Catch! - 1. Catch!

Lance and Allura’s wedding is very beautiful. Of course, it is. Allura is not only the most glamorous person Keith’s ever met, she is a designer to boot and whilst Lance is… well Lance. The guy has never met a fashion magazine he didn’t instantly inhale. Keith’s not really close with either the bride or groom, because Lance is Hunk and Pidge’s friend, and Keith is their friend from a different circle. But it’s nice to be invited. He’s not been to a wedding since his parents finally got hitched when he was eleven. He feels a bit like he did then even now, slightly out of place and wearing an outfit he thinks is stupid.

Keith’s not an idiot, he knows he’s passably attractive and that certain cuts and styles of clothes suit him better than others, but a traditional suit is not one of them. Somehow Lance managed to veto all of Keith’s natural choices, saying that red would clash with the colour scheme. Hunk’s raised eyebrow and statement that ‘Keith’s not even in the wedding party’ had been a welcome defence, but ultimately useless. But Keith ditches his too-long suit jacket the moment the ceremony is over, his tie too, and is meticulously rolling up his shirt sleeves as he talks with Hunk over the three plates of cake they have arrayed on the table between them.

“I like this one,” Keith says, spearing a square of soft yellow sponge cake with faintly purple swirled icing with his ridiculously tiny fork. “What was it again?”

“Yuzu and blueberry,” Hunk replies with a proud grin. “I’m so glad I talked them around to it. It goes well with the raspberry and passion fruit layer too.”

“You’re a genius Hunk.”

Hunk half shrugs and gives a little self-deprecating smile.

“Thank you, Keith. You know, Lance is gonna be pissed that your waistcoat doesn’t match his colour scheme.”

Keith rolls his eyes so hard he gives himself a small headache.

“Lance has just become the happiest man on the planet, he’d better not be thinking shit about me.”

There are sounds of laughter and commotion from near the main cake table where Lance and Allura are standing amid a gaggle of guests.

“See, he’s got no brain cells left to worry about me. He’s busy.” Keith slides his favoured flavour of cake closer, protecting it with one arm. “I am going to eat all the free cake I can. It’s not like you’re gonna be catering an event for me anytime soon.”

“Buddy, c’mon, you know I’d cook for you-”

“Yeah, but it’s not like we’re gonna host a grand reopening at the garage. Although Ulaz is totally going to talk your ear off about recipes next time you pop by.”

“Your uncles scare me a little bit,” Hunk admits, not for the first time.

Keith shrugs. There are squeals and screams of joy and wedding-flavoured delight from somewhere behind Keith. He pays it no mind, wondering only how much hassle it will be to weave his way through the throng in order to secure more cake.

“You get used to them-” he starts, and then something flies past his face and Keith reaches out and simply hoicks it out of the air without thinking. It’s a reflex gained from far too long working with much bigger and stronger members of his family who will lovingly pelt each other with nuts and bolts to get someone’s attention. “What the-?”

Keith looks down, and he’s horrified by the object in his hand.

Allura’s garter belt. Oh fuck.

He stares at the little lacy thing in his palm for a moment, then glares across at Hunk just as the big man makes a clear gesture of non-involvement. Hunk’s not going to take it from him, because Lance has already seen, and there’s no reasonable way for Keith to pretend that he didn’t catch it. And then he twists around and sees the man holding the bouquet.

Allura’s bouquet – stunning pastel pink roses and white calla lilies with blue centres – which the bride herself has clearly just thrown, is being held by a god of man who makes Keith want to drool. He's only ever seen brides hold bouquets before. Bouquets instantly call forth images of fancy dresses and champagne flutes and lace, not a six-four Adonis who looks like he can bench press the globe without breaking a sweat. Bouquets are soft, dainty.

Dainty, like the delicate white lace between Keith’s fingers. Keith feels the room get hotter.

But this garter would never fit around that guy’s thigh. His thighs are huge, like... the size of Keith’s waist. And oh fuck, now Keith’s thinking about his thighs. He should not be thinking about the thighs of some guy holding a bouquet whilst he visualises the hypothetical way those thighs might look with lace on them. Keith thinks he might spontaneously combust. Honestly, it feels like a solid option at this point. He wraps the garter around his knuckles, which is a bad idea, because now he’s looking at the white lace fabric pulled tight over skin.

Keith sweats.

