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Oh Captain, My Captain

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The first time Keith says it, it’s innocent enough.

A gloved hand claps down on Shiro’s shoulder, holding him firmly at arm’s length where he sits on the side of Keith’s hospital bed. Shiro gazes at him helplessly.

Keith is battered but alive, fresh bandage wrapped around his head, clean of its original bloodstains. His hair is a fluffy mess of bedhead, black strands all askew around the bandage and the nape of his neck. He smells like antiseptic and sweat, and his eyes are hazy from the pain meds. He’s the most beautiful thing Shiro’s ever seen.

“Hi, Shiro,” Keith breathes, voice all slurred and soft, head tilted. “Or should I call you Captain Shirogane, now?”

Shiro blinks, heat flooding his face and words catching and dying in his throat. Vicodin, Shiro thinks, desperately. He’s out of it. “Uh,” Shiro says, and coughs, hard. Subtle. “No, that’s...Shiro is fine. How are you feeling, Keith?”

Keith blinks back, slow and guileless and utterly drugged. “Good,” he says. “How long was I out for?”

“Didn’t Krolia and Kolivan tell you?” They’d been in here with him before Shiro, though Shiro had returned to the small hospital room many times, hoping to catch Keith waking up. But of course Keith just had to wake up while Shiro was away giving the Garrison memorial speech. Of course.

Keith shrugs, eyes never leaving his face. “Dunno,” he says, and taps the side of his head with a goofy grin. “Kinda bits and pieces up here, right now. Temporary, don’t worry.” He winks.

Shiro is glad he’s sitting down. “Ah,” he says, and coughs again.

Keith furrows his brow. “Are you sick, sir?”

Sir?! Shiro clears his throat. “No, nope. I’m fine. Totally fine. You were out for about a week, Keith. I’m glad you’re awake now.”

“Mmhmm.” Keith’s smiling at him, so happy it hurts. “C’mere,” he says, and makes grabby hands, tugging Shiro towards him by the shoulder. Shiro goes easily, and ends up smushed against Keith’s shoulder, Keith’s face nuzzling happily into his neck. Shiro sighs and indulges in a little pet of his hair. “Missed you,” Keith whispers, breath hot on his skin.

“I missed you, too,” Shiro whispers back.

He feels Keith’s smile on his throat, and forgets about everything else.

*

Until the next time it happens, anyway.

They’re spearheading a reconnaissance mission on the Olympic Peninsula to find and drive out a few remaining Galra who made base deep in the rainforest. It’s a small group of humans and aliens, maybe twenty strong, and originally Keith was the assigned commander. But then, in true Keith fashion, Keith recommended Shiro for the mission co-commander, because he grew up not too far from these forests – he knows the area.

Shiro was flattered, but now that they’re on the actual mission, trudging through the dripping moss and ancient trees together, he’s full of suffering and regret.

Keith doesn’t have to call him by any title. He was promoted to an officer after Voltron defeated the Galra, and as the pilot of the Black Lion he’s a captain in his own right, and yet...here they are, with Keith casually speaking to him like a subordinate despite walking alongside Shiro in an equally gray and decorated uniform.

“It’s about a mile to the base, sir,” Keith says, consulting his tablet map and strolling along. Their sides brush from time to time. Shiro keeps trying to sidestep him, but it isn’t working.

“Captain Shirogane,” one of the humans, a Garrison cadet named Millbrook, says from behind them, “do we have exact thermal readings on the base, yet?”

“I don’t know, Keith,” Shiro says, eying him, “do we have exact thermal readings?”

Keith taps the tablet again. “Not yet, Captain. We need to get closer.” He pauses. “Sir.”

Shiro’s hands curl into fists. The metal prosthetic sparks.

“Are you alright, Captain Shirogane?” another cadet asks.

“Fine,” Shiro grits out. “Think the humidity is just getting to me.” Keith looks straight ahead, lips quirked, and keeps walking.

Once they finally reach the base, they split up with their own squads and take out the base from either side, meeting in the middle. Keith’s voice crackles over his radio intermittently, and every time he speaks, he calls Shiro sir or Captain. Shiro thought sir was bad enough, but it takes all of one second to decide that Captain is far worse. At least the way Keith says it.

“We’ve cleared the first section, sir.”

“Good work, Keith. Remember, minimize casualties and let me know when you’ve reached the control center.”

There’s a pause, a crackle of static. Then – and Shiro can hear the smirk – “ Aye aye, Captain. I’ll do my best for you.”

Shiro does not manage to turn off his radio before choking on air.

Against all odds, the mission is a resounding success. When they get back to the Garrison base and are congratulated by the other officers, Keith smiles and says, “I never doubted Captain Shirogane for a second. If anyone could do it, it was him.”

Shiro turns redder than Keith’s paladin armor. “Keith, c’mon, you were the…”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Captain,” Keith says, all low voice and dark eyes. “We couldn’t have done it without you. I couldn’t have done it without you, sir.”

At least he chokes quieter, this time.

*

It only gets worse from then on out. Weeks pass, and the missions and work piles up higher and higher, and he barely ever gets to see Keith, but when he does, Keith is always ready to needle him with a sly grin and an endless arsenal of unnecessary sycophancy.

By the tenth time (or maybe it’s the hundredth; he’s lost count), Shiro is ready to snap.

Team Voltron and Atlas are doing training exercises on the open expanse of the Painted Desert. They have an audience. Keith doesn’t seem to care.

“You’re going to have to be a little faster than that, Captain Shirogane,” he taunts as Voltron weaves through the rocky canyons a good two hundred feet ahead of Atlas’s lumbering form.

