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It's too hot (hot damn)

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Keith darted a look up at Shiro’s face, and then back to his own cards.

Strip poker in June was a genius idea; what could possibly be better at combating the sticky sweltering heat than having less clothes on?

He didn’t miss the way Shiro’s eyes were fixed on his abdomen – or lower – or the way he was kind of licking his lips a little.

And it wasn’t like Keith wasn’t distracted either. Shiro was down to just his boxers, and the bulge in his underwear was getting obscene.

Unfortunately, neither of them was very good at conceding.


Shiro’s eyes flashed, practically burning a hole in his cards.

“Ten high,” he finally growled, throwing them down in a huff.

Keith laid down his hand at a more sedate pace, smirk already firmly in place. “Queen high,” he declared, rather unnecessarily by the little impatient growl Shiro gave. “Looks like I win.”

“Looks like you win,” Shiro agreed, eyes dark.

Keith shivered, Shiro’s gaze pinning him in place as he reached down and whipped off his boxers, tossing them aside casually.

“See something you like?” Shiro drawled, his voice suddenly a little lower, a little hoarser, like he’d get after deepthroating Keith until he came.

Two could play at that game.

“See something I want,” Keith corrected.

Shiro’s gaze was smouldering. “Yeah?” he prompted.

“Touch yourself,” ordered Keith.

Shiro blinked, clearly startled for a moment, probably expecting something else, but he recovered in an instant. “Yeah?” he challenged, running a hand down his abdominal muscles.

Keith raised an eyebrow in answer, twirling a finger. “No, I want you to touch your cock, tease yourself.”

Well then.

Shiro kept his gaze challenging as he slipped one hand lower, grazing over his balls. His eyes slipped half-shut as he wrapped a hand around his shaft and gave it a few pumps.

A single drop of clear liquid beaded at the tip, and Keith licked his lips.

“You want it, don’t you?” Shiro asked, voice low and husky, hand moving slowly, oh-so-slowly over his shaft.

Keith shook his hair out of his face, eyes fixed on the pink tip, just barely peeking out of the foreskin. “Yes,” he said, unabashed, palming his own erection over his shorts. He did have lube, but…

Shiro leaned backwards, propping himself up against the side of Keith’s bed, hand moving a little faster. “Too bad it’s too hot for sex,” he sighed, toying with his balls with his free hand.

Keith tucked a stray strand behind his ear impatiently, smearing a streak of fluid over his forehead and not particularly caring. He was already covered in sweat anyway. “I want to see you come.”

“Okay,” Shiro groaned, letting his head thunk back against Keith’s bedsheets, where he’d no doubt leave a Shiro-scented imprint.

His back arched as he came, and the sight sent Keith, too, over the edge with a hoarse shout.

“Best idea ever,” Keith declared, when he was capable of thinking again. “We should play strip poker more often.”

“Next time I’m winning,” Shiro told him, cracking an eye open to shoot Keith a glare, looking kind of like a large grumpy cat.

Keith snorted. “You wish.”