Keith is fresh out of the shower when his datapad pings with the sound that he reserves for messages from his mom. The amount of free time they have overlapping is always limited, so he wraps the towel around his waist and goes into the bedroom to check it.
Kolivan wants to know if the Galra disguise is feasible.
Keith’s mind blanks—he knows Kolivan’s been thinking about ways to make his Galra heritage more apparent, but a disguise? Then he remembers the package he received in the morning that he hasn’t had a chance to open yet.
He digs the package out and sits on the bed with it. Inside is a headband—black, with cat ears. Kolivan has the right idea, maybe, but this is less Galra and more embarrassingly cute.
Better for them to see it than him say it. He puts it on and opens the camera on his datapad, but he stops before taking a picture because he’s still shirtless. He should fix that.
Keith drops the datapad, yanks the headband off, and throws it behind him without looking.
Shiro is staring at him from the doorway. “Um, what was that?”
“Nothing.” Keith’s glad Shiro’s not the type to pry about things like this. He clears his throat. “What's up?”
Shiro only pauses for a moment before saying, “Dinner’s ready whenever you are.”
“Be right there,” Keith says. After he puts clothes on and takes the stupid picture and burns the headband.
Shiro studies him again, and Keith doesn't know what he's looking for but he's not going to give it to him. “See you soon,” he says, finally, and leaves.
Keith quickly throws on a shirt and sweatpants, takes the picture, and sends it with a simple No.
He unfortunately cannot burn the headband yet, so he opens the bottom drawer of his nightstand—reserved for his most private items—and hides it where no one will see it, underneath butt plugs and dildos.
He goes to the kitchen, kisses Shiro on the cheek, and purges the event from his memory.
Keith would say he and Shiro have a very healthy sex life. They're young and athletic and adventurous enough to try anything at least once if one of them is into it. (Though Keith’s list of things to try often comes from the weird yet oddly enticing alien erotica that keeps appearing in the Atlas library that he reads when he’s bored.)
They don't talk much about what they do in bed before they try it, but they don't need to—the curve and flex of Shiro's body against his tells him quicker than words whether Shiro finds something arousing or alarming, and Keith is quick to retreat at the first hint of distress.
Shiro’s always done the same for him.
And they try new things. Frequently.
For example—Keith’s always unbearably hard after sparring, and one day he decided to carry that energy into the bedroom, to great success. Now they wrestle to decide who tops if there’s ever disagreement.
Tonight, like some nights, it’s less of a fight to the top and more of a half-hearted tussle to the bottom, seeing who could flail their limbs lazily enough to entice the other to pity fuck them.
Keith wins because he’s been practicing fighting blindfolded all day, and there's no way Shiro can flatten him into the mat that many times and get away with not fucking him after. Now he’s reaping his reward, getting fucked bent over the couch in their living space with his pants still by his knees.
Their sex life used to be a bedroom-and-bed-only kind of deal until one time Shiro returned from his shift, crowded Keith against the kitchen counter, and made him come without removing any of their clothes. He thinks Shiro's into the impatience of it; likes feeling like they're so desperate for it, desperate for each other, that they can't even take the time to do it properly.
And Keith gets into it too.
That's the thing he's realized about kinks between them—it may start with just one of them, but soon enough it becomes a kink for them both.
They want to take care of each other. Adopting kinks is just one way of doing that.
Keith can tell Shiro’s thinking of trying something new tonight. He's quieter than usual, and he keeps hesitating at random times.
He's still sweet though, still attentive. He may have been angling to bottom earlier, but he takes their current positions with grace, supporting Keith with an arm around his waist as he pounds him into the cushions hard enough to make him sob. At the same time, he’s kissing the back of Keith’s neck lovingly, and he’s using his other hand to thread his fingers through the strands of Keith’s hair with a strange contrasting gentleness.
Keith tries to keep himself at a good angle—he always tries to make it better, easier for Shiro—and as always Shiro presses into his knot of muscles and says, “Relax, I’ve got you.”
He knows Shiro has him, and the arm around his waist is solid and sure, but it’s hard to control his instincts to help. Why make Shiro support all of him when he can support himself? But he eases just a bit, lets Shiro take another pound or two of his weight, and Shiro’s hand moves back to his hair, satisfied.
“You feel so good,” Shiro pants against his skin. “So good, kit—kitten.”
He pauses, like he's holding his breath at Keith's reaction, and—that's it? That's what Shiro was worried about introducing? As far as nicknames go, it's a little diminutive, but it's far from demeaning. It definitely isn't anything for Shiro to get so worried over.
He moans encouragingly and cants his hips back. Shiro moans too and starts fucking him again, even harder now that he's accompanied by confidence.
“You’re so beautiful,” Shiro says. “So pretty. My pretty kitty.” He punctuates his statement with a particularly hard thrust, and Keith cries out. Shiro groans and moves faster in the way that means he's close. “Oh my god, you really— Fuck, Keith, you're so—ah.”
Keith doesn't get to hear what he is, because Shiro slams in and stays there, shaking as he empties himself deep inside.
Keith whines his way through it. The feeling of Shiro filling him, of knowing he’s the one who takes Shiro to the edge and pushes him over it, will never be anything short of overwhelming, and he revels in the way that Shiro’s muscles all loosen at once as he collapses against Keith’s back, boneless and sticky with sweat.
