Work Text:
There is a new app on his phone’s home screen, and once glance tells Keith exactly who he needs to blame.
“Lance! What the fuck have you done?”
For a guy in a floral silk bathrobe – ‘for the last time Keith, it’s lounge wear, do you know nothing about fashion?’ – and an avocado face mask, Lance is still pretty quick on his feet. He runs to Pidge’s room with Keith hot on his heels and hides behind her diminutive form.
“Help, help! He’s trying to hurt me!”
“Does he deserve it?” Pidge asks without looking up.
“Yes.” Keith growls, thrusting his phone at their resident tech geek.
When Keith had first moved in with Pidge, it had been with Pidge and Hunk; a sweetheart who was quiet, kept out of Keith’s way when he was bone tired from the circuit, and cooked great food which he actively liked to share with people. Keith wonders if he was grateful enough at the time, because whilst Keith’s really pleased that Hunk and Shay are getting along even better now that they live together, Hunk’s replacement is not up to par.
Living with Lance is only fractionally better than living at the motocross track.
Lance is loud, obnoxious, aggressively straight, and has a million and one things to complain about at full volume: at every single hour of the day. He hates Keith’s hair, his clothes, and the way the red dirt of the track always sticks to Keith’s boots and jacket, and by proxy, everything else which gets hung up near Keith’s boots and jacket. Keith hates Lance’s music, the way that their shared bathroom now smells and looks like a cosmetics store exploded inside it, and the fact that Lance attracts drama like picnics attract wasps. The man cannot stay out of Keith’s business.
“What’s the problem, Keith?” Pidge hands him back his phone with a smug grin, and that damn app is still blinking at him. “You can’t kill Lance, I helped him after all.”
“WHAT?”
“You need to get out more, buddy.”
“Fu- I get out plenty,” Keith scowls.
“Going to work doesn’t count.”
“And it’s not like your friends-with-benefits thing with Regris is going anywhere.”
Keith wants to punch Lance for overstepping into his private life – again – but he’s also not wrong. He hunches his shoulders.
“We’re not doing that any more.”
“Oh?”
Keith huffs.
“Screw you both. I am fully aware that making out with the only other not-straight guy in the whole fucking league isn’t a decent stand-in for a relationship.” He does not need to tell them that making out is as far as he’s ever gone, with Regris or anybody else. “But I do not do dating apps. And what the fuck is it with signing me up for this one?”
“You were wearing that plaid shirt last week,” Pidge reminds him.
“It’s an app for farmers!”
“Well, they don’t make dating apps for morose, stylistically challenged, dirt bike racers with mullets and an aversion to social niceties, do they?”
Keith only can’t punch Lance because he’s still hiding behind Pidge. Instead, he spins on his heel, and stomps back to his room.
Flopping down on his clean but unmade bed he stares at his phone accusingly before opening up the app. A variety of graphics involving tractors, hayfields, and cowboy hats assails him, and Keith groans internally once again. Lance and Pidge have made him a profile on a dating app designed for farmers who want to date other farmers. Keith hasn’t been to a farm since the last time he was at a petting zoo as a kid and he hardly thinks that counts. Regardless, he clicks on his profile, and grimaces at the profile picture which flashes up.
It’s him and it’s recent, and in actuality, it’s an OK picture. He’s wearing a black and red plaid shirt open over his tee, staring off to the side. After a moments’ thought, he realises the picture must have been taken by one of his housemates as he queued up at the taco truck during the street food festival the three of them had indulged in before Keith’s last race. He thumbs over his profile information, and in Pidge and Lance’s defence, they haven’t actually lied.
The entry for ‘farm type’ is empty, but all the rest of his basic information is correct. He’s a five foot ten, twenty-one-year-old gay guy called Keith with no last name. It’ll do. To his surprise, when his thumb hovers over his picture again, a little gallery option comes up, and Keith frowns. How the heck are there enough photos of him in that shirt to make a gallery?
There aren’t, but the reality is so much worse.
Pidge is nothing if not resourceful and good with tech, and Keith has no idea where she’s pulled most of these images from. But each one is carefully cropped and all together they do indeed build up a vaguely convincing picture of Keith-the-farmer. Laughing with Regris, leaning back against the straw bales which had been delivered to the track, the shot cutting off the fact he’s still wearing his racing pants with his sponsorship logos, a t-shirt thrown on after he’d removed his sweat and dirt-stained jersey… Regris has also been removed from the scene. There’s a few from the last time he accepted a dinner invitation from the Holt’s and ended up being recruited along with Pidge by Colleen Holt to help in her extensive garden. There’s a photo of Keith digging, Keith harvesting tomatoes, and one of Keith holding a massive zucchini over his head like it’s giant prize-winning trophy.
Keith groans, and wonders how much of a bitch it’s going to be to try and delete his profile and all traces of himself from this app. It’s not like Pidge will have set the password to anything simple after all.
And then he sees a little, red number one hovering in the bottom right hand corner of the screen.
“Oh fuck….”
This, of course, brings Lance breezing into his room without knocking. Keith throws his phone at the world’s most annoying roommate, which thunks hard into his chest before he catches it. Two seconds later, Keith realised that handing his phone to Lance was a fucking stupid thing to do.
“Ooooh! You got a match!”
“No, I don’t. Give it here.”
“Hey Pidge, Mullet got a match!”
“Fuck- dammit Lance!” Keith scrambles up, but Lance is a fraction taller than him and he holds the phone out of reach as he bounces across to Pidge’s room. “Give me that!”
“Oh, he’s hot!”
“What the fuck would you know about the kind of guys I like?” Keith snarls as he finally reclaims his phone.
“Keith, my man-”
“I’m not your anything, Lance.”
“-just because I prefer the ladies doesn’t mean I don’t know what to look for in a guy. I am a man of culture and taste-”
“You eat cereal straight out of the box,” Pidge interjects without looking up.
“-and I can see if a guy is hot or not without wanting to make out with him. And this guy is fine. You should chat with him.”
Keith stuffs his phone into his pocket without looking at the profile of his potential match.
“Why the fuck would I want to do that? Everyone knows dating apps are shit anyway. I don’t care about random hook ups and booty calls.”
“This isn’t Grindr, Keith.”
“I thought we banned talk of that hellscape from the house?” Pidge intones with feeling.
“Thank you.” Keith is grateful Pidge is on his side, until he remembers that she helped to install the damn farmer-dating app on his phone in the first place. “Fuck it. I’m going to bed, gonna go scope out the updated track at High Point tomorrow.”
Pidge frowns.
“That’s a seven-hour drive, Keith.”
Keith smirks.
“Only if you’re slow!
***
It’s not for another three days that he picks up his phone. Keith drives all the way to High Point and the next day crushes not only his personal best record but also the standing non-race day record for the track. He’s doesn’t check the device in his downtime because it’s not like anyone apart from Pidge or Hunk ever actually texts him with anything useful, and Keith has had Lance’s number muted since the first week he moved in. He does not need four thousand pings a day with each thought and meme which passes through that guy’s head.
Keith scrolls aimlessly through the twitter he basically never uses, dumping a few hearts here and there on promo shots from other racer’s feeds and retweeting the only one which features him – from the last pro-qualifying match held at his local track, which just so happens to be one of the best in the world. People say it’s easy to be good when your playground is a top level facility, but they’re the same ones who like to disregard the fact that Keith will do anything to get his tyres on dirt in as many locations as possible. There’s no point being good only on the twelve tracks the national league uses.
Just as he’s about to shut the screen off, Keith notices the little notification dot in the corner of the app Lance and Pidge signed him up for. Before he’s really thought about what he’s doing, he’s clicked on it. There’s no actual harm it looking at the person who wants to match with him, and Keith’s feels his curiosity rising as he taps again to open his ‘matches’ page.
T.Shirogane is… hot. Big and buff and grinning a full boy-scout smile from under the brim of his white rancher’s hat. His profile picture is shot against a background of green fields and blue sky. Keith stares for a long time, taking in the obvious breadth of his chest and shoulders despite the three-quarter view. He follows the swipe of the scar which runs horizontally over the man’s face, which somehow softens his features rather than making them harsher. Then he scrolls down to the profile information. ‘Everyone calls me Shiro’ is twenty-seven, six foot four, and owns a goat dairy farm less than a two hour drive from Southbend. He is single, and gay, and Keith cannot understand why a man who looks like a superhero come to life, is looking for love on a dating app. Then he spots something low down in Shiro’s ‘about me’ section, and feels a swift flash of rage.
Shiro is an amputee, and if Keith’s very few disastrous forays into the world of dating have taught him anything, it’s that on the whole, people are fucking shallow. Keith wonders how many people have got themselves worked up over that profile picture, only to scroll down and swipe left instead. He gnashes his teeth, and pulls up Shiro’s gallery page.
There are a lot of goats, and Keith knows nothing about goats, but looking at Shiro – sans hat and with his silvery bangs falling in his eyes – cradling a tiny baby goat in the crook of his massive arm, has him firmly believing that goats are the cutest animals in the world. About the only thing cuter than the goats is the man who owns them. Shiro is all smiles in his pictures, and while Keith knows everyone presents their best side on the internet, there is something in his expression which looks genuine. He obviously loves everything he does.
It’s stupid really. Keith knows nothing about this guy, apart from the fact that he’s hot and farms goats, and Keith shouldn’t be on this app anyway since it’s for farmers to find other farmers, but he presses on Shiro’s profile picture, and swipes right.
His phone chimes with a happy little jingle of acceptance, and a pop-up window invites him to message his new match. It’s late, Keith knows he sleeps weird hours and he suspects the stereotype of farmers rising early is pretty accurate. He sighs, and sends the message anyway.
Keith2310
Hi… so the plaid shirt does it for you then?
It’s lame, but words have never been Keith’s strong suit, and he’s never really flirted with anybody. He’s never really tried to; the thing he used to have going with Regris had been mostly Regris’ idea after all; propositioning his friend with ‘wanna go make out in a platonic kind of way’ would never have occurred to him.
