Fingers fisted into Shiro's hair, yanking him along where they wanted him to go. Not that he needed it. Shiro eagerly took the cock deeper into his mouth. Each yank sent another bolt of arousal through him, starting at his scalp and pooling hot in his stomach.
He felt the cock bump against the back of his throat, but there was no pain or discomfort. Just the bone-deep satisfaction of a job well done, and the moans above that made him want to grind onto the bed.
"That's good." The voice was raspy with pleasure and satisfaction. "Just like that." Shiro was pulled back, until the cock popped wetly from between his lips. Saliva dribbled down his chin, splashing onto his lap.
Whining, Shiro didn't even try to strain forward. That wasn't what he was supposed to do. He knew without being told that he was to stay still and keep his mouth open no matter what. When the cock pressed inside his throat again, he'd feel so much pleasure. But only when he was allowed.
Shiro let his tongue hang out and his eyes go wide, begging without words.
The fingers tightened, enough to really pull, which only earned another whine.
"That's my boy. That's exactly right."
Distantly, there was clicking noise, distinctly digital. It faded immediately, and Shiro stopped worrying about it.
He had much better things to think about. Like the cock that was sliding back between his lips..
As it did, pleasure pulsed through Shiro, lighting him up from within. A vibration ran through him, like Shiro was holding a powerful toy in his hand, but it felt just as amazing as if it was inside.
Moaning, Shiro sucked on the cock. He wanted to draw it further into himself so his lover would never pull back. He'd keep his cock in his mouth forever and the heat would continue to spark through Shiro's veins. It was as if his prostate was being milked each time the shaft touched the back of his throat.
He never wanted it to stop. All he wanted was to exist here, in this pleasurable space where he didn't have to think. Just relax and feel the pleasure. The longer he stayed, the stronger the sensation in his arm, which shot straight to his own, aching cock..
Just a little more. He was so close. If he could just keep sucking for a little while longer, then the vibrations would be enough to push him over. His thighs tightened, trembling with need. He spread them wider, debasing himself further as he tried to entice his lover into fucking his throat deeper.
It wasn’t enough.
Making a desperate noise, Shiro pushed down, pressing his nose hard into the pelvis below. The tremors up his arm got even more intense, until he could feel his cock twitch and tense-
Then, Shiro woke up.
He froze in place, realizing his mouth was open against a very wet spot on his pillow. His eyes were shut, and his hips were angled down onto the bed. Arousal continued to arc through him, lighting up his spine until he could taste his orgasm. The constant vibration had him grinding filthy circles into the bed.
Why was Shiro vibrating?
Turning his head over, Shiro licked his lips and looked for his arm. He hadn't fully developed a habit of where to keep it overnight, so it tended to end up in odd places. This time, it was perched on the top of his dresser.
It was also lit brightly and shuddering in place.
Once he was sure nothing was in the way, Shiro pulled back with his shoulder. The arm floated up and snapped back to him, like a metal ball to a magnet. It continued to vibrate like a sex toy, sending more and more of that pleasure shooting through him.
It felt amazing. Even if it wasn't actually touching anything but his bed and air, Shiro was being injected with heat. He closed his eyes and rocked down on the bed again, grinding his boxer-clad cock onto his sheets. Just a little more...
There was a digital click, like in Shiro's dream. The sound was unusual enough to drag his thoughts back to reality, rather than letting the waves of sensation drag him under.
Wait. What was he doing? Shiro's arm was going haywire. He had to focus.
This couldn't be Haggar. That arm was totally gone, her influence finally purged from Shiro. He'd seen the reports from his surgery himself.
But there was one other being who had access to his arm, via the bond and Allura's gem.
The response was immediate and calm. Downright professional. Shiro already knew that was a lie. Atlas had a mind of their own, very willing to override what the crew or Shiro ordered to suit their own ideas. Whatever leftover magic from the rift and the castle was in Atlas' crystal heart, it had given them a strong-willed personality, not dissimilar to the Black Lion.