“Be gentle with me, Keith, Atlas isn’t nearly as maneuverable,” Shiro manages to reply.

“I doubt the next Robeast is going to be gentle with you, sir,” Keith shoots back, sending Voltron whirling upwards. “Neither am I.”

Coran’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline. Veronica has a violent coughing fit.

The Voltron comm channels explode into a small static storm of distant disgusted squawking and exclamations. Keith opens a private channel. Shiro grips the edge of the control panel so hard he’s surprised the metal fingers don’t snap right off. Keith’s face on the screen in front of him flickers and murmurs, “Did I say something wrong, sir?”

“What are you doing,” Shiro hisses, eyes wild, glancing about at the crew who is resolutely ignoring him. Maybe his voice will be covered by the hum of the engines. One can only hope.

Keith’s smug smile widens. “Or maybe I said something right. Is that it, Captain?”

“Keith, I swear –”

“Catch me if you can,” Keith says, a challenge in his eyes, and shuts off the comm.

Coran, who is closest and who definitely heard everything, turns around slowly and gives him an incredulous look.

“Not a single word,” Shiro warns, blushing furiously.

Veronica snorts and pretends it’s a sneeze.

Atlas lunges forward in an impossible burst of speed and scoops up Voltron one-handed in a grip that is almost too tight.

Shiro doesn’t choke this time. He fumes.

*

Shiro catches Keith just outside the Garrison hangar and backs him up against the wall, suddenly uncaring of who might see them and what they might think.

Keith’s hitch of breath as his back hits the concrete is audible, and the only resistance he offers is a lifted eyebrow and a playful shove at Shiro’s chest that almost sends him stumbling. He forgets how much bigger Keith is, now.

Shiro’s still biggest, though. The thought makes him shiver. Keith’s hands, still on his chest, curl into the front of his uniform.

Admittedly, it’s been a while. A long while. They’ve been busy. Fuck, when was the last time they even made out –

Shiro’s hard so fast he’s dizzy. Too long. It’s been way too long.

He doesn’t realize he’s said that aloud until Keith tilts his head up and mutters, “No kidding. I thought I was gonna have to goad you into this for eternity.”

Shiro stares at him, heart pounding and blood roaring in his ears. “Goad me,” he repeats, and narrows his eyes.

Keith’s fingers tighten in starched gray fabric. “You haven’t really touched me for three months. Desperate measures,” Keith whispers, and even though he tries to hide it, Shiro sees the hurt in his eyes.

Well, shit. It’s no secret that Shiro gets caught up in work, in fixing other people’s problems, in leading as many projects as he can no matter how little sleep or free time is left for him later. He’s not good at keeping up relationships when there’s so much else to be done, and even though he’s never stopped loving Keith as much as he always has...maybe Keith doesn’t know that. And Keith deserves more from him than chaste kisses and brief embraces before missions.

“Oh,” Shiro whispers, a different kind of shame settling in his chest. “Keith, I’m…”

Keith puts a finger over his lips. His expression is kind, open and understanding. “It’s okay,” he says. “I get it. More important things to do, rebuilding Earth and all that.”

Shiro shakes his head, crowding closer to him, until he can feel Keith’s breath. “No,” he says, firmly. “You’re important to me, Keith. Just as important as the work we’ve been doing together.”

Keith purses his lips, flushed but skeptical. “I think fixing the mess the Galra made is maybe a little more –”

Shiro kisses him, and is immediately gratified by the way Keith melts into it, arms winding around his neck and lips parting to Shiro’s pressing tongue. God, he really is desperate, but so is Shiro. He’s forcing a thigh between Keith’s legs without any conscious thought, and groans into Keith’s sloppy mouth when Keith grinds down onto it, rubbing the clothed bulge of his dick shamelessly over Shiro’s slacks. Shiro’s dick throbs in envy at the friction and he has to pull back with a ragged gasp. The first thing he sees is Keith’s half-lidded eyes. They’re hungry.

Shiro knows Keith, even if he has been neglecting him lately. He can start to fix that now, he thinks, because he thinks he knows what Keith wants from him, here.

He pins Keith to the wall with his new hand. Keith’s shoulder almost feels delicate under the solid crunch of thick metal. “Listen to me, Keith,” Shiro says, “you are just as important, if not more, to me.”

Keith shudders, chest rising and falling unevenly. “To you,” he says, a little dazed. His expression softens, only for a moment, letting Shiro know he understands. Then his face is all sharp lines and confrontation again, daring Shiro to play an old game of theirs when he hisses, “Then prove it,” and, after a beat of taut silence, “sir.”

Shiro chuckles, and it is not a nice sound. “Oh, it’s sir now, is it?” he murmurs, tracing the obstinate line of Keith’s jaw with a slow fingertip. “What happened to Captain?”

Keith licks his lips, makes a show of it. “You’ve gotta earn that title first,” he drawls.

“Hmm,” Shiro says, pretending to consider it even though he’s already on fire, and drags him away from the wall by the collar of his uniform with a harsh jerk of his metal hand.

Keith lets out a startled yelp that echoes loud, too loud, through the hallway. They were covered by a stack of supply crates before, but now they stand out in the open, and a passing pair of Garrison cadets freeze in their tracks, staring owlishly.

Shiro, much to Keith’s obvious chagrin, does not let go of his collar. He only smiles and says pleasantly, “Don’t you two have somewhere to be?”

