Chapter Text
Pidge rakes her blunt short clipped nails down his sides and curves round so she can dig them deep into the smouldering ember red skin of his bottom.
He doesn’t have to be able to see to realize that his skin must match the color of his lion right now. He can feel it in the way a touch that would normally gain minimal reaction, sets his skin on fire and pulls him to the edge of need and pain. He doesn’t have to be able to see to imagine her nails dotted with chipped green polish applied by Lance weeks ago. He can feel with increasing sting the way they dig into his skin and refuse to let go.
He knows he could end all of this relentless teasing right now if he just said the word, but rarely does he ever have this level of control when they’re together. Yes, even now, somehow with his eyes covered with an impromptu blindfold, and Pidge spanking him until his skin is raw he’s still somehow got a shred of control left, and he’s going to enjoy it while it lasts.
Usually pride gets the better of him and he doesn’t come to her until his eyes are fully dilated into pupil-less yellow orbs and his skin is completely gray lavender. Even then, he waits in his room until she notices he’s not at dinner, or training, or misses their near nightly ritual of sitting in their pajamas and watching the stars in the near desolate starboard end of the ship until they finally feel tired.
He knows that she makes him wait too. She tracks his cycle on her calendar, and she can predict it not to the day now, but within two or three hours. Nevertheless, she makes him wait until his pants are damp and he can’t hold a single coherent thought in his head.
It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy it.
She leans forward pushing the toy that she so artfully wielded deeper inside.
He bites his lower lip, to keep from making more of those noises.
“Keith,” her voice is dark and unamused, like she’s just caught Lance going through her Mp3 collection and he found the pop music. The interruption makes him realize that the tense and heavy silence of their session had been interrupted by quivering high pitched noises.
They’d been coming from him.
It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy it. It’s just that, when she has him like this, spread wide and straining. When he knows he’s hours away from a two or three day heat that will leave him hot and aching for something that only she can provide, he finds it irksome. She’ll never need him the same way that he needs her.
“You almost never come see me before your heat starts.” He can feel her thumb slick with lube touch lightly at his stretched rim. “We never have time for anything when you’re not in heat.” It’s true. Defending the universe means they have to make time. “How can you not expect me to have a little fun with you?”
“Implying you don’t pull this kind of shit during my heat too.” It’s not a complete lie. When she finally seeks him out she usually gives him exactly what he wants the first time around: fingers, toys, her mouth, until he’s spent and sated if not but for a moment. The subsequent times however…
They tend to occur a lot like this, with him either bound or blindfolded, or if she was feeling particularly sadistic, both. Of course, there’s lots and lots of teasing.
That remark earns him a few more smacks to each cheek. To make matters worse, she pulls back as she wails on his oversensitive skin, pulling the strap on on the wrong direction, away from his body.
But the teasing, gives him strength. Whenever he’s at his most vulnerable she’s able to help him wrestle the last bit of control out, so that he’s begging her not because purely because of his physiological state, but because of her slow, careful, ruinous actions.
Her hand snakes between his spread thighs and she playfully pinches at the skin there. “You’re turning purple.” He shudders when her fingers trace the tightly pulled skin of his sac and the root of his dick.
Keith rises up slightly on his hands and turns to shoot her a dagger laden glare. Except, oh yeah, there’s the dark green sash of a long discarded Altean robe effectively blocking out his vision. “No shit. That’s what happens every time.”
It’s gonna get him smacked again.
It’s exactly what he wants...Other than maybe, just maybe Pidge actually getting to it and fucking him senseless.
“Yeah.” To his surprise she doesn’t smack him again. Her hands shift from his abused ass to his hips and her nails sink back in. She’s actually moving now, in slow but maddening thrusts. “But I rarely see it happen.” She jerks her hips forward in one particularly brutal and out of sync thrust and pulls a long groan from within. “It’s cute.”
He wants to argue, and tell her that it is not cute. But she’s finally fucking him now with long deep thrusts that hit his prostate and make him feel like maybe, just maybe she’s going to let him come. It’s hard to say if the mercy orgasm still applies considering he’s not fully shifted yet, but he’s not doing anything of his own volition that will make her stop.
Before he can process what’s going on, she’s pulling him upward so that all of his weight is on his knees and his back is pressed up against her chest. It used to bother him, how this little slip of a person who was barely a buck fifteen soaking wet could manhandle him. Then he experienced her breaking up a fight between himself and Lance. Saw her kick Shiro’s feet out from under him during hand to hand. He still took her out relatively easily, but it’s little things like that that make him realize that being on the receiving end of this kind of manhandling, was much better than getting a knuckle sandwich ala Pidge.
“Do you wanna come?” she breathes hotly into his ear before latching onto his earlobe and sucking hard. She does the same to his neck and makes sure to leave dark red black bruises that will fade into the purple of his skin when he’s fully transformed anyway.
No, the panting and the moaning and the fact that he feels soaked between his legs right now. It’s all for nothing. But his whole world is reduced to the place where Pidge is joined to him with the toy, and his neglected cock, and he can’t handle fighting it anymore. So he, quite pathetically chokes out, “Yes, please Pidge,” like he’s practiced it from one of those bootleg tapes of Lance’s that he’s definitely never watched ever.
Wordlessly she twists his hand around his back and traces the scarred sigil on his hand. The one that said restraint . The one that, despite having burned in his skin for years now, he’s never quite fully grasped. Fuck that means she’s probably gonna make him wait.
She releases his neck and breathes into his ear, “Okay. I wanna see you though.”
This time when she pulls back and out, he doesn’t groan. Doesn’t complain or try to elicit more smacks or pinches from Pidge for the sake of getting something. He knows exactly what she wants and plans on providing it for her. Immediately he turns over onto his back and pulls his legs up towards his stomach.