Shiro ground his teeth, focusing himself again. His thighs tensed, aching to continue rocking. The arm felt amazing enough as it was, but what would happen if he actually used it on himself. If he wrapped his fingers around his cock and pumped, or if he pressed a finger inside to start to open himself up.
His mouth fell open, eyes starting to roll back from just the thought.
No. Shiro needed to handle this, not give into his body. "Are you doing this to my arm?"
There was a pleased warmth from the back of Shiro's mind. Yes, the mental voice replied, clearly pleased with themself. You have been stressed. Medical records show this has a negative effect on your health. Your memories prove that pleasure and relaxation are the most effective stress release for you, so I recreated them for you.
Shiro knew what he'd been dreaming of. It was piecemeal, bits and pieces of memories brought together like a quilt. But that had been when Shiro was too stressed at the Garrison, and he'd asked to be fucked out of his head.
Those had been memories of Adam.
A fresh wave of guilt and sorrow crashed over him, though less potent than they'd been when they first came back to Earth. Shiro swallowed and curled in further on himself. "Stop."
Immediately, the arm stopped vibrating. It became the usual prosthesis, with no sign that Atlas had ever turned it into a sex toy.
Captain? Atlas asked, far less confident now. I did not mean to cause you pain. Did you not enjoy those memories?
"That's not the point," Shiro said. He pushed himself up to a sitting position, and put his pillow in his lap. Atlas was bonded to him, aware of all his memories and his body like the lions had been, but it still felt awkward to talk with a visible erection. "Those memories are private. More importantly, you should never affect someone's body like that without explicit permission. Ever."
Unbidden, the memory of his previous arm crawled out of the back of his mind. The clone's memories weren't quite as clear as Shiro's original ones, but it was more than enough. He could feel the pain, the fear, the confusion. The quiet, faint horror as he acted on a will not his own.
Alien dismay pulled Shiro from the recollection. I was trying to help, not hurt. I am very sorry, Captain. I wished to make you healthy and happy. A warm sensation wrapped around Shiro's shoulders, like he'd been dragged into a hug.
"I know," Shiro said, sighing. Most of his anger and fear drained away, leaving him simply tired. Atlas was young. They were still learning what was acceptable and what wasn't. This was better than trying to close than hangar doors on the Black Lion's tail, at least. That had just been petty. Shiro would rather their mistakes come from something positive. "Just don't do that again. And don't mention it to anyone either. This is very personal."
Atlas sent along the mental equivalent of nodding, if reluctantly. But what if you need it? You are very tense, Captain. I wish for you to be healthier.
Sighing, Shiro closed his eyes. "I'm used to stress. This is better than it was. I'm fine."
That is not acceptable.
Oh, boy. Shiro rubbed over his face with his left hand. "Atlas, if it gets too bad, I'll ask for your help myself, okay? But otherwise, don't bring it up, and never help without permission. Understood?"
Yes, Captain. Atlas was content with that, at least. You were close to orgasm before. Would you like to continue so you can sleep more comfortably?
It was a very good thing that no one else could hear Atlas. Shiro wasn't sure he could explain properly about human social taboos and why a ship shouldn't be encouraging him to hump his pillow like a dog. Even being in his head wasn't doing the trick.
Shiro flopped back down on the bed and pulled the covers up. "No, I just want to go to bed again. This time, I would appreciate if you left my dreams alone."
There was a pause. I would be able to prevent nightmares. The dreams do not have to be sexual.
"Just no nightmares," Shiro finally allowed. Besides, if helping would keep Atlas from trying more creative solutions, that was probably the best. "Good night, Atlas."
Good night, Captain.
With that, the connection went quiet. Shiro put his right arm on the bedside table and concentrated until it went dark again.
Then he laid in bed, cock still hard and a wet spot on the front of his boxers.
Dealing with it would just be encouraging Atlas. Besides, Shiro didn't think he could touch himself without remembering the dream. How nothing had mattered but pleasure and obedience. How it had been okay to just stop thinking and be in the moment, no demons and no stress.