It would totally fit around his throat; his brain supplies helpfully. Keith is suddenly quite upset he waved away the last waiter who passed by their table with drinks, because his mouth is currently about as moist as the desert. Fuck. He really needs not to think about the word moist.

And then the big, buff, handsome man with a dashing smile is walking towards them. No, towards him, holding a fucking bouquet and offering Keith his hand.

“Shall we?” he asks in a voice like honey and whiskey. He sounds like every wet dream Keith’s ever had, and Keith very nearly swoons.

They pose together for the photo, each holding the ‘lucky item’ they caught. Allura looks radiantly content and Lance is grinning like a goofball, staring at her with huge moon eyes in between half focused attempts to instruct Keith to stand better with the garter still wrapped around his fist. Keith keeps catching himself staring at the place where the gorgeous stranger’s neck vanishes into the pressed white collar of his flawless dress shirt. He wants know what that skin looks like with lace over it.

Once the pictures are finally done, Keith wants equally to run away to his motorcycle without looking back – even though he never drinks and drives – and also to pin this black and white haired deity of a man to the nearest vertical surface and ravish him. He blinks, and pulls up every reserve of the cool and aloof persona his friends have even credited him with. He smiles and offers his hand.

“Keith.”

“Shiro.”

There is a beat of quiet, maybe two, and Shiro doesn’t look away, doesn’t remove his hand from Keith’s, and makes no move to step back to a socially acceptable distance. He’s so close, and Keith takes a breath and loses control of his mouth.

“You’d look great in lace.”

Shiro flushes an extremely attractive shade of pink. But before Keith can either die from embarrassment or make things worse by tripping over an apology for his behaviour, Shiro hauls him closer by the handshake which has definitely developed into something else.

“You’d look great in bed,” he counters.

“Yeah?” Keith hopes he doesn’t sound too breathless. Or maybe he does. He’s not really sure any more. All he wants is the shortest route between now and getting Shiro alone, preferably somewhere with a door which locks.

Hasty, unplanned, desperately horny one-night stands are not precursors to great and long-lasting relationships. Keith knows this. But it doesn’t stop him from following Shiro out of the wedding reception, into an elevator, and back to a suite in the hotel.

The moment the door clicks shut behind them, Keith is pinning Shiro up against it, hands pulling at his perfectly tailored suit, the white lace garter still wrapped tight around his knuckles. They kiss, hot and forceful with a quick clack of teeth before the wet slide of tongues. Shiro opens up for him beautifully, returning the kiss with just as much fervour, and Keith practically snarls as he drags his blunt fingernails through Shiro’s hair, clawing through his undercut and making the big man groan loudly.

“I knew you’d like it rough,” he mutters, grazing down Shiro’s jaw with his teeth whilst his fingers pull hastily at the buttons of Shiro’s shirt. He bites a mark into Shiro’s throat, not caring that it’s probably too high to be hidden by his shirt collar, knowing the bruise he leaves will last at least a week. The sight of his teeth marks in Shiro’s skin makes him feel feral.

And then Shiro gets his hands into Keith’s clothes, demonstrating excellent dexterity for man currently being mauled, pushing the fabric of Keith’s shirt and waistcoat down around his elbows as he begins to palm his cock through his slacks with perfect accuracy. Keith groans into Shiro’s skin, gasping at the drag of thick fingertips over the head of his dick through his clothes. He begins to bite and mouth at Shiro’s chest, as the other man continues to jack him off through two layers of fabric. By the time Keith gets his tongue on Shiro’s nipple, he is practically done for.

“W-wait.”

Shiro slides prosthetic fingers into Keith’s hair and uses the grip to tilt his face up, smiling softly down as he cradles Keith’s skull against his chest.

“Keith? Baby, you OK?”

Keith fights the desire to groan and melt into Shiro’s delightfully muscled arms. He should not like that pet name so much, especially not bestowed by a man he does not know in what amounts to a random hook up in a hotel. Being called ‘baby’ by Shiro is not supposed to make his insides feel like liquid sunshine. But oh, it does, and Keith is self-aware enough to notice how hard his heart is falling.

Shiro is still stroking him with his other hand, but slower now, his grip gentle and tentative, like he would stop and pull away if Keith actually changed his mind.

Keith wants to vibrate out of his fucking skin. The power is intoxicating.

“’m close. I- gods- unnngh!”

