A quick thing for @Carochinchin cuz ily dear

The first time it happened it had been Keith's mistake.

He had know for a long while who Takashi Shirogane is — office man of Garrison's Corp. by day and the guy who kept chasing Keith's villain persona at night.

#sheith https://twitter.com/ulqueleh/status/1383995935148019715
Of course Keith had known. Ever since their first meeting, if he was being honest and a bit cocky. That stupid white floof was impossible to not recognize.
Especially under the midday sunlight after a long night where the Great Blanc had chased Keith off the rooftops of buildings and smashed him against a wall, white hair falling over the also white mask and brushing Keith's purple-ish black bangs.
And then there is the rest of Takashi's physique — very easy to spot 6'4" tall, full of gorgeous muscle, strong jawline that could cut diamonds (Keith is pretty sure he would with how hard his skin is), grayish-brown eyes and long lashes that frame them perfectly.
He is handsome. Takashi Shirogane /is/ handsome. Great Blanc is, too.

But Keith had just been lying to himself. He convinces himself he's not looking at him from over his newspaper to appreciate his attractiveness, nor to drool over muscles pulling taut a white button-down.
Oh, no. He's not there to develop — or let grow — a silly crush over Takashi. No.

He's there in a reckon mission. As a spy, if you will. He's there to gather intel and info about every single thing that could be of help to defeat Great Blanc.
He watches him go about his day, what he eats and drinks, who he hangs out with. Every single piece of information he can have from watching from afar.

Or that is what Keith tells himself.

/I just want to defeat him./

"What the fuck are you doing here?"
Keith shivers from the growl in Takashi's voice, breath hitting his neck and wrist painfully twisted to his lower back. Keith wheezes, chest tight against the brick wall he was pushed into the moment he stepped out of the coffeeshop, the moment he tried to follow Takashi's steps.
But of course Takashi- Great Blanc had noticed. Of course he caught him and pulled him into an alley the moment Keith was searching for it in the crowd, wondering where he had gone.

"Answer me," Takashi glowers. Keith can almost see him with his mask on, "Why are you here, Red?"
Keith swallows thickly, straining against Takashi's hold, against the hard chest in his back. He doesn't know if he wants to squirm away or stay there.

"I-" he tries, but his mouth is dry and he's out of breath. And out of ideas.
"You've been following me," Takashi hisses, hand tightening around Keith's wrist, and Keith flinches. It's going to bruise. "For days now."

/Months, actually. But you don't have to know that./

"J-just-" Keith coughs, "Reckon mission."

Takashi hums, considering.
"I thought the Blades had a code of honor," he muses, making Keith's frantic heart stop for a beat, "Something about the fight being only in the fight, not outside of it."

/Never take advantage of your enemy's vulnerability. Never stab in the back of an unknowing civil./
Keith grumbles at the words, Kolivan's voice resonating with them.

"I wasn't," he lies. Or so he thinks, "I just-"

Takashi stays silent, waiting for Keith's answer, but Keith doesn't know how to excuse himself. He doesn't understand himself.
"Not a reckon mission," Keith spits out at last, squirming a bit but Takashi keeps him there, "Not with the Blades."

"Then," Takashi sighs when Keith doesn't elaborate, head slumped towards the brick wall in defeat, "What is of it?

Keith doesn't want to admit it.
"I wasn't going to use anything I learned against you," he mutters, breath hitting the dusty brick wall, "The Blades' business- /Red's/ business is with Great Blanc. Mine is just-"

"Personal interest, then," Takashi states. His hold loosens a bit.

Keith shouldn't admit it.
"Yes," he whispers, afraid of any outcome, "I am-"

/Interested in you in a personal level/, he thinks, relieved his face is to a wall and not on Takashi's sight, /in an intimate level/.

The silence stretches for a while and Keith feels his blood quicken with every heartbeat.
He's scared. He's afraid. He made a terrible mistake and now his whole team would take the loss with him. What if Great Blanc uses him against them? What if Keith brought the whole Marmora clan to the ground because of his own selfishness, his own /silly fucking crush/?
"I'm sorry," he whispers when the silence just gets long, when his arm starts to feel numb and his breath is getting short, "I-I'm sorry. Please. I just-"

"Who would've thought," Takashi wonders. Keith perceives he's talking to himself, "Such a wonderful coincidence."
Keith frowns, not understanding his line of thought.

"W-what?" He blows out and then he's /spinning/.

His back hits the wall, more gently than his chest and face did, and then there's a breath against his parted lips, wide eyes finding Takashi's in the dim light of the alley.
"Personal interest, huh?" Takashi murmurs and Keith gasps, his lips brushing just a tiny bit against his, "You wanted something like this, Red?"

Keith mouths, eyes fluttering but never closing; Takashi never disappears the distance between their mouths.
"I-I-" Keith stutters, not daring to move a single muscle, "How would you-"

"I know how you look at me," Takashi hums, "I see it every night we happen to encounter each other, Red."

Keith feels breathless. And stupid. Was he so obvious?
"There's just," Takashi continues, metal hand skimming up Keith's arm and pressing his wrist against the wall, just over his head, "such a light in your eyes every time you see me. As if you're excited to see I showed up to stop you."
Keith shivers, Takashi's other hand going down and around his waist. His hand is so /big/.