Keith is still hard, and Shiro hasn’t forgotten. After a moment, Shiro sits back on the ground, pulling Keith down with him and into his lap. He finishes Keith off with a few quick strokes and calls him a good kitty as he squirms and cries and comes.
An orgasm nickname is a special kind of nickname, and it means it's definitely going to stick around for a while.
Keith's fine with that, he decides. At least it's cute.
“Kitty” does not replace “baby” as his regular nickname, which Keith is secretly grateful for. He has a soft spot for “baby” falling from Shiro’s mouth and coating him with gentle sweetness.
Shiro has to be in a certain mood for “kitty”. A dirtier mood. It’s somehow strange for such a cute sounding nickname, but “kitty” only comes out when Keith’s the one getting fucked and Shiro’s being at least a little pushier than usual.
Keith should have expected it tonight, but he's still surprised when it happens.
As for why he should have expected it—Shiro comes to bed with a gift: a plain black leather collar, with a ring in the shape of a heart attached to the front.
Keith’s excitement is probably very obvious.
He didn't think Shiro would be into this particular flavor of BDSM, but Keith is very much into wearing physical proof that he belongs to Shiro. If Shiro asked, Keith would wear it in public as easily as he wears his wedding ring.
But Shiro’s only asking for now, and so Keith lowers his gaze and lifts his hair, baring his neck in invitation.
He shudders at Shiro's grazing touch, at the slight pressure of the collar against his throat as Shiro latches it shut.
Shiro kisses the back of his neck once it’s on. “Okay?”
“Yeah,” Keith says, already painfully and embarrassingly hard. He is definitely into collars.
Shiro notices right away. He reaches over to palm Keith, the metal of his hand cold and startling. And then—
It's almost startling. He hasn't heard it in a while, maybe because he's been kind of toppy lately, but it turns him on even more because Shiro’s been doing a good job of making him associate the phrase with orgasms.
Shiro laughs lowly, and yeah, he definitely felt how Keith’s cock jumped at the words.
“Don't make fun of me,” he says.
“I'm not,” Shiro says. “You're cute.” He gets up to put the collar box on the nightstand, then sits up against the headboard and leans forward to pull Keith over by the heart-shaped ring on his neck.
Shiro wants him close enough that Keith has to crawl a bit to reach him. It's the sexiest fucking thing Keith has experienced in a while—being drawn forward by his throat on hands and knees, wearing Shiro's mark of ownership—and he lets himself be guided over until he's between Shiro’s legs and being thoroughly kissed. The fact that Shiro's so into it makes Keith love it even more.
Shiro reaches down strokes Keith, lightly. “You like it?” he murmurs. “You like knowing you're mine? My pretty little kitty.”
Shiro is so weird. Keith loves him anyways. He has no idea how to respond in words, so he just whines and bucks, angling for more pressure.
Shiro withdraws his hand and goes back to toying with his collar. “If you're good, I'll give you a treat,” he says, teasing, and Keith is about to ask what Shiro means by good when Shiro hooks his finger in the ring and yanks Keith’s head down to his cock.
Ah. That's what he means.
Keith's already naked, but Shiro’s still wearing his briefs. Keith starts to reach for them, but Shiro's hands land on his, clamping them to the bed.
“No hands,” Shiro says. His gaze is heavy, but hesitant.
Keith swallows, embarrassment overwhelmed by the fire that burns in him at Shiro’s command, and leans forward on hands and knees, taking the waistband into his teeth. Shiro raises his hips to help, and he manages to drag them down enough to free Shiro's cock. He licks a hot stripe up the underside before taking the head into his mouth, teasing at the tip.
Shiro sighs and leans back. “Good kitty,” he says, stroking Keith's hair with both hands.
Keith preens and takes him deeper. He deserves this one, okay? Deserves it for the way he's working Shiro, making his breath hitch and his hips twitch as the rest of him melts into the bed.
“God, Keith, your mouth—“
Keith's mouth can't take all of Shiro, but he can damn well try. It's harder without his hands to help fill the gaps, but he makes do, diving down to lick and suck at one and then both of Shiro’s balls until he's leaking and then paving the way back up with his tongue before swallowing him down again.
The hands petting his hair tighten into a grip as Shiro cries out. It's—actually a little painful so he reaches over and taps Shiro’s thigh twice.
The grip relaxes and Shiro goes back to frantically soothing his hair down. “I’m so sorry, baby. You okay?”
Keith hums, hollows his cheeks, and sucks hard in response.
Shiro laughs and gasps and moans as Keith coaxes him to the edge. Keith’s determined to pull him over, but before he can, Shiro takes hold of the back of his neck and pulls him off.
“Ready for your treat?” he says, and Keith stares uncomprehending until Shiro says, “Close your eyes and stick out your tongue.”
Keith hurries to comply. He’s still on all fours, and Shiro has one hand keeping his head angled where he wants it. He feels Shiro move in front of him, kneeling up, and it’s only a few quick moments before Shiro’s come splashes across his face, hot and thick. He groans as the taste of Shiro hits his tongue, but he doesn’t have long to savor it before Shiro’s mouth is on him, tongue curling against his and sweeping up the remnants of his own release.