Shiro bit his bottom lip and curled up on his side, banishing his thoughts.
No. He didn't need that. He was fine on his own. After all, Shiro was Captain now, and the former Black Paladin. Losing control like that wasn't right anymore, especially when he could be needed at any moment. What if there was an emergency, but Shiro was too busy touching himself and remembering when his dead ex-boyfriend used to fuck him stupid?
It wasn't worth it.
That in mind, Shiro pressed his eyes as tightly shut and tried to will himself to sleep again.
It didn't work.
The next day, Shiro could barely breathe.
Last night's sleep wasn't the worst he'd ever gotten, but it had been pretty damn bad. It had taken over an hour to fall back asleep, and more than once he woke himself up in the middle of a heated dream. By morning, his hips ached and he was uncomfortably flushed and sweaty. A shower had taken care of the residue, but not anything else.
Really, he's had so many worse days than this. Those early weeks with Voltron were a constant haze of stress. It was him, a young alien princess and her adviser, and four untested cadets against the ten thousand year old empire that had kidnapped him for a year. Even now, Shiro barely remembered those days as more of a blur of barely contained panic and fear. They'd had no choice, but part of Shiro was always sure he was about to lead the others to their deaths (if they were lucky), and deliver the lions to the Galra.
Even not counting those awful days, he’d had far worse than today. Shiro remembered the clone's memories of nights spent awake with headaches, the sheer coordination and complication of the Blitz, those days where he couldn't fly Black and Keith just kept walking away.
So, really, Shiro had no business being such a tense ball of energy.
Yet here he was.
A month into deep space launch, Atlas still felt untested in a way that sent ice down Shiro's spine. Allura's wormholes let them bounce around the universe as needed.
They did have to do another Weblum run to make sure they had enough supplies. Voltron had done most of the distracting, while Atlas only served as back-up, at the MFE pilots flew inside.
(He hadn't heard the end of that from Rizavi yet. Griffin had stopped complaining the second Shiro had mentioned Keith succeeded just fine. He still felts a little guilty for that manipulation, but not enough to take it back.)
For all they’d been ready, Atlas had done basically nothing in that fight. After so many other battles, the five lions were able to run circles around the Weblum. They’d fired off the occasional distracting shot, but they’d never been in the danger zone.
Atlas had faced Galra warships, but those were barely more than pirates, now. Sendak had lead far the biggest faction of the shattered Galra empire, and they'd defeated his army in that first, chaotic battle. No one else had even required Atlas to shift, really.
That wouldn't last. Haggar was out there, along with all the Alteans she stole from Lotor's colony.
(The colony she knows about because of the clone. It makes it hard to look the Alteans in the eye.)
One of these days, they were going to get into a real fight. The scramble-for-your-life, near-miss kind of battle where the slightest miscalculation could lead to disaster. Atlas had formed in one of those fights, but they hadn’t been in one since.
It all left Shiro in a limbo he couldn't shake himself from. Atlas was a wonderful ship, powerful and protective in ways that made Shiro's heart soar. But once again he was leading an untested team into deep space on nothing but his own faked confidence.
At least this time they weren’t cadets.
Which was all plenty to deal with when Shiro hadn’t spend the previous night trying not to deal with his boner.
Shiro snapped his head up from the screens he wasn't actually reading. He looked to Veronica, who stood at perfectly professional attention. "Yes? From who?"
"Sending the details to you now." Veronica tapped on her tablet. A moment later, a new window popped up on Shiro's screen. "It's a request from a potential coalition planet."
Curious, Shiro opened it up.
Then he froze.
"Did they request an immediate response?"
Veronica shook her head. "No, sir. I only opened the message so quickly because it was flagged as coalition business. But I think I might be misunderstanding the context. What is the Voltron Show?"
Immediately, Coran whirled around, eyes bright and smile wide. "They want another Voltron Show?"
Next to him, Sam ducked his head, but it did nothing to hide his smile. "Ah, yes, I didn't get around to sharing that particular piece of information. Maybe it would be useful to hold a showing for the whole crew."