"And then there's moments like this one," Takashi sighs, body pressing up against Keith's and thigh slotting between Keith's wobbly legs, "where your eyes are so dark with want."
And Keith knows. He /knows/. Those moments are Keith's favorites, where Great Blanc manages to catch him against any hard surface. Not the way Keith has thought about. Not yet, any way. But is literally the only highlight of his night, regardless of the outcome of the battle.
Keith once arrived home with a bloody nose, a sick burn in his cheek, a couple of broken ribs, a sprained leg and empty hands, but with a bliss clouding over his mind due to how Great Blanc's hips had pressed against his ass during the struggle, how good his palms felt on him.
[Omg I want to apologize because I fell asleep and right now I have to go to work 😭😭😭 but I'll continue it in later in the day 🥺 thank you so much for reading, guys!!]
It's the same good way Takashi's hand feel on him right now, keeping him bound and close to his body. It's the same breathless way his hips press against Keith's, now front to front.

Keith likes it and he knows it's wrong.
His moral compass — although always deliberately going to the wrong direction — spins and halts to any other way.

It makes him hesitate. Is this what he really wants?

"Just like now," Takashi murmurs, snapping Keith out of his thoughts, "Your eyes."
Keith blinks, trying to clear up the blurriness around Takashi's handsome face, making him even more gorgeous.

"They're dark," Takashi continues, tilting his head with a smile, as if he's admiring Keith from another angle and still likes what he sees, "Doubting, but dark still."
Keith gulps. He knows Takashi can't read minds. That's Pink Hope and Vert Intelligence's super power. But it makes Keith so fucking paranoid, so afraid Great Blanc can actually see what's on his mind — the dirty thoughts he is having in that precise moment.
"You want me," Takashi states, Keith realizes it's not a question, and then huffs, "I know it."

Keith tries not to whimper and shifts on Takashi's hold. He's already half-hard and Takashi has barely touched him, but Keith's dignity is washing away with every shuddering breath.
He grounds his hips on Takashi's strong thigh and his mouth hangs open in a silent moan. Takashi's eyes spark gold, the same shimmering gaze that's half-hidden by a white mask every single night. It makes burn scold inside Keith's gut.

"I-" Keith huffs out, mouth dry, "please-"
"Please what?" Takashi asks, questioning eyebrow raised up, but Keith can see it in the amused twinkle in his eyes and teasing curve of his lips — he's just trying to annoy Keith, "Won't know what you want unless you say it."

Keith scoffs, grabbing some courage from the ground.
"Y-you seemed rather secure about what I wanted without me having to say a word before, Blanc," Keith hisses out, pointedly thrusting down to the thigh between his and then up to the hip against his hard cock. He notices with delight something hard growing against his belly.
/Big/, Keith thinks burning with want, /So big/.

Takashi exhales and tilts his head the other way, nose brushing against Keith's in a fond gesture. Keith almost whines.

"You might be a bad guy," Takashi mutters thoughtful, "but I still need your consent before doing anything."
Keith's lashes flutter close for a second and growls, hips rutting.

/Is this not consent enough?/ he wants to glower, but Takashi might have a point.

"Please," Keith whispers through clenched teeth, "I want it, /please/."

Takashi's eyes narrow but doesn't stop Keith's humping.
"Then what?" He asks. Keith can't believe he's trying to hold a conversation like this, having Keith's cock rubbing against him and not doing /anything/, "You'd still try to kill me every night. You'd still break the Blade's code of honor."

That makes Keith pause, frowning.
"I won't," Keith sighs out, blurry gaze focusing on Takashi's eyes — they're back to their natural grayish color, "That was just for myself. Not to attack you. I swear."

Takashi stares, looking for any evidence Keith is lying. But Keith isn't. No Blade lies about their business.
"And you still try to kill me every other night," Keith chuckles, thrusting once again, "But this isn't about that."

Takashi hums. Keith gasps when he thrusts back, following Keith's hips.

"What is it about, then?"

/How can he be so clear-headed to keep asking dumb questions?/
"Just the two of us," Keith pants, eyes fighting to stay open at the strong clench of burning need inside him, "No Great Blanc or Red Blade. Just /us/."

Takashi smiles, in a way Keith has seen before, but now with a dangerous edge to it, one that Keith wants to cut himself with.
"Sounds like a plan," Takashi murmurs, just before leaning closer and catching Keith's gasping mouth in a scolding kiss.

Keith groans, the kiss thundering through his body painfully hard, but he just holds unto Takashi, groping his muscles and fisting the fabric of his shirt.
He wants to rip it off. He wants Takashi naked. He wants to fuck this man right then, right there, regardless of how public and vulgar that might be. Keith just /wants/.

He kisses him with everything he has, with every piece of scolding desire burning inside him.
With every ounce of /need/ that has pulled him every single day of his miserable life after meeting Great Blanc for the first time.

He licks and bites and grinds and nibbles, Takashi's mouth opening in muffled groans that taste so damn sweet in Keith's tongue.
It's everything he has ever wanted.

"Your name," Takashi requests a few seconds later, pulling away from Keith's insisting lips and making them land in his chin instead, Keith taking it as an opportunity to trail down his delicious neck and jawline, "Tell me your name."
Keith smirks, feeling Takashi shiver at a lovebite left just below the collar of his shirt, and tongues over it just because he can.