“You’re so good for me,” Shiro whispers against his lips. “Such a good kitty. C’mere.” He sits back, pulling Keith over by the collar again, and maneuvers him so that he’s sitting on a thick thigh, hands on Shiro’s shoulders. Shiro raises his leg a little, drawing Keith closer, and Keith is so hard that he nearly comes just from the sweet pressure of Shiro's hip against his cock. “Is this good?”
“Yeah.” His hands clench on Shiro’s shoulders. It’s good. It’s more than good.
“Good,” Shiro murmurs. He reaches forward to brush Keith’s hair back, and then uses it to tilt his head up. Keith squirms. “I want to see you come like this, kitten. Wearing my collar, with my come on your face, rutting against me like you can’t help yourself.”
Keith whines and grinds his hips at Shiro’s words, using his shoulders as leverage to press himself harder against Shiro. He has no idea what’s gotten into Shiro tonight—it usually takes a lot to kick him into a possessive mood, and even more for his brain to even drift in the direction of anything that might be even vaguely humiliating for Keith.
Not that Keith’s complaining. He feels completely owned by Shiro, in the most primal sense, and the horny part of his brain takes any humiliation or embarrassment he might otherwise be feeling and swallows it whole.
“You like being mine, kitty?” Shiro tugs his hair and leans in, licking his come off Keith’s cheek. “You like knowing you’re mine?”
It should be gross. It should be so, so gross, but instead it’s driving him crazy with lust and Keith moans and speeds up his pace because he needs to come right the fuck now.
Shiro kisses him, and they both taste like his come. “Tell me.”
“I like being yours,” Keith manages with what little breath he has left. “Make me yours, Shiro.”
Shiro pries Keith’s left hand from his shoulder and kisses him on his ring. “I already have,” he says, and Keith closes his eyes and wails as he comes all over them both.
“Good kitty.” Shiro lays him down, stroking him through his orgasm because Keith isn’t going to do it himself. “So good. You’re so beautiful like this.” Keith hums in contentment, and Shiro laughs. “It’s like you’ll purr any second now.”
“Can’t purr,” Keith mumbles.
“No?” Shiro’s voice is teasing, and his hand cups his face, fingers streaking through drying come. “Will you meow for me instead then?”
Shiro is silly and weird, but Keith is high from love and orgasm, so he nuzzles against the hand and turns his head up, pressing his lips against Shiro’s palm and letting out a soft, muffled meow.
Shiro’s answering laugh is quiet and fond. “Good kitty,” he murmurs, pressing his fingers against Keith’s mouth. Keith laves his tongue over them, cleaning off the evidence of their activities.
“Good kitty,” Shiro says again, and there’s something new and dark in his voice that Keith is too strung out to process right now.
He’s sure it’s going to mean good things for him later.
So, the collar.
Keith is into the collar.
He is into being marked and owned and vulnerable, into the way that it encourages Shiro to drag him around however he likes, and most of all he’s into the way that it makes Shiro’s eyes darken with desire and his voice drop an octave lower just to see the leather looped around his throat.
He lets Shiro be the one to bring it out the next few times they use it, just to make sure it’s something Shiro’s still into, too. It turns out that it isn’t anything to worry about—the first time Keith digs it out of the drawer himself and lays it on the bed for Shiro to put on him, Shiro’s smile is wide and blinding.
He gets fucked very enthusiastically that night.
He’s ready for it to escalate. Curious, even, for what other kinks Shiro’s been waiting to try.
After a few times, Shiro brought out the matching leash for the collar and dragged Keith around in a way that was both intensely embarrassing and embarrassingly hot. It makes Keith suspect that a deeper dive into bondage might be up next.
The cat ears and tail that Shiro presents to him with wide, hopeful eyes weren’t even on the list.
It dawns on Keith that kitty isn’t just a sweet nickname. It’s what Shiro wants. It’s what Shiro wants from him. He wants Keith to be his kitty, that he fucks, in bed.
And Keith has no fucking idea what to do with this information.
Keith stumbles through the sex, but he’s caught so off guard that it’s pretty much a disaster. He gets the ears on, and the collar, but he’s so full of confused-nervous-horny energy that all it takes is for Shiro to press the plug in for him to come messily across his stomach.
Shiro freezes, but handles the situation with grace, cooing over him and showering him with praise that he’s very much unworthy of.
Keith tries to salvage the situation, but Shiro’s more concerned with cuddling in the bath, so the night ends in complete disaster.
Keith resolves to make things right.
Problem is, he doesn't even know where to start. His first instinct is the internet, but he doesn’t know how to find what he's looking for without having to swim through the sludge of the weird side of the net.
Which is how he ends up in a soundproof, unmonitored meeting room with Pidge, Hunk, and Lance.
It's not that he thinks they're more sexually experienced than him. It's that he's pretty sure they spend more time on the weird net than he does.
“None of what we're about to talk about leaves this room,” he says.
Lance crosses his arms. “Yeah, kind of guessed that from the cryptic message and the fact that we're in the torture room. What's going on?”
“It's about me and Shiro,” Keith says. “And sex. So if you don't want to hear it—“
“Is this about Shiro’s giant dick?” Pidge says.