“Yes, sir, of course, sir, sorry, sir!” The cadets nearly trip over themselves in their haste to salute him and practically run off towards the hangar. As soon as they’re gone, Keith slams him into the nearest wall, and then they’re right where they started, except harder. Shiro’s hand keeps its grip. Keith’s body shifts against his, lean muscle defined even through their uniforms, and his mouth goes dry.

“Yes, sir, so sorry, sir, won’t happen again, sir,” Keith mocks, palm spread wide over Shiro’s throat, and Shiro thinks Keith could knock him to the ground in a second if he wanted to. The thought makes his cock pulse against the seam of his pants. Keith sneers. “They’ll have something to talk about in the mess hall tonight, huh?”

Shiro raises an eyebrow. “About me scruffing you like a naughty kitten, you mean?”

Keith grabs his cock in a merciless squeeze and all the breath leaves Shiro’s lungs, body bowing forward against his will as blood rushes downwards. “No,” he says, sharp as the edge of a blade. “About you fucking me.”

Shiro’s head thuds back against the wall. “Jesus fucking Christ –”

“Uh-uh,” Keith mutters, nails scratching through the stubble on his cheek, “it’s just Keith.”

Shiro’s laugh is more of a whine. “Okay,” he groans, “sounds like a goddamn plan to me.”

Keith steps away, freeing him, and his familiar stance is an open invitation. Shiro takes it, and him, back to his room.

*

“We really need to get shared quarters,” Shiro grunts as they stumble through the door, slamming it shut behind them.

Keith, panting, mumbles, “Shared quarters? Don’t think the Garrison would go for tha – ah!”

It’s too easy to push Keith down onto his bed; only easy because Keith’s letting him. He lands with a bounce and Shiro stands between his legs where they dangle off the edge, spread just for him. “I think they will,” Shiro muses, taking his time popping the buttons of Keith’s jacket, “if I make them.”

Keith’s lips part, intrigued. “And how are you gonna do that, exactly?”

“I’m the Captain of the Atlas and you’re the Black Paladin,” Shiro says. “They’ll do as we say.”

“Heh,” Keith says, relaxing into the blankets with a considering smile. “You may be onto something.”

Shiro bares Keith’s chest with a last undone button and a rough tug on his undershirt. Keith stretches, lazy and anticipatory. It’s a good look on him, abs bunching up and biceps flexing as his arms extend up over his head. His lashes flutter when Shiro rubs his thumb over a brown nipple, gentle and teasing. “If you want something, you could always ask nicely,” Shiro suggests.

Keith snorts like he finds the idea of politeness absurd. “I’m not asking nicely for anything,” he murmurs. “You’re the one who has to earn it, remember, sir?”

Oh, Shiro remembers. “Then I should be the one asking nicely,” he agrees. Keith lifts his head, brows drawing together, eyes widening when Shiro sinks to his knees and brings Keith’s slacks with him. He noses at the tented cloth covering Keith’s cock and Keith’s toes curl.

Keith watches him curiously. Shiro exhales, damp and hot, and Keith’s hips stutter upwards. He’s waiting.

“You wanna suck my cock, sir?” Keith asks, finally catching the hint. His voice is rough, like he’s already sucked Shiro’s, fuck.

Shiro nods, eyes flicking between Keith’s face and the straining arch of his dick. “Please,” he murmurs.

Keith swallows but holds his head high. “Please, what?”

“Please let me suck your cock,” Shiro says, sliding his hands over Keith’s bare thighs, stopping at the edge of his briefs. “Please let me make you feel good, Keith.”

Keith swears under his breath, and exhales. “Okay, then suck my cock, sir,” he says, tone almost bored. “If that’s what you really want.” And he lays back down.

Shiro frowns. So that’s how it’s going to be. He mouths at the fabric over Keith’s cock and Keith barely reacts, ignoring him, eyes on the ceiling. Shiro keeps mouthing, until his spit soaks the fabric enough that he can feel the veins of Keith’s cock through it, thin and wet and clinging, leaving nothing to the imagination. Blurrily, he realizes how much he missed Keith’s cock, and lavishes it with long, flat strokes of his tongue, letting himself get lost in the heady scent of musk and sweat.

Keith doesn’t even make a sound, though his belly tightens when Shiro’s fingers ghost over it. He tries to slide his hand up further, to touch Keith’s peaked nipples again, but Keith grabs his wrist lightning-fast, smacking it down onto the bed beside him with a thud. “Do as you’re told, sir,” Keith scolds, nails digging into Shiro’s skin before releasing him.

“Sorry, baby,” Shiro mumbles, and dutifully peels the wet fabric away from Keith’s cock. He doesn’t think before grasping it in his new hand, and Keith’s entire body jolts, a gasp escaping him before he can stop it.

Shiro’s lips curl in surprise and satisfaction. He should’ve known. Keith’s always liked big things, and though Shiro has no complaints whatsoever about its size, Keith’s cock is dwarfed by his metal palm, sliding through thick fingers as he watches it twitch between them, shockingly soft and pink in comparison to the burnished white metal. Beads of precum catch on silver knuckles and Shiro licks them away, pretending it’s an accident when his tongue catches on the head of Keith’s dripping cock.

Shiro wants to make this last, so he continues teasing, and when Keith starts making small, frustrated sounds in the back of his throat, Shiro sucks the tip into his mouth, laving his tongue under the foreskin, letting drool dribble down and pool on Keith’s balls, making a mess. It feels like a victory when Keith’s hand falls upon his head and fingers knot roughly in his hair. Shiro’s scalp stings and his eyes water and it’s worth it for the way Keith moans, his teeth biting into his free hand, leaving ivory indentations on his knuckles.