“That’s it,” Shiro’s tone is low and prideful. “It’s OK. Go on.” His words are accompanied by a warm squeeze of Keith’s cock, his thumb rubbing over the underside of the head through his dress pants. “We have all night, right? And you’ve still got to get me in that lace…”

The visuals which come with Shiro’s suggestion are like a sledgehammer to Keith’s self-control. This is it: he’s done for. He whines – pressing his face into Shiro’s expansive chest – and comes in his clothes like a horny and inexperienced teenager, hanging onto the lapels of Shiro’s tailored suit jacket like a lifeline.

And Shiro sounds so fucking pleased about it.

“Yes baby, go on. That’s it. Aren’t you just so perfect...”

No one has ever praised Keith like this, and it makes his insides feel squirmy, warm, and sort of uncomfortable. He doesn’t really understand how his actions are worthy or deserving of any kind of praise, but there’s no denying how much his body responds to Shiro’s low, warm words. His pulse thunders under his skin, and the warmth of Shiro’s body against him makes his dick twitch despite the fact he’s wearing ruined underwear.

Keith hauls himself out of the temptation to give into the afterglow and the soft, relaxed headspace which comes with it, and instead reaches up and slams his lips back into Shiro’s. The kiss is all tongue and teeth – more like a sparring match than a kiss – and Keith loves it. Shiro’s cheeks are flushes prettily when he pulls back.

“Such confidence for a man who’s going to be screaming my name is an hour,” Keith growls.

“You’re going to make me wait that long?” Shiro returns without a moment’s hesitation.

Such a bratty tone coming from such a classical god of a man is doing things to Keith. He’s so fucked. He unwraps the garter from his hand and presses the lace over the bitten red skin of Shiro’s throat. Keith grins.

“It’s gonna take more than an hour to treat you right, pretty boy.” Shiro’s eyes go wide, like he wasn’t expecting that kind of endearment from someone like Keith. “And I’m a gentleman.” Keith reminds him.

Shiro opens his mouth to retort, and Keith chooses that moment to lock his hands under Shiro’s perfectly sculpted arse and hoist him up. Whatever Shiro was going to say dies on his lips, and his big hands clutch at Keith’s shoulders. The expression on his face let’s Keith know that Shiro never expected to be picked up, and can’t quite believe he’s no longer touching the floor. Keith takes a step, turning to walk them into the room, and Shiro squeezes his thighs around Keith’s narrow waist. Keith grunts with the sudden lack of breath.

“You good?” Shiro asks, the faintest thread of worry in his tone.

Keith adjusts his hold so that he is supporting Shiro’s weight with one arm, squeezing his cheeks and thigh gratuitously with the other hand.

“You doubting me there, big boy?”

Shiro blushes deeply.

“No, Sir.”

Keith preens.

The suite is not the honeymoon one, thank fuck, but clearly the place where Allura and her half of the wedding party got ready before the ceremony. Keith carries Shiro past various boxes and garment bags, and drops him with deliberate force onto the enormously plush bed littered with tissue paper.

But not just tissue paper.

“Spares?” Keith quirks an eyebrow as he follows Shiro down onto the bed, rough fingers catching up a slip of while lace from amongst the crinkly pastel papers.

Shiro spreads his knees automatically, and gulps.

“Alternates.”

“How handy.” Keith’s grin turns predatory. “Reckon you could squeeze into it?”

“No.” Shiro’s grey eyes are blown wide, almost all pupil, and Keith can feel the undeniably huge length of the other man’s cock twitch against his thigh as he leans in close. It’s so tantalising to know Shiro is perfectly proportioned all over. “But for you, I’d try.”

Keith makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat, and begins parting the buttons of Shiro’s shirt.

He’s not hasty now. They’ve got time – his first orgasm has taken the edge of his desperation – and Shiro doesn’t look like he wants to be anywhere else. Keith kisses a trail down each of Shiro’s perfectly defined abs – and isn’t this what they mean when they say ‘washboard stomach’ because Keith wants to rub all of himself on Shiro until neither of them are clean. He peels Shiro out of his jacket and shirt by careful degrees. He thumbs open the button of Shiro’s fly and breathes hotly over the barely concealed length of his cock.

“Fuck!”

“Is that want you want?” Keith asks him, looking up at Shiro from under his dark lashes and darker bangs, not touching the other man deliberately.