“His—what? Why do you—never mind.” If they spend their time speculating about Shiro’s dick, Keith doesn't want to know. “It's not about that.”
They all look at him expectantly.
“Shiro...” God, was there a way to say this in a less weird way? Probably not. “Shiro wants me to act like a cat when we... you know.”
There's a long silence.
“Just—I feel like we need to make sure. Are you positive you're reading the signals right?” Hunk says. “It wouldn't be the first time you guys have had your wires crossed. Just saying.”
“Brojobs,” Lance says.
Keith scowls. “What did I tell you about saying that word around me again?”
Lance just gives him a pointed look.
“I'm very sure this time, okay,” Keith says. “He called me kitty—“
“A cute nickname,” Hunk says. “And not completely out of left field.”
“Keithy-cat,” Pidge says. He knows she got that from Matt and he hates them both.
He pushes on. “And then he got me a collar—“
“Very common, very BDSM,” Lance says. “Go Shiro, by the way. Bold move.”
“Yeah, it’s not always a pet play thing,” Pidge says, and is that the term for it?
“And then last night he gave me a butt plug with a tail on it and had me wear it with cat ears.”
There's another long silence.
“And he wanted me to meow for him,” Keith adds.
“Yeah, I got nothing,” Hunk says.
“I can't believe I'm saying this,” Lance says, “but I think you're actually reading the signals right this time.”
“It had to happen at some point,” Pidge says. “But low score on Shiro’s part for not just saying he wants to fuck his Keithy-cat.”
“Call me that one more time,” Keith says. It's going on the banned list right below brojobs.
“So you need, what, advice on getting out of it?” Hunk says.
“No, I'm—I don't mind, but I don't really know what he's expecting,” Keith says. “And I didn't know how to look it up or anything.” He turns to Pidge. “You said it was...”
“Pet play,” she says. “Specifically kitten play in this case. Really it just means he wants you to relax, so that he can take care of you. Like you're his kitten. It's pretty straightforward.”
Keith is a human-Galran hybrid, not a kitten, so it is not very straightforward to him. “So I just—what, meow when he fucks me?”
“Meow,” Lance says. “Purr a little—“
“I can't purr.” Does Keith have to remind them he's not actually a cat? “What makes you think I can purr?”
Lance shrugs. “Hey, you're Galra, what do I know?”
“Just—imagine you're a cat,” Pidge says. “Cats just sleep, eat, cuddle, and play. That's all you have to worry about. Your owner will take care of the rest. That's kitten play.”
Keith’s never had a cat, but he tries to imagine it. He’s a cat. Shiro gets home. He greets him at the door, nuzzles him, maybe bothers him for food depending on the time of day. He nestles in Shiro's lap, lets him pet him while he destresses from the day. It sounds nice, and not that far off from what currently happens with normal Keith. But—
“Where does the—you know—come in?”
“You can say sex,” Lance says, and Keith glares at him.
“Kitten play doesn't always involve sex,” Pidge says. “But it's the same kind of thing. Just try not to think so much, and let him take care of you, and you'll be taking care of him. And yeah, you could act a little more... catlike, or whatever, if you wanted. Meowing and purring and stretching and scratching and all that.”
What is with everyone thinking he can purr?
“Sorry, I gotta ask,” Hunk says. “How do you know so much about this?”
“Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answers to,” Pidge says.
“Fair point. Carry on.”
Keith tries to process this. “So I should just... actually pretend I'm a cat.”
“Yup,” Pidge says, popping the p. “Simple in concept, harder in execution. I believe in you, though.”
“Good luck, dude,” Lance says.
“Don't do anything you don't wanna do,” Hunk reminds him.
“Thanks, guys,” Keith says.
He can do this. Maybe.
Simple in concept, harder in execution is right.
Keith takes care of the most basic steps first. He strips down and digs in Shiro’s drawer for the accessories. He finds the collar and tail, but not the ears. He contemplates for a moment, then remembers—Kolivan’s ears.
He goes into his own drawer and sees them sitting innocently on top. Shiro must have used them last night.
Keith wants to die thinking about his mom and Kolivan somehow knowing what these ears are about to witness. He buries that thought deep, deep, deep down and puts the ears on, then the collar. He likes the feeling of Shiro putting it on him, but tonight he wants to be completely ready.
Next is the tail. It's just a butt plug. It's not even a particularly large one. This is nothing.
Or at least that's what he tells himself as he lubes up his fingers and focuses on relaxing, relaxing, relaxing.
He thinks sexy thoughts, like about the time last week when they had an entire day free and he edged Shiro for hours before finally giving him release and then fucked him into incoherency before Shiro was even finished coming.
He absolutely does not think about the feeling of fake fur against his hand as he lines up the plug, or how he must look as he slips it in. It just nudges against his prostate and he gives himself a moment to get used to it before girding his loins and moving on.
He checks his messages. Shiro’s sent him a winky face, which is heartening—Keith's been priming him throughout the day, because nothing’s worse than preparing a sexy surprise for someone who's not in the mood.
He still has about fifteen minutes, so he sets the datapad down and tries to think catlike. Feel catlike.
He takes the leash out of Shiro's drawer and leaves the bedroom with it. He is now naked in the living room wearing cat ears and a collar and a butt plug with a tail on it. This is fine. He can do this.