Keith’s belly sucks in sharp and sudden. Shiro, recognizing the sign, backs off just before he can come, closing his metal fingers in a tight ring at the base of Keith’s reddened cock. Keith groans in disbelief and glares at him. “Shiro –”

Shiro slaps his thigh, light but warning enough to make Keith inhale sharply, and rests his chin on Keith’s knee. “Now, now,” he coos, “you know that’s not what you’re supposed to call me.”

Keith is going to destroy him and Shiro is looking forward to it. He pushes himself up on a shaky elbow and hisses, “Smart remarks will get you nowhere, sir.”

Shiro grins. “Am I trying for a promotion, here?” he teases.

Keith eyes him, unimpressed. “You’re not trying very hard, sir,” he finally says. “Maybe I need to do it for you.” He moves to touch himself.

Shiro’s growl stops him in his tracks, as does the metal hand seizing Keith’s, enveloping his entire hand in its grip. Keith stares at it, pale fingers curling uselessly against unyielding steel, and Shiro says softly, “But why would you do that when I,” he kisses the crown of Keith’s cock, “can make you feel,” he cups Keith’s balls and squeezes with just the right amount of pressure, “so much better?” Stroke, lick, squeeze; repeat.

Keith’s breath is coming shallow and fast. “Stand up,” he says, no, commands.

Shiro obeys instantly. He likes taking orders from Keith. He never knows where he’ll end up, but he’s never disappointed.

Keith’s gaze rakes down his body in a line of fire, eyes settling hot and intent on his trapped dick. “I think that’s enough teasing, sir,” he snaps. “Strip. Now.”

“Yes, Keith,” he says, quiet, head bowed and eyes bright as he complies. He takes his time with it, unbuttoning his jacket with painstaking care, easing his shirt up and off slow enough to make Keith squirm. Shiro hides his smile in the damp cotton before tossing it away.

He plans on taking even longer with his pants, but the longer he looks at Keith, spread out on his bed with burning eyes and hard wet cock, the less he wants to tease and the more he wants to take.

Or give, or both.

Keith always manages to throw him off balance in the best way; to make him want everything all at once, or in this case, everything Keith will allow him.

So Shiro pops the button of his slacks, drags the zipper down, and shoves them down along with his briefs, kicking them away and feeling goosebumps lift and prickle across his exposed skin, cock hanging heavy between his legs.

He remembers the first time he let Keith see him naked, the first time he’d let anyone see him naked after escaping from the Galra. He’d been self-conscious and ashamed of the mottled collection of scars marking his body and the unnatural muscle mass born of too much fighting too fast, back then...not to mention the cruel Galran weaponry in the shape of his missing right arm. It was a powerful and visceral shame, one that took a long time to unlearn and undo.

Now, he feels an echo of that old, awful feeling, because this body is not that one. This body is not his, not really. The first time he and Keith tried to be intimate after the clone tried to kill Keith, Shiro had frozen up. Everything felt off and disconnected, because he didn’t have scars where he should, or the freckle on his left ankle, or the tiny burn on his left pinky from a stove accident when he was five. He’d finally gotten used to his scars...and then he’d lost his entire body to a violent quintessence blast and found himself adrift and incorporeal on the astral plane.

But Keith has never treated him differently, even after what this body did to him; how it hurt him. He has never touched him differently and he has never loved him differently. Keith never fails to make him feel like someone precious, someone beautiful, someone wanted.

Now is no different. Keith’s warm and familiar approval washes over him like a comforting wave, giving Shiro the confidence he needs to return to the welcoming V of Keith’s legs.

Keith watches him all the while, still propped up on his elbows, still intent; but his command is softer when he says, “Come here,” and when Shiro goes, covering Keith’s body with the one he is slowly accepting as his own, Keith drags him into a bruising kiss that leaves Shiro’s lips tingling and heart racing. Keith’s hands frame his hips securely, sliding down to cup his ass when Shiro’s mouth finds his neck. Shiro lets his teeth graze over pulsepoint and throat and collarbone, and Keith’s fingers bite into the meat of his thighs, a dull pain that anchors him and spurs him on in equal measure.

“What do you want?” Shiro breathes into his skin, unable to stop kissing him, unable to stop touching him wherever he can reach now that he’s started. “Baby, please, need you to tell me what to do –”

“So good for me, sir,” Keith whispers, eyes rolling back in his head when Shiro rolls the nubs of his nipples between metal fingers heated by warm breath. “Nngh...okay. Okay.” He pushes Shiro back, not a rejection but a necessary break, and they both take a moment to breathe and to ignore their aching cocks pressed too close together, every slide of friction bringing them too close to the edge.

“I could just finish blowing you,” Shiro offers after they both catch their breath. “We don’t have to do anything more than that if you’re not…”

Keith’s eyes flash defiantly and Shiro swears he sees a hint of gold. “No,” he says. “Shiro, sir, fuck, I –” He ducks his head, struggling to regain composure, and Shiro’s lips part in amazement.

Keith’s as gone as he is.

“Shhh, hey,” Shiro soothes, rolling them until they’re both on their sides, facing each other, legs all tangled up. Keith kisses him again before he can get a word in edgewise and Shiro sunders under the soft sweep of his lips and tongue and the fierce sting of his teeth tugging Shiro’s mouth open, trying to provoke him.

Shiro can’t say it doesn’t work; then again, what Keith wants, he delivers.