“Yes. Anything.” Shiro’s answer is too fast and too needy, and Keith loves it. Shiro’s hands, one broad and warm and one smooth and synthetic, haul him back up by the remains of his non-colour-scheme-approved waistcoat. Keith loses himself in the kiss then, revelling in the wet slide of their lips and tongues, thinking of nothing much beyond the way their bodies mould together.

Shiro groans into his mouth, and Keith tightens his hand around the lacy negligee. He grins.

“Mmm… stay,” he commands.

Shiro looks like he’s the sort of guy used to giving orders – physically large, put together like a superhero with a smile like a boy scout, wearing a well-tailored suit fit to rival the CEO of any Fortune500 company – but he does exactly what he’s told as Keith leans back and scoots off the bed.

There is something deeply intimate about taking clothes off someone else, and Keith knows he’s being watched as he stands at the foot of the bed and unlaces Shiro’s shoe before peeling off his sock. He resists the natural urge to show off under the attention, but focuses on keeping his movements measured and predictable, listening to the little slap of the thin laces against the shiny leather as he starts on the second shoe. For his part, Shiro is not huffy or impatient, though his cock jerks obviously when he lifts his hips to allow Keith to slide the trousers off his long legs. Keith can’t tear his eyes away, and hopes he isn’t drooling too obviously over the girth of Shiro’s thick thighs, the turn of his shapely ankle, the swell of a calf. Shiro has the kind of legs Keith thinks one could write poetry about, if one was the type to write poetry, anyway. He can’t resist placing a kiss to the inside of Shiro’s knee, the thin skin smooth against his lips, pulse fluttering just under the surface.

Then he runs his fingers up to the firm plush of Shiro’s arse and the bigger man inhales sharply.

“You good?” Keith hooks his fingertips into the waistband of Shiro’s boxers, but pauses when Shiro doesn’t respond. “Shiro? You still with me, big guy?

“Yes!” Shiro blinks back to the present, his eyes still wide, but focused now. “Fuck, yes.”

Keith removes him from his last item of clothing just as slowly as the rest, and gazes at the man who caught the bouquet, in all his glory.

Shiro’s cock is like the rest of him: thick, long, uncut, and hanging heavily to his left as Keith takes the time to fold the underwear in his hands neatly before dropping them at his feet. Keith feels his pulse climb as he watches Shiro’s cock thicken noticeably against his hip, grinning at the image burning into his retinas. He fists his hand around the new but discarded lace panties, the cloth slippery between his fingers.

It takes a moment of focused distraction to tug the tags off with his teeth. Keith knows there are lots of reasons why Lance didn’t put him in the official wedding party. Perhaps its because Keith’s look would ruin the line up or because despite how long they’ve known each other Keith still describes Lance as Hunk and Pidge’s friend, not his. Maybe it’s because Lance still calls him ‘mullet’ whenever the opportunity arises. Whatever the reason, Keith is fairly certain stealing the bride’s underwear will make the top of the list.

Keith has never actually dressed anyone before, but the joke he was going to make about it feeling wrong to put clothes on before they fuck never materialises, because there’s nothing funny about the way Shiro lifts one leg, toes pointed, to slip through the first hole. He is elegant, strong, powerful, perfect. Keith knows any hope he had of keeping his feelings safely tucked away is gone.

Lace looks very good against Shiro’s skin. The white is gorgeous, but already Keith can’t help but wonder what other colours would look like. His fingers shake as he draws the flimsy fabric so, so carefully up Shiro’s legs, imagining how the man might look in trimmed black satin or scallop edged purple mesh. The panties get tight as soon as they are over Shiro’s knees, but he is staring at Keith, breath shallow and lips damply parted.

And Keith has never met a challenge anything other than head-on in his life.

Shiro doesn’t say anything as he lifts his hips, the perfect double curve of his arse on display for a mouth-watering moment as Keith draws the straps of the panties over him before they dig into the muscle. The low cut of the garment does little to cover Shiro’s hefty chub.

“You tuck left?”

Shiro blushes deeply, even the tops of his ears colouring as his dick twitches. A shiny bead of precum appears at the tip and Keith desperately wants to lick it away. He resists, but it’s tough.

“Y-yes.”

