precum, between the young man’s parted lips. Lance watches him as his lips close around the fingers Keith’s given him, as Keith caresses the warm, moist tongue and begins to thrust into his mouth at a languid, unhurried pace. Lance’s eyes nearly close. His expression is so sweetly erotic that Keith’s other hand is palming his own bulge before he can really stop himself. The wet, smacking sounds Shiro’s making as he drags Lance’s ass towards his face, as he slaps Lance’s cheek when the young man squirms, are absolutely indecent. Doubly so, considering Shiro’s tie is still in the perfect Windsor knot with which he’d started off the day. Then, Lance’s adorable, garbled moans raise in pitch, and his eyes fall completely shut, his fingers tightening on the edge of the table.
Shiro sits back on his haunches, his mouth red and full, his eyes glinting. He looks up at Keith and says, “I think I found the biological aberration.”
Keith, who’d been a few short moments from sliding his cock into Lance’s warm mouth, any potential physical damage he might incur from the action be damned, slips his fingers free of Lance. Lance whimpers fully this time, doesn’t cut it short. Keith returns to Shiro’s side to find that Shiro’s still holding Lance’s cheeks spread open. Their little Altean has a delightful, obedient little hole, and when Keith dips a finger past the pretty, dusky-pink bud, it grips him beautifully. Lance’s thighs tremble.
“Go a bit deeper,” Shiro directs.
As soon as Keith does, the tip of his finger is met with a viscous wetness that immediately sets every nerve he has alight. Suddenly, he is harder than he’s ever been.
“He gets wet,” Keith says, his voice low. Dark.
“Sh-shut up!” Lance complains.
“Mhm,” Shiro agrees. “He tastes really good too.”
Lance is still watching them over his shoulder, and he gulps when Shiro looks right at him and proclaims,
“He’s as filthy as he is pretty. Made for fucking.”
“‘M not, I—”
But Lance doesn’t get to finish whatever he means to say. Because Keith is immediately sinking to his knees as Shiro gets up and moves to offer him room. He’s gripping Lance’s soft ass in his own hands, holding the cheeks apart to find their little Altean’s gorgeous hole winking at him, sending out a tiny, helpless glob of slick as he pulls Lance towards his face. Keith starts off with nothing coy. There’s nothing shy or teasing about the way that he flattens his tongue, perfectly wet since he’s been salivating like one of those ahooga cartoon pervs since he got a good look at what Lance had stuffed into his battle trousers, against the hole and gives it a broad, liberal lick. He moves up towards the top of Lance’s ass with his tongue, dips the tip of it right into the hot, wet hole as he completes the lick. Lance’s slick bursts across his tongue as something too earthy to be called vanilla, but too sweet to be called anything else.
“ Nnn fuck , I— Fuck .”
Keith noses at the valley right below Lance’s twitching hole. “Hm? Did you want something?”
“I… I…”
“Yeah?” Keith breathes, before he gives Lance’s hungry little hole the chastest of kisses.
“ More ,” Lance begs, his soft ass trembling as he tries to push it back further against Keith’s face. Shiro has moved to the other side of the table, and he picks Lance’s chin up with the edge of a crooked finger. He leans forward and rumbles,
“You dirty little thing,”
Before he’s taking Lance’s lips in a deep, vulgar kiss whose smack-smack-smacking sounds ping around the room so vividly, so deliciously. And Lance sure does like kisses, because, aside from the lewd, loud moans he’s pouring into Shiro’s mouth, his slick is just trickling out of his hole now, leaving shiny trails along the lustrous skin between his cheeks.
Keith brings his mouth back to Lance’s hole in earnest. He’s shameless and the right kind of messy with his tongue, coaxes the pretty pucker into yielding to him. Seals his mouth around the hole and sucks till Lance is keening into his kiss with Shiro, his thighs tensing, his feet scrabbling against the lab’s linoleum. When Keith pulls back and sinks his teeth around a cheek of Lance’s ass in a single vicious nip, their little Altean goes truly rigid and comes, his voice cracking on his moans. Even these splintered sounds are supped up by Shiro, the greedy bully. Shiro pulls back from Lance and stands, his hand now gripping Lance’s face so that the young man has to look up at him. With his other hand, he undoes the button and zipper of his work slacks. He’s starting to build a light flush along his cheekbones, and he’s watching Lance so intensely that Keith knows not a single thing this side of the universe could get Shiro to look away.
“This is going in your pretty mouth,” Shiro tells him as he pulls his hard, heavy cock free. “Okay, doll? Be sweet for me.”
Lance gives an overwhelmed nod, his hole gushing still more slick.