He thinks about waiting by the door, just for a moment, before he decides he needs to preserve some of his dignity and makes his way to the couch instead. He leaves the leash on the coffee table and curls up on his side, facing the door. The tail won’t be visible from this angle, but maybe that’s for the best.
He closes his eyes and thinks cat. What should he do when Shiro opens the door? Go up to him and beg for attention, since he’s been left to his own devices all day? Or wait and let Shiro come to him? His mind threatens to dip into fantasy, but there’s no point in going too deep when Shiro’s going to open the door at any moment and—and what will Shiro do? Shiro’s into this. Shiro will probably walk in, datapad under his arm, see Keith naked and kittylike on the couch, and immediately drop the datapad and shatter thousands of dollars of Garrison equipment.
Maybe Keith should wait by the door after all.
As soon as he thinks that, the door slides open and Shiro steps through. As expected, he gapes at the sight of Keith. As expected, his arm slackens and the datapad lurches towards the ground. But he catches it with his Altean arm as he rushes over, placing it on the table as he kneels in front of the couch.
“Fuck, Keith,” Shiro says. “You—” he swallows, and Keith is momentarily mesmerized by the rise and fall of his throat. Shiro leans in and kisses him, soft light pecks as his hand slides down Keith’s body and to his ass. He groans when he finds the tail there, and he taps at the base of the plug, driving it deeper and making Keith hiss.
“God,” Shiro says. “Okay. Okay.” He pushes his bangs back, like he’s steeling himself. Then he sits on the couch and pats his lap. “Come here.”
Catlike, Keith reminds himself as he pulls himself up on hands and knees and crosses the small distance to curl himself on Shiro’s lap.
Shiro threads long fingers in his hair and lightly scratches his scalp with a slow, rhythmic cadence.
It’s nice. Soothing.
Keith opens his mouth to tell him so, but then he remembers—catlike. Cats don’t talk. What else can he do? He can’t purr. It doesn’t seem like the appropriate time for meowing—and he can’t believe he’s acknowledging that there’s ever an appropriate time for meowing in bed. He turns his head up into Shiro’s hand, kissing the wedding ring he finds there softly before giving Shiro’s palm a slow, deliberate lick.
Shiro’s breath actually hitches, and as one hand resumes scratching, the other hand starts to explore Keith’s body. Keith tries to keep himself quiet as Shiro’s hand roams. The cold metal raises goosebumps on his skin as Shiro caresses his throat and strokes his nipples and massages his balls, coaxing him into hardness as the other hand coaxes him to sleepiness. He can’t help the way his body trembles, or his breath rushes, or his back arches, but Shiro doesn’t seem to mind it.
“You’re so soft,” Shiro says. “So warm. I’m so lucky I get to come home to such a sweet kitty.”
Shiro is saying some very embarrassing things with a supernaturally sincere face right now, but his tone is so fond and loving that Keith melts for it anyways.
He wants to respond in kind, to make Shiro happy, and if there’s one thing Keith’s good at, it’s compartmentalizing. He takes his dignity and pride and embarrassment and locks them all away with a quiet, gentle meow.
“You make such cute noises for me.” Shiro leans down and nuzzles his neck. His breath is hot, and it lights Keith’s nerves on fire.
Shiro’s teeth scrape skin, then catches onto the collar, increasing the pressure against Keith’s windpipe for one heart-fluttering second before he lets it go and says, “Will you do it again?” One hand is firm around Keith’s cock, still and tantalizing; the other is carding through his hair.
Keith meows again and arches his back, pushing himself closer to Shiro.
“That’s a good kitty.” Shiro rewards him with a few sweet pumps of his cock before he nudges Keith to the floor and stands up. “Let’s take this to the bedroom.” He picks up the leash from the table and looks at it for a moment before raising his eyebrows at Keith. “Will we need this?”
Keith hesitates. He’ll do whatever Shiro asks of him regardless, but he does like the extra degree of wordless control that Shiro gets with the leash. He tilts his head back, baring his neck, hoping it’s enough of answer.
Shiro bends down to clip the lead to his collar. Then he fists his hand in the leash and uses it to drag Keith in for a bruising kiss. “I love you.”
“I love you,” Keith lets himself whisper.
Shiro smiles and kisses him again before standing up again. He steps in the direction of the bedroom and tugs at the leash. “Here, kitty.”
Catlike, Keith remembers. Shiro’s expecting him to crawl. He considers if this is where he’ll draw the line, then decides he’s done worse to Shiro than make him crawl for a few meters.
So he crawls.
Shiro takes care to keep the leash just taut enough that Keith can feel the pull, but not enough for it to dig into his skin. He leads him into the bedroom, and Keith waits by Shiro’s feet as Shiro strips down in front of him. He watches with dismay and affection as Shiro hangs up his jacket and folds his pants and puts his undergarments into the hamper.
Then Shiro's back, bending down and kissing him softly before he scoops him up from the floor and throws him onto the bed in one smooth motion.