Shiro's heart iced over. He’d already skipped two ranks to end up as Captain, and he was absurdly young for the position. Adding this on top would just be too much. "I don't think that's necessary."
But Veronica's lips curled in the same way they did before she teased her brother. "If we're going to keep getting communications about this show, I think it would be best if we knew what we were talking about."
Grinding his teeth so hard they felt like they would crack, Shiro looked down at the damn message. He wished it was printed off so he could rip it apart. "We can give you a summary. That's plenty."
"Why take the time when we can just show them?" Coran asked, all brightness and cheer. He caught Veronica's eyes and grinned wider. "There's no need to be modest about being Shiro the Hero."
Shiro fought back against a blush, but still felt the heat bloom over his cheeks. "Coran," he groaned, eyes slamming shut.
This time, even Iverson looked up. "Alright, what’s this about?"
Coran launched into an enthusiastic explanation of the show, only tempered by his sheepish admission of, ahem, mental performance boosters for the latter stages. The rest of the crew listened, clearly enraptured, and more than one set of eyes darted to Shiro.
Grinding his teeth, Shiro wondered if he could get away with a ship-wide ban of mentioning the show at all.
Your heart rate is elevated, Captain.
Shiro nearly jumped out of skin at Atlas' sudden words. He had to physically bite his tongue to keep from accidentally responding out loud. He was fine. Just tired and not enjoying the conversation.
There was a pause, then what felt like a poke in the middle of Shiro's back. It highlighted exactly how tense he was, his muscles utterly locked up. Are your crew being inappropriate to? You should speak with them like you did to me. They will listen to you. You are Captain.
Well, it was a little different for them. And technically they weren't doing anything wrong. Intellectually, Shiro could appreciate that they were having fun and just teasing. No one was threatening his command or trying to undermine him. On a better day, Shiro would be game.
Today he just... wasn't.
The fingers of his right arm curled around the edge of the console. He gripped tightly, trying to get rid of some of the antsy energy coiled in his muscles.
All that happened was that the edge of the machine started to buckle.
Shiro snatched his hand back, glancing up to make sure no one had seen the slip. Thankfully, Coran was in the middle of recounting some of the show's choreography. Iverson made a truly strange joke about picking teenagers with attitude that earned a bark of laughter from Sam, but made everyone else look confused.
They were having fun. This was fine.
But Shiro's stomach churned.
Maybe he really was too stressed. It seemed ridiculous, but his life had changed very abruptly. Until lately, he'd been consistently busy. Now that they had nothing to do but chase stray Galra generals and deal with the occasional planetary disaster, he had more time to just think. Worry.
Would you like to go to your quarters? Atlas asked. You could relieve your stress there.
Shamefully, a bolt of arousal shot through Shiro, settling in his pelvis.
No, he decided. At least not until tonight. There was work to be done.
Tonight. Atlas sounded content with that, maybe even a touch smug.
Shiro hadn't said he'd be using Atlas' method, thank you very much. But stress relief in general was a good idea. He'd find something to do. Maybe Keith would want to spar later. It had been a while.
For now, he had a crew to distract.
Shiro hit the padded floor of the gym with a pained grunt. A heavy weight crashed down on his chest less than a second later, shoving his prosthetic arm against his stomach. His other arm was grabbed by the wrist and held down firmly next to his head.
This was getting embarrassing.
Keith frowned down at him, his face barely inches from Shiro's. By now, his hair was so long at the dangling ends could just tickle Shiro's cheeks. "Are you sure you're okay? That's the fourth time today."
Expression twisting, Shiro arched up to try and shove Keith off of him. Normally, that would work, but right now there was the added weight of his arm keeping him down. All he did was scramble his feet against the floor and knock his hips with Keith's.
Which did absolutely nothing for the heat boiling in his veins.
This had been such a bad idea.
"I'm fine," Shiro said, keeping his voice even. He gave up struggling and went limp for the moment, biding his time. "I'm still adjusting to the different arm. I keep thinking I have the Galra prosthesis. It was much better for hand to hand."
