hi im here to be problematic

Shiro moved into the house next door we all know the drill.
His office has a beautiful bay window that he puts his desk in front of so that he can look outside.
bonus? he gets to watch his neighbor's son cutting the grass when summer rolls around

hes shirtless, hes sweaty, and when the old lawn mower finally shits the bed he's got a lil smudge of grease on his cheek and right above the waistband of his shirt

shiro doesn't know that he pulled something out so that the lawn mower would break.

and is he just imagining it,,,, or are his shorts getting shorter every week?

it isnt until the curtains of his neighbors house are suddenly open that he realizes the boy's room is directly across from his office.

but shiro is a Good Man. he leaves his office when the light flickers on. he doesn't want to intrude, even if its not his responsibility to mind the curtains

he hears the sound of the boy cutting the grass after another week. it’s become so ingrained that he doesn’t even notice when the lawn mower turns off

imagine his surprise when the boy comes knocking on his door wearing his shortest pair of shorts yet and not much else.

“i’m sorry to bother you, sir” oh god, please don’t call him that, “is there any chance you have an allen wrench i can borrow?”

“i’m sorry?” shiro is still getting it together, very much distracted by long legs.
his neighbor steps back, “it’s okay! my pops just has the toolkit and-“
“an allen wrench?”

the kid stops, rocking forward on his toes, “yeah, thought it might be worth a try to ask you.”
“i have one. do you mind waiting a second?”
he grins, a little too triumphant for shiro’s liking, “of course.”

shiro nods, gesturing him inside.
“i’m keith, by the way.” the boy says, glancing around shiro’s living room.
“shiro,” he steps through the house, walking toward the stairs down to the basement, “i’ll be right back, okay?”
“yes, sir.”

shiro takes a deep breath, nodding politely.

the basement is a welcome reprieve from prying eyes, shiro immediately starts scratching the crook of his elbow. it’s an old nervous tic, but the kid brought it out in him.

he starts rummaging through the boxes that contain his workbench, looking for the kit that he knows he has somewhere.
it takes longer than expected, but he finally finds it at the very bottom of a box that made no logical sense for it to be in.

shiro jogs back up the stairs, prize in hand, and sees keith focused intently on his portrait from the academy, when his hair wasn’t bleached by stress and his face wasn’t scarred.
“here it is! didn’t know what sizes you’d need, so.”
keith startles, spinning on his heel

keith collects his cool in an instant, “i need a big one.”
he steps forward and plucks the outstretched tool kit from shiro’s hand, “thank you,” he glances at shiro’s portrait, “captain.”
shiro raises an eyebrow, “anytime. just bring it back when you’re done.”

“and if i don’t?”

shiro crosses his arms over his chest, “you will.”

keiths eyes widen ever so slightly, taking in shiro’s imposing form, “yes, sir.” he gives a lazy salute as he turns to walk out the door, long legs striding back to the lawn mower.

shiro watches keith bend over, throw the allen wrenches aside, and start the motor without doing a thing to “fix” it.
he scoffs, “so that’s how it’s going to be.”

his desk is back at the window that night.

And sure enough, keiths light flickers on as he walks in front of the window in nothing but a towel.

His hair is wet, sticking to his shoulders.

Shiro wonders if the water falls between the sharp lines of lean muscle.

He’s working, paying close attention to the meeting notes that he has to review before work the next day.
But if he looks up to see where Keith is in his evening workout, to check his /form, to make sure that he’s technique isn’t lacking?
It’s just being neighborly.

He wouldn’t want keith to hurt himself with a bad push-up. Or to pull a muscle in a particularly low squat.

when keith moves a yoga mat directly in front of the window and faces away from it, shiro feels his heart stop.

keith stretches, locking his fingers and twisting his hands above his head. he leans back and the long lines of sinew makes shiro wonder what he’d look like from above, back arched over twisted sheets

his upper body goes limp into a forward fold and shiro gets a wonderful view of what his ass looks like in skin tight short shorts- the subtle v of his hamstrings covered when keith wraps his arms around the backs of his legs and tucks his nose between his knees

he releases the hold and the tips of his fingers touch the front of his mat. he jumps back into a high plank, shorts riding up and getting caught in the cleft of his ass

shiro bites his fist, work going completely neglected

watching keith twist through poses, sliding his shoulder beneath his knee, rolling his spine languidly, leaning into a lunge so far that his shorts resemble briefs more than anything else, shiro gets lost.

it makes sense, his flexibility. at least, shiro tries to explain that it does. he’s lean muscle, lean muscle is... bendy.
yeah. that’s it.

he tries not to, however, think about the contrast of keiths lean muscle and his own bulk. when he saw keith earlier that day he realized just how small his waist was.

shiro’s was easily twice as thick, and he thinks that maybe, if he really pushed it, his hands could wrap around keiths waist.

keith is currently in child’s pose and shiro’s line of sight is once again filled with that perfect peach of an ass.