“Hey, big guy.” Keith wonders if the fact that the first time he touches Shiro’s cock is to ease in under very stretched stretch lace with haunt him more or less than the words he has just allowed himself to direct to the member in question. He pets his hand over the girthy length, hot and velvety smooth under the lace, and bites his lip. “One more thing…”

Shiro half sits up, leaning on his prosthetic hand as he bares his throat for the garter. Keith straddles his thigh; their faces are so close and breath so hot as Keith ties the pale blue ribbon into a bow. Shiro swallows, the lace moves with the motion of his skin, and his natural hand comes to rest on Keith’s waist. The contact is hot through his clothes. Shiro’s hand is huge, his thumb practically rubbing the buttons of Keith’s waistcoat even as his fingers curve around to span his hip. Keith shivers.

“Hey. You too baby.”

Keith blinks at Shiro, his brain refusing to parse any amount of information as both his remaining braincells are totally occupied with the phrases ‘Shiro in lingerie’ and ‘Shiro has big hands’.

“Keith… you’re wearing too many clothes.”

Keith practically tears his suit off in haste, and though second hand, it is the only one he owns. He doesn’t care; being naked with Shiro is far more important than not damaging his clothes. He dumps the fabric to the floor in order to scramble back onto the bed, but is stopped by Shiro’s breathless voice.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

“You can’t just say that. Not when you’re…” Keith doesn’t want to waste energy blushing, not when his quickly swelling cock is still tacky with the evidence of his first, hasty, orgasm. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

“Gosh, I do hope so.”

Keith kneels on the bed, then crawls up the long length of Shiro’s legs, making an unrestrained and involuntary noise as he settles between Shiro’s thighs. Shiro seems no less affected, his breath uneven and soft as Keith leans in for a kiss. The slide of their lips is wet and delicious. Shiro tastes like sweat and champagne and cake; and as good as Hunk’s baking is, Keith likes the flavours even better from Shiro’s mouth. Shiro opens to his tongue without hesitation, and Keith nips Shiro’s lower lip before he leans away. He grins.

Somehow, it’s easier to believe he’s here with this man who looks like every fantasy Keith’s ever had made flesh when he’s being a brat. Shiro’s dick twitches obviously, despite the confines of the lingerie.

“Someone’s cocky.”

“Occupational hazard.” Shiro smirks.

“Fuck.”

Keith kisses him again, harder, messier, artless and with too much tongue. Shiro shifts his hips, rutting the length of his cock up against Keith’s thigh. He’s eager, and he’s not the only one.

Keith spans his long fingers over the garter turned collar, holding Shiro’s throat, his thumb over the other man’s pulse. The quick thud makes his own heart beat faster, and he finds himself squeezing gently, Shiro’s breath stutters under his fingers as he ruts harder against Keith’s naked thigh. Keith growls, a low noise of desire, then pushes Shiro down onto the bed, bracing himself over Shiro’s perfect body as he begins to pepper his skin with kisses and bites. Keith wants to leave marks everywhere, to be remembered when Shiro looks in the mirror in the morning and sees the imprints of teeth in his flesh. He worries at Shiro’s obliques, sucking a hickey as dark as the tip of Shiro’s cock.

“K-Keith-!”

“Shh…” Keith sits up to wrap his hands around Shiro’s hips, feeling the bite of the straps into Shiro’s flesh, and stares at the obscene bulge of his cock though the lacy panties. “I got you.”

Keith Shuffles down, settling himself comfortably between Shiro’s calves as he dips his spine and presses his face into the groove between Shiro’s thigh and the hard column of his dick. He inhales deeply. Shiro smells of soft musk and citrus, sweat mixed with newly showered skin and the clean scent of the panties. Keith wants to eat him alive. He mouths over the fabric trapped head of Shiro’s cock, the patterns of the lace textured against his tongue, the intimate heat making him groan. Shiro’s prosthetic hand lands in Keith’s hair, and Keith makes a pleased noise, sinking lower to lap along Shiro’s not inconsiderable length.

Shiro’s cock is hot and solid against his mouth and his cheek, and Keith allows himself to be as messy as he likes as he licks and kisses at the firm muscle. Taking the time to stroke his tongue over the soft weight of Shiro’s balls, pressing the man’s lace covered cock against his face as he nips at the skin around the too-tightly fitting straps. Each motion brings forth little gasps and snatches of breath and voice from Shiro, fingers tangling into Keith’s already messy locks, pressing him close whenever Shiro forgets not to. Keith practically purrs.