Keith started to nod, then narrowed his eyes. "You've been getting better about that. But this was worse than it's been since we started. Is something wrong?"
The problem was that Keith's thigh was twisted between both of Shiro's for balance. It was just shy of touching where Shiro was aching, and it was making it hard to concentrate.
This entire spar had been that way. The first pin had been because Shiro was distracted from work and stress, and Keith had managed to shove him against the wall and hold him there. Since then, Shiro had been thankful that his Atlas-issue suit hid everything under thick fabric. Otherwise Keith would have some very unfortunate questions.
"I slept badly last night," Shiro finally replied. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back down. "It was a long day, too."
Keith snorted but pulled away, letting Shiro sit up. "I bet. I heard Veronica asking Lance about the Voltron Show. He wants to try and recreate his weird ribbon gymnastics thing."
Son of a bitch.
"Tell him I'll eject him out an airlock if he encourages this nonsense anymore," Shiro muttered.
Brows up, Keith looked him over. "Seriously?"
Shiro winced. "No, not seriously. I just deal with the teasing all day. I don't need around two. I'd rather be fighting the Galra."
Laughing, Keith stood up completely and offered Shiro a hand up. He took it and tried not to notice how warm Keith's hand was. He failed, and his mind decided to offer how good it would feel pinning Shiro against a bed instead of a mat. Or better yet, pin Shio on his stomach this time, then run those hot hands over Shiro's ass like Keith owned it.
Holy shit did Shiro need to stop this. Damn Atlas for bringing up those old memories.
"Do you want to try another round?" Keith said, once Shiro was upright. "I can go again, but if you're that tired you should probably just sleep. Why did you want to spar in the first place?"
"I'm wound up, like I said." Shiro rolled his left shoulder until his neck cracked, then sighed. "It's probably not very helpful or engaging for you. I owe you a better fight on another day, when I can put up a real fight."
Keith's expression softened. "Hey, I'm glad to help. I just didn't think this was helping your mood. Usually you hate to lose."
True, but usually losing didn't result in Shiro getting pinned in just the way he craved. He was mad, but it was at his body, along with his stupid frayed temper for getting him here in the first place.
Are you mad at me, too?
No, Shiro wasn't. A bit frustrated that Atlas had started this, but his temper and reactions were his own fault, not theirs.
The presence retreated again, thoughtful but not hurt.
"I still do,” Shiro said. “I'll just get you back another day. Thank you for your help." Shiro clapped Keith on the shoulder, selfishly enjoying the solid muscle under his hand. "I'm going to try to head to bed early, I think. I'm no good to anyone right now. Do you need anything before I go?"
Keith leaned into the touch, barely noticeable, and looked over Shiro's face. "I'm good. Is there anything else I can do to help?"
He could relieve you, Atlas offered, downright cheerful. You do not want to remember your Adam, but Keith would help you instead.
Terror and arousal crashed in equal measure, leaving Shiro frozen in place. No, Keith didn't see him that way. Even if Shiro wanted touch, wanted relief, Atlas just didn't understand the implications of what they were offering. It was a terrible idea, and it would ruin everything.
Atlas hummed dubiously, but didn't press.
So Shiro gave a bland smile and shook his head. "No, what I really need is a couple of hours extra sleep."
"You do have a sleep debt of about a decade," Keith agreed fondly. He hesitated, then squeezed Shiro on his remaining bicep. "Seriously, go hang out and rest. You need it."
Shiro relaxed despite himself. As biased as Keith was, it helped to have someone other than Atlas telling him that he wasn't being dramatic to take some time. It soothed the anxious fear that he was wasting time they didn't have. "I will. Thanks."
Nodding, Keith patted him firmly, then gave him a gentle shove on the back. "Go, I'll clean up."
It wasn't worth arguing when Shiro was this tired. So he smiled back and obeyed. "Thank you. I'll see you tomorrow."
Once he started down the hallway, Shiro heard that digital click again.
