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Things would’ve fallen apart a long time ago if Shiro weren’t such a goddamned gentleman. Sex, or at least the kind of sex most guys expect, would bring the carefully constructed reality of Keith’s life crashing down. But Shiro doesn’t expect. All it ever takes is a breathy wait or a hand resting in the center of that broad chest. Shiro backs off then, hands moving back to safe territory and kisses turning chaste. Here’s the honest truth: in five months of dating, Shiro’s never made Keith say no.
And Keith…
keith kogane 9:24PM i can’t believe you haven’t even asked for nudes.
Rolling onto his side, Keith scowls down at his phone and the little Read at 9:25PM beneath his most recent text. At nine thirty on a school night, Shiro is only ever doing homework or playing video games. If Shiro’s ignoring this conversation in favor of his physics homework—
Well, that would be an answer in itself, wouldn’t it?
Up until Shiro, Keith didn’t spend a lot of time caring whether or not people wanted him. Mostly because he didn’t want them back. Those boundaries existed as much because he didn’t feel like fucking around as because he couldn’t risk fucking around. Now he cares. Keith cares so much and he kind of hates it.
Gnawing at his lower lip, he turns off his phone screen so he won’t have to see the minutes ticking by without a response.
Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Keith knows he’s hot. Back before Shiro put the fear of god into half the school, he used to get dick pics by the dozen and more than a few offers to bat for the other team. If he wanted, he could be sexting someone right now.
Keith picks up his phone to compulsively check if there’s been a response before he can stop himself. No new messages. It’s been all of a minute. Apparently the loss of his self esteem wasn’t enough, he also had to say goodbye to his fucking self control. Burying his face in his pillow, he lets out a barely muffled shriek and considers the merits of suffocating himself before he does anything else embarrassing tonight.
That’s when his phone pings.
Like a dog that just heard the doorbell—which is an insulting metaphor even in his head but also tragically accurate—he perks up. Text from <3 Shiro <3 displays for a second before the screen goes black. Snatching up his phone, he punches in his passcode and greedily scans Shiro’s response.
<3 Shiro <3 9:42PM Are you trying to kill me?
Maybe it’s undignified, but Keith can’t help the pout that forms as he reads the text for a third time. Underwhelming. That’s the word for it. If he were in the mood to be fair, he would admit that he doesn’t know what response would’ve satisfied him. But this one? Definitely doesn’t.
keith 9:43PM no
For a few seconds he lets his thumbs hover over the keyboard. Debates if he should add more. The only things that are coming to mind are the kinds of things that Shiro will call out in ten seconds flat, if it even takes that long, and expose his own tender underbelly besides. Neither of which Keith feels like dealing with, right now.
As he stares at the screen, the taunting little reply bubble appears. Keith wishes he had a pin that he could stab right through that bubble. Pop that shit. Let this conversation die before it can get any worse.
The bubble disappears.
So either Keith has magical powers, or Shiro decided that it’s not worth it to have this argument tonight. Realistically it’s probably the latter. Theoretically it doesn’t matter which it is because the end result is the same. Keith didn’t want to talk about it. Now they’re not talking about it. It’s fine. The sinking feeling in his gut? Stupid.
Actually this whole night has been stupid, and he never should’ve gone to get burgers after practice with the rest of the cheer team. Over fries and shakes they’d complained about their boyfriends—the groping, the hickies, the sexting. Didn’t matter that he’d kept his mouth shut. Eventually they turned on him. Is Shiro a secret horndog? No, Shiro’s a perfect gentleman. Aw, that’s sweet. You’re so lucky! They tried to put a good spin on it but he could tell they felt a little bad for him.
Keith’s so startled by his phone ringing that he actually drops it. It falls to the plush rug and starts vibrating its way across the floor. Muttering fuck on repeat under his breath, he leans off his bed and grabs it. Somehow it’s a surprise to see that Shiro’s calling, given everything, but he can’t really ignore his boyfriend.
“Hey,” he says. Tries to sound casual instead of slightly breathless from his recent acrobatics. Also casual instead of slightly insecure from his recent conversations with a bunch of catty high school girls with something to prove.
Doesn’t work for shit, because Shiro immediately goes: “Baby, tell me what’s wrong.”
While Keith tries to figure out how to redirect the conversation, he hears the telltale squeak of Shiro’s bedroom door closing. Someone really needs to oil the hinges. But then comes the clink of Shiro’s keys getting dropped into the shitty little bowl he made in pottery class last semester. Keith hisses on an inhale and asks, “You were out?”
“Yeah. At Matt’s studying for the physics test tomorrow.” There’s a particular weight to Shiro’s tone, like he’s holding back a sigh. Keith picks at his duvet, stomach churning as he remembers their conversation over lunch. Yeah. Shiro did say something about a physics test. Even if he hadn’t been out, he would’ve been doing his physics homework, because that’s how you get to be the golden boy. Not by sexting with your girlfriend.