With that, Shiro feeds his thick cock into Lance’s mouth. Slowly, slowly, till it hits the back of Lance’s throat with a wet, audible hrck , and Lance’s cock is rising between his legs again. Keith’s arousal had initially brought him to his knees, between the cheeks of Lance’s perfect ass, but it pushes him to stand this time. He brings his dick out of his trousers and grits his teeth as he limits himself to a single self-indulgent stroke. He brings the angry red tip of his cock to Lance’s wet entrance— fuck it’s so wet, and as Shiro starts to rock back and forth into Lance’s mouth, one hand gripping Lance’s hair, getting wetter by the second. He lets his precum momentarily mingle with the slick present as he teases the pucker. Lance gives a discontented whine and shimmies his hips towards Keith, like he’s trying to get Keith’s cock inside through feeling, and vague spatial knowledge of where Keith’s standing, alone. Lance is already alluring enough on his own, but the move is so sexy that Keith forgets the measured pacing he’d promised himself to adopt. He grabs one of Lance’s slightly flared hips, like the perfect handhold it is, and uses his other hand to press his cock to the soft pucker, glimmering like a jewel. Lance’s ass accepts the tip of his cock with a muted, moist pop of sound and soon, Keith is sinking into a tight, sopping heat that just begs him to lose himself. He has the immediate, shocking, sick thought that if Lance ever wants to get Keith to say yes to anything, he should make his request while Keith is buried to the hilt inside him.
They fuck Lance just like that. His trousers tangled around his thighs, his enticing, seductive body rocking between them as Shiro fucks his mouth and Keith takes his ass, the both of them murmuring sweet, dirty things the whole while over Lance’s bobbing head, over Lance’s jiggling ass, over Lance’s long, muscled back.
“Look up at me, fuck , look up at me sweetheart,” Shiro demands as he buries himself balls-deep into Lance’s throat, as he makes him choke on it. “Theeere we go,” Shiro murmurs as he thumbs a tear away from Lance’s eye. “Hard to be angry with a cock down your pretty throat, hm?”
“‘S so tight,” Keith sighs as he fucks Lance, as he watches Lance’s pucker smooth out and tighten every time he takes the whole of Keith’s thick shaft. Keith leans forward as Shiro pulls his cock free of Lance’s mouth to let him breathe. Keith pastes his chest to Lance’s back and wraps a hand around his throat as he grinds his hard, hot cock inside their little Altean.
“ Ah- nngh, fuck —” Lance whines when Keith keeps his thrusts, now a bit shorter due to his current position, consistent.
“‘S good, hm?” Keith teases.
He turns Lance’s head to the side so that he can see that gorgeous face. Lance’s cheeks are truly flushed now, and his eyes are satisfyingly bleary, lips even redder than Keith thought they could get. They’re so appealing that Keith momentarily loses the train of thought for his tease, and instead leans forward to capture Lance’s mouth in a hot, hard kiss.
When they break for breath, Lance licks his lips and whispers, eyes shining,
“Y… you taste like me.”
“ Shit ,” Keith and Shiro grunt, in unison. Shiro’s stroking his member, his pace surprisingly leisurely considering how close he had to have been, at the sight of them. The boy is a hazard.
Keith grits out, as the clap-clap-claps of Lance’s ass speed up with his increased pace and Lance’s lovely whines rise in pitch,
“Can’t look at you for a single second without imagining this. Burying my cock deep inside. Putting this perfect ass through its paces.”
It’s Lance who starts their next kiss, who darts forward and draws Keith’s tongue into his mouth. It’s Lance who cums first between the three of them, even though it’s his second time coming since they began. It’s Lance who draws Keith towards his own finish, whose ass clenches so delectably around Keith’s cock that he has no choice but to cum inside.
Keith kisses Lance’s temple, then pulls out and slumps onto a nearby chair as Shiro collects Lance into his arms. He yanks Lance’s pants the rest of the way off and picks the young man up like he weighs nothing. He sets them chest-to-chest, Lance’s manacled hands around his neck, takes a moment to position the tip of his cock to Lance’s worked-over hole (which, despite the viciousness with which Keith had fucked it, looks almost as tight as he’d found it. Gods.). Then, Shiro grips the back of the young man’s knees. Lance searches for a kiss from Shiro and Shiro gives it to him as he lowers their little Altean onto his cock. Lance whines, overstimulated, as Shiro stretches him even further than Keith had.
Shiro had been quite close to his own edge, after all, and a handful of thrusts later, he’s crushing Lance’s fat ass against his thighs with a sharp thrust that buries the whole of him inside their little Altean. Lance moans a “ yes ” as his spent cock gives a pathetic little twitch against Shiro’s clothed stomach. Shiro cums with a succession of deep, rumbly grunts, then sits on the examination table, Lance still in his lap. As the two of them catch their breaths, Keith walks up to join them. He gives Lance another kiss on his temple, nips the lobe of his ear, and points out,
“See? We told you you could be good.”