Immediately, Shiro's stomach clenched around another flood of heat.
At first, he was afraid Atlas had set something off in his head or arm again, but he didn’t feel different. No, the arousal was just from the memory of last night, both in the dream and in his bed. Both time he’d heard the noise, it had felt so good he just wanted to rock down and let the pleasure wash over him...
Shiro barely made it to his room. He actually jogged down the last hall. Atlas opened the door and slammed it shut for him before he could reach for his keypad.
Once he was in private, his hand dropped to the slight bulge through his suit. The pressure was dulled by the fabric, but it still felt utterly amazing. His spar with Keith had gotten him halfway hard, and the click and his imagination had done the rest.
Thankfully, Atlas remained silent as Shiro stripped out of his suit. He was left in just his boxers as he leaned against the wall. His palm ran up and down the shaft through the fabric, massaging himself.
The ship had been right. This was an easy, effective way to relieve stress. He should have listened last night, and not let the awkwardness keep him from doing what he needed. If he'd just come last night, he could have gotten a good night's sleep and avoided all of this.
There was another click.
Shiro shivered, no longer caring why the sound made him feel good, or why Atlas was doing it. All he knew was that he wanted to get this all out of his system, and to actually feel good for a little while.
That in mind, Shiro shoved himself off the wall and stumbled into his room. The lights brightened inside and went a pale yellow. It was the farthest color from Galra purple that Shiro's eyes could detect, and thus was the most effective at keeping him in the moment.
Shiro spared only a second to be embarrassed that Atlas was monitoring him. He was inside the ship, there was no avoiding it. The throbbing, aching need was getting too powerful to care about anything else.
He crashed onto his knees on the bed and kicked his boxers off. Then he finally took himself in his left hand and started to pump. Groaning, he slumped forward, pressing his face to his pillow but keeping his ass in the air. It was utterly undignified, but it would only take a little while. He was already so hard and so needy. This couldn't possibly take long.
Bucking into his palm, Shiro groaned at the delicious, dry friction of his skin. His head leaked precome, just enough to barely dampen his fingers, so it didn't soothe all of burn. Which was good, It was perfect. He'd always liked it a little rougher. He'd wanted to prove he could take it, that he was sturdier than everyone thought.
(It hadn't been enough to convince Adam. But after everything Shiro had survived, that didn't sting as much anymore.)
There was just two problems. The first being that this was Shiro's off hand, and so he couldn't jerk his hand as smoothly and fast as he needed. Even when he bucked his hips, it wasn't quite good enough.
The second being that Shiro wanted something inside. It had been so long since he indulged. It took prep and time and care that Shiro hadn't afforded himself since before the Kerberos mission. Now, he had the chance, and he ached for it. But he didn't have the supplies, and he only had his fingers.
Check your drawer, Captain.
Your bedside table drawer.
Shiro cracked open his eyes and stretched out with his right hand. The drawer opened, and Shiro rummaged through what was supposed to be abandoned pens, a book he hadn't even started, and the official notice of his rank from Admiral Keaton.
There was also a new squeeze bottle.
When Shiro pulled it out, there was no label. But he recognized the thick, clear liquid inside.
That was lube.
This should be safe for use in the manner you require.
That raised so many questions, but Shiro could deal with that when his head was clear. Right now, his cock throbbed with every heartbeat, and his hole clenched when he realized he could finally give himself proper relief.
He needed this. Shiro needed this.
Atlas sent along their satisfaction, along with the sensation of someone petting through his hair. Normally, he'd hate the indignity of being rewarded like a dog, but right now he just closed his eyes and enjoyed the pseudo-touch.
Popping open the cap, Shiro hesitated, looking down at both his hands. He was having enough trouble jerking himself off comfortably with his left hand. It would be even more difficult to finger himself open without fine motor control. Then again, the fingers of his right hand were so much bigger. That was a lot to take after so long.