“Oh,” Keith says. More as a placeholder than anything, and he immediately regrets it because his voice sounds small and pouty and awful.
Caught up in his own head, Keith doesn’t realize that Shiro’s been putting the pieces together on the other end of the line until Shiro says, “I’m sorry for leaving you hanging, Kee. I saw it at a red light and I wasn’t going to be able to drive home if I was talking to you about...”
Such a goddamned gentleman.
Fighting the urge to chew on his lower lip, Keith forces some fake cheer into his voice and says, “It’s fine! If I had known you were out I wouldn’t have bothered you.” Which is absolutely true. If Keith had known, he would’ve done what he usually does when his insecurities start to gnaw and ignored the shit out of it.
“Do you want me to grovel?” Shiro asks. It’s teasing, but Keith knows if he said yes then the groveling would start. Somehow that just makes him feel worse. More knotted up.
“No, it really is fine.”
Hands down the worst part of dating Shiro is that he’s stubborn. Normal teenage boys will accept a ‘I’m fine’ from their girlfriend. For reasons Keith has yet to determine, Shiro won’t. It’s not a surprise that Shiro sobers up with: “Baby, c’mon. Give me some credit. I know something happened. We’ve been taking it slow—” more like glacial “—but out of the blue you ask me why I haven’t asked you for nudes. So you can tell me what’s wrong, or we can do this the hard way.”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “It’s dumb.” When this doesn’t earn him a reprieve, Keith half buries his face in his pillow and gives in. “The team went for burgers after practice and they were talking about their boyfriends. About how long until it’s okay to let the guy get to second base or whatever. I guess… It’s just. Weird? That’s we’ve been dating for five months and you haven’t ever, you know… I mean, I like that you respect me. But we haven’t… We haven’t done anything. Except for that one time, in the dugout, and that was me, and you never...”
The silence on the other end drags on so long that it passes straight through awkward into awful. Finally, Shiro lets out a cough. Or an approximation of a cough. It kind of sounds like a gasping wheeze mixed with a groan. “You think I don’t want you?”
“I—” Keith wants to deny it. Hates the idea of being that insecure.
Another pause, then Shiro makes a rough noise. “You want me to tell you how much I want you?”
Rolling onto his back, Keith looks up at the glow-in-the-dark stars dotting his ceiling that Shiro helped him put up. They’d made out that day, rolling around on Keith’s small bed until Shiro’d pinned him down and bitten a hickey right over his pulse point. It’d been months since then. “Yes,” he admits at a whisper.
“I want you all the time,” Shiro says. Immediate and certain. “You wear those tiny cheerleading skirts that make your legs look miles long and I can’t think about anything else for the rest of the day.”
“So you like my legs?”
A low rumble of laughter comes from the other end of the line. “Don’t act like you don’t know, baby.” That’s fair. More than a few people have told Keith that he’s got fantastic legs, and he’s not an idiot. “Half the school think about having those legs wrapped around their waist while they fuck you in one of those skirts.”
The phrasing catches Keith, makes him pause and go, “You don’t?” It’s not coyness that drives him this time, or even insecurity. Just curiosity.
“I do,” Shiro says. “But you know what I think about more?” Of course he drags the moment out, the ass, waiting until Keith gives in with a mm? “Putting those pretty thighs over my shoulders.” If he’d been playing civilized so far, that’s gone out the window now. His words come out in something just short of a growl. All gravel and bass and demand. “Pushing aside your panties because I can’t even wait to get them off. Holding you down and eating you out until you cry. Would you like that, baby?”
Keith sinks his teeth into his lower lip to hold back a whimper. He curls his fingertips against his stomach and trembles at the light scratch of his perfectly manicured nails. If he closes his eyes, he can imagine that Shiro’s here in the dark of his bedroom. Ready to grab him and hold him down. Curling his toes into the sheets, Keith slips his hand lower, grazing the edge of his boyshorts.
“Answer me, Kee,” Shiro says. “Or we stop now.”
“Yes!” It tumbles out, too needy and half gasped, but Keith can’t swallow it back now. Still, he’s more subdued when he says, “I’d...I’d like it if you...did that.” Nervously, he fingers the the edge of his boyshorts. He’s half hard, feels like he’s going to buzz out of his skin, but he wants more.
There’s a pause. A hitch in Shiro’s breathing that Keith latches onto. It still feels a little unreal as he realizes that Shiro wants him. “God, I love when you go soft and sweet for me.” The praise soothes Keith down like few things do, leaving him loose limbed and pliant and utterly unprepared for what comes next. Which is: “Tell me where you want my mouth, baby.”
“On my…” When he pauses, it’s not because he doesn’t know which word he wants to use. It’s because the word he wants has never been the word he claimed as his own. Couldn’t claim as his own. “On my…”
Maybe Shiro takes his stumbling for shyness, or uncertainty, because his tone gentles into a coax. “It’s okay, Kee. You can tell me. I just want to take care of you. Make you feel good. You know I take care of what’s mine. And you’re mine, aren’t you? My baby girl.” It’s impossible to resist him when he sounds like this. Half reverent and half commanding. “Where do you want my mouth?”