Then Keith’s phone vibrates silently in his hand, and the flash of the notification gives him such a shock that he drops it on his face.
“Ow, fuck.” Keith rolls over, retrieves his phone and props himself up on his elbows to read.
T.Shirogane
Hey there. Not gonna lie, the shirt does look good on you. But mostly I liked how chuffed you were with your giant zucchini. It’s nice when you can see how much someone enjoys their work.
Keith groans, and jams the top edge of the phone into the space between his brows. Fuck it all. Of course the first thing he’s going to have to do is come clean, and watch T.Shirogane vanish from his inbox. He’s a fraud, and an idiot for letting this happen in the first place.
The worst bit is, he actually does love his job.
Keith2310
Yeah, thanks. That was a fun day. I’m really grateful to get to do something I love. So… you and the goats?
The reply is pretty immediate.
T.Shirogane
They have such fun personalities! We sell the milk and make several varieties of cheese on the farm too.
T.Shirogane
We mostly sell through bigger retailers in a few neighbouring states, but we have a stall at the big farmer’s market each month in Southbend.
It’s the perfect opener, Keith can see that. It’s public, it’s a neutral location, Shiro’s working so he has to be there, so it’s not like Keith is at risk of being stood up. And – Keith realises with depressing certainty – if he didn’t show, Shiro would be able to tell himself that they simply missed each other in the rush. He chews his lower lip as he types.
Keith2310
There’s a farmer’s market next weekend. I’m not busy.
T.Shirogane
I’ll be at the stall with the banner for Twin Willows Farm, it has a picture of a brown and white goat on it.
Keith2310
OK
T.Shirogane
Will you wear the plaid shirt?
Keith huffs a laugh.
Keith2310
Yeah, alright.
It’s late, and even with his weird sleep schedule, he cracks a yawn.
Keith2310
It’s late, shouldn’t you be sleeping? Don’t you have to be up the moment the sun rises to-
Fuck, quick, what is it you have to do to goats?
Keith2310
-milk the goats?
Phew.
T.Shirogane
Well, your honour, in my defence there was this pretty boy filling up my inbox and I just couldn’t stay away.
Keith2310
Dork.
Keith2310
That’s a good thing, fuck. I’m sorry.
Keith2310
I’m not usually this much of a moron.
T.Shirogane
It’s fine.
Keith2310
I promise I’m way better in person.
T.Shirogane
Don’t you have to be up early too?
Keith does not, because open session at the motoland speedway – his nearest track for playing at, only a dozen miles away – doesn’t start until five and Keith’s already retuned his bike and is ready to go.
Keith2310
The vegetables do not bray loudly if you water them an hour late ;)
He puts a winking face at the end, then regrets it instantly. He does not understand emojis.
T.Shirogane
Until you have lived with goats, you have no idea how loud they can be. Good night Keith, it was lovely talking to you.
Keith2310
You too. Sleep well.
Keith2310
Happy milking.
*
Considering they have a date set to meet up, Keith doesn’t actually expect to hear from Shiro again very soon, but as he’s brushing his teeth, he finds a private message with an attached picture. It’s of a brown goat with black stripes down it’s face, chewing what Keith assumes is breakfast, inside a long building which is probably a milking parlour. It is captioned with ‘Daisy44 sends morning greetings’ and Keith’s not sure what to make of the fact that he has now invited goats to come talk to him in his inbox. He snaps a picture of his morning coffee.
Keith2310
This is why I don’t have livestock.
In return, he gets a string of various laughing emojis, and then a selection of vegetable ones. It makes him smile.
That afternoon at motoland the newly tuned bike runs like a dream. The ground is great, a little bit claggy but not too soft, and perfect for riding hard and pulling good tricks on the various high jumps around the track. As ever, there are a bunch of fans with everything from the phones in their pockets to fancy SLR digital cameras, each hoping to capture shots of their favourite riders or friends. Open session is always a bit of mixed bag, but there are a fair few people from the amateur league out tonight using the kind of bikes Keith grew out of when he was a teenager, and it’s nice to whoop and holler for other people who love the sport. He pulls off a ‘heart-attack’ on one of the non-dirt mound jumps specifically set up for showcasing and practising the kind of tricks you’d never use in an actual race, and the reception he receives is enough to make his blood sing.
People say sex is good – Keith wouldn’t know – but he’s certain this is better.
He takes a picture of his mud caked boots when he finally dismounts for the evening.
Keith2310
It’s always fun getting dirty and encouraging new talent.
He tells himself he’s not actually lying. There’s no harm in this.
***
The Saturday of the farmer’s market dawns bright and hot, and Keith is forced to tie the sleeves of the plaid shirt around his hips as he wanders between stalls selling everything from local honey to beautifully dyed skeins of hand spun wool. There’s more fruit and vegetable options than Keith was even aware existed, and he buys a cardboard punnet of strawberries, simply because they look so incredibly sweet and juicy. Two bites later, he is assured of his choice.
Keith is fairly certain that this is not a date – Shiro will be here working after all – but despite all of Lance’s assertions to the contrary, Keith knows how to dress himself. Black straight leg jeans – who cares about the rips in the knees? – and a fitted black t-shirt from the RedBud track. It’s not one of the ones which marks him out a competitor, just a fan from last year’s nationals, and Keith likes he contrast of the red bandana which sits across his collarbones. He loops one thumb into his front pocket as he walks, holding the strawberries in the other hand, because otherwise he’ll inhale them all in six seconds flat.
He rounds a corner and there, between a stall selling more varieties of apple than Keith has ever seen before and another which is serving sweet hand baked treats, is a banner for Twin Willows Farm bearing blue sky, green fields, and a friendly brown and white goat. The stall display is mostly in the form of empty milk bottles and samplers of the different cheeses, because there are two enormous cool boxes set behind the table into which a man is bending whilst his handsome college serves.
Keith feels his temperature climb a few degrees, and because no one is watching him, he refuses to remove is eyes from the view of the perfectly shaped and extremely plush bottom which is presented to him. Blue jeans sit snug against tiny hips, the centre seam following the natural dip between the cheeks, and the fabric seems stretched around thighs as thick as Keith’s waist. There’s no way those are standard work jeans. The man straightens, turns, and Keith has enough time to brand the words ‘dick print’ into his mind before he is distracted by ripped abs, a broad chest, a chin which could cut marble, and the most handsome face he’s ever seen.
T.Shirogane’s pictures do not do him justice, and Keith is hooked.
Keith takes a deep breath, and reminds himself that plenty of people are attractive, hot, sexy… but that’s not all he wants. Keith has no problem with being called fussy, because he could have gotten off with plenty of guys before now, but he wants the whole package. Pretty, smart, funny, kind.
Then Shiro smiles, and Keith finds himself standing in front of the stall without having made the conscious decision to move.
“Hey.”
“Keith…” Shiro looks, shocked, surprised, and like he wasn’t actually expecting Keith to show up. But then his smile takes over. It is far more dazzling in real life that it was on his profile. “You made it!”
“Yeah. Sorry it was a bit hot for the plaid. But you were pretty easy to find.”
“And you brought strawberries.” Keith offers them automatically to Shiro, who takes one with large, careful fingers. Gods, his hand is big. Keith feels a little bit light-headed. “You grew them?”
“No, I-” Keith steadies himself, whatever else happens, he is not going to actually lie to this man. It doesn’t matter that they don’t really know each other, because Keith has some morals, and not lying to cute guys who want to flirt with him is one of them. “I got distracted on the way.”
“Valid.” Shiro nods, and pops the strawberry in his mouth. Keith memorizes the perfect bow of his lips as he makes a little ‘o’ and tries to squash down his horny thoughts before he does anything really stupid. “Mmmmm… these are so good. I don’t even walk around the market any more when we come because otherwise, I spend all the profits.”
“He’s insatiable,” Shiro’s colleague says with a broad grin. “I can mind the stall for you boss, if you want to go for a walkabout.”
“Thanks, Kinkade. I don’t want to leave you short-handed.”
“I’ll be fine, it’s quiet right now, and first rush is over.”
Keith suddenly realises that however Shiro feels about Kinkade’s offer, he’s holding back because he doesn’t know if it’s what Keith wants. Shiro doesn’t want to pressure him. Keith swaps the hand holding the strawberries and holds out his palm to Shiro.
“Show me around? I haven’t been to one of these things in forever and I’ll miss all the best bits without a good guide.”
Shiro puffs out his chest in pride, and it takes Keith a whole twenty seconds to remember to look back up at his face.
“You’ll call if you need me Kinkade?”
“Yes, yes!” Kinkade practically pushes Shiro out from the stall. “Now go show your date a good time whilst I sell these beautiful ladies some lovingly made goat’s cheese.” The smile Kinkade gives the new customers is full of confident swagger. “Good morning, and what can I do for you today?”
The customers giggle.
“I can see why you bring him to the markets,” Keith comments as they step away from the stall and into the rest of the market. “He’s a great salesman.”
“Thanks. Kinkade has been with me almost since the beginning actually. He was the first member of staff I hired on the farm when I realised I wasn’t going to be able to do everything by myself.”
Keith half turns to face him, and then jumps back as Shiro makes a successful grab for his strawberries.
“I still make a pretty good one-armed thief though.”
The grin which splits Keith’s face makes his cheeks ache, and he licks the sharp edge of his teeth.
“You sly bastard. You’re quicker than you look.”
“Thanks.”
Keith darts forward, bounces on the balls of his feet, and snags the punnet back, popping a strawberry into his mouth.
“But not quick enough.” He glances back up at Shiro to find the other man is blushing softly, faintly pink across his cheekbones and the tips of his ears. It makes his scar pale against his skin, and Keith feels his libido stir treacherously. “Want another one?”
“Thanks, Keith.”