"Keith," he whispers against his wet skin, not even questioning it further.

He wants- /needs/ Takashi saying his name, not a dumb alias.
"Keith," Takashi breathes out, looking blissed out with every single thing Keith does with his mouth, with every circle he does with his hips, "Oh, Keith-"

"Yeah?" Keith asks and Takashi shudders, hands letting go of Keith just to grip his hips to guide his thrusts.
"'m Takashi," he introduces himself later, face buried in Keith's neck and lips brushing over his pulse.

/I know/, Keith thinks, chuckling.

"But you can call me Shiro."

And oh.


"Sounds like a plan," Keith whispers, fingers thread through Shiro's buzzcut, "/Shiro/."
Shiro groans and shudders out a growl, and Keith comes in his pants like a horny teenager. Shiro follows right after, moaning into Keith's shivering mouth.

It's wonderful. Gorgeous. Ground-breaking.

And a mistake.
It's one of the worst — and /best/ — mistakes in his whole 23-year-long life. He knows he can't see it; not when Shiro's lips are on his, stealing his breath away; not when Shiro's hands guide his hips and Shiro's cock reaches deep inside him; not when Shiro shudders around him,
tight and wet and so fucking /perfect/.

No. Keith's mind only has space for Shiro in those moments.

In exchange, he basks in a guilt trip every time he sneaks out of Shiro's bed, every time he does the walk of shame, whether is in the late night or in the early morning.
Keith knows it's a mistake. He knew that very first moment it was a mistake. But it's a mistake he keeps committing every single time he has the opportunity.

He can't help it. And Shiro can't, either, with how his gaze travels over Keith's body, even as his villain persona.
But they don't mention anything when they are Red Blade and Great Blanc — they keep chasing and fighting each other, both ruled by their own moral compasses and ideals. Which is why it's a mistake.
Keith can't see it now, with Shiro softly snoring into his chest after a good, rough orgasm. But he can see it in the future, when his silly crush had enlarged into something palpable and real, into something he can't hide from himself or Shiro or anybody anymore.

A mistake.
A mistake he keeps committing, though, despite the blaring alarms going off in his head every time he catches Shiro's sweet smile when he sees Keith climb up his window. Or every time a soft kiss is pressed to his forehead or temple when Shiro is pulsing inside him.
Or when Shiro brushes his hair away while the aftershocks are still shaking Keith to the core.

He almost doesn't notice the changes until it's too late — until Keith sees the brightness on Great Blanc's golden gaze instead of just on Shiro's grayish-brown eyes.
Until that smile is creeping up on the corners of Great Blanc's lips while they're fighting. Until there's a roseness to Great Blanc's cheeks that doesn't belong to the struggle and exertion they are going through at the moment.

Until Keith knows it's a reflection of himself.
He's not sure when it happened, when everything between them started to change, but all of the sudden their encounters aren't as charged and tense as at first — everything was a blur back then, their kisses were frantic and demanding and every touch was followed with a roughness
Keith figured was rooted on his hate on Great Blanc, although Shiro was the one in his hands then.

He still hated him. Just because he wanted to bed him and kiss him all over and watch him come with his cock inside of him or the other way around, Keith still hated him.
He just wanted to stave off some steam. Keith knows Shiro does, too. There's just so much tension between them. Red Blade and Great Blanc there's always been something Keith has never been able to name, something that cackles with electricity when their gazes meet.
Always something heavy and deep and too real to ignore. Keith thought he could, that maybe Great Blanc's sex appeal was just Keith's need to be fucked good and not an actual real thing that would destroy him from inside out (and we're not talking about his dick).
It was just a gut feeling. Some kind of string that made Keith's stomach drop and his heart flutter.

He thought it was hate, so he just transferred it in every too rough caress and too harsh kiss and too punching thrust of hips.
But then, somehow, those demanding caresses went from a bruising grip to a feathery touch. Those biting kisses became gentle and almost sweet. Those ground-shattering piston of hips transformed into slow, still as breathtaking, thrusts. Either into Keith or from Keith.
He knows everything went to hell the moment he blinks his eyes open and the mid-morning sunlight falls on the floor, Shiro's gorgeous eyes looking down at him with a dazed and still sleepy expression and making Keith's heart leap in fondness.

It's a huge mistake.
"You're distracted," Antok comments later, two days after Keith scrambled out of bed, out of Shiro's warm embrace, mouth full of excuses and chest tightening painfully around his heart.

"I'm not," Keith lies, looking away to the rooftop from where they just jumped from.
Great Blanc is there, standing proudly despite the loss they had tonight. His white hair flutters over golden eyes and Keith shudders out a breath, trying to mask the flutter inside his stomach. Especially when Keith wonders if Shiro is so proud because of Keith and not himself.
"You are," Antok says again, knowing smile showing his fangs, and Keith scoffs, throwing him the bagged goods and hitting him in the face with a muffled 'oomf'.

He turns away then, proud of himself, and is thinking about when to appear on Shiro's window when there's a gunshot.
Something hits him in the shoulder, painful enough to make him groan, and he falls down to his knee, the hand that isn't throbbing from pain gripping his shoulder and coming out soaked in blood.