Keith yelps as his ass hits the mattress, sending the plug deeper into him, but Shiro doesn’t give him much time to be surprised before he’s on him, pinning him with the weight of his body and his hands on his wrists and staking his claim on Keith’s lips. Keith surges for a moment, his instincts raring to break free, to latch onto Shiro, to do something—but he’s a cat. What could he do, anyways? He lets that realization sink in, lets it sap his strength and render him pliant and mewling under Shiro’s firm pressure.
“Good kitty,” Shiro rumbles, sounding inordinately pleased. He bites Keith’s lip and makes him gasp. “You want to take care of me too, don’t you?”
Shiro adjusts his grip and rolls them over so that Keith is on top, splayed across his body. “Up.”
Keith tries to process that command, and decides Shiro wants him back on hands and knees. He tries to pull back, but he’s stuck—Shiro’s taken hold of the leash, and is using that to keep Keith’s chest anchored down.
Shiro’s watching him swallow as he realizes his position. “Up,” Shiro says, again.
Keith supports himself on his forearms and slowly pulls his legs up, one at a time, until he’s on his knees with his ass in the air and his chest still firmly pressed against Shiro’s, chin propped on his sternum.
“Good kitty. Stay like this.” Shiro drags him up for a kiss—just a soft peck, really. He smiles as he fiddles with the ears on Keith’s head, then he puts a heavy hand on the back of Keith’s neck. “Now lick.”
Keith gives him his most unimpressed look, but Shiro’s soft smile doesn’t budge.
“I’ll give you a treat,” he says.
Keith leans in and licks him right across the lips, which he knows Shiro hates, and when Shiro’s nose wrinkles but he doesn’t scold him, Keith knows he’s serious.
The things he does for love.
He nips at Shiro’s bottom lip—his token resistance—before moving down, licking a hot stripe up the column of Shiro’s neck. Shiro makes a pleased sound, and Keith does it again before pressing his lips against Shiro’s Adam’s apple and curling his tongue around it.
Shiro releases some slack into the leash, giving Keith room to move downwards on his quest to map Shiro’s body with his mouth. He spends a few long moments on Shiro’s collarbone because they’re nice and don’t get nearly enough attention compared to the rest of him. Then he moves on to his nipples, teasing them until Shiro squirms and bucks and pushes at him to keep moving.
Keith hides his smile against Shiro’s skin. This may be Shiro’s game, but when it comes down to it, he’s just as impatient as Keith is.
For all his sour looks, Keith doesn’t actually mind licking Shiro all over. Shiro is salty skin and firm muscle underneath, and he’s more than happy to pay him worship with his mouth. And he knows Shiro likes it, too; especially the way that Keith traces over the puckered tissue of his scars, showering them with a love and forgiveness that Shiro can’t bear to give to himself.
He follows the constellation of marks on Shiro’s body down, down, down, but just as he’s nosing the hair on Shiro’s pelvis, getting close to where Shiro’s heavy and hot and hard, Shiro tugs on the leash again, pulling Keith back up to his original position.
“That was very nice, thank you.” Shiro’s voice is almost a coo. He smooths Keith’s hair back from his face. “Ready for your treat?”
Shiro’s treats have been varied but exciting every time. Keith nods as best he can in his position.
There’s a soft click, and—
“Fuck!” The plug is a vibrator, and it’s come to life in Keith’s ass, pulsing relentlessly at a setting that’s slightly higher than what he’s prepared for. He doesn’t even know when Shiro got the remote, but he suspects the Altean arm was at work.
“Kittycats don’t talk,” Shiro says, and he sounds like he’s having far too much fun with this. He presses two fingers against Keith’s lips and Keith closes his eyes and takes them in, sucking lightly as he struggles to adjust to the new sensations. Shiro’s other hand is back in his hair, scratching and soothing and giving him something else to focus on as he breathes through it. “There you go. Good kitty. You’re doing so well. Can you make some noise for me?”
The hand in his hair drifts away. There’s another click as Shiro turns the vibrations up, and yes, Keith can make noise. He cries out, the sound coming out garbled from Shiro’s fingers pressing onto his tongue. It’s taking everything he has not to move from his position, not to seek friction and release, and his muscles are shaking from the strain of it.
“Wish you could see yourself,” Shiro murmurs. “You have no idea how good you look right now.”
Keith squeezes his eyes shut and whines, open-mouthed around Shiro’s fingers. Shiro’s hand is still in Keith’s hair, calming him as he’s being wrecked from the inside, and between the vibrations and the mindless petting, Keith is losing all sense of time.
“Let me see you, kitty,” Shiro says after what could be one minute or ten. He pulls his fingers out of Keith’s mouth and uses both hands to grip his hair and turn his head up more. Keith shudders. His ass is still up, his chest still plastered to Shiro’s, and the curve of his back feels more and more obscene.
“There you are.” Shiro smiles as Keith manages to pry his eyes open. He can feel tears leaking from the corners, and Shiro swipes them away with both thumbs. “Hi, kitty.” Shiro pulls him closer to nuzzle their noses together. “How are you?”
Shiro knows exactly how he is. Keith is a gasping, teary mess, damp with sweat and shaking all over, and he wants to scratch Shiro and fuck him and be fucked by him, all at the same time.
Shiro laughs and kisses the petulant wrinkle of his nose. “Meow?”
It says a lot that all Keith feels is helpless, overwhelming love.