They eat the rest of the strawberries together as Shiro shows him around the farmer’s market. Shiro seems to know everyone, and despite his assertion that he doesn’t browse the market when out, he is greeted by name at nearly every stall. After ten minutes they have sampled apple slices and taster spoons of jam, honey, mustard, and half a dozen other things whilst they’ve walked.
“Aren’t you mister popular then?” Keith asks with a quick jab of his elbow as they are waylaid once again, by someone Shiro knows, who insists on cutting a homemade brownie in half for them to try.
Shiro ducks, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.
“Sorry… this probably wasn’t the best date idea.”
Ahhh, this is a date. Keith smiles, stepping closer to Shiro, and gives into the urge to settle a hand on his trim waist.
“Don’t be sorry. It’s great.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, after all, basically everyone here has now vouched for you. You must be a good guy.”
“Oh…” Shiro looks a little stunned, and Keith decides his quite likes that wide eyed flushed look.
“You wanna go grab a bench?” He jerks his head in the direction of the area where people are sitting and eating or talking, swapping stories and purchases in the dappled shade. “Can’t keep you on your feet since you were standing at your stall the whole time too.”
Keith keeps his hand on Shiro’s waist for as long as is reasonably possible, only letting go once they settle on the bench. Keith turns automatically, hooking one leg up onto the seat so that he can face Shiro properly, leaning with his elbow against the backrest, doing his best to keep the space between them welcoming.
“So, what’s your favourite thing about doing the farmer’s market?”
“Meeting the customers,” Shiro’s reply is instant and eager. “It’s so nice putting face to the names of people who also use our mail order system. We had our first ever deli order through a contact we made at a market, and a lot of our business still happens at these. We have a stall at the market in Lincoln Square in Chicago too, and once a year we go down to the Broad Ripple winter market in Indianapolis.”
“Sounds busy.”
“It is. You don’t sell at any markets?”
Keith blinks. Oh right, Shiro thinks he’s a farmer too.
“It’s not so much a farm…”
“You’re a homesteader?” Shiro’s grin is just as genuine as it was before “That’s really cool! It’s how a lot of people start out after all, especially if you don’t come from a farming family. Do you have chickens yet?”
“Err… no?” Is there some secret about chickens that Keith should know? He doesn’t know anything about chickens. Chickens lay eggs, that’s it.
Shiro’s hand lands on his shoulder, warm and heavy and perfect, and Keith leans into the contact.
“Just you wait. Chickens are a gateway animal… after you get chickens, there’s no going back.”
“Is that how you got started?”
“Yeah, I guess. I was obsessed with space as a kid, wanted to go to space camp at NASA and everything. We moved the states when I was a teenager for life saving surgery which… didn’t really work out.” He shrugs, the residual length of his right arm broadcasting just as much emotion as his left hand does as he makes a gesture of general resignation. “My best friend dragged me along with him to an agricultural show – his mom is a super keen gardener – and we bet each other to buy something outrageous. He bought a bow and arrows which promptly got confiscated-”
“And you’re really competitive, aren’t you?”
“How’d you know?” Shiro looks happily shocked.
“Oh, just a hunch.” Keith rakes his gaze over Shiro’s body again, knowing he’s being watched doing so. Keith spends enough time training and at various gyms to know that no one gets in shape like Shiro does by being anything less than one-hundred-percent committed.
“So yeah, I wanted to win the bet and ended up taking home a pair of buff orpington chickens. And they’re like… the giants of the chicken world. My parents were…. not pleased. But they bred well, and now I have a flock of their descendants for meat and eggs.”
“Wow.” Keith might have only the vaguest idea what a ‘chicken giant’ might look like, but he’s still impressed.
“And, like a hundred or so goats. No biggie.”
“So modest.” Keith smirks.
“Hey, I do it all single handed!” Shiro waves his left hand, and Keith barks a laugh. “I’m allowed to be a little bit smug.”
“You’re allowed to be a lot more than just a little smug,” Keith purrs. To his delight, his comment makes Shiro blush again. “You’re very pretty, Shiro.”
“Oh…” The blush deepens to a gorgeous rose pink. “Really?”
“You do own a mirror, right?” If Shiro blushes any harder, he might actually pass out from lack of blood flow, so Keith changes tack. He knows now that praise is good, but he doesn’t want to be a creep either. “So, a space nerd, huh?” Keith leans back into the bench, tilting his head onto the ball of his shoulder. “You reckon they might try growing strawberries on the ISS soon?”
Shiro’s expression lights up, and Keith fights his smile. The only other person who will usually join him in his speculation about the future of space travel is Pidge.
“Wouldn’t that be awesome? They’ve grown a number of edibles now, something a bit bigger must be on the list.”
“And no slugs!” Keith has heard Colleen complain about slugs eating her strawberries before. “Pest control in space has gotta be a breeze. And if we want to start sending humans on longer missions further into the galaxy, they’re going to need vitamin C. Astronauts and sailors do not need to have scurvy in common.”
“True, but honestly until they find a way to get chickens into space, I don’t think we’re going to be colonising the moon or Mars anytime soon.”
“You and chickens…”
“Hey!” Shiro nudges his shin with the tip of one shoe as he laughs. “Hear me out. Chickens are awesome. A laying bird will give you an egg every day for three years or more if you treat her right, and there are several utility breeds like my Orpingtons who are good for meat and eggs. An egg contains SO many of the nutrients you need to survive, and lots of fresh protein, and enables you to cook loads of different foods.”
“OK, OK, you win!” Keith holds up both hands in defence. “So why can’t they take chickens to space?”
“Gravity.”
“Gravity?” Keith blinks. He doesn’t know why, but he feels himself beginning to laugh.
“Gravity!”
Shiro throws his arm wide, and suddenly they are both giggling uncontrollably for absolutely no discernible reason. Keith covers is eyes with his fingers, peeking through them to see the way Shiro laughs open and unselfconsciousness. His Twin Willows branded snapback tips backward off his head to reveal close cropped black hair with a very fancy faded uncut, and a tuft of white hair sticking up at the front. Keith bites his lip and huffs to try and get his breathing back under control. Shiro’s hand comes to rest on his forearm. Keith drops his other hand to Shiro’s knee.
“Gravity,” Shiro explains, cheeks still plumped by his smile enough to show the dimples in his cheeks. Keith doesn’t know if all dimples are adorable, but Shiro’s certainly are. “Chickens need gravity in order to drink. A chicken, which is not upright, cannot swallow.”
“That’s… well, I suppose it’s not a failure of evolution,” Keith concedes, “because evolution didn’t design chickens for space travel. But annoying for sure.”
“Right? But I reckon if we had a space station with stable gravity-”
“Like with a rotating outer ring on which all the living areas would be built?”
“Yes!” Shiro looks genuinely relieved to be understood so easily. Keith wonders how often the dairy goat farmer gets to wax lyrical about the viabilities of space travel. “Exactly that. Well, if we had proper stable gravity, then we could take eggs up in an incubator and hatch them in space. Or on the moon. There’s some gravity on the moon after all. Don’t know if it’s enough for water to flow downwards though, because it’s so cold there.”
Keith sits back against the bench, but still doesn’t remove his hand from Shiro’s knee.
“Huh, just think. The very first animal born in space might well be a chicken.”
“An alien chicken,” Shiro comments.
“No country of origin,” Keith retorts.
Shiro squeezes his shoulder gently, grinning.
“This is really fun.”
“But you have to go back to Kinkade and sell wonderful produce to all these nice people? Yeah, I know.”
“I kind of wish I didn’t,” Shiro admits softly. “And I love market day.”
Keith leans forward, increasing the pressure on Shiro’s knee. The other man glances down, staring at his hand, and Keith grins as he feels the way Shiro’s eyes drag up his torso.
“You wanna do this again sometime, Shiro?”
“Gods, yes.” Shiro’s voice shakes as he speaks. “I mean- I should probably sound way less eager than that.”
“You’re good,” Keith purrs. “but I’m not waiting a whole month until you’re back at this market. That’s way too long to go without your laugh.”
Shiro is blushing again, and Keith can’t name the thrill which runs up his spine, but he loves it. He shifts his weight, settling just a touch closer to Shiro.
“You gonna make me wait, pretty boy?”
Shiro swallows nosily.
“Y-you wanna come out to the farm sometime?”
“Yes, please.”
Keith walks Shiro back to his stall after they settle on a date, and he keeps his hand on Shiro’s trim waist the whole time. Walking away is so hard.
***
“Keith! What a nice surprise.”
“Hi, Mrs. Holt.”
Colleen Holt folds her arms across her chest and frowns at him from her front lawn. It’s the only tiny patch of grass she owns, because the rest of her acre of land she has turned into useful growing space.
“I have known you a long time Keith, and you never called me ‘Missus’ anything unless you want something.”
Keith winces.
“So, what is it you want?”
“Erm…” Keith bites his lip. “Can I come help out in your garden for a bit?”
Twenty minutes later, Keith is on his knees beside a row of onions, weeding between the long green stems which will not be ready for harvest until late summer. He has fresh black earth under his fingernails and as he sits back on his heels with the newly weeded row in front of him, he grins. Maybe there is something to be said for this food growing thing. He snaps a picture of the weed-free onions and another of the pile of weeds beside him, and sends them both to Shiro.
Keith2310
So, if it was up to you, I’d be giving these to the chickens, right?
He spends the rest of the afternoon completing gardening tasks as directed by Colleen and taking photos on his phone. If he makes sure to line them up so as to avoid showing the small scale of Colleen’s allotment garden, then he tells himself it’s not really lying… it’s just stylish photography. Keith sows beetroot seeds into little compostable trays, pricks out the baby pea plants and lines them up along the bamboo cane frame up which they will grow. He also harvests more cucumbers than he can comfortably manage, and after washing them, is set to slicing them with the mandolin so that Colleen can make burger pickles. On the first cucumber he learns that there is in fact a reason to use the safety guard which comes with the gadget.
He sends Shiro a picture of his bandaged fingers.
Keith2310
I never said I was any good with the produce after it was grown!