"Red!" Antok hisses, dropping the bag of goods and holding Keith close to his body.
"'m fine," Keith grunts out, but there's too much blood and his head is swimming and suddenly his vision is full of spots, "I-"

He hears commotion over the echo of his heartbeat thundering in his ear, and has half a mind to look over his shoulder while Antok checks on his wound,
frowning at the five figures on the other rooftop.

They're discussing. Pretty intensely, if he can say. He can't even decipher what they're saying, but the tallest of them shoves a thin one, blue flashing all the way to the building Keith is bleeding out on.
/Weird/, he thinks, recognizing Great Blanc's voice, strangely frantic in what seems like a one-sided discussion with his team, /Blue Shot didn't miss/.

He faints then, Shiro's voice a vague echo on his mind, saying his name the same way he does when he kisses his lips.
It was a mistake, he figures — as everything he has done with this whole thing — to give Takashi Shirogane his real name.

There's so much that can be held above your head if someone knows your name, if you gave them the power to pronounce it and for you to be called by them.
Keith thinks that is why Takashi told him to call him Shiro instead of his given name, the one Keith knows only Takashi's partners and close family do.

Keith isn't either of those, so Shiro asked him to call him that; just Shiro.

Keith should have done that, too.
He should have told him to call him by his last name, or maybe an alias that wasn't 'Red,' or maybe just a name that didn't even have anything to do with Keith in the first place, like 'Akira', or some insane babble like 'Yorak'.

Really anything, except for his name.
Keith should've been smarter.


He pauses, body halfway through the open window and straining to hold himself up. The maneuver has always been easy, but now, with a gun wound beneath tight bandages that are supposed to keep him from moving around, it's so damn hard.
"What are you doing here?!" Shiro scolds him — or at least that's how it sounds to Keith — and is quick to catch him when Keith trips with the window frame, keeping him from faceplanting against the floor, "You're hurt!"

Keith lets out a breath, shaky and a bit too heavy.
"I..." he rasps out, letting Shiro pull him toward the bed before he collapses or something. He frowns, "I..."

/I wanted to see you/, he thinks helplessly, watching Shiro fuss over him, taking off his shirt slowly to check on the bandages, /but you don't need to know that/.
"You should be resting," Shiro grumbles, taking off the stained with blood bandages. Keith is just noticing his wound opened, maybe for the effort of climbing to Shiro's apartment in the seventh floor, "You should-"

He cuts off, glaring at the open wound, and Keith blinks.
He has never seen him like this, so angry. Not even as Great Blanc when Red managed to successfully steal whatever the fuck he was guarding when they first met.

He has never seen him so hopeless.


"Stay there," he orders and Keith can't find the energy to disobey.
He watches him cross the bedroom to where Keith knows it's the bathroom, and frowns when Shiro comes back with a first aid kit, a sewing kit and a towel.

Keith gulps.

"You don't have to-"

"Don't, Keith," Shiro interrupts, voice steely and hard, "Just don't."
So Keith doesn't, and keeps as still as possible while Shiro cleans, disinfects, sews and covers his wound with fresh bandages, as still as he can with every flinch and silent grunt that his body does unconsciously, trying to get away from the pain.
It feels better than before, though, the Blades hasty treatment not enough to actually let the wound heal properly.

"How does that feel?" Shiro asks, tone soft, and his thumb is going up and down Keith's shoulder, away from the gunshot but Keith feels his skin too sensitive.
"I..." he starts but doesn't know what else to say. It feels good. It feels okay. He's conscious of that and can simply say it, but there's something hanging in their silence, between their eyes avoiding direct contact and the distance between their bodies.
Keith thinks he has never been this far away from Shiro when they're on his bed.

"Keith?" Shiro asks, and Keith's heart thumps against his ribcage.

"Shiro," Keith pronounces helplessly, trying to convey the same he feels whenever Shiro says his name.
But he knows it's not the same. He knows Shiro is the one who is in the higher ground here, holding Keith's name above his head and out of his reach, causing him emotions Keith shouldn't be having for an enemy, much less Great Blanc.
He doesn't want to think, so he just half stands from the bed and dips enough to leave a kiss on Shiro's lips.

"Wha- Keith-"

"I want to do it."

Keith expect Shiro's eyes to go dark in want, but instead they fall to Keith's freshly bandaged wound.
"You're hurt," he excuses and Keith shrugs, containing a wince when it makes the wound burn like hell.

"Whatever," Keith brushes off, but Shiro is an unmovable force, seriousness still hardening his expression.

"Keith," he reprimands, and Keith wants to hate it.
"Just a bit," he tries, not wanting to deter, "Just a little, I-"

"How would 'a little' sex be?" Shiro sighs, apparently exhausted, but one of his hands find Keith's hip, thumb brushing over the sliver of skin above the waistband of his pants, "You shouldn't even be here."
But Keith doesn't care. He's been doing innumerable things he shouldn't do. Like Shiro himself.

"I want to," Keith mutters, almost shy for having to insist, "I just-"

"That's why you're here?"

That makes him pause.


"To have sex," Shiro explains, "isn't it?"
And it should be. That's why Keith has been climbing seven stories up a building and sneaking through Shiro's window, that's why he kisses him and touches him and lets him kiss and touch him back. That's why Keith starting meeting Shiro in the first place.

