sheith | #nsfw | somnophilia | age gap | sugar daddy shiro au

warnings for unnegotiated kink, but very much consensual cos shiro is a pining idiot & keith is impatient and just fucking goes for it

~ https://twitter.com/sheithpocalypse/status/1259510590436974596

The end credits roll, and that should be Keith's cue that it's time for bed.

He stopped paying attention halfway through the episode anyway, too distracted by the man snoring softly at the other end of the couch.

He has his head tilted back & a bit to the side, cheek squished against the back of the couch—which is frankly cuter than it has any right to be—, and there's the tiniest strip of naked skin peaking out from where his shirt has ridden up a little.

The man in question is what keeps Keith glued to the couch as the credits theme ends and the next episode starts playing. It's what makes Keith's pulse race and what has him fidgeting on his seat. It's what's had him taking cold shower after cold shower for the past few weeks.

Another man would maybe tell himself that he just doesn't want to wake Shiro up, and sure, that's part of the reason too—Shiro works hard, moreso lately when there's so many people in need and so much to do to help. He deserves all the rest he can get.

But Keith doesn't do half truths, doesn't do denial. And really, there's no denying the way his eyes keep wandering back to the little hint of well-toned abs that's visible under Shiro's shirt. There's no denying the way the long column of his throat makes Keith's mouth go dry.

Even upon first meeting him, when Shiro had caught him red-handed as Keith tried to sneak into his car and Keith had every reason to think Shiro would call the police on him, it had been impossible not to notice just how unfairly stunning the man was.

It had been impossible not to keep thinking about it when Shiro, single, in this 40s, had offered to let a broke 25yo who he'd just met stay at his place.

Keith didn't know Shiro yet, had no way of knowing that Shiro genuinely wanted to help,

or that he was honest and kind and caring and always put his money where his mouth was.

What he knew was that he himself, though nothing special, was somewhat decent looking, and that although he was sure Shiro could easily have any man he wanted,

it wasn't that rare to see wealthy, workaholic men not having enough time for dating and needing... something else.

Entering a Daddy/baby agreement hadn't exactly been in Keith's plans, but beggars can't be choosers, and, well. Shiro was really easy on the eyes.

Keith could count himself lucky.

So instead of calling the cops, the guy had brought him home and fed him and listened to Keith's story—his asshole landlord had kicked him out right away when Keith lost his job to the lockdown mess,

and Keith really hadn't been planning to steal Shiro's car. He'd just seen it was unlocked and wanted a place where he could sleep without freezing to death—and then he'd asked Keith to stay.

Keith had taken one look at the broad expanse of that chest, at the strong jaw and the scar and the warm grey eyes that didn't look like this man would murder him in his sleep, and both his half-frozen fingers and his dick-brain had said yes.

It's been 3 weeks now, and Keith's fingers haven't been cold again.

His dick, however, is very much still hard. Painfully so.

He knows now that he pegged Shiro completely wrong. That the man never expected anything from Keith in exchange for his kindness.

It's hard, when you've had to work your way through life the way Keith has, to come to terms with the existence of someone like Shiro.

To believe that someone can truly be this selfless and give so much, so freely.

And sure, he's 42 and single and seems a little lonely, and yet 3 weeks have gone by already, and never once has Shiro made a move or asked anything of Keith.

Which presents a whole new problem, because if Keith was horny before just looking at those powerful thighs and the endless muscles of Shiro's back... now that he /knows/ the man, now that he's seen that kindness first hand,

that he's seen the way his eyes sparkle when he makes one of his bad puns, or that he's laughed with Keith over his taste in movies or hugged him tight against his chest when he came home late from work and found that Keith had cooked him dinner—and boy did Keith's heart

threaten to leap into his throat at that—, Keith's no longer horny. He's about ready to combust and crawl out of his skin with the raw, unsatisfied heat coursing through his veins.

He's pretty sure his crush can be seen from the ISS by now.

He wants, and he wants /bad/.

And here's the thing. Keith would understand if a man like Shiro simply happened not to be interested in someone like him. It'd be the most logical scenario, really.

But what's really, truly been Keith's undoing, is that he's about 82% sure that Shiro /is/ into him.

Exhibit A: when Keith first came here, he didn't have any of his stuff with him, so Shiro had borrowed him some clothes for him to sleep in.

Seeing Keith walk out of the guest room in them had rendered Shiro a stuttery mess and had left him fumbling for words throughout

the entire explanation of how his fancy shower worked.

Exhibit B: Shiro stares.

He stares /a lot/, a warm smile always tugging at the corner of his lips, filled with a fondness Keith isn't used to being on the receiving end of, nor feels like he deserves.

And if he notices him staring back, he'll meet Keith's questioning look with a sheepish grin and a touch of red dusting his cheeks.

Exhibit C: Past the awkwardness of the first day and a half, it became clear pretty quickly that Shiro was an extremely tactile person.

Keith's always been kind of bristly himself, more due to circumstance than personal choice, but it'd been easy to get used to the shoulder squeezes, to the hair ruffling and the friendly bumping into each other as they walked down the hallway.

He had chalked up most of it to Shiro just being... well. Shiro. He did have the kind of open, welcoming personality where one's just naturally touchy-feely. But as days passed and it became clear that Shiro wasn't thinking of himself as Keith's sugar daddy,

and wasn't about to ask Keith to meet him in his room, it became harder to justify the fingers that sometimes curled around the nape of Keith's neck a bit too tightly. Or the hand that fell to Keith's hip as they stepped back from a hug, and lingered there.

Or the time when a half-asleep Shiro reached around Keith for a mug from one of the top drawers, trapping Keith back against the counter. He did so unthinkingly, but the motion left them standing way too close, made Keith suck in a sharp breath.

Shiro looked down at that, found his own faces just inches above Keith's, and Keith can swear he /felt/ the way the air around them changed then, how it filled with electricity, how quickly the remnants of sleep left Shiro's eyes.

Even as he stepped back a second later, his gaze still burned.

So. He's sure that, at the very least, Shiro's not entirely indifferent to him... probably.

But Shiro's also too good not to be painfully aware of the role he plays in Keith's life now, of the power imbalance between them. Keith knows him, can understand his reticence.

He can also work with that.

The soft, rhythmic cadence of Shiro's breathing feels like a spell. Soothing. Grounding.

Keith still hasn't moved, can't bring himself to wake the man up, so instead he looks his fill,

drags his eyes across his stunning form, across the raised skin of his arm, where flesh meets metal... along the soft trail of dark hair that disappears beneath the waist of Shiro's pants.

Before he even realizes what he's doing,

Keith flattens his palm over that firm belly, traces the vee of Shiro's hip with the pad of his thumb, and there was no real intent behind the motion—none other than sheer admiration, really—, but Shiro lets out a soft, barely-there moan at the touch, and... fuck.

/Fuck/.