It doesn’t take long for the panties to become hopelessly ruined, almost totally translucent with saliva and the salty bursts from Shiro’s dripping cock. When Keith shifts lower still on the bed, Shiro makes a strangled noise of desperation.

“No?” Keith queries, kneading the man’s inner thigh casually, like his chin isn’t wet from the attention he has already lavished on Shiro’s dick.

“What? No- I mean, yes. God yes,” Shiro blurts, his cheeks flushing pinker by the moment. “Please?”

Keith chews his lower lip thoughtfully as he brushes his thumbs along the seam between Shiro’s thighs and the delicate edge of the lace. Shiro’s blush extends down his whole chest, his previously perfectly styled silver bangs falling into his eyes. It’s a good look on him. Keith remembers his initial thoughts about Shiro being ‘big, buff, and handsome’, and decides he hates queer gender stereotypes just as much as any other kind.

“When was the last time someone did this for you?”

Shiro looks embarrassed when he answers.

“An age.”

Keith raises himself up and presses a kiss directly above Shiro’s cock, chaste but firm, nose brushing into the smooth dip of Shiro’s navel.

“Oh, pretty boy. I promise I’m gonna take such good care of you.” He waits for Shiro to nod – eyes wide as he realises Keith means what he says – before he reaches down to grasp Shiro’s ankle. “Leg up, gorgeous.”

Shiro bends obediently, and Keith is both pleased and surprised to find that the bigger man is far more flexible than Keith had first supposed. He pushes and Shiro acquiesces, until his heel is set into the mattress right against the curve of his arse, leg bent double, knee falling away to the side. The view of Shiro with his legs open – and nothing between them but a single scrap of taut white lace – leaning up on his elbows as he watches Keith in return, is something Keith knows he will never forget. Shiro huffs, trying to blow his bi-coloured fringe out of his eyes, and the returning fall and furrow of Shiro’s thick brows is deeply endearing.

There are too many emotions, they’re all too strong, and Keith’s heart is beating so hard it’s a wonder Shiro can’t hear it.

“Beautiful…” Keith purrs.

Shiro’s pink blush deepens, the tip of his tongue poking out to wet his lips in a manner which makes Keith’s ignored cock throb. Instead, Keith inhales for a long moment, then places the most restrained kiss he can manage over the lace.

“So pretty.”

The barrier of the lace is everything and nothing under Keith’s tongue as he leans forward to lap across it. The scalloped edge contrasts so delightfully with the smooth pillow of Shiro’s cheeks, and it is heaven to lick and nuzzle into the private, musky heat of the man just here. Keith wraps strong, faintly calloused fingers around Shiro’s thigh and eases Shiro’s other leg over his shoulder to bring him closer.

Shiro swears, groans, says something muffled by biting his knuckles as Keith leans in to part his cheeks with the help of one thumb, licking his hole through the lace. The way Shiro’s pulse jumps under Keith’s hands is addicting, but nowhere near as much as the way his hole flutters against the kiss and suck of Keith’s mouth. Keith wants to stay exactly there and never move, ideally forever.

He hears Shiro fall back into the bed with a soft thump, the leg over his shoulder un-tensing with the motion as the other man stop holding himself up. One of Shiro’s big hands finds its way back into Keith’s hair – half tugging him away and half pressing him close - like he knows what he wants but he’s too ashamed to ask. Keith responds by working his fingers underneath the straps of the panties, tugging to force the fabric even tighter across Shiro’s eager cock. Shiro says Keith’s name and it sounds like a profanity. Keith feels like a god.

Shiro quivers against Keith’s mouth, the muscle of his inner thigh twitching. Keith rolls his neck, stopping only to look at Shiro along the bigger man’s front. Shiro’s chest is heaving, his lip is blanched where his teeth bite into it so fiercely, and his dick is straining so hard against the panties Keith’s genuinely surprised they haven't ripped apart. Keith leans up and places a kiss against the shaft of Shiro’s cock – right over his hammering pulse – unable to hide his grin.

“I could do this all night.”

He can practically see the way Shiro’s pupils blow wide at the comment.

“I might explode if you don’t hurry up and fuck me now.”

Keith half growls, and squeezes Shiro’s thigh hard enough to leave a series of little half-moon indents in his skin.

“Aye aye, Captain.”