/I wanted to see you./
Keith doesn't even understand it, he can't risk saying it and having Shiro understand a whole different thing.

"I guess so."

Shiro watches him, gaze going from one of Keith's eyes to the other, and then he sighs, flesh hand reaching up to cup his cheek.
"Okay," he concedes, and Keith almost preens at him, half a purr muffled by a peck from Shiro's mouth.

Keith sighs, leaning more over Shiro, and then they're falling to the bed, Shiro holding him by the chest to keep from knocking over him and open his wound again.
"Keith," he breathes against Keith's wet lips, and it's just so /unfair/, "Wait."

Keith frowns and pulls away, flinching when he puts too much weight in his injured shoulder.


The protest dies in his throat when Shiro sits up and Keith's back is suddenly to the bed.
Keith doesn't understand how he did it, but Shiro managed to change their positions so quick and so fucking carefully that Keith's wound barely resents it.

"How do you want it?" Shiro asks, long bangs falling on Keith's hair and tickling his forehead.
The question shocks him enough to hesitate — they've never talked about this. It's always for what they're in the mood and who manages to get the upper hand in the heat of the moment. Never with words, only with actions.
Sometimes it's Shiro who pushes Keith to the bed to ride him and sometimes it's Keith who wrestles him to get fucked instead. It's a silent agreement between them and it has been working just fine for them.

But now Shiro's gaze is too clear and earnest and Keith /aches/.
This question makes it real.

"I want you inside me," Keith sighs out, startling himself, "deep inside."

Shiro follows Keith's hand to his abdomen, to where sometimes the head of Shiro's cock presses out his abdomen. Keith catches how he shudders.

[I know it's just before the spicy stuff but I gotta go shdksjfkf sorry 🥺 Please buy me a kofi if you're in the possibility of doing so! Replying, rting, liking and qrting is encouraged too!!! Thank you so much for reading so far ❤️❤️❤️] http://ko-fi.com/ulquii 
Shiro kisses him then, lips soft and sweet, and Keith sighs into his mouth, Shiro's weight settling warm and heavy on his body. It's comfortable like this, Shiro's body feeling like a weighted blanket, and Keith lets himself get lost in the kiss, hands reaching up to hold Shiro.
He tries to get him naked, at least take off his shirt, but Shiro's hands catches his wrists and gently puts them down to the bed, at Keith's sides.

"Stay still," Shiro mutters into his mouth when Keith growls half a curse, "Just take it."

And Keith can't really complain.
It's never been like this, he realizes belatedly, when Shiro's hands had pulled his pants off his legs and smoothed over the planes of his chest. It's never been so tender, so slow and steady, Shiro's fingertips caressing over his skin in feathery touches, silently worshiping.
Keith doesn't want to think about it, that Shiro considers him like a precious thing to be treated softly. But his heart is weak and leaps at every kiss left on his skin, seeping into his body and imprinting into his soul. It leaves him vulnerable, in a deep daze, his mind fuzzy.
The soft click coming from the lube bottle makes Keith blink his eyes open, and he looks at Shiro seating between his open legs, shirtless and pants hanging low from his hips, Keith could stare at him for hours, especially when looking so hot and bothered,
his swelling dick visible through the fabric.

"Uh," Keith gulps, watching Shiro dribble some lube in his flesh fingers, "I can do that."

But Shiro shakes his head, warming up the lube in his hand and making Keith feel very self-conscious of what was about to happen.
It's always been Keith who fingers himself open. Same with Shiro when he takes Keith's cock. But now Shiro looks determined of preventing Keith to do literally anything.

"Just take it," Shiro repeats, smirk a bit teasing when he catches Keith's blush, "It'd be alright, baby."
The petname makes Keith startle, and Shiro also looks taken aback a second after the word comes out of his mouth. Keith's jaw shakes with emotion and he watches wordlessly the way Shiro looks down to his hips, purposely avoiding eye contact and keeping his hair in the way.
Keith wishes he wasn't so shy himself to properly admire the pink flush that reaches up to the tips of Shiro's ears.

"Ready?" He asks, and Keith would've retorted with a sarcastic answer about him literally being naked in Shiro's bed with his legs open for him.
"Yeah," he breathes instead, so damn quiet it makes Keith feel small.

The first touch is tentative and wet, and Keith pointedly looks to the ceiling, not wanting to admit that Shiro being between his legs and fingering him open isn't as breathtaking as it really is.
But it is, as much as Keith wants to ignore it. Shiro's fingers are naturally thicker and longer than Keith's, but his ministrations are careful and slow, enough for Keith to feel every single push and pull, every shift inside him.

Hell, he even took his time to press into him, fingertips brushing over his hole in a too gentle manner, before even letting his finger push inside Keith.

Soon Keith is scrambling in the sheets, ass trying to thrust down on the insisting fingers.

But Shiro's metal hand keeps him still by one hip, hold hard enough to stop Keith's attempts but gentle enough to not bruise skin.

Shiro makes him take it. Makes Keith's breathing go hard and shallow and his dick fill with blood and weep on the juncture of his hip.

It's /good/. Better than anything he has ever had before. Better than his own hasty fingers and desperate thrusts, trying to come fast and hard.