He brushes his nose against Shiro’s and strains forward to rub their cheeks together. Then he hides his face against the side of Shiro’s jaw and pulls from the depths of his affection a warm and desperate meow.
“Oh, Keith,” Shiro sighs. He guides Keith’s face back up and kisses him sweetly. “You’re being so good. My perfect little kitty cat. Do you think you can come like this?”
Keith’s come untouched before, but it’s not easy for him, and the vibrations of the plug against his prostate feel like too much and also not nearly enough. He shakes his head.
Shiro hums, considering, then kisses his cheek. “I think you can,” he says, and turns it up another notch.
Keith grabs at the sheets and screams. He’s rapidly losing his ability to think, but he has enough clarity to suspect that Shiro is getting revenge for Keith edging him last week.
“Breathe,” Shiro says, pulling him back up by his hair, and Keith hadn’t even noticed that he had buried his face in Shiro’s chest to cry. He takes a huge, shuddering breath as Shiro strokes his face. “Hey, are you okay?”
“Green,” he gasps. “Green.”
“You’re so good, baby.” Shiro pulls him in and kisses him, then tucks his face into the crook of his neck and lets him sob there. “You’re doing so well. Just a bit more, okay?”
Keith nods. The shaking in his legs intensifies the closer he gets to complete mindlessness, and he's just thinking that they can't support him much longer when Shiro kicks them apart and makes him fall. His cock twitches where it’s trapped between their bodies, and Shiro grinds up against him.
Keith cries harder.
“Just like that.” Shiro wraps one arm around Keith’s back and presses him close, uses the other to keep Keith’s face tucked against him, and rolls his body, letting Keith’s cock find terrible, wonderful friction between them. “Come on, kitty. Come for me.”
Keith whites out.
He comes back to a ravaged throat and twitching limbs as Shiro lowers the vibrations to a stop. He’s murmuring words of praise—“Good kitty, you’re so beautiful, you did so well for me”—as he half sits up so he can pull out the tail. Keith whines and shifts at the loss, but he’s only empty for a moment before there’s something else settling against his hole.
And he remembers—Shiro hasn’t come yet.
“Be good,” Shiro murmurs, and he holds him tight and fucks in.
It’s painful, and it’s wonderful, and most of all it’s mind-numbing. Keith’s only coherent thought is this is definitely revenge; otherwise he’s reduced to nails clawing through the sheets and short, broken cries forced out from his core with each thrust. His entire existence is narrowed down to Shiro—surrounding him, filling him, owning him—and he loves it, he loves it.
He loves Shiro.
The ears tip down his forehead and Shiro pulls them off the rest of the way, tossing them aside before crushing their lips together.
They both moan as Shiro thrusts, slow and hard, and comes. Keith’s completely trapped in the vise grip of Shiro’s arms, but even if he weren’t he thinks he’d be too fucked out to do anything anyways. All he can do is try to breathe and hold on as Shiro leaves his mark inside him.
Keith is heavy. He is heavy, and sweaty, and well-fucked, and he is never moving again.
He doesn’t know how long they lay there, blissed out and panting, but eventually Shiro stirs back to life underneath him. He pushes Keith’s sweaty bangs out of his face. “Hi, baby. You okay?”
Keith grumbles and nuzzles closer, like if he tries hard enough he can just melt right into him. That would be ideal. Then Shiro can do all the moving for him.
Shiro laughs quietly, the vibrations a pleasant hum against Keith’s chest. He takes hold of Keith’s hips, and Keith winces and whines as Shiro pulls out and come leaks out between his legs.
Shiro shushes him, and pets him, and Keith is in heaven. He could stay here forever—boneless and relaxed in Shiro’s arms, floating on the rise and fall of Shiro’s breaths, drenched in sweat and covered in come and disgusting after the weirdest sex of his life, and so, so, so in love. He grabs blindly for Shiro’s hand, interlacing their fingers and resting their rings together as he presses Shiro’s knuckles against his cheek.
“Keith,” Shiro says, voice full of wonder. “You’re purring.”
Keith lifts himself out of his haze enough to notice that yes, there is something strange and purr-sounding going on with his breathing. He doesn't know where it's coming from, but it feels really good, and he laughs. Lance is never going to let him live this down.
“How are you feeling?” Shiro strokes his face with his knuckles, and Keith leans into it, closing his eyes and relishing in it.
“Good,” he says. “Really good. I just—I didn't think I'd be into this, but it's actually really fun, so. Thank you for introducing me.”
The silence that follows is far too long.
Underneath him, Shiro’s chest has stopped moving.
Keith opens his eyes. Shiro’s jaw is slack. “What’s wrong?”
“Are you—did you just say I got you into this?” Shiro's voice sounds strangled.
“Yes?” Keith says, slowly. “You're the one who initiated everything?”
Shiro sputters. “I—That’s—I did it because I thought you were too embarrassed to!”
He thought Keith was too embarrassed to—what? To say he wanted to be a cat in bed? Keith has a striking feeling of dread, and of the other Paladins having more fodder for their Shiro and Keith suck at communication slideshow. “You—Did you think I was into this?”
Keith despairs. “Why?”
“You were—I saw you in bed, and you were naked and you had the—“ Shiro gestures to his head, and Keith is forced to recollect his buried shame of Shiro walking in on him trying to take a selfie naked in cat ears.