Shiro’s right hand creeps up the nape of Keith’s neck and Keith freezes against him, breathing rapidly through his nose as metal fingers tangle and tug on his hair with light pressure, a promise of more. “Yes?” Shiro asks against the shell of his ear.

Keith gulps, eyes closing, lashes casting thorny shadows over his pink cheeks. “Yes, sir,” he breathes, sitting up in Shiro’s lap as Shiro guides him there, and then Shiro yanks his head back with as much strength as he dares. Keith isn’t delicate by any means, and that knowledge makes this even better.

Keith’s body arches into an obscene backbend and he gapes soundlessly, legs splayed on either side of Shiro’s hips, thighs flexing and muscled chest thrown into high definition by the graceful curve of his spine. He’s powerful, and he’s at Shiro’s mercy, by his own choosing. Shiro has no idea how he got to be this lucky.

“Does that help clear your head, baby?” Shiro asks, deceptively sweet, easing Keith down a little further, until his hair is pulled completely taut. It’s gotten long, he notes, amused and strangely endeared by Keith’s tiny hiccuping moans as he strokes his other hand up and down Keith’s sides, thumb stopping just shy of his nipples and pinky just shy of his cock every time.

“All due respect,” Keith rasps, “fuck you, sir.”

Shiro grins, digging his thumbnail into Keith’s nipple until Keith whimpers. “Is that an order, baby?”

Keith exhales long and ragged. “Yeah,” he finally says, in a whisper almost too low to be heard, “want you to. Sir, I want –” Shiro sees Keith’s teeth dig into his lower lip before he adds, “Fuck me until I cry, sir.”

In his shock, Shiro releases him, and Keith doesn’t even sit up, just slumps limply onto his back, still straddling Shiro’s hips, arms flopped out across Shiro’s legs. Shiro considers him. His cock is still hard, leaking a pathetic puddle on his belly, and he’s relaxed...mostly. There’s a tension in his limbs and in his face that wasn’t there before, and when Shiro rubs his thigh to soothe him, his eyes crack open.

“What, sir?” Keith croaks, wary.

Shiro peers down at him, thumb still rubbing his skin slow and soft. Once the words spill from his lips, there’s no stopping them. “You know I love you, right?” he whispers. Keith’s eyes fly open, startled. “Even if...even if I’m bad at showing it sometimes, like lately, when I should have been showing you I loved you the most, I...I want to be better, Keith. I want to be better for you. I want to prove to you that I love you more than anything. Because I do, okay? I do. And not just here, with all this –” he gestures vaguely at their dicks and Keith’s mouth twitches, his eyes shiny, “although, don’t get me wrong, this is important too, and I want to make you feel good like this but I also want to talk to you and go exploring with you and study with you and ride hoverbikes with you and spar with you and sit with you and sleep with you and laugh with you and do all the things I’ve apparently forgotten how to do with you, and I, Keith, I –”

“Shiro,” Keith says, never raising his voice, stopping him in his tracks with only a whisper, “you are the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Shiro’s heart seizes, and any other words he had are tossed to the winds. Shiro looks helplessly from the scar on his face to the earnest shine of his eyes, and sees, impossibly, that Keith is telling the truth.

“You are,” Keith insists, and catches his left hand where it’s fallen limply to the bed, and weaves their fingers together. “I didn’t ask for perfect. I asked for you. And I got you. And because you’re you, I know you’re sorry. I know you’re trying your best. And I know you love me.” His voice breaks on the last word, but he soldiers on. “I love you too. And you’re here now, okay? We’re here now. Together. And that’s all that matters.”

The way Keith says it, it’s undeniable fact. It’s like everything in the past; the battles, the scars, the wounds, the uncertainty, the grief, the anger, the hurt, the betrayal – it all falls away. Because he’s right. They’re both there, together, and looking into Keith’s eyes, Shiro can imagine they always will be.

So he says, “Okay.” And it’s as simple as that, somehow.

Keith searches his gaze, and smiles, leaning back down, content with whatever he sees in Shiro right then. “Okay,” he murmurs, and pauses. “Y’know, that nice little speech just got you much closer to Captain, sir.”

Shiro flushes and splutters a little. “Keith! I’m serious –”

“So am I,” Keith says, and he really is, because then he sits up with effort, bracing his hands on Shiro’s chest, aligning their cocks with a breathy sound. “Ask nicely,” Keith reminds him. “Sir.” And he presses a bottle of lube into Shiro’s hand, artfully snatched from the nightstand when Shiro wasn’t looking. That shuts up the worrying part of his brain, alright.

“Sure you don’t have any suggestions of your own, baby?” Shiro asks.

“I think I already told you,” Keith says, gaze molten and patience worn thin. “Fuck me until I cry, sir.”

Shiro swallows. Ah. Right. “Magic word?”

“Pretty please with a fuckin’ cherry on top.” Keith’s thighs have his hips locked in a vice grip. He’s not on the verge of begging. He’s on the verge of pouncing.

Yeah, Keith’s gonna destroy him, and Shiro’s gonna love every second of it. As usual.

“Close enough,” Shiro relents, and uncaps the lube, covering his fingers and, after a moment’s thought, spreading Keith’s ass wide with his metal hand for better access before easing a finger inside of him. Keith groans, head dropping down to his chest and face red, but he arches his back helpfully and Shiro’s finger meets little resistance.