“You can touch yourself,” she says as if it’s a suggestion as she slides back in. Keith might have been a Garrison drop out, but he knows an order when he hears one.
No sooner than he gets his hand wrapped around himself, he’s interrupted by the sound of beep beep beep and he knows it's her comm because he turned his off as soon as she let him into her room.
He can barely get a single pump in before she’s grabbing his wrist and making him stop. “Wanna see you,” she says, and he can feel her shift and move for the communicator.
“Hello?”
He’s been barred from touching himself, but apparently she can keep tormenting him while she’s talking. “Oh, Hunk.” Her hands rake down his chest at the exact same moment in a combination of dare and reminder. “I just woke up from a nap, that’s all.”
Nap? That’s rich. People don’t sound slightly out of breath when they wake up from a nap.
“Yeah, I guess I can go over your code. You’re the master debugger though.”
In that moment, he’s thankful for the blindfold. He can feel the stinging pinprick of tears at the corner of his eyes, because she’s been teasing him for so long. It would take next to nothing to come right now, and she won’t even give him that.
“Hm,” the bed dips and Pidge’s form is all but draped across him. She reaches for something over his head, and then she retracts. He can hear nothing but the sound of furious typing. “Yeah, I’m still here.” As if to solidify what she’s just said into her comm, he can feel her fingers at his left nipple. They pinch without warning or preamble. Hard.
At this point, that’s all it takes for him to twist and writhe into the bed. He can’t stop the undignified noises that come from his mouth, never mind the fact that is friend is on the line and might be able to hear.
“No. But you know my room gets bad reception.”
“Quiet,” she hisses in a low whisper that cannot be picked up by the comm. Or, she has it muted.
“Pidge,” he tries to keep his voice at a whisper, but it comes out as a desperate whine instead, and yeah, he really hopes she has it muted.
“If you keep quiet. I can’t keep the channel muted.”
It’s bullshit, but he knows better than to argue. The sound of typing fills the room again, but this time the pace is slowed. She’s doing it one handed. The other, teases his long neglected cock. She runs a single digit from the root to the tip and back again.
“Not being super familiar with what you’re trying to do here,” she starts again with slow shallow thrusts. She’s going to kill him. “And none of this is code is commented on.” Then her digit is replaced by a closed fist around his length, and oh god it’s somehow worse than being made to wait. He’s not sure if he can keep quiet.
“If I had to guess,” the thrusts slow for a moment and he doesn’t have to have vision to feel her eyes on him, hot and irritated. “Keith, cover your mouth.”
He does as he’s told, and all but bites down on the skin between his thumb and forefinger. The thrusts return, as does the frantic, one handed typing.
“The problem is with the input around line 1275.”
Each thrust tugs at him from inside. His body, over sensitive and over toyed with screams at him to come...but he can’t quite discern if he’s been given permission. He can tell that his sex addled brain is succumbing to the galra heat because he actually wants to please Pidge, his alpha.
“Yeah, I’m just gonna take out the piped text and fix this. Call you back.”
Her hands are back on his thighs pushing them back into his chest. Her pace is brutal, and unlike anything she’s given him thus far.
“Touch yourself.”
He can barely get two thrusts in before he’s coming into his hand and onto his chest. The pinprick tears that threatened to well up into actual tears while she was teasing crest against his eyelids. Pride be damned, he can’t help it because Pidge is too much and not enough, always.
It takes a moment for him to come back to reality. Before he can quite grasp what’s going on, Pidge has pulled the robe sash off of his eyes, and is cradling his head against her side. “You’re really purple now.” she mutters into the top of his hair. It tickles.
The sound of typing floods his ears again, and a frown pulls at the corners of his mouth. Keith is used to a certain level of aftercare when they’re done. A thick orange salve applied to the reddened parts of his skin, or another toy to keep him worked open until he eventually and inevitably needs Pidge again.
“Hey,” her hands leave the keyboard and she turns to him. The laptop gets jostled between their laps as he leans into the touch. “You okay?”
Now that the blindfold is gone, and he can really see her...brown eyes against the harsh blue lighting of her laptop, white glare in her glasses lens, he feels vulnerable. More so than he ever does when he’s spread wide beneath her. He wants to say something, what exactly, he’s not sure other than it’s been drying up on his tongue for some time now.
“Quiznak I’m stupid,” she says as she shakes her head. She closes the laptop and snakes both arms around him this time. “You came to me early. You must’ve really needed me.”
“Um,” he doesn’t know what to say, other than she’s right, and he still doesn’t want to confirm it, even after countless sessions and missions. There’s still something about Pidge that strikes a raw and exposed nerve within him, even though he fights it day in and day out. Whereas before he could be reckless, he has no room for errors. “Yeah,” he sinks into the touch.
“Keith,” she nudges his shoulder with her nose, and he knows it's her way of pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose without breaking contact. “I wish I could be the kind of person who could give you what you need automatically. Without you even having to say it.” There’s a long pause as she sighs into his shoulder. “I’m not though. This morning I left the beverage maker on and it made 45 servings of tea before I remembered to turn it off. What I’m saying is….”
There’s another pause as she traces over the scar on his hand. “It doesn’t need to be a pride thing. You need to tell me, because I’m not going to notice otherwise.”
“I like it when you-” It is still a pride thing. He can’t bring himself to finish the sentence despite the fact that the scene earlier was a small variation on one that had been carried out dozens of times before.
“I know you like that,” she interrupts. “This though. I might need to know you want this.”
“Okay,” he swallows the lump in his throat. It’s Pidge, it shouldn’t be this hard. “I think, next time I need my hands tied up.”
“It’s like that huh?” Pidge raises an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” Keith sighs. “I was doing some drills with Shiro earlier. The black lion...It came over my comm and called me Galra.”