He wants to die. “That was one hundred percent not a sex thing.”
“Oh my god.” Shiro looks like he wants to die, too. “Keith, I—I put you in a collar. God, and the tail. And the leash. I made you—I made you do so many things. I made you meow during sex.”
“You didn't make me do anything and you know it.” They’re still glued together by the evidence of his release, and Keith can feel Shiro’s leaking out of his ass. “Besides, I think it's safe to say that we're both into this now.”
“Oh my god,” Shiro says. “What happened to us.”
“I blame you for this one,” Keith says.
Shiro dwells on that for a moment. “That's fair. God. Okay. I need to—” He eases Keith off of him and onto his back on the mattress before climbing out of the bed. He comes back with a damp towel that he uses to wipe Keith down before disappearing again. When he comes back this time, it's to lay down beside Keith. He pulls the covers over both of them, and then over his own head.
Keith snuggles up to him and kisses the top of his blanket lump. “You good?”
“I can't believe I got us into something neither of us were into,” Shiro says, voice muffled by the fabric. “God. I should've just asked.”
“The problem with us,” Keith says, “is that we know each other too well. Which means a lot of times we don't ask, because we think it's obvious.”
Shiro makes a sad sound, and Keith pets the blanket lump. “I do like being your kitten,” he says. “Really.”
Shiro tugs the covers down enough for his eyes to peek out. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Keith says, running his fingers through Shiro’s hair. “You?”
“I—I like it—I like you—“ Shiro is red. Very red. He hides his face again. “Ugh. It's really hot while we're doing it but it's also really embarrassing to think about after.”
“You like taking care of me,” Keith says, remembering what Pidge told him. “And you like it when I let go and let you.”
There’s a pause, then Shiro emerges from his cave. “Yeah, I—I think that’s it. Sometimes you feel tense, kind of? Like you’re still worrying about something, even though I’m trying to take care of you. But when you're—“ Shiro blushes again, but he soldiers on. “Even with just the collar, you were already so much more relaxed. And then tonight you just. You gave in completely. And it was really hot, don't get me wrong, but mostly I was happy because it's usually so hard to get you to let go like that.”
“I was too busy focused on being a cat to think about anything else,” Keith says. “As weird as that is to say.”
Shiro sighs. “I can't believe our sex life is weird now.”
“I can't believe you started it.”
“Don't remind me.” Shiro rolls over, facing Keith, and pulls himself closer. “You really like it?”
“Yeah. I do.”
“I'm glad,” Shiro says, and they leave it at that.
The next morning is almost too normal for what they'd gotten up to the night before. Keith lazes in bed, tired and sore, while Shiro gets himself ready for his morning shift on the bridge.
Shiro’s given him occasional bouts of attention, but as he's putting on his shoes—the last step before he's out the door—Keith decides he wants more.
“Where are you going?” Keith says, and Shiro blinks at him as he laces his boots. Keith makes his eyes wide and innocent. “You're supposed to be rubbing my tum. I'm your kitty.”
Shiro's face blazes red. It's the fastest Keith's ever seen him blush.
“Good bye!” Shiro says loudly, and leaves without waiting for a response.
Shiro's so cute. He's even cuter when he comes back after thirty seconds, remembering his datapad sitting on the nightstand beside Keith's head. He's still red-faced, and he's not making eye contact.
“I love you,” Keith says.
Shiro sighs and gives in, cupping the back of Keith’s head and leaning down to give him a brief but tender kiss.
Keith rewards him with a tiny meow.
Shiro freezes, and Keith can feel the aroused hitch in his breath, can see the way his pupils blow wide with desire. He can't stop the quiet wheeze of laughter that escapes him.
“It's not—Keith, stop, I've been conditioned, I can't help it,” Shiro says. “Stop laughing.”
“Sorry,” Keith says, and tries to rein it in. But he can't help but add, “Am I being a bad kitty?”
Shiro pauses to study him, and Keith can pinpoint the exact moment embarrassment gives way and arousal takes over, darkening his gaze and firming his grip.
“A very bad kitty,” Shiro says, his voice dropping low enough to make Keith shudder. Talk about conditioning. The hand on the back of his head trails forward and becomes a finger hooked into the ring of his collar, dragging him unyieldingly closer, and Keith mewls for it.
It's Shiro’s turn to laugh, mostly kind but a little dark. “Don't act like you're not into it, too.”
“It's your fault,” Keith says, breathless from Shiro’s desire.
“It is,” Shiro says. He drags him farther by the collar until Keith is forced to get on all fours to stay balanced.
It’s extremely hot. He hates that they've played themselves this way. “You're gonna be late.”
Shiro checks the datapad he's apparently still holding in his other hand before setting it back on the nightstand. “Not if we're quick.”
Shiro lets him go and sits at the foot of the bed, so that his side faces Keith. He leans back, spreading his legs so Keith can fully appreciate the growing hardness between them, barely concealed by uniform pants.
His blood rushes south in response.
“Here, kitty kitty,” Shiro murmurs, patting his lap, because this is who they are now and Keith can't even be ashamed.
Shiro lifts a hand, drawing Keith in with a crook of his finger.