Shiro’s laughs softly. Even breathless, the sound is like music, and Keith wants to hear it again and again.

As much as he wants to stay exactly where he is, practicalities force Keith up and away from the bed, gazing down at Shiro’s debauched pose for several long breaths before he is able to tear himself away in the direction of the suite’s bathroom.

His cock bobs enthusiastically as he strides through the suite, knowing Shiro is watching his arse as he leaves. In the bathroom he takes the opportunity to grab one of the little bottles of vibrantly blue mouthwash, rinsing for a moment before spitting in the sink. He fills a glass with water, drinks it, fills it again, then beams as his eyes land on the second of two baskets on the marble counter by the sink. The hotel is of the high-class sort which provides a very generously stocked selection of complimentary toiletries for their guests. There is everything the bride’s wedding party could want for the weekend, including supplies for decadent dicking down.

There is lube, there are condoms – two kinds – and Keith spares half a thought of thanks for Allura choosing such a decent hotel as he rolls one onto his hard flushed cock. He gathers the lube, the rest of the condoms, and takes the water with him as he returns to Shiro. He barely manages to set everything down on the night stand before Shiro is pulling him down into a fucking filthy kiss. It’s all tongue and Shiro’s fists tightly curling into the back of his hair, yanking him close. Keith half melts into him, groaning as his mouth is thoroughly invaded.

He is dizzy with lack of oxygen when Shiro lets him go.

“I wasn’t gone that long.”

“You promised to make me scream your name.”

“Nnghhh… you’re such a brat.” Keith can’t keep the gravel of desire out of his tone.

“You love it,” Shiro returns with a smile which can only be described as smug. “Need you. Now.”

“Easy, big boy.” Keith takes the lube in one hand, smoothing the other up Shiro’s leg from his knee down to his hip. “Gotta make sure you’re ready for me.”

Shiro pouts, but waits as Keith uncaps the lube, smearing generously over his own cock, coating his fingers with it as he settles himself once more between Shiro’s knees. And then Shiro yanks him close, framing Keith’s hips with his thighs, locking his ankles into the small of Keith’s back. He snarls and Keith answers with a feral noise of his own.

“I’m ready.”

“I see that.” Keith works a hand between them anyway, pushing aside the soaked lace to breach Shiro’s body with two fingers. Shiro yowls, his body clamping tight around Keith’s hand. Keith groans. “You sure about that?”

To Keith’s surprise, Shiro’s prosthetic hand wraps around his bicep and hauls him closer. There’s no denying that Shiro’s eyes are wide and wet at the corners with the sensation of Keith’s fingers stroking at his walls, but his voice is demanding rather than whiny when he speaks.

“Yes. I’m fucking sure, Keith. Fuck me.”

“As you wish, princess.”

The pet name obviously does something to Shiro similar to what baby did for Keith, because he shudders bodily, a hint of a moan in his mouth as Keith claims his lips in another kiss. The lube falls to the floor as Keith grabs Shiro’s hips with both hands, all attempts at further prep forgotten.

He can’t wait any more, not when he feels the heat of Shiro’s taint against his cock, and Shiro rolls himself back just as eagerly. Keith yanks the lace aside, not caring when the panties tear, guiding the blunt head of his cock to Shiro’s hole.

The first push is like being swallowed by the sun. Shiro is tighter than a vice around him, the lube and spit easing the way for Keith a little. Only when Keith presses three fingertips softly to the swell of Shiro diaphragm does the other man remember he needs to breathe, and the clench of his muscles becomes less severe, though no less intense. Shiro moans for him. The slide then is euphoric, and Keith thrusts himself deep inside Shiro until he is fully surrounded by the other man, Shiro’s body sucking him in until Keith feels like he might have lost part of his soul in the motion.

Keith is in love. He knows this. He is fully and completely ruined for anyone else, and that is certainty. He does not care.

Shiro is moaning his name, demanding for him to move, and Keith knows he can do nothing but obey. Shiro rocks back against him, hands running up his ribs and over his chest, fingers fisting in his hair, and Keith thrusts. It’s too hard and too fast, but it’s utterly perfect and Keith never wants it to end.

