Work Header

Don't suppose you'd mind...

Work Text:

They were kind of a dysfunctional family, given that, you know, Voltron was at its core a strip club. But Shiro wouldn’t give them up for the world, not fearsome bossy Allura, quirky energetic Coran, sweet sensitive Hunk, inquisitive tech-savvy Pidge, or Lance, who flirted as easily as he danced on stage.

Which brought him here, standing in front of Keith’s room after their Halloween show.

He could hear someone moving around inside, probably stripping off their costume in preparation for a shower, and was simultaneously the easiest and the hardest thing in the world to raise his fist and knock on the door.

There was a sudden loud clatter, like he’d surprised Keith.

“Yeah?” he shouted.

Shiro swallowed. “It’s me. Can I come in?”

There was a momentary pause, like even the door was stunned by his audacity.

“Come in, ‘s not locked.”

It took him a few minutes for his eyes to adjust to the gloom of Keith’s room after the dimly lit hallway outside, but Shiro soon realised he’d been right. Keith was halfway through changing, his sparkly skintight spandex costume tossed onto the floor, leaving him in nothing but the jockstrap that was the last part of his stripping routine.

Shiro swallowed compulsively.

Keith quirked an eyebrow. “Did you need something?”

“Yeah...” Shiro breathed out, stepping closer. “Happy birthday, Keith.”

Keith was tense in his arms, but he soon melted into Shiro’s arms, hugging him back just as fiercely. “Thanks,” he said wryly. “Do I get a present?”

In answer, Shiro cupped that cute little ass that’s been taunting him the whole night, spreading the cheeks gently with one broad palm, toying with the butt plug up Keith’s ass.

“Good kitty,” he said, moving the furry tail aside to get a better hold on the plug, moving it teasingly.

“Meow,” responded Keith, drily, going up on tiptoes to grab onto Shiro’s shoulders. “I kind of want to climb you like a pole right now,” he added, a little breathlessly. “D’you mind?”

Mind? Given what Keith’s pole routine normally looked like, Shiro rather suspected he’d be having wet dreams about this moment for weeks.

Keith had obviously taken his lack of protest as consent, for he hooked a leg around Shiro’s waist and the next thing Shiro knew, Keith was eye-level with him, wearing nothing but that little smirk that drove Club Voltron’s patrons wild.

Shiro’s hands had automatically come up to cup that pert little bottom, and he couldn’t help but give it a little squeeze, enjoying the way it fit into his palms, and the breathy little laugh Keith gave.

“You know,” Keith said conversationally. “I was sporting a semi the whole time I was on stage, just watching you dance.”

Shiro growled a little, because he had noticed, but hey, they all got hard once in a while. To hear that Keith was that way because of him, though…

Keith ground his hips against Shiro’s experimentally, and with a groan Shiro blindly staggered towards where he knew Keith’s bed was located, and toppled them both over onto it.

“Yeah, harder,” breathed Keith, rocking their hips together, the friction making both of them moan.

In answer, Shiro shoved his own spandex tights down, and everything was a thousand times hotter, wetter, Keith’s precome leaking a growing wet spot onto the front of his jockstrap, slicking the way.

He came almost without meaning to, feeling Keith pulse under him, hot liquid splashing between them.

And then he looked down.

“Uh,” Shiro said. “Oops?”

“Ah, fuck,” Keith muttered, and started to laugh. “This is like the third jockstrap I’ve ruined this month. Coran’s going to murder me.”