A memory pushed to the forefront of Shiro's mind. Himself, back at the Garrison, groaning as he rocked against the cock head of his largest dildo. His stretched rim caught the edge, pulling a whimper out of Shiro. There was encouragement, but the voice and image were muffled. Then, Shiro pressed the toy inside, toes curling as his hole swallowed the huge toy. The pleasure and satisfaction wound up Shiro's spine like a snake. He done it. He'd taken all of it, and it felt amazing.
You like large, Atlas reminded Shiro, still in that calm, cheerful voice. Your right arm will satisfy you better. Use it.
Shiro blushed, despite the absurdity of the situation. He didn't need his ship to know what a damn size queen he'd been, back in the day. But Atlas was right. So he squirted the lube over his metal fingers, slicking them up thoroughly, before pressing his pointer finger against his rim.
There was that click again, and Atlas rumbled fond encouragement into his head.
Biting his lip, Shiro pressed his finger inside. It was thicker than he'd expected, more akin to an average vibrator than his own digits. The metal only added to the sensation, inorganic and unyielding. The lack of give felt amazing, and it was pleasantly warm against his inner walls, but it was definitely far more than he’d taken in a very long time.
Captain, I believe you require more relaxation, Atlas said.
Pausing, Shiro bit his bottom lip. On one hand, it was galling that he needed to be walked through fingering himself open. He’d taken so much more than this before. On the other, Atlas was monitoring his health. For them to speak up, it had to be important.
“Yes, alright.” Shiro took a deep breath and let it out. But even in his needy hazy, it was hard to unwind. Tension seemed to be the permanent state of his muscles, most days. Even baring that, Shiro was fighting the urge to just buck back or shove his fingers in farther. The promise of pleasure was so tantalizing, but he didn’t dare damage himself.
There was a huff from Atlas that didn’t sound truly disappointed. This method is not effective. Perhaps breathing exercises will help you.
Frowning, Shiro looked up at the ceiling, as if that did anything to help him ‘see’ the ship. “I think I can manage, Atlas. Thank you.”
There has been no change in your level of tension since I spoke, Atlas said back, downright prim. I am offering a better solution.
Damn whatever part of the castle’s magic, Sam’s programming, or Shiro’s own bond that had made Atlas so damn stubborn.
Even so, Shiro took a deep breath, held it, then let it out slowly. It was the best method he’d learned for controlling his temper as a teenager, and now it helped with panic attacks. If it didn’t help with this, nothing would.
One, Atlas counted, the tone suddenly soothing. A warm feeling rushed through him, like a hand smoothing from his neck to the small of his back. The gentle ‘touch’ cut through the tension almost as much as the deep breaths. You’re more relaxed, now.
The narration was odd, but the contact was so soothing that Shiro couldn’t be bothered to care. Instead he repeated the breath exercise again, letting his muscles unwind more each time. Two. More relaxed than before. You’re doing well.
After the first few breaths, Atlas stopped petting. But they kept up the counting. The more he relaxed, the less strange that seemed.
Soon enough, Shiro felt plenty calm enough to take a finger or two, even the metal ones. But Atlas hadn’t stopped counting or said anything, so Shiro continued to listen, unwinding further and further. It was nice, anyway. Like the pleasure, it helped to smooth away his worries and leave him just feeling the delicious, glorious pleasure.
Eventually, Shiro’s head felt light, like the breathing exercises were getting him too much oxygen. It didn’t feel bad, though. Actually, it felt great. Soothing. Even the fingers waiting patiently inside of him didn’t feel strange anymore.
There you are, Captain, Atlas said, once Shiro hit twenty. So completely relaxed and ready, now. As relaxed as you can be. Go ahead and touch yourself while you begin pressing in your fingers. Just stay calm and keep listening.
Shiro's cock twitched in his other hand, forgotten until then. He ran a thumb over the head, keeping himself under control while he worked in the finger. The angle was amazing, since his arm didn't need to stay attached to his shoulder. He could angle it down and from behind, like a lover was stretching him open for them. Like the arm didn't belong to him at all, but was just a toy.