He leaves Colleen’s house with a bag bulging with gifts of food, Pidge’s missed mail, and an invitation to come for dinner soon. By the time he gets home, his phone has vibrated against his ribs with messages. He leaves the bag in the apartment kitchen and heads to the bathroom, because despite washing his hand’s at Colleen’s, he’s fairly certain he has mud in places he’s never managed to get mud whilst riding on the dirt track.
T.Shirogane
Ouch! That looks like it hurts.You were making pickles?
T.Shirogane
Also, nice weeding skills. You should definitely get chickens.
Keith2310
Just got back in. I’m all gritty. Gonna take a shower.
The moment he sends it, Keith gapes at his phone. Why the fuck did he just write that? Shiro isn’t going to care – or notice – if Keith’s next reply isn’t for another fifteen minutes. Why did he just type out his thoughts with no filter whatsoever. When the reply comes, he almost doesn’t want to look, but there are no words, just an emoji with pink cheeks. Whilst Keith stares at it, another message comes in.
T.Shirogane
Satisfying showers are the perks of the job I guess.
Keith lays down the phone next to the sink, and reaches the tug his shirt off by the back of the neck, and then stops. He really is all gritty, and bits of earth and compost have worked their way in-between the layers of his clothes. His racing jersey, has clear silicone grippers which keep it in place and stops dirt getting everywhere, and he doesn’t have this problem usually. He aches from the work he did today, but in the harsh light of the bathroom lamp, his abs actually look pretty good with their patina of dirt.
And Shiro blushed at him.
Keith chews his lip, knowing what he’s going to do before he even picks up the phone again. He switches his grip to the front hem of his shirt, pops his hip out to the side, leans back to make the most of the overhead lamp, and flips up the fabric before he snaps the picture. He sends it before he can second guess himself.
Keith2310
Nothing like working hard outdoors ;P
The reply is instant.
T.Shirogane
Holy fuck. Keith.
Keith2310
Too much?
T.Shirogane
Hnnngh. No. Not too much.
T.Shirogane
You’re very beagfnhj-
Keith frowns.
T.Shirogane
Sorry, I dropped my phone.
Keith arches an eyebrow. He would very much like to think he’s attractive enough to make the hottest guy he’s ever met go rigid with shock. It’s a nice ego boost.
T.Shirogane
It’s hard trying to balance everything with only one hand.
This gives Keith an idea.
He pulls his shirt up and holds it with his teeth, thumbs open the top button of his fly and rests his hand there, then he sets the camera up to take the shot on a timer, and holds his other hand out to Shiro. The result isn’t quite what he’s after, so he tries again, holding out his free hand and remembering to smile right before the click. This time it’s good.
Keith2310
Need me to help you with something, Shiro?
Keith knows it’s the lack of face to face and voice contact making him so bold, that he would never be quite so brazen in person. He finishes taking off his shirt whilst he waits for the reply, then decides to undress completely before starting the shower. This way, he won’t be tempted to send any more photos – after all, they have only been on one date. He smooths over the thickening length of his cock with one hand as his phone chirps with a message.
T.Shirogane
You’re really beautiful Keith. I wish I was that confident.
Keith chews his lip. That wasn’t what he was expecting, but if he allows his brain to do the thinking for a moment, it’s not a complete surprise. Everyone has issues, and Shiro probably has more reason to have issues than most. Keith takes a breath.
Keith2310
You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with Shiro. I don’t wanna pressure you.
He pauses, then adds:
Keith2310
But I’m still gonna think about you in the shower, OK?
There’s no quick reply, and Keith has just about resigned himself to take his flagging erection for a shower along with his wilted self-esteem, when his phone chimes again.
T.Shirogane
This OK?
And it’s Keith’s turn to drop his phone in shock.
Shiro’s not in a bathroom, there is no mirror, and the shot is taken as though he has held his phone against his chest and pressed the shutter button. The ripples of his abs start blurry before coming into focus, his white shirt is a little sweaty and very much stuck to him, and the thin material of his sweats do just as little to hide his significant dick print as his fancy jeans did. Which is to say, hardly much at all. Keith groans.
Keith2310
Yes, OK. Gods yes. I’m definitely thinking about you in the shower now.
T.Shirogane
:)
Just as Keith is about to compose another message back, free hand stroking without purpose over the swell of his cock, there is a smack on the bathroom door.
“Are you done in there yet?”
“Fuck off.” Keith locks his phone and steps into the shower. “I’m in the shower.”
“The water has been running for eight minutes already!” Of fucking course Lance has timed it, that’s such a Lance thing to do. “And you’ve never taken a shower which lasted longer than five!”
“Then I’m owed!” Keith shouts back. “Now piss off or I tip all your fancy grooming products down the drain.”
Keith cannot hear Lance huff and roll his eyes, but he imagines it anyway. It’s funny.
“You don’t even know what grooming is…” he hears trailing away along with Lance’s footsteps.
Assured of his privacy, Keith leaves his phone and steps into the shower, leaning back into the falling water and closing his eyes. It’s a real shame his phone isn’t waterproof, because he would really like to have that picture of Shiro in here if he can’t have the real thing. The thought shocks him a little – though not enough to stop himself from reaching for his dick – because he’s never actually wanted anyone before. Not like this. The thing with Regris had been fun, kind of hot maybe. But mostly a way to pass the time and feel like they weren’t each so isolated when all the other guys in the league went off with their wives and girlfriends, or went as groups to go and flirt and hook up. Keith’s not a moron, he knows one-night stands exist, and he would never judge anyone else for having them, but they hold no appeal for him.
Keith reaches for the soap, intent on actually becoming clean, but with every pass of the washcloth over his body, his free hand returns to his dick, now bobbing excitedly along with his pulse. He wraps long fingers around himself and gives in, closing his eyes. Usually when he touches himself there’s no specific fantasy in mind – the acts are there, but the characters are faceless – but this time behind his eyelids all he sees is Shiro. The selfie on his phone and the memory of Shiro in his first date outfit, sitting in the sun on the bench with his shirt straining over his chest, blend together and Keith lets out a little huff of breath as he wraps his fingers properly around himself at last.
Right away his heart is trying to pound out of his chest, his pulse whooshing so hard in his ears he can barely hear the water falling around him. He jerks his wrist, the motion quick and tight, climbing alongside his pulse as he watches himself. In between blinks, he sees Shiro’s hand instead – so much bigger than his own – imagines the way his dick would look sliding through those thick, work rough fingers. He gasps, panting through his nostrils as his hangs his head. Keith watches from behind the wet curtain of his hair as his foreskin rolls back over the ruddy head of his cock, then bites his lip as he feels the imagined ghost of Shiro’s breath on the back of his neck.
Is he much different from Shiro? Shiro is bigger for sure, but what’s he like? How does his like to be touched? Will he let Keith touch him?
Keith groans, speeding up, blinking the water out of his eyes as he watches himself. He wants to be good for Shiro, wants not to be a mess, but he can feel himself losing control already. It’s too fast and too much, and just the imagined feeling of Shiro’s hand around his desperate erection has him lurching across the shower cubicle and pressing his forehead against the tiles. He’d said he wanted to fuck Shiro – and gods does he – but right now Keith feels like his spine is about to dissolve. His fist is a blur, and all he can do is whimper as he stares at the way his cock looks, fucking through the circle of his hand.
And Shiro knows Keith is thinking of him in the shower. He knows. What does the other man imagine when he closes his eyes? Will Shiro imagine Keith moaning his name when he comes? Keith bites back a high-pitched whimper, pleasure drawing up tight from under his balls. He’s too close, he can’t hold back, but he can’t look away as his hips stutter. He holds himself tight, his dick twitching against the warm, wet flesh of his palm as he starts to come.
“Shi- Shiro…”
He doesn’t mean to say it, doesn’t mean to say anything, and Keith feels his cheeks flush hotly despite the shower as he watches himself come against the wet tiled wall in a series of desperate little bursts. Only when his heart feels like it’s going to explode and his skin prickles with sensitivity does he let himself go, slumping against the shower wall as his spine decides to become liquid.
“Oh…”
It takes Keith far longer than he wants to admit to recover, pull himself back together, remember how to support his own weight and turn off the shower. He dries haphazardly with a towel before winding it around his hips, thankful for once that Lance bought a stack of fluffy giant bath sheets and left them in the bathroom. Since he’s the only one who does his laundry religiously, there are always spares. Keith gathers up his mucky clothes and his phone, and yanks open the bathroom door.
Lance is standing directly outside, phone in hand, playing something bright and idiotic on the screen. He arches a manicured eyebrow at Keith, and says nothing.
“Move.”
“So, you got a good match on the dating app then?” Lance begins conversationally, checking his nails and decidedly not moving out of Keith’s way. “You don’t have to thank me for every orgasm he gives you, but it would be nice to be given a little credit-”
Keith cuts him off with a noise akin to a growl.
“How long have you been standing there?”
Lance makes sure to hold his gaze when he answers, looking not the slightest bit ashamed.
“Long enough.”
Keith wants to die. Or murder Lance. Maybe both. He takes a deep breath.
“I am going to my room now.”
“Don’t let me stop you.”
Lance doesn’t move, so Keith is forced to sidle around him whilst gripping the towel around his hips with one hand. The moment he’s past, he sprints to his room, but not quick enough.
“Pidge! Keith used up all the hot water because he was masturbating!”
Keith slams his door and collapses back against it, just in time to hear Pidge’s screech of disgust at having been interrupted. His phone vibrates in his hand.
T.Shirogane
Good shower? ;p
Keith needs to move out.
***
The RedBud Invitational is the last ‘friendly’ race of the season before the Nationals begin. As the name suggests, it is only open to pros, but each pro racer gets a slot to invite and sponsor someone who has placed in an open amateur competition. It’s how a lot of the guys, including Regris, got started in the pro league.