As Shiro lets Keith adjust, he studies the contrast between the thickness of his flesh fingers and the metal ones. It’s...promising. But Shiro wants to be careful while opening him up, watching Keith’s face as he curls two fingers in and out just this side of too slow, gratified when Keith’s face scrunches up in annoyance and he grumbles, “Hasn’t been that long, you damn tease –”

Shiro’s palm comes down hard on the swell Keith’s ass, the resulting smack filling the quiet room, the unexpected impact pitching Keith forward, elbows almost giving out from under him. He stares at Shiro in open-mouthed astonishment and Shiro holds his gaze.

Keith’s astonishment slips into pure, raw need when Shiro murmurs, “Is that any way to speak to me, baby?” He clicks his tongue in mock disapproval, and crooks his fingers into Keith’s prostate. Keith jerks and lets out a strangled stream of curses, leaving long red scratches over Shiro’s chest, cock twitching and drooling precum as Shiro continues to rub the spot, relentless.

“Fuh – uck – ‘m sorry, sir, s-sorry, shit, shit, shit,” Keith hisses, pink blotching across his chest and hole clenching around Shiro’s fingers. He cries out when Shiro spanks him again, loud and wet with lube.

Shiro’s brows raise and his twisting fingers still. “Sorry for what?”

Keith gulps in unsteady breath and whispers, “For...for not calling you sir…”

“That’s right,” Shiro murmurs, pushing a third finger deep inside and admiring how Keith widens the stance of his legs automatically, already rolling his hips back into it. “Try again, baby.”

Keith’s laugh is torn and his smile is wicked. “You’re the one who should be trying harder, sir,” he retorts.

Shiro flips them without ever dislodging his fingers from Keith’s greedy hole and drapes himself over Keith’s back, arranging Keith under him on his hands and knees. This way, he can feel every shift and shudder of Keith’s body against his, and see the jagged profile of Keith’s face as he preemptively pushes it into the pillows, white fabric darkening with drool. “How’s that?” Shiro asks innocently, tapping his ass with his metal thumb.

“Could be better, sir,” Keith says, muffled, and this time he just moans when Shiro’s palm catches the fading red handprint of thirty seconds ago. Shiro squeezes the heated skin and Keith pushes his ass back into it. He’s never really been one for embarrassment in bed.

“Hmm,” Shiro drawls, “I’ll see what I can do,” and pulls out all three fingers with a truly depraved sound, lube running down Keith’s thighs in clear rivulets. Keith hisses in profound displeasure and starts to look over his shoulder with a glower, abruptly silenced by two of Shiro’s metal fingers taking their place, shoving in with no teasing whatsoever.

Keith lets out a throaty, wet sound not unlike a sob, and then, when Shiro starts moving his fingers and Keith realizes what they are, he keens, and Shiro is glad for the pillow, then. He watches the pink ring of muscle open around the metallic digits, entranced that Keith is taking them at all – he thinks the two might be as thick around as Keith’s cock, and tells Keith that, which makes him keen louder and shove his ass back, futilely rutting against the sheets.

His words are a frantic, slurred litany of demands disguised as pleading. “S-sir, sir, ah! I want – fuck me, sir, now, I can’t, ‘m gonna –”

Shiro crushes him down, biting Keith’s shoulder and murmuring, “No, you’re not, baby. Not yet.”

Keith whines, head turning on the pillow. “Sir...I need…”

“Need what?” Shiro prompts, sitting back on his heels and slowly withdrawing his fingers.

Keith looks ready to cry from frustration, which is ideally not how Shiro wants to achieve that particular goal. “Your cock,” Keith snarls, “sir.”

Shiro’s fingers slip out and he nods to his cock, aching and untouched, and says, “Then take it.”

Keith’s lips curl, eyes narrowing in suspicion of a trick, but Shiro doesn’t move a muscle as Keith shuffles cautiously backwards, grasping blindly to line them up. It’s only when Keith manages to get the head of Shiro’s cock to catch on his rim that Shiro shoves Keith down flat onto the bed with the metal hand, bracing it between his shoulder blades as Keith struggles and grits his teeth.

“Sir – what are you – let me go –”

“No,” Shiro says, his laugh soft and derisive. “I just wanted to see how much of a slut you would be for me, baby.”

Keith’s sound of outrage is muffled in the pillow as Shiro’s metal hand closes around the back of his head and pins it there. Keith’s head is turned to the side, so he can still breathe and see Shiro looming over him, eyes dangerous.

With Keith watching, Shiro slicks up his cock with the leftover lube, moaning low at the contact, and Keith’s breath shallows, listening to the wet sound of skin on skin. Shiro strokes himself loose and with little finesse, and when he’s gotten everything good and wet he slides the throbbing length of his dick between Keith’s cheeks and begins to rut.

Keith groans and tries to work his hips back, only succeeding in making the slide easier for Shiro. Shiro’s fingers curl in his hair and around his neck and Keith’s squirming hips stutter as metal presses to the soft spot just below his jaw. Shiro leans over him, letting Keith feel his weight, and whispers, “Have I earned it, yet?”

Keith’s chuckle is strained; his lashes stick together and he can’t seem to close his mouth. “Earned what? Captain? Is that what you want me to call you, sir? Oh Captain, my Captain –”

Keith’s mocking croon is choked into silence by the vicious squeeze of Shiro’s fingers around his neck. “Smart remarks will get you everywhere, baby,” Shiro says, and holds Keith’s ass cheeks tight around his dick as he continues to thrust. Keith scrabbles at the sheets, frantic for friction, and Shiro smacks Keith’s hand away when he tries to touch himself. Keith never does go down without a fight. With every taunting brush of Shiro’s cockhead over his loosened hole, Keith’s shallow breath pitches into a hissing whine, his body a constant, roiling force under Shiro.