He really should have grabbed a real toy while they were still on Earth. Maybe next time they headed back for shore leave, Shiro would discreetly order something. But that wouldn't be for months yet, and right now his cock was leaking into his hand.
Right now, it didn’t matter. He only needed relief. Shiro needed to stop thinking and just feel and listen.
He needed what he'd felt last night.
Responding to his thoughts, the arm began to vibrate again.
That same, amazing pleasure shot through Shiro, ripping a moan from him. He had to clench his thighs to keep from coming on the spot, and he desperately fought the urge to fuck into his own fist in desperation.
How was it even this good? Shiro could only assume it was because the arm was directly linked to his nervous system. It was like directly injecting pleasure into his brain.
This time, though, the arm wasn't vibrating in air. The single finger inside shook, pressing deliciously deep inside of Shiro. It wasn't touching his prostate, but it was so achingly close that Shiro could taste it. He twisted his finger up and further in-
Shiro did, freezing on pure instinct.
There was another click, and a burst of pleasure from his arm so powerful that Shiro's eyes rolled back in his head. He whimpered and slumped forward again, once again presenting himself on pure instinct.
"Please. Why?" The words barely came out, slurring through the haze of dazed pleasure.
You were about to release. If you do so now, it will not have been enough to relief enough of your stress. It would not help.
Shiro whined and bit his bottom lip. He understand what Atlas was saying intellectually, but he wanted the pleasure so badly. He wanted to come.
There was a sensation like a side hand smoothing down his back. Wait.
So Shiro did.
It was the longest twenty seconds of Shiro's life, but the aching pressure in his cock and balls calmed down, at least until he wasn't one brush of his prostate away from losing control. Shiro relaxed along with his muscles. He suspected he'd waited long enough, but he wanted to wait for Atlas' confirmation.
He wanted to listen. He wanted permission. It would feel better with permission.
Another click. Then a flood of affection and pleasure. Good, Captain. You may continue. Do not let yourself come yet.
Shiro's mouth fell open as he sank into the rewarding sensations. He didn't even respond, just obeyed. This time, rather than try to find his prostate, he worked in a second finger instead. Combined, they were almost as much as an average dildo, and they felt amazing pumping in and out of him. He shifted his grip on his cock, no longer holding, but gripping at the base to help hold off his orgasm.
It felt good. It all felt amazing. But not as good as it felt when he was obeyed.
Shiro's hand worked, technically under his control but independent of him. Not enough of his mind was active. Instead, it followed Atlas’ order like muscle memory, pumping in at the same, slow, teasing pace despite how much Shiro desperately wanted to come. His whole body was shivering, and he panted with his tongue out as he stared blankly at the far wall.
He continued on like that for a while. How long, Shiro didn't know. In that hazed out mental state, he couldn't keep track of time. When he got close to orgasm, his left fingers would tighten farther, and his right hand would stop completely. He'd hold that until the new spike of mind-melting pleasure shot through him, sinking him even deeper into obedience and mindless need. Then he would begin again.
Finally, when his legs shook from the effort of holding himself up, and every jerk of his cock hurt like a bruise, there was another click. Now, Captain.
Shiro released his punishing grip on his cock, pumping slowly instead. His vibrating fingers pressed in all the way, crooking exactly right to immediately press against his prostate.
He saw stars.
Slumping forward, Shiro went limp. His right arm fell placidly to the bed, while the rest of him slumped bonelessly down on his own release. It didn't matter. He couldn't barely be bothered to notice the wet spot below him, much less care. There were fireworks going off in his head, so glorious and wonderful it was barely sexual anymore.
When the feeling finally started to fade, Shiro's eyes stayed closed like they were weighed down. His whole body was wrung out, the way he'd wanted to be from the spar from Keith. There was nothing in his head except for the happy haze. If Shiro needed to, he could have dragged himself out of the state. But why? It was so much nicer here. He didn't know why he'd fought this in the first place.
Atlas' affection washed over him like a balm.
Smiling to himself, Shiro gave in the rest of the way, dropping into a heavy sleep.
He hadn't slept so well in years.