“I cannot believe that you wasted your invite on James-fucking-Griffin,” Keith utters with a shake of his head before raising his can back to his lips. The upside of the RedBud track – free energy drinks for miles. The downside? It’s almost impossible to get anything else to drink. Keith misses orange juice. Beside him, Regris finishes fastening the neck of his gear before slipping his purple chest and back protector on over his head.
“He’s a good kid. He deserves a shot.” The taller man scrabbles for the strap hanging between his shoulders. “Keith?”
“Yeah, yeah. I got you.”
Keith sets his drink aside and moves behind Regris to finish strapping him in. It’s a familiar motion, but Keith doesn’t feel like he’s missing out on anything by not kissing Regris afterwards. He had wondered – after his shower the other day – if maybe something has changed and he was just going to be horny all the time now. Because he is. He wakes up with fire running under his skin and though it waxes and wanes it never seems to vanish entirely. Every message, picture, and even thought of Shiro has his libido rising to the surface once more, eager and distracting. But now he feels nothing in particular as he helps Regris into the last of his gear, even though Regris is someone he’s kissed.
“Griffin might be alright on a bike, but he’s an ass.”
“Awww Keith, give the kid a break. He’s only trying to show off for you.”
Keith freezes in the act of shrugging into his branded jersey.
“What? Why the fuck would Griffin be showing off for me?”
Regris shoots him a look of complete confusion.
“You do know the guy has an enormous crush on you?”
If not for the fact that Regris has never lied to him, Keith wouldn’t believe him and simply turn around and walk off. As it is, he shakes his head, sure he must have just heard his friend incorrectly.
“No… you’ve gotta be wrong. The only reason I even know who he is, is because he tried to pick a fight with me the first time we shared a track.” Keith shrugs. The memory is only notable because of how spectacularly Griffin had lost considering how loud his crowing had been. Other than his conceited attitude and floppy hair, Keith doubts he could pick Griffin out of a line up. “Never mind.”
“So, you don’t want me to encourage him to ask you out again then?” Regris teases.
Again? Keith blinks, necks the rest of his drink, and jams his helmet on over his head. If Griffin tried to ask him out before and he missed it… well, it’s not as if Keith would have said yes, but the thought of being that oblivious in public is sort of depressing. It might also mean – perish the thought – that Lance is right and Keith’s dating life really is hopeless if he’s left to his own devices.
“No. Fuck no.”
“You’re sure?”
Keith glares at his friend, snaps his red-orange tinted goggles on over his eyes and walks back over to his bike. Warm ups are over and he’s eager to have a good race. He swings a leg over Red’s saddle just as Regris finishes with his own helmet.
“Who did you invite?” Regris manages through the muffled padding of his helmet.
“Romelle.”
“Ohhh… she’s a pretty serious player. But I’ll still bet you my guy can cinch it.”
“Ha! Twenty bucks says she wipes the floor with him. Everyone underestimates the girl in pink.”
“You’re on.”
The start of a motocross race is always messy. They line up at the gates, and Keith prays no one gets over eager and stuck in the steel hoops, as happened during one of the practice laps this morning. The steward checks they all have their numbers on their front handlebars and their backs, and Keith can’t help but preen a little as he glances along the line of Hondas, Yamahas, and Suzukis, because he knows his bike is the best. Red has a Yahama base sure enough, but the whole thing has been rebuilt by his sponsor, and Keith knows he is some magical combination of lucky and blessed to have Marmora Bikes emblazoned across his chest. And then the siren is going, the countdown has started, and Keith has very little room in his brain left for thoughts of anyone else before the klaxon sounds.
A lot depends on not getting chewed up and caught in the pack at the start, even though this race will probably divide quite naturally into two packs. The pros have all ridden this track a number of times, and experiences does in fact count for something, but Keith has always liked his place at the front. He guns the engine, pulling the wheel left to fight the natural inclinations of the ground as it tries to steer him into the guy on his other side, and barks with pride as he hits a firm patch of dirt and shoots forward. The thing Keith loves the most about dirt bike racing is that nothing is certain, but this a damn fine start.
Plus, the more time he spends out in front, the less dirt will cover the bright number four emblazoned over the front of his bike.
It’s only three corners to the first jump and Keith revs hard and kicks the tail out a little bit before pulling up straight to land, gunning the engine right away to increase the gap building behind him. Other racers are already clearing the mound, and though this is a friendly race and there aren’t any points at stake, Keith doesn’t know any way to be, other than deeply competitive. He takes a tight line through the next left turn, choosing the narrow space in between the track edge and the huge hump of dirt which builds up beside it, and the second-position rider on his outside fades once more into his peripheral vision as he speeds along the straight towards the hairpin.
It’s exhilarating and wonderful and Keith can’t wait to tell Shiro about how good it feels to-
The thought slams into him moments before the front wheel of the bike catches on a clod of earth and sends him crashing to the ground. Keith blinks, because he’s not crashed in a long time during an actual race, and he gets up and kicks his engine back into play on autopilot as a few lucky riders pass him. He’s fast, he’ll get it back.
Keith finishes third, despite his fall, but the cheering crowds and eager fans do little to remove his tight-lipped expression, as he makes his way back to the competitors lot where his trailer and clean clothes await. Regris always parks next to him – his bike going on the back of his truck rather than into a fully enclosed trailer like Keith’s does – and today is no different.
“Keith?”
Regris knows him well enough to understand that he’s not sore about placing third rather than first, but he doesn’t push for answers as Keith stows Red in place and straps the bike down before taking off his helmet.
“Your girl came in twenty-eighth place.” Regris digs into a pocket and holds Keith out the world’s most crumpled twenty. “Griffin had… engine trouble.”
“He didn’t finish?” Keith takes the money, but sighs. “Poor guy.” Regardless of Keith’s personal feelings about Griffin, he knows how much it sucks not to be able to complete the course. “No, I’m not gonna go make him feel better about it.”
Regris’s eyes widen, just a little, and Keith knows his tone was too hard and too vicious. He hangs his head.
He wants to tell Shiro. So much. He’s never wanted to tell anyone about his achievements before, not like this. Wining a proper race is something he’s always proud of when it happens, but Keith’s never itched with the desire to wax lyrical about the way it feels to fly on his bike. His reticence is one of the reasons he doesn’t get picked for post-track interviews much, even when he wins.
“You know you can still talk to me about stuff, right Keith?”
“Yeah. Thanks, Regris.”
It’s not until Keith is dressed back in old jeans and a spare Marmora Bikes tee that he checks his phone to find a message from Shiro. There is a picture of Shiro’s muddy boots in a grassy field, legs crossed, a pint glass of fresh milk beside his knee as he takes a well earned rest during his hard day of farm labour.
T.Shirogane
Would rather share the view with you.
Keith glances down, his alpine star boots are caked in the track. He takes the picture.
Keith2310
Me too.
***
Twin Willows Farm is just as picturesque in person as it is on its website, and Keith parks up next to a big red barn with white trim and jumps down onto the dusty ground with his heart in his throat. He refused to let Lance actually dress him, but he does admit that he needs to look the part. Boots, the only pair of blue jeans he owns, that damn plaid shirt over a red tank. Just for now, he’s still Keith-with-no-last-name from a dating app for farmers, but he knows he can’t keep up the charade. Even if he’s not lying to Shiro, each omission weighs heavily in his head.
Standing by the nearest fence is a large goat with a pair of impressive curly horns, and Keith wanders over towards it. He reaches out a hand, palm down and fingers tucked close and the goat stares at him for a long, moment, snorts, then bleats with an ear-piercing -
“BLERGGGGGHH!”
“Jeez-!” Keith backs away from the fence and the billy goat, refusing to acknowledge how fast his heart is racing now. “Fuck.”
“Oh, hey there. Can I help you?”
Keith turns to see Kinkade – Shiro’s assistant from the farmer’s market – raising a hand in greeting before recognition brightens his expression. He turns back to shout into the building from which he came with a broad grin.
“Hey Boss! The pretty boy is here!”
Keith can feel the way his cheeks heat at that, despite the warmth of the sun.
“He’s in the milking parlour.” Kinkade jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “You can just go on in.”
“Oh… er- thanks.”
He nods to Kinkade, tucks his hands into his pockets, and resists the urge to hide behind his bangs as he steps into the milking parlour. The floor slopes away from him directly, and for a moment, Keith is eye level with the rear end of a goat. He frowns, and the goat in question removes her head from the trough and turns to glare at him. He backs away quickly.
“Keith!”
Shiro in bib-front overalls and a white t-shirt is a far more welcome view, and Keith releases a wordless grunt of appreciation as he sweeps his gaze over the other man. He strides the length of the parlour, ignoring the goats the various tubular arrangements hanging from hooks along the rail, and comes to a stop right in front of Shiro.
“Hey there.”
“Keith…”
“Good afternoon. Am I early?”
“No.” Keith doesn’t miss the way Shiro looks him over as he speaks, a soft pink blush staining the tips of his ears. “You’re good.” As Keith watches him, Shiro’s eyes get wider and darker and then he scrubs at the back of his neck again, the muscles of his arm straining against his shirt and Keith feels an answering heat bloom under his skin. Shiro blinks twice, as though trying to reset his brain. “I have to just finish up the afternoon milking shift. You wanna help me?”
“Sure thing.”
Keith turns to the end of the line of goats which Shiro gestures to and freezes. He has absolutely no idea what he is looking at. None at all. There’s the back end of a goat, a bunch of tubes and nozzles, and Shiro’s big, warm hand settling over the nape of his neck and his shoulder. It’s a good touch, grounding, secure, but it doesn’t suddenly gift him with the knowledge of how to milk a goat.
“Um…”
Shiro chuckles in his ear, and Keith leans into the warm sound automatically. When Shiro’s arm comes up around his ribs, Keith finds himself echoing the gesture, following the directions of Shiro’s fingers and voice, almost before he’s finished speaking.