“On my cunt,” Keith whispers. He can feel the blush flooding into his cheeks and down his chest, the kind of full body flush that leaves him shaky and overheated.
It’s worth it though, for the way Shiro snarls, “Fuck yes, princess.”
Heat makes Keith squirm helplessly against the sheets. Rolling back onto his stomach, he tucks a pillow under his stomach and between his legs. He can’t help the way he rocks into the pressure, chasing friction, a slave to his own body and Shiro. A thin sheen of sweat is starting at the back of his neck and in the crooks of his knees, sticky and anchoring him to the fact that this is really happening. “Shiro, please.” The grip he’s got on his phone is alternately white knuckle and too loose. Finally he lets it go. It drops to the bed.
“What do you need?”
And the answer should be easy—keep talking until one or both of us gets a well deserved orgasm—but what comes out is: “Call me your baby girl again.”
“You are,” Shiro says, breathless. Almost panting. “You’re my sweet baby girl. I want to ruin you for anyone else.” Like Keith isn’t already ruined. “If you’d let me I’d keep you in bed for days. Play with your little tits and fuck your sweet cunt until your legs won’t work.”
Probably Keith should be contributing. According to the girls he’s supposed to do something, but all he can muster is helpless whimpers and an unsteady rutting rhythm against the pillow. One hand pushes up his tank top until his nipples are exposed, pinching viciously at a nipple until it aches. The other hand slips into his boyshorts and teases at his hole. Without lube he can’t do much, but he can’t help wanting a ghost of what Shiro’s promising.
The sounds on the other end of the line are unmistakable. Shiro’s jerking himself off. “One day I’m going to do it. You know that, right, baby girl? I’m going to ruin you.” Another high pitched whimper escapes Keith, and that’s apparently all the encouragement Shiro needs. “I think I’ll start slow. I’ll have to. You’re so small, baby girl.”
Keith is small. Narrow hipped and lithe limbed. Compared to Shiro’s bulk he’s delicate. But he’s never thought of that being a reason to go slow. “Don’t want to go slow,” he says. Gives his nipple another hard pinch that wrenches a gasp from his lips.
“You could barely fit your hand around me,” Shiro says. More matter of fact than smug, which in another context would be annoying. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I can take your cock.”
There’s a harsh grunt. When Shiro speaks again, he sounds hoarse and hungry. “I know you can, baby girl. Maybe I just want to make you beg first. Finger you open until your cunt is pulsing around me, desperate for something bigger. Something that can stuff you full. How many fingers do you have in you, baby girl?”
Only two, eased by the lube that Keith haphazardly pulled out from under the bed. It’s an awkward angle, hurting his wrist, and he already knows that both of his slender fingers are only a match for one of Shiro’s. Defiantly he pushes in a third. “Three,” he says.
“My slutty baby girl,” Shiro says, and he sounds too pleased for Keith to feel humiliated. “Close your eyes for me.” Obediently, Keith closes his eyes and waits for the next command. “Imagine me there with you.” That’s easy. Shiro’s voice is so close, so warm and gentle and encompassing. “Do you want to come for me, baby girl?”
Deep in Keith’s ribcage, something twists and shatters and leaves him breathless. “Yes.” He’s humping the pillow now, caught pathetically between the urge to rut forward and the need to push back onto his fingers, pleasure knotted up so tight he can’t imagine what release will feel like. Jerking off isn’t something he manages often, but in this moment he can’t imagine how he’s not doing this all the time. “Please.”
“Come for me.”
A shriek claws its way out of Keith’s throat. His body clamps down hard on his fingers even as his panties stick to his skin with bursts of cum. There’s no air. No sense of up or down. No sound. Only Shiro and the pulsing, agonizing, freeing sensation of orgasm.
When he comes to, Shiro’s crooning sweet nonsense at him. The words don’t make sense but they anchor him through a half hearted cleanup that he’ll regret in the morning. Naked and curled on his side, he blinks through the sudden exhaustion that has his limbs feeling sluggish and useless.
“Feeling better?” Shiro asks. It might be the third or the ninth time he’s asked that in the last five minutes.
“Yeah,” Keith says. “I...I do.” Part of him thinks that he should say more. Explain how it all got to this point and what it means to have Shiro indulge him this way. Instead he goes, “Will you stay on the line?”
“Always, baby girl.”
They mumble to each other until sleep drags them under. Minutes and then hours tick by on a call where one of them snores and the other doesn’t. In the morning they’ll wake up with the call still going and Shiro will joke about how good it is that they’ve got unlimited minutes. Keith will roll his eyes, and regret his cleanup choices, and tell Shiro to stop being an idiot. There is comfort in all of this. Insecurity is terrible, and vulnerability is worse, but it’s worth it with Shiro.