But this-

It's /so good/. Shiro is meticulous and slow and presses into Keith's prostate with the perfect amount of force.

Keith feels he's both close to orgasm and too far away from it. He feels it build inside him, burning and twisting in his gut, and it's just so /good/.

"I-" he gasps, hips trying to follow the motion of Shiro's slow thrusts, to speed it up just a bit, "W-wait- I'm gonna-"

"Come," Shiro whispers into his ear, and when did he get so close, hovering over Keith's overheated face and breath tingling against his sweaty skin, "Come for me, Keith."

Keith shudders, tension snapping and coming all over his chest.

Shiro hums, mouthing along Keith's neck, and pulls his fingers out slowly, making Keith whine at the emptiness.

"How was it?" Shiro asks, barely a mutter into the crook of Keith's neck, "Good?"
Keith blinks the blinding stars away from his eyes, still gasping and trembling through his orgasm, but has half a mind to feel embarrassed about it.

How the fuck does Shiro dares to ask if it was good when it made Keith come like /that/?

"I-" he rasps, mouth dry, "I-"
"Yeah?" Shiro asks, mouth soft and a hand smearing the come sticking to Keith's chest.

It's unbearable. Keith can't think like this. He can't /feel/ like this. He shouldn't-

"More," he whispers, swallowing the lump on his throat and the prickle behind his eyes, "More- Shiro-"
"Shush," Shiro hums against his clavicle, "You're hurt, Keith. We shouldn't-"

And no. That's not fair at all. He can't back down after making Keith come like that with just his fingers, he can't just pull away and pretend that's what Keith asked him to.
"Yours," Keith gasps, somehow managing to snake his healthy hand between their bodies to grasp at Shiro's cock, still clothed and gorgeously /hard/, "I want-"

Shiro tenses a little, but his hips treasonously rolls into Keith's palm.

"I want-"
"Okay," he concedes at last. Keith tries not to think it was because of how desperate his voice sounds, "Okay, baby."

He pulls away before Keith can bask in the affection bleeding from the petname, and then there's a rustle, Shiro's hands opening a condom.
"But you're going to stay still," Shiro conditions when he positions himself near Keith's ass, hand holding Keith's wrist and putting it down to the bed, "You're going to take it."

Keith nods quickly, not even letting Shiro finish talking.
But he is obedient, arms limp at his sides and shoulder relaxed around the wound.

"Okay," Shiro repeats, gaze finally finding Keith's through their disheveled and sweaty bangs, "Okay."

He scoots closer and the head of his cock presses wonderfully against Keith's rim.

Keith should've known it was a bad idea.
He should've known what was about to go down the moment he came with Shiro's gentle fingers inside him, dick untouched and heart squeezing from emotion he had been trying to ignore.

Keith should've been smarter.

Now he can't even think, not with Shiro's dick hard and hot inside him, dragging slowly in and out, pressing and pushing into oversensitive spots and making Keith whine at the overwhelming sensations.

Shiro goes slow but purposeful. Hips pressing Keith into the bed.

Hands careful with every touch on Keith's skin, smoothing on his abdomen, brushing over his nipples, thumbing his clavicle and threading through his hair. Warm and a-bit sticky fingers cup Keith's face, and when a fingertip crosses below his eye, he realizes he's crying.

"Oh, baby," Shiro breathes, gaze warm and soft and so impossibly loving, "Keith..."

"Shut up," Keith sobs quietly, and follows Shiro's hand to bury half his face into his palm, "J-just shut up."

Shiro sighs and leans closer to Keith, mouth slotting gently against Keith's lips.
"It's okay," Shiro soothes, the roll of his hips never faltering, never going quicker. Just the delicious, perfect drag of his cock making Keith stupid, "It's okay, sweetheart."

Keith whines, blinking away the tears blurring his sight, and tightens his fist in the sheets.

He has to stay still. Not because Shiro asked him to, although it has a lot to it, too. But because he's afraid — what if he touches Shiro and conveys what he's feeling right now, how complete and happy and /safe/ he is in Shiro's arms, with Shiro inside him.

He shouldn't feel like this. What's between him and Shiro is purely physical. It's just sex-

/But why does it feel he's making love to you?/

Keith whimpers, "Shiro-"

Shiro pants quietly breathing a little shallower, and his hand finds Keith's wandering one on the sheets.
He threads their fingers together and /squeezes/ and Keith feels raw at the gesture. So damned vulnerable and loved and /stupid/.

"Keith," Shiro whispers, burrowing close, and his nose brushes across Keith's scarred cheek, then leaving a kiss there, almost apologetic, "Keith-"

"I- Keith-"

"I'm gonna-"


Keith spasms, dick spurting and throbbing, and he has totally no control of what comes out of his mouth.


Shiro falters then, hips going still, but Keith squeezes him through his orgasm, and he comes then, startled.

Keith whimpers at it, hips jerking trying to help Shiro through it and gasping at every throb from Shiro's dick inside him, pressing against over his sensitive prostate, and he vaguely wishes not having a clouded head, wanting to witness how gorgeous Shiro is when he comes.
He blinks, slow and sleepy, and feels Shiro murmur something below his ear, but the rush of his blood doesn't let him understand it.