“That’s the milking rig. Just flip the switch on the hose to start the suction – that’s it – and then just slip each one onto the teats.” Shiro wipes the goat’s pink udder with a quick swipe of disinfectant as the machine in Keith’s hand starts to make a noise like a soft and friendly vacuum cleaner. He stares at it. “Don’t be tempted to stick your fingers in there…” Shiro’s big hand covers Keith’s as he holds the teat cup and guides it between the goat’s rear legs. “Some of us have made that mistake before.” The device sucks directly into place and once the second one is attached Keith can see the milk begin to flow through the clear tubing toward the little tank below. The goat seems completely unbothered, and carries on eating. “See, a natural.”
“I didn’t really do anything.”
“Well then, get on the next one.” Shiro says with a grin, and Keith stares at the shape of his lips for a full minute before he realises that he’s supposed to be doing something.
He’s sort of expecting Shiro to laugh at him as he tries to attach the next goat in the line to her milking rig, forgetting to turn it on first so it falls right off again. Instead he finds that the other man has moved to the other side of the milking parlour where the goats being milked have finished and the teat cups have automatically unhooked. Shiro gives them each a stroke and a pat on the back, encouraging them to exit out the other end of the long shed. He turns to catch Keith staring at him and blushes quickly, before busying himself with the next animal. Keith is fairly sure he’s the one who’s supposed to look out of his depth – considering that he genuinely doesn’t know what on earth he’s doing – but he makes sure he’s still watching when Shiro’s eyes flick back to him again.
Shiro’s blush is cute and addictive and Keith preens.
Half an hour later, Keith wonders if there is some hitherto unknown link between being horny and learning new skills quickly, because the milking is finished, the goats have been sent back out to pasture, and the individual milk reservoirs have been checked and sent to the bulk tank. Keith didn’t fuck up once: he’s actually rather impressed with himself. To make everything better, each time Shiro has caught Keith watching him, his blush has only deepened. Keith makes his way to the far end of the milking parlour as Shiro cleans up the final set of milking apparatus and stands just a fraction to close to be considered polite. Shiro hangs the gear on its hook and then his big hand is directly on Keith’s hip.
“Hey, Shiro.”
“Keith…” The way Shiro sucks his lower in between his teeth makes Keith feel hot under his clothes. He grins. “Do you want to come with me to feed the wethers?”
Keith has absolutely no idea why anyone would need to apply nutrients to meteorological elements, but he doesn’t care. When he blinks, the selfie of Shiro and his fantastic abs and dick print is practically seared into his eyelids. Keith finds himself with a hand on Shiro’s ribs, fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt. He’s never been so turned on in his whole life, never wanted anyone like this, but he can hardly think between the throbbing of his pulse and the jerks of his overexcited dick. He is grateful that his underwear is tight enough that he’s hopefully not too obviously hard as he follows Shiro back out into the sunshine.
“Do you want to drive?”
Keith blinks, then tears his eyes away from the perfectly framed shape of Shiro’s ass to see a dark green and mud splattered quad bike.
“Fuck yes.”
“Excellent. We have to go pick up the trailer and the feed. Let’s go.”
Keith climbs onto the quad with eager hands, feet finding the pedal directly, fingers itching as he grasps the handlebars and fingers the throttle. When Shiro swings one long leg over behind him, Keith barely notices, that is until Shiro tucks up tight behind him, and Keith gets first hand experience of how that bulge feels against his ass. He stops breathing as Shiro’s broad thighs bracket his own, pinning him to the saddle of the bike.
“Keith?”
Keith makes a strangled noise in his throat. He’s forgotten how to talk again. Shiro’s chest is unyielding against his spine, and then the other man’s one arm scoops around his ribs, hand pressing against his sternum. Keith stares at the view down his front, realising that his clothing isn’t doing as much to disguise his erection as he thought. Bugger.
“I can hold onto the frame inste-” Shiro makes as though to remove his hand, and Keith ignites the engine and rocks the quad forward with a jerk, forcing Shiro to tighten his grip.
“No. You’re good.”
“Yeah?” The one word sounds breathless and chuffed, and Keith doesn’t imagine the slight squeeze of Shiro’s thighs around his own. “OK, Keith. Head down the side of the barn and we’ll pick up the trailer.”
Shiro gives concise and useful directions, and Keith hops up off the quad to hook up the trailer. It’s the one thing he’s been asked to do today that he can do without guidance. Shiro leans on the rear bars of the quad and Keith straightens up with his eyes fixed at the join between the other man’s thighs. His mouth is dry, his skin is hot, and apparently the only things he now knows how to do are drive, and thirst over Shiro.
When the they reach the fields at the far end of the farm where the young male goats are raised, Shiro unhooks the trailer and begins loading the sacks of pellets into the long, galvanised feeders one-handed. Something about his well-practised competence makes Keith shiver.
“Go round the perimeter for me and check for strays? You know how to free a goat that’s stuck, right?”
“Sure.” Keith winces internally. Why the fuck did he say that? He revs the engine again, and takes off across the field, following the fence line, peering into the hedge. He does not want to find a stuck goat, but if he misses one and tells Shiro it’s all clear and something happens… he feels guilty enough already.
Being on the quad bike is freeing, and once finished with the check, Keith turns in a tight arc at the far end of the long field and automatically gives into the desire to gun the engine as he heads back. Shiro is watching him, leaning against the trailer with one hip, thumb tucked into the front pocket of his jeans. He’s stunning.
Keith never wants Shiro to look away from him. He wants to show off. and for the first time today, he actually can.
Keith twists one wrist, testing the bite of the engine, cuts the clutch to let the engine rev, and pops the bike up into a wheelie as he releases the pedal again. The ground has pretty good grip for grass, and Keith holds his weight off the seat to sustain the trick as he careens down the field towards Shiro. As he comes in close, he drops back down to all four wheels and yanks the bike around to a skidding stop. Shiro’s whoop of joy dies just before the engine, and Keith feels the way his cheeks ache with his own feral grin.
“Keith…”
“You like that pretty boy?” Keith can hardly believe how bold he’s being, but something about the intensity of Shiro’s grey eyes on him, boosts his confidence in ways he’s not really used to when he’s not at the track.
“That was amazing. Wow, Keith.” Shiro steps up to the bike as Keith leans back with one hand against the worn padded seat. Keith knows he looks decent, good even, but he hardly thinks it can be the reason for Shiro to be looking at him like that and blushing softly, until; “Can I kiss you?”
Keith doesn’t answer him, but half leaps and half falls from the bike, because suddenly the scant space between him and Shiro is a criminally large distance. Keith wraps a hand around the back of Shiro’s neck, the other sliding over the soft curve of his hip just above his jeans, and Keith registers the delight and shock in Shiro’s eyes before they flutter closed when their lips slide together. Shiro kisses him back with a soft groan which vibrates through his broad chest, and Keith keeps pressing closer until they both lose their balance.
Keith manages to get his hands under himself, stopping himself from crushing Shiro, but the moment he tries to pull up and away Shiro’s hand is in the small of his back – spanning like, the whole width of him, gods – keeping him close, and Keith absolutely needs no more encouragement than that.
Kissing Shiro is unlike kissing anyone else, and that’s the last coherent thought Keith has for a full ten minutes as they make out in the short grass next to the quad bike.
By the time they return to the main farm and Keith’s truck, Shiro’s shirt is almost half grass stains, and Keith’s knees match through the rips in his jeans. He drives home pressing fingers into the swollen, kiss-bruised flesh of his lips, and barely notices the passing of time at all.
Luckily, his housemates aren’t home when he gets back. If no one overhears him in the shower, then it doesn’t count.
***
“Dude you look like shit.”
“-fuck you.” Keith stumbles on his way to the kitchen, forcing his brain into better shape so that he can put coffee into a cup and then into himself in short order. His everything hurts, and he can’t name one part of his body which isn’t bruised, except maybe his dick.
“Oh, so creative with our insults at-” Lance pauses to check his non-existent watch, “-three in the afternoon. What time did you get back in?”
Keith doesn’t answer him, too busy mainlining coffee.
The truth is, he knows he’s pushing too hard, even for him. The trip to Shiro’s farm and back is three hours of straight driving, and when he gets there, Keith never wants to leave again. He lets himself linger over kisses and shared spoonfuls of creamy, home-made ice cream, drives back in the dark and gets up early to text with Shiro before dragging himself and the bike out for training. Yesterday, Keith pushed himself hard at the gym, then Thace and Ulaz pulled him out of a ditch when the new modifications to the bike threw him for a loop in a rather spectacular fashion.
Keith had photographed himself covered in mud with his shirt off and sent it to Shiro with ‘I slipped!’, but he knows he cannot do the same thing now. His torso is a mess of bruising in interesting shades of purple, and it’s a good thing the guys took Red back to the garage for adjustment, because Keith feels bad enough right now to want to take out his anger on the machine.
But it’s not the bike’s fault he feels shitty, and it’s not his range of physical injuries which are making him shoulder grumpily past his housemate.
“Aww, what’s the matter, Mullet? Lover boy not putting out for you yet?”
Keith only doesn’t fling coffee all over Lance because he refuses to stand and wait for a new pot to brew.
“He wants to visit.” The words are out of his mouth before Keith can stop them, and he regrets it instantly when Lance’s expression lights up like a firework party.
“Dude you owe me forever! Ha! I scored you a hot farm dude, and now you will have to admit that I am – in fact – the coolest person who lives in this house. Pidge! Pidge! Keith’s boyfriend is gonna come visit and- GAH!”
Keith hauls his flatmate back into the kitchen by the neck of his shirt and snarls.
“You idiot. Thanks to you, and you,” he adds, glaring at Pidge from where she has appeared in the doorway of her room-slash-tech-cave, “Shiro, thinks I live on a fucking farm.” He thrusts Lance towards the sink, and away from himself. “Does this look like a fucking farm to you?”
Pidge blinks owlishly.
“You still haven’t told him?”
Keith feels the bottom fall out of his stomach.