Shiro moans, a low litany of Keith’s name interspersed with ‘baby’ and ‘oh god’ and ‘fuck’ like Shiro’s forgotten the rest of the English language. Keith growls, because he can’t remember how to make any words at all, and grips Shiro’s hips hard enough to leave him with bruises. Every thrust is bone shattering. Shiro’s plush flesh bounces. Sweat prickles and glimmers across his skin and Keith can’t look away. He bends low, spine arching as he continues the brutal pace of his fucking, fixing his mouth over on of Shiro’s pert honey-coloured nipples, licking and biting until Shiro cries and pulls him back by his hair. Keith slams into him over and over, until Shiro is clenching around him once more, his hole fluttering, his cock jerking before spilling messily through the thin fabric of the panties. Fierce pride blooms in Keith’s chest.

He smacks his fist into the sheets beside Shiro’s head, leaning down and folding Shiro almost in half as he goes, pistoning his hips into the clutching heat of Shiro’s perfect body for a dozen sharp and vicious thrusts before he comes silently. His muscles shake but he is frozen, and it’s more desperate and feral than Keith has ever felt before in his life. He pants, his vision is blurry, his skin is on fucking fire.

Shiro’s hands reach out to him, and the synthetic palm he places over Keith’s heart is slightly cooler than body temperature. Shiro makes a soft noise of alarm, and Keith knows his heart is still pounding faster than his hips went.

Shiro guides him down because Keith’s arms can no longer support him, he’s done. Neither of them cares about the tacky mess between them as Keith settles over Shiro’s chest, cheek pillowed on one pec. Eventually he groans.

“You sound like I broke you,” Shiro murmurs after a moment. He noses into Keith’s hair, and Keith can feel the curve of his lips, the way Shiro is smiling against his scalp. He melts a little more into him.

Keith locates his hand at the end of his arm, though it seems to take far more effort than it ought, and tucks his fingers under the remaining lacy strap of Shiro’s ruined underwear.

“We broke something, that’s for sure.” Keith tugs sharply and the fabric snaps under the pressure. He holds aloft the remnants of the lingerie with a lopsided grin. “Next time we’ll get you panties that actually fit.”

“Next time?”

For one terrifying heartbeat, Keith thinks he’s pushed too far, that this is more intimate and possessive than anything he and this beautiful man have just done together. But Shiro is smiling broadly, his eyes are soft, and when Keith drops the destroyed panties, Shiro’s natural fingers interlock with his immediately.

“Mmmm… next time pretty boy,” Keith murmurs, placing a soft kiss to Shiro’s pec.

Shiro beams.

“Yes, baby.”

Keith wants to turn and hide his face, because that soft little endearment falling from Shiro’s lips has him by the heartstrings. Despite being more exhausted than he’s ever been before, he wants nothing more than to hold onto this man and never let him go. When Shiro wraps an arm around his waist, encouraging Keith to slide into the space next to him, Keith finds himself smiling all over again.

“How many more condoms are there, Keith?” Shiro asks, implication of desire and challenge clear in his tone.

Keith grins.

“Six.”

“Think we can use them all by breakfast?”

“Ambitious,” Keith can’t help the laugh which bubbles in his chest. “I love it.”

He’s so gone for this man, and he doesn’t care.

*

Keith has learnt not to question the good things in his life.

Because no, rampant and feral marathon fucking of a virtual stranger should lead to a happily ever after. It shouldn’t. But, maybe Keith was really good in some previous life. Maybe he saved the universe or something. Maybe Shiro did too. Or rather, it was probably Shiro who saved the universe in a past life and Keith was just along for the ride. Shiro would be far better at being a hero anyway.

But it doesn’t matter whose good karma is paying off, because today they stand side by side in white and black, and Keith’s signature red on their silk ties and in the flowers that everyone is either wearing or holding. Even Lance, who is just happy there is a colour scheme, and that Keith and Shiro aren’t getting married out on the edge of a canyon in the desert.

It’s five years later. Five years of kissing, of amazing athletic sex, of soft cuddles and softer adoration as they worship each other. Five years of staying up late, of sharing food and laughter, hopes and dreams and infrequent nightmares. Five years, two apartment moves, three new jobs, and a rescue cat named Black.

Five years, but they get a happily ever after.

Keith smiles at the man who is about to be his husband, every inch a god in his finely tailored suit, radiating power and confidence and sex appeal in spades.

And only Keith knows that Shiro has brand new, very dainty, bridal lingerie on under that suit.

He can’t wait to get his mouth on it.