"Keith?" Shiro whispers, soft-spoken and quiet, and Keith tries to look at him, eyelids falling heavy over his eyes, "Hey, how are you?"
Keith opens his mouth, feeling it dry and sticky, tongue too big in his mouth, but manages a garbled, "'m fine."

Shiro smiles, and Keith frowns a little, wondering why it doesn't reach his gaze.

He pulls out after a quiet apology, making Keith whimper, but Shiro kisses his brow, fingers gentle on his scalp.

"Wait here."

Keith blinks, following with his gaze the blurry silhouette Shiro is for his barely responsive mind, and then he closes his eyes, feeling a bit cold.

He startles a little, but Shiro shushes him, hands gentle while cleaning him with a wet warm clothe and brushing away the sticky hair plastered to Keith's face.

"It's alright, Keith," Shiro's voice promises, and Keith nods slightly closing his eyes, "Sleep, okay?"
Keith nods again, and burrows closer to the weight settling beside him, cuddling up in Shiro's side and preening when Shiro's arm hug him close, not letting him bother his wound.

It's just before Keith is falling asleep when he hears faintly a quiet, "Good night, baby."
[I'll leave it here for now! Get ready for more ✨feelings✨ next update 🥺 buy me kofi if you want! Comments, likes and rts are very appreciated ❤️❤️❤️] http://ko-fi.com/ulquii 
[Top of the thread for your convenience (I deleted the last one by mistake 😭)] https://twitter.com/ulqueleh/status/1384008798264717318
Shiro has made many mistakes in his life. He is human, so it's inevitable. There's no one in this world that hasn't committed mistakes their whole life.

Thing is that his conscience is terribly sensitive, and he resents it even after years.
He still remembers the guilt caused by the sickening crunch below his fist when he broke his ex's nose — not because he didn't deserve it, which he totally did — but because of the vindication that bloomed in him when he saw his bloodied face in a sobbing mess. Shiro got revenge.
He figures that is why he accepted Allura's offer to join her team of superheroes. To somehow clean a bit of his conscience with making good to strangers with his powers.

But no mistake compares to... whatever /this/ is.

It pales in comparison to anything he has done before.

He goes still, shock hitting him like a bus at full speed, and the orgasm crashes over him, a riptide of buried emotions.

He realizes his first mistake then, the first drop of water in this puddle of mistakes he's been drowning on for so long.
He never should've felt something in the first place.

Keith is a villain. He's aggressive, violent, explosive and sharp. He's incredibly young, too, and Shiro figures he has many more scars hidden in his soul that there are in his skin.

It's easy to be affected by him.
Shiro has always been overly-sensitive. Overprotective with whoever he feels close to. But while he understands why he is like that to his family members, his coworkers, his friends and his teammates, he still hasn't figured out why he felt such a need to protect Keith.
It was stupid, certainly. Keith knows how to protect himself good enough. He has protected himself from Shiro's attempts to stop him, as well as Shiro's teammates'.

But there's just something in the way he holds himself, something incredibly vulnerable.
It makes Shiro want to wrap him with his arms and never let go, protect him from every single possible threat in the universe. hunched over and face down, different from the overconfidence he expresses when he's Red Blade.
He has known Red's secret identity for a while now — impossible not to when Shiro still feels the pang of guilt every time he sees the scar he left on Keith's cheek — but he never thought they'd meet, much less dry hump each other in a dim-lighted alley in the middle of the day.
Shiro should've predicted as much. He should've taken precautions and make sure it didn't happen again.

But then Shiro himself invited Keith over his home, with the excuse that they should talk — and change into clean pants.

Of course everything avalanched from then on.
He thought it would be easy. To just keep going with the flow and pretend that the flame of desire for Keith was just that and didn't burn and scald feelings for him.

They just wanted to have a good time, stave off the anger and frustration the other's persona provoked to their
intentions and purposes. It was easy as that.

But everything got complicated from one second to another, and it took some time for Shiro to realize it actually happened steady but minutely, almost for him not to notice until it was too late.

And it had been too late.
"They got away?" Yellow Ground asks reaching his side, and Shiro tries not to smile at how happy the idea of Keith having gotten away makes him.

"Yes," Pink Hope sighs, apparently exhausted, gaze fleeting towards Shiro for a second, "I thought you had them, Blanc."
He hums, shrugging it off, "Thought so, too."

Pink stares at him, searching for something Shiro tries not to show. He's grateful she can't read his mind.

"They are still in sight," Green Intelligence points out, and Shiro frowns, catching a clacking sound beside Pink.
"What?" He asks, but then he sees Blue Shot taking aim with one of his pistols, sniper long gone after Keith kicked it off the building in the heat of the battle, "Wait-"

The gunshot tremors his eardrums, and Shiro stares with dawning horror at the way Keith- /Red/ is hit.
"Gotcha," Blue smirks, Red falling to his knee while Indigo tries to steady him, "Now for your big little friend-"

Rage explodes inside Shiro.

"What the fuck are you doing?!"

All his team startles, Blue flinching and not managing to reload his weapon.

Shiro takes him by the shirt, blue eyes behind the also blue mask going wide with shock.


"What the-"

"Hey, cut it off-"

"What's wrong with you?!"

Shiro breathes, shallow and enraged, and shrugs off Yellow's hands stopping him from punching Blue in the face.
"You do realize that they're the bad guys?!" Blue complains, shaking off Pink's hands searching for some kind of injury on him.