Of course, his friends have been ribbing him good-naturedly about his almost-maybe-boyfriend and his dedication to driving back and forth to visit a man who keeps goats. Of course they think Shiro coming to visit is harmless, because they obviously do not realise that Keith is not a decent and morally upright person.
Keith is not. He’s a fraud.
Shit.
“How?” Lance manages between opening and closing his mouth like a fish. “How have you not told him yet? The only thing you ever talk about is that fucking bike and the track and how good it feels to try and kill yourself and everyone else racing with you.”
“Lance you’re not helping,” Pidge snipes, lobbing some piece of discarded tech at his head with surprisingly good aim. “But seriously Keith... Why didn’t you tell him on your first date?”
“It… didn’t come up.” Keith winces before either of them can blow up at him. Which they do.
“Keith!”
“Oh my god dude, you are so very fucked.”
“You’ve been lying to the poor guy for how long?”
“Wow, turns out you really are a douche.”
Keith catches himself making a fist and shoves his hands in his pockets, lest he do something actually stupid. He simultaneously wants to start a fight and also drink himself into oblivion. Pidge must notice the tension in him, because she comes all the way out of her room and inserts herself between him and Lance’s stupid smug face.
“Lance, quit whilst you’re ahead, yeah? And whilst you still have all your teeth.” She rounds on Keith. “You need to stress about this less. First of the National League races is next week Keith. You can put off everything hot-farm-boyfriend related until after that.” Pidge clicks her tongue at him, managing to sound exactly like her mother. “You need to be in good shape for High Point, so go ice and rest all your bruises, take some painkillers and a shower, and be ready to leave at five.”
Keith frowns.
“What’s at five?”
“Family dinner. Mom said you should come.”
***
Keith’s been invited to plenty of family dinners at the Holt’s, but none of them have ever filled him with dread before. It’s just him and Pidge who rock up at the front door early enough to still help out with dinner prep, but not early enough to actually need to go and dig anything up from the garden Pidge’s older brother is – as ever – comically late, and while they wait, Keith slices vegetables, and follows the instructions to make tempura batter, and stays well away from the stove when Sam starts frying things.
Every time the easy going conversation twists around to him, Keith directs it somewhere else, with comments about Pidge’s latest computing escapades, or with praise for Colleen’s beautiful vegetables.
Just as the last dish is hitting the table, the whole thing gloriously laden with a variety of picture-perfect Oriental dishes which no take-out could rival, Colleen sits down opposite Keith and beams.
“And what about you, Keith? Anyone new in your life?”
Keith feels his ears burn. Of-fucking-course he wants to talk about Shiro, to brag about how sweet he is, how kind, how gorgeous. He wants to wax lyrical about Shiro’s sun-bright smile and the quiet capability of every move he makes with his hand. He wants to blush and talk about how incredibly special it feels when Shiro holds his hand, how Shiro’s little vulnerabilities make him feel bold. But he can’t, because someone will want to know how they met, and lying to Pidge’s parents is not high on Keith’s list of desires.
And right then, like a strangely haphazard angel, Pidge’s brother arrives with his hair a mess and an enormous parcel of what he declares to be ‘artisanal cheese and meats, dearest mother mine!’ under one arm. Keith has always liked Matt, but never as much as now when the man launches into another gripping tale of life in the robotics lab with a co-worker who believes that Matt’s choice of sock colour might cause them all to fall into a different reality. Apparently in this one Matt is a rebel space warrior or something – it sounds like a cartoon.
Matt corners him as they clear plates. Pidge is setting out the cheese and crackers, because Matt says that some of the cheeses were made by a friend of his and that seems like plenty of reason to indulge.
“Keith!” Matt elbows his ribs, Keith hides his wince. “You have a race coming up soon right? Can we still get tickets?”
Keith rolls his eyes.
“You do know I have my VIP passes mailed to your parents, right?”
“Yeah, I know.” Matt gives him a second smile, this one softer. “Do you mind if I steal them for this race? Thought I might bring a friend.”
Keith arches an eyebrow at him.
“You got yourself a date, Matt?”
Matt shoulder-bashes him, and Keith pushes him back just as hard. One of the best perks of being friends with Pidge is having her big brother act like he’s Keith’s big brother too.
“Not a date, least not for me. So?”
“Yeah, you can have the passes. You sure you wanna drive all the way out to High Point though? We’ll be back racing at the Red Bud soon enough.”
Matt just grins. Keith takes the opportunity to tug Matt’s ponytail before grabbing the plates for the cheese.
“Fine. Just remember to wave as I fly past!”
***
“Hey there.” Shiro’s smile splits into a wide, bright grin when he sees Keith through the little screen. “It’s good to see you, Keith.”
“Shiro… sorry I couldn’t get out to see you.” Keith scrubs at the back of his head sheepishly. He didn’t exactly cancel on the man he’d like to call his boyfriend, but he also knows his ‘can’t make it’ text was not what Shiro wanted to see.
“Hey, it’s OK,” Shiro reassures him quickly. “It is harvest season after all. You must be super busy.”
Keith glances away from the screen for just a fraction of a second before replying. His gear for the High Point race is all packed up and sitting by his door. It is almost accusatory.
“Yeah… big weekend.” Keith finds the words catching in his throat, he pretends to clear it. “Still, sorry for leaving you high and dry.”
Shiro smiles; a little lopsided, a lot warm.
“Maybe you can make it up to me?”
That has Keith arching an eyebrow of his own. He hopes the soft lighting of his bedroom hides his blush. Shiro pulls his lower lip in-between his perfect white teeth and Keith cannot keep his eyes off the motion. He loves the way the plump flesh springs back when Shiro releases it.
“I was-” Shiro sighs softly, “I was going to ask you to stay… the night. When you came over.”
“Oh…”
Shiro misreads his stunned reaction.
“I mean- you wouldn’t have to do anything you didn’t-”
“Shut up, Shiro.” Keith wants to grab him by the front of his stupidly tight shirt and kiss him senseless. “Gods… I wish I didn’t have to work this weekend.” Keith chews his own lip for a moment, feeling emboldened by the distance created by the screens, heat prickling under his skin. “How about I show you what you’re missing?”
“Oh, Keith…”
“Get comfy, big boy.” Keith doesn’t miss the way Shiro’s eyes go dark at the endearment. He sets his phone against the lamp by his bed, angling for a decent shot, and steps back to put the whole of his torso into view. His bruises have healed up fine, and Keith flexes his abs as he unzips his hoodie. “What do you want to see?”
“Keith.” Shiro sounds like a parched man, and Keith stares hard at the swell of his throat when he swallows. “Please…”
“Mmmm…” Keith shrugs with exaggerated slowness from the garment, letting it fall and snag around his forearms before dropping it to the ground. When he lifts one wrist to his mouth, teeth tugging at the velco strap of his glove, Shiro makes an involuntary noise. “No?”
“F-fuck. Keith…”
“I can leave them on for you.” Keith coils his fingers into a fist, then opens them again to press his hand over his heart. The muscles thuds desperately under his touch. “You fancy showing me something too, Shiro?”
He hesitates for half a second too long, and Keith backs off from the suggestion. Instead, he hooks one thumb into the front pocket of his jeans, fingers skimming over the trapped shape of his erection.
“Been thinking about you.”
“Keith…”
“In the shower mostly.”
“Oh fuck-”
“My housemates say I used up all the hot water.”
Shiro’s groan is the most welcome music Keith could ask for. He thumbs open the button of his fly, but then trails his fingers back up over his chest, pausing in the soft dips between each tensed muscle until he reaches his sternum once more. He drags his fingers over his left pec, skimming his nipple, and wonders what it’ll be like to cup Shiro’s beautifully full chest instead. There can’t be anyone who takes physio more seriously than Shiro does.
“I miss kissing you.”
“Keith-” Shiro’s voice holds a note of a whine, like he wants to reach through the phone for him. “You’re so beautiful.”
“Yeah?” Keith’s cheeks heat. “Shiro…”
“Oh, Keith.”
The view of Shiro wobbles and blurs for a moment, and Keith realises the phone is being set down when the picture readjusts and Shiro stands back from the screen with his hand in view. Keith watches that big palm rub across Shiro’s abdomen and licks his lips. When Shiro flicks up the hem of his shirt, the definition of his v-cut makes Keith groan.
“Been thinking about you too, Keith.”
“Oh.” Keith feels his hands shake as his fingers skim down to his jeans once more. True, he’s done something a bit like this before, but the whole situation still feels like unfamiliar ground.
“Shiro? I have to tell you something.”
“Keith?” Shiro tilts his head very slightly to one side. It’s adorable “You can tell me anything.”
It’s not a big deal. It isn’t. It shouldn’t be. Keith’s modest but he’s not fucking blind – attractive guys his age do not tend to be virgins. It’s not like he lives out in the middle of nowhere, he has options. Keith’s just never wanted any of those options before.
Something about Shiro though – some magical combination of the way he looks and how he smiles and how sweet and smart he is, added to his perfect mix of shy and showy – makes Keith want in ways he’s never wanted before. He’s not thought about anything or anyone else whilst touching himself since they first met.
And yet, Keith has paused too long, and he winces – bracing for the impact of astonishment or disapproval – when he says;
“I’m a virgin.”
“Keith-”
“Sorry. I should-”
“Keith.” Shiro repeats, firmer this time. “Hush.”
And somehow, it’s enough. Keith hates being told what to do by anyone, but some hard edge in Shiro’s voices makes his apology die in his throat.
“Keith.” Shiro’s tone is warm and soft this time, his smile sweet. There’s a hint of something Keith almost wants to label as pleased pride, but he doesn’t dare, not yet. “Thank you for telling me. We won’t do anything you wouldn’t want to do.”
“I wanna do things with you,” Keith admits, feeling very small suddenly. “I have a busy weekend, but I’ll drive up on Tuesday?”
“I’ll be here.”
“Tuesday,” Keith breathes. “We’ll talk.”