Shiro takes pity after Keith’s fruitless wriggling threatens to make him cum right then and there. He releases Keith’s head, gripping his hips and dragging them back, lining them up, stopping when the tip of his cock pops in. Shiro pets his waist, lips dropping sweet kisses over the stretch of his spine and the strong curve of his shoulders. “Alright?” he murmurs, sweeping Keith’s hair to the side and kissing where he can see purpling bruises forming on tender skin.

“Yes, yes, sir, finally,” Keith groans, dropping his forehead to his forearm and pressing back without hesitation, until Shiro’s hips are flush with his ass and he can feel Keith tight and hot and writhing under him. Shiro sucks in a breath as Keith’s body effortlessly sheathes his cock inch by inch, Keith’s face crumpling in pleasure when he bottoms out.

“Do you want me to move?” Shiro asks, fingertips tiptoeing down Keith’s spine, hips beginning to rock in a steady rhythm he knows is too slow for Keith, too sweet. Keith nods, soft moans already bubbling past his lips, back arching in a needy sprawl to meet Shiro’s thrusts. “Like this?” he asks, tugging Keith’s leg to drive himself in at a new angle, still too slow but deep enough to make Keith shudder and sigh, fingers tangling in the sheets.

“More, sir,” Keith groans, shoulders rippling as he pushes himself onto his elbows and rolls his hips up, forcing himself back onto Shiro’s cock on an outstroke, punching the breath from Shiro’s lungs. Even stuffed full of cock, Keith doesn’t lose his sharp edges. “Harder, sir, now, sir, or I’ll do it for you.”

“Oh, I bet you would,” Shiro mutters, but complies, Keith’s head falling back down to the pillow in wordless relief. Shiro yanks Keith’s hips back, hips slapping against his ass, and Keith takes it with low, encouraging moans. Shiro forces his legs to spread and straddle until Keith’s ass is practically in his lap, giving him leverage to fuck up into him as hard as Keith wants, sending tremors through him with every thrust.

Keith’s words become strangled and breathy and he whines when his cock becomes trapped between Shiro’s thighs and his belly. Shiro knows it must be torture for him, sensitive skin rubbing against the rough hair and hard muscle of Shiro’s legs, but instead of relenting, he moves his metal hand under Keith and tugs on his dick without warning.

With a spasmodic jerk, Keith bites the pillow, sobbing scream locked behind his teeth, and comes all over Shiro’s palm.

“Oh my god, Keith,” Shiro whispers.

There’s a moment of abrupt stillness. Keith’s shuddering in the aftermath, hiding his face in the stained pillow, and Shiro’s in shock, or awe, or both. He hadn’t realized Keith was so close.

Keith whines, body lax and asshole fluttering in uncontrollable contractions around Shiro’s swollen dick. He doesn’t move off, though, and when he wriggles weakly on Shiro’s lap, not to get away but to get closer, Shiro groans his name, loud and wanting, and starts moving again, in slow, lazy rolls. Even that amount of sensation makes Keith whimper and tighten, sobbing anew.

Keith lifts his tearstained face towards Shiro’s as he leans over him, and shiny violet eyes widen when Shiro presents the metal hand to him, covered in Keith’s own cum. “Clean it off, baby,” Shiro says, not even trying to keep his voice steady.

“Yes, Captain,” Keith mumbles, easy as anything, and sucks Shiro’s thumb into his mouth with a content hum, getting his mouth messy with it and not bothering to lick his lips clean.

Shiro groans, unable to stop his hips from hitching forward. Keith gags on a metal finger as the head of Shiro’s cock glances off his prostate, face splotching pink and lips quirking where they’re stretched wide around Shiro’s fingers. “Say it again,” Shiro orders, and then, remembering, “please.”

Keith blinks, spits Shiro’s fingers out, and purrs, “Yes, Captain.” Sharp teeth close around Shiro’s ring finger in a quick click of bone on metal, and Keith’s eyes flash, tears clearing just like that, and Shiro didn’t think it was possible, but he falls in love just a little more. “Well, Captain Shirogane? Do you want to come, or not?”

“Yes, please,” Shiro whispers, reduced to begging in three seconds flat. “Please let me come, Keith, can I?”

Keith tilts his head, and nestles back down against the pillow, realigning his hips. “Only if you can make me come again, too, Captain Shirogane.” Shiro’s mouth opens in protest and Keith’s eyebrows lift insouciantly. “Don’t you want to be a good Captain for me?” he drawls. “A good Captain always takes care of those under him.”

Shiro fucks into him without warning and without quarter; Keith chokes on a moan, grabbing at the sheets and laughing in breathless delight when Shiro captures both his wrists in the metal hand’s grasp, the white glow of his shoulder flaring ever brighter as he strains forward. “Fine,” Shiro pants, jostling Keith’s prone body as he pulls back before slamming in, hitting his prostate perfectly and wrenching a shout from Keith’s gasping mouth, “is this what you wanted, baby?” Without waiting for an answer amidst Keith’s incoherent babbling, Shiro reaches under the bow of his body to play with his softening cock.

Shiro has no idea how Keith manages to make a wheeze sound hot as all hell, but, there it is.

Shiro isn’t gentle with him, rubbing and squeezing firm and relentless, flicking his fingers one by one over the head as he feels the flesh harden and heat under his touch. Keith’s wrists flex under his palm with every stroke, but he doesn’t resist, his breaths coming in staccato stutters. His cock gives a futile twitch when Shiro slides his thumb over the rising vein, accompanied by another brutal series of thrusts that all fall just shy of Keith’s prostate.