Shiro is sure he has never seen Blue so angry — if it was for him, he would've let Allura pamper and take care of him in any way.
But Shiro has never felt so angry, either.

"What?" Blue taunts, nose scrunched in disgust and scowl distorting his mouth, "You think Red's gonna magically become a good guy just because you stare at his ass at every given time?!"

Shiro goes still, heart stopping for a beat.
"What did you just say?" He says through clenched teeth, and Lance scoffs, rolling his eyes.

"Don't try to play dumb," he says, "We all know you secretly vouch for your boyfriend in the other side of justice. And yes, I said it. I don't even care if you try to punch me again."
"What?" Shiro all but growls, and against all that empty courage Blue put on, he flinches away, half-hiding behind Pink, "Excuse me?"

"Blanc," Pink stops him with a hand in his chest, preventing him to take a step closer, "I didn't want to mention it, but this is going too far."
He looks at her, hand prickling with anger and heart thumping anxiously against his ribcage.


"You're out of the team until you can properly do your job," she announces, not an inch of give in her tone.

Shiro tenses, "What?"
"You've left your feelings get in the way of your job," Allura continues, pointing towards the rooftop where Red and Indigo were a few moments ago, "This can't keep happening."

Shiro steps back then, feeling lost, "I- Feelings? What are you-"
"We've all seen it, dude," Yellow sighs, shaking his head, "You're putting us in danger."

"You're compromised," Green comments, tinted glasses masking her eyes, "We can't risk having you making this mistakes again. Or having these meltdowns whenever we try to stop the Blades."
Shiro clenches his teeth, fists trembling at his sides, "You didn't want to just stop him. You tried to /kill/ him-"

"Blanc," Blue mutters, still behind Pink but sharp eyes meeting Shiro's from over Pink's shoulder, "If I wanted to kill him, he'd be dead months ago."
Shiro blinks, "What?"

Blue sighs, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You know are rules. We don't hurt anyone, not even our enemy, to mortal degrees," he explains exasperated, "We want to stop them, not kill them."
"But you shot him," Shiro shudders out, "You've never shot him. You always miss-"

"I never miss," Blue interrupts, "I'm the sniper, Shiro. I have an almost perfect aim. If I wanted Red dead, it'd been much easier to aim for his head and not his shoulder."
"I- what?" Shiro whispers, "But-"

"Yeah, I've been missing on purpose," Blue snaps, "But now they've been winning too many times. It was time for us to keep Red out of commission. At least for a while."
And it-

It should make sense. Shiro knows it makes sense. But why does he feel so confused?

/Why did you need to hurt Keith?/

"You need a break," Green pats his arm, "Just take it."

"We're worried about you," Yellow mutters, although more to himself than for Shiro to hear.
He's been so stupid, falling for someone who is meant to be out of his reach.

He feels stupid now, waiting for Keith to arrive during the night, half wishing he didn't because that'd mean he will have time to cool down, and half wishing he did just to make sure he's okay.
He's worried sick, walking side to side in his apartment, when Keith does arrive, stumbling into his apartment with his poorly treated wound.

Shiro is so angry. At Keith's team for not taking proper care of him. At his own team for hurting him in the first place.
At himself for not being able to protect Keith.

"I want to do it."

And Shiro-

He should've refused — Keith was hurt, Shiro had his feelings too damned close to the surface, and his puddle of mistakes was a fucking ocean for a while now.

Shiro was drowning.
"It'd be alright, baby."

Keith's eyes go wide, purple color shimmering behind deep blue, and Shiro isn't sure if he regrets the petname slipping out of his mouth or not.

He's only so weak.
He takes Keith apart as slow and careful as he can.

/He's hurt/, he reminds himself, /He needs you to be slow and careful/.

But that doesn't explain every worshipping touch, every caress bleeding affection.
It doesn't explain how whole Shiro feels when he sees Keith break apart, taking his fingers so /good/.

"More-" Keith had gasped, and Shiro had tried to not think he's trembling from emotion, that he's crying from the same thing Shiro feels blooming in his chest.
It was just his orgasm. A very good one.

"More- Shiro-"

Shiro shushes him, and despite reluctant and actually trying to stop everything right at that moment, Keith's glaring gaze, demanding and insisting, makes Shiro know he will never live it down.
So, against every instinct roaring at him to pull away and kick Keith out of his bed, his apartment, and his life, Shiro does have sex with him.

It's slow, as careful as he can go, and it seems like the best Keith has ever had — he moans and cries and shudders with every thrust.
It's also the best Shiro has ever had. Just because he can indulge and do Keith the way he has always wanted — attentive, meticulous, full of affection, protective.


He kisses him and Keith arches towards him, as if he can feel Shiro's emotions reverberate into him.
As if he feels the same way.
"Keith-" he whispers, the sole name heavy with a love he has been trying to hide and kill, heart fluttering with all the butterflies he had tried to squish, plucking out their wings and his own, "Keith-"


It is then that he knows.

They're both fucked up.
[Let's leave this here! We're close to the grand finale 👀 Buy me a kofi if you can! Replies, likes and rts are super appreciated! Thank you so much for reading ❤️🖤] http://ko-fi.com/ulquii 
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