“Augh,” Keith gasps, “sir, Captain, Takashi –”

Shiro swears, sweaty strands of silver hair hanging into his eyes, his focus narrowed to Keith, Keith, Keith, driving his cock into him until Keith twists and mewls and tears at the sheets, toes curling and cock wavering at a semi, too much sensation yet not enough.

“Baby,” Shiro gasps, bowing his head against Keith’s shoulder, “Keith, I’m not gonna last, you’re –” He has no words for what Keith is, but he’s right, because not a minute later he’s pumping his stuttering hips through blessed climax, pulling out at the last second. White splatters across Keith’s ass and he flinches, a low whine slipping from his mouth as Shiro pulls away, breathing hard and shuddering with blissful aftershocks.

Shiro sees a glimpse of Keith’s desperate eyes and open mouth before he hoists Keith over and onto his back with a grunt. Keith bounces as he lands, a question on his lips, one that fizzles out into pleading moans as Shiro swallows down his cock until his nose meets coarse black hair. Later, he’ll draw this out, cover Keith’s cock with kisses and the tease of teeth, but for now, he hollows his cheeks and sucks with single-minded purpose.

Keith’s legs drape over his shoulders, ankles digging into his back and thighs flexing powerfully around Shiro’s head, smothering him between Keith’s legs, spit and precum running down his chin. He doesn’t pull off for air, and has just started to see spots at the edges of his vision when Keith wails and comes down his throat, toes curling against Shiro’s back and spine arching off the bed.

Shiro swallows most of it, letting the rest drip down in milky strings as he lifts his head and rests it upon Keith’s splayed thigh. His legs have fallen off of Shiro’s shoulders and lie open and pliant on the bed with the rest of Keith.

Shiro closes his eyes and hums, remembering how to breathe again. Keith breathes with him, slowly evening out, and Shiro smiles when a hand clumsily finds his hair, ruffling up the already-messy forelock. Keith’s petting feels nice, and he turns his face to nuzzle playfully into Keith’s inner thigh (and clean his face off), earning him a flick on the ear and a snort of, “Hey! That tickles.”

Shiro nuzzles in earnest and Keith swats him on the head. “Mm,” Shiro says, rolling his head over to meet Keith’s eyes, “oops.”

Keith scoffs. “Hi, you,” he says, and flushes when Shiro shifts up his body to wrap his arm around Keith’s waist, pillowing his head on his warm chest.

“Hi,” Shiro mumbles, blowing a soft raspberry into his pectorals.

“Been so long, I forgot how silly you are after sex,” Keith says with a grin, poking him on the tip of the nose. He sees Shiro’s face fall, and frowns, sitting up a little to look at him properly. “Hey. None of that. You said your piece. I told you, it’s okay.”

Shiro shakes his head and hugs Keith a little tighter. “I’m not gonna do that to you again,” he promises. “I want to be there for you, with you, no matter how much Earth or the Universe needs me.”

“You can’t do it all, Shiro,” Keith murmurs, stroking his fingertips over Shiro’s cheek, fond and distracted. “You’re allowed to ask for help, you know.”

Shiro sighs, and relaxes against him. “I know,” he whispers. “So are you, Keith.”

Keith hums in quiet affirmation, fingers curling and pausing in the crook of Shiro’s neck. “You know, all kinks aside –”

Shiro splutters into laughter, burying his face in Keith’s chest. “I don’t think I want to hear the rest of that sentence!” he exclaims.

Keith snickers. “Ain’t my fault your dick gets hard when I call you by your proper military rank, sir. Anyway –”

“Oh, you little shit!” Shiro gasps, tackling him into the sheets. Without much effort, Keith ends up on top, sitting primly on his stomach and raising an eyebrow. “Okay, okay,” Shiro laughs, recognizing a defeat and patting his thigh, “go on, I’m listening...kinks aside?”

“You’re a great Captain,” Keith says, and Shiro’s laughter tapers off into uncertain silence. “You are,” Keith insists, his eyes soft. “Everyone accepted you as the Atlas’s captain immediately, Shiro, and there’s a reason for that. And I’m glad…” He exhales and cups Shiro’s face. “I’m glad you have a place where you can do what you’re meant to do. To lead. To protect. To save lives. Because for a long time, I thought...I thought I’d stolen something from you, Shiro.”

Shiro looks up at him, eyes wide. “Stolen? Keith…”

“You were the Black Paladin,” Keith whispers, biting his lip. “Not me. And I know you weren’t happy watching us from the sidelines, and you should never have to do that, because you were the best of us and…” He sighs. “I know you wanted me to be Black Paladin, and I’m finally starting to agree. But I wanted you to have something too, you know? And now you do, and, and it’s not with us, it’s not with Voltron, but your own crew and your own ship is what you deserve and –”

Shiro tugs him down gently, and they lay together, faces very close. “Keith,” he whispers, “I’m not going to leave you. Not now, not ever. I may be Captain of the Atlas, but Keith, I’m still yours. I promise you that.”

Keith’s hand curls over the metal socket on his shoulder. “I’m yours, too,” he whispers back. “Nothing’s gonna change that.”

Shiro wipes the tracks of drying tears from Keith’s face, touch lingering over the fading scar. “I love you, Keith, my Paladin,” he murmurs, “and I am so proud of you.”

“I’m proud of you too, Shiro,” Keith whispers, leaning into his touch, eyes as full as Shiro’s heart feels. “And I love you,” he sighs, “my Captain.”