Keith cannot have sex with someone who thinks he is a farmer. He cannot pretend any longer. But he isn’t selfless enough to destroy this burgeoning relationship over the phone and miss out on one last kiss. One more embrace with that strong arm, pressed up against Shiro’s perfectly sculpted chest. He needs that. Especially if he wants to be on top form for the race at High Point.
“I miss you too, Keith.” Shiro’s smile is definitely proud now, twisting up the corners as his dimples show. “It’s so unfair that you’re all the way over there, and I can’t touch you.”
Keith’s breathe shudders out of him as Shiro’s fingers move from his own chest to reach out and brush over the screen. He shivers, as though he can actually feel the touch through pixels. Keith would swear his room has become warmer since they started talking.
“You wanna touch me? Keith asks, totally without guile.
“Yes, Keith. I want to touch you.”
“Where?” Keith wonders where all his boldness has vanished too, but the idea of Shiro whispering instructions to him has taken root in his brain, wrapped twisting branches around his libido and fucking bloomed until it’s the only thing in his head. Keith is surprised there aren’t leaves inscribed with ‘Keith is hot for Shiro’ poking through his hair.
“Just here.” Shiro’s hand retreats, and the picture focuses properly again, without the shadow of his palm over the lens. Keith watches Shiro trail two fingertips from his navel up the centre line of his abdomen, with a mouth the same humidity as the desert.
“Like this?” Keith breathes.
He copies the motion, or near enough, because he touches less lightly than Shiro seems to, pressing hard enough to indent his skin with the force of his calloused fingertips. He stops at his sternum, and flashes his eyes back up to the screen.
“I want to touch you too.”
“Show me?”
“Here.” Keith murmurs, cupping his hand under his left pec, squeezing at the taut muscle and dragging his thumb deliberately over the pink round of his nipple.
Shiro groans.
When he copies the motion, Shiro’s shirt is not thick enough to hide the dusky, dark flesh of his nipple from Keith’s keen eyes as he presses the fabric tight to his chest. His gorgeous pecs are a far larger handful than Keith’s even in Shiro’s much larger hand, and Keith snaps his jaw shut with an audible clack. He wants to get his mouth on that chest.
“Is that so?” Shiro chuckles softly. “There’s bits of you I think would fit just perfectly in my mouth, too.”
Keith’s head spins. His free hand drops instantly to his crotch and he squeezes his erection through the material of his jeans with an almost pained whine.
“What do you want to do, Keith?”
“That’s a loaded fucking question.” Keith replies with a smirk. He squeezes himself again. It’s almost painful to be still trapped in his too tight jeans, his cock wedged at a fucking awkward angle across his hip. “Shiro…”
“You want to show me?” Shiro’s smile lights up like holiday lights when Keith nods hastily. “Go on then.”
Keith hooks his thumbs into the elastic of his boxers, takes a breath, and yanks both jeans and underwear down in one movement. He knows if he tries to go slow he’ll get too nervous. It’s fine, he’s been naked-ish in front of Regris before, this is still well trodden ground.
The movement pulls his erection down with his clothes, and the moment it’s freed the hard muscle springs up to slap him in the stomach. Keith winces, the sensation just on the sharper side of pleasurable friction, but the smack of flesh on flesh is not enough to hide the click of Shiro’s throat as he swallows, and Keith does not miss the widening of the man’s eyes on the other end of the call.
“Oh Keith….”
“Yeah?” Keith grins as he seeks confirmation. The answer isn’t really needed, because Keith can read Shiro’s physical reaction to his nudity easily enough, and it’s like a shot of adrenaline up his spine. Even better than pulling a really good trick off a high jump. “You like that, big boy?”
It’s clearly the right time to drop the nickname again, and Shiro groans, his whole face and neck visibly flushed as he stares at the way Keith’s erection bobs along with his pulse. Keith glances down at himself, even though he is loath to tear his eyes from Shiro, and sucks his lower lip into his mouth before he runs a hand from his chest back down to his cock. It almost hurts to hold himself back, but he stops there, not touching himself, and is rewarded with a deep, mournful groan from Shiro.
“Keith… what I wouldn’t give to be on my knees right now.”
“Oh, fuck...” Keith suddenly finds his breath coming short. “Really?”
“Yes. Really. You have a very pretty cock, Keith.” Shiro stares at him and Keith feels both as though he should hide his face and like he wants to crow with pride. The hottest guy he’s ever seen thinks that he is pretty. If that’s not an ego boost then nothing is. “Will you… will you touch yourself for me?”
“Yes.” Keith draws the pad of his thumb down the length of his erection, pausing when he reaches the crown to roll the looser layer of his foreskin over and back beneath the digit. “Will you tell me what you like?”
“Oh Keith… I like everything about you.” Shiro meets his eyes when he says it, and Keith gets the distinct feeling that Shiro is not talking about only Keith’s naked body. “Do you ever jerk off with your gloves on?”
That makes Keith flush.
“In a hurry, sometimes?” Shiro prods, glee evident in his voice. “Or do you like the way it feels?”
Keith bites his lip and shakes his head, still rolling his foreskin over the head of his dick, unable to form the words.
“Or is it that you don’t get undressed first? You jerk off somewhere where you can’t… out in the vegetable patch?”
Keith chokes.
“No-! Not- um….” He looks up to meet Shiro’s gaze – hot and dark through the phone screen. “In the garage sometimes.”
Which is about the closest he’s come to telling Shiro a lie. The biggest advantage of having a fully enclosed trailer for his bike in which Keith can change and sleep in if need be, is that it’s great for post-race adrenaline-charged jerk-off sessions too. But he has no way to explain that to Shiro without coming clean about… everything.
“That’s kind of kinky, Keith.”
“Oh…” Keith pauses, about to lift his hand away from his dick, but Shiro shakes his head a little.
“No, Keith. That’s a good thing.”
“Oh… yeah?”
“Mmmm… yeah. All of you is a good thing.”
Keith blushes. He has his cock out on a video call, but Shiro’s praise makes him blush. He might be a virgin, but Keith is more than able to recognise when he’s completely head over heels.
“So…”
“I want to see how you touch yourself.” Shiro’s chest heaves. “I want to know how to make you happy.”
“Shiro-”
“If you decide you want your first time to be with me – if, Keith, because it’s your choice – I want to know how to please you.”
This time, Keith actually does whimper.
He takes a breath, which doesn’t help to steady him at all, and wraps his hand around his cock. He’s so hard that the friction of a single stroke is enough to make his toes curl in the carpet. Keith glances down to watch the way his cockhead is revealed and hidden in turn by the natural motion of his foreskin. He doesn’t need lube, not for this, and he doesn’t want to ruin his gloves with it either. Still, he swipes the fingertip of his middle finger across his tongue, and uses the other hand to circle over the tip of his cock, stroking over the slit as he jerks his fist.
“Keith…”
“Y-yeah…” Keith goes back to watching Shiro, letting his eyes travel over every inch of the man he can see. He really wishes Shiro’s shirt was gone, and that he could see the dick which has been pressed up against this thigh, through three layers of fabric, more than once now. “I really like you, Shiro.”
“Show me?”
Keith groans – half a profanity, half an endearment – and drops his fingers from the head of his cock to fondle his balls. He plays with them, rolling the soft heat around in his palm as he keeps up the same pace of long, tight strokes with his other hand, then presses back further to his perineum.
Shiro makes a noise like he’s swallowed his tongue.
Emboldened, Keith leans back a little, knowing the angle does great things for the play of light and shadow over his abs, and switches his hand to stroke down behind himself. He rocks his fingers against his taint once more, hand pressing into his crease, and massages little circles into the tender flesh just below his hole.
“How would you touch me, Shiro?”
“Keith… however you want me to.”
Keith groans, fingertips ghosting over his hole – out of sight of Shiro – but that doesn’t seem to matter, because the other man’s eyes get wider anyway. He teases himself with the idea of touching further, but Keith knows he’s already way too worked up to stop and find lube to do this properly.
“Would you let me touch you?” Keith asks, dragging his hand over his cock, twisting his wrist now on the downstroke, pausing long enough to swipe precome from the tip with each pull.
“Anywhere.”
“Anywhere?” Keith echoes.
“Keith-” for the first time, Keith realises quite how sheened Shiro’s skin is, how the blush has faded from his cheeks, how rumpled his shirt has become. “Keith… where do you think my hand is right now?”
Keith squeezes himself tight around the base, trying to pull himself back from the edge of his orgasm which comes up far too soon from the visual image brought about by Shiro’s words. And sure enough, Shiro’s hand is not visible, just his left bicep flexing rhythmically as he touches himself. Keith thinks he sees stars.
“Oh fuck, Shiro-!”
Keith can no more deny his body’s desire to achieve the high of orgasm as he can stop the tide, and he comes on the end of his strangled cry, fist a blur on screen as he works his cock over and over before pleasure pulls up from the base of his spine and knocks him loose from his senses. He barely even notices the way he stripes his chest and abs with his come, fixated instead on the man at the other end of his screen.
Shiro pants, head rolling back to expose the long column of his neck, and Keith has never wanted to sink his teeth so hard into anything in his whole life. Shiro’s arm tenses, the whole of him stops, and it is as though the picture is frozen. Only the tic of Shiro’s pulse shows Keith that they haven’t fallen victim to a terribly timed technical issue.
And then Shiro is reaching out for his phone, with fingers which look unnaturally slick and shiny, and he angles the phone down for a moment. The brief vertigo and loss of Shiro’s pretty face is made worth it by the fact that Keith can see an extremely obvious dick print and accompanying dark, wet patch in Shiro’s thin sweats.
“Oh, Shiro.”
Fuck, Keith made Shiro come in his clothes. That’s really fucking hot.
“So good, Keith.” Shiro pulls Keith back up to his face, and Keith resists the urge to cry as he realises all over again that he cannot kiss the other man. “You’re so good. Beautiful.”
“You too.” It’s sound so lame to Keith’s ears, but Shiro beams regardless. “Can’t wait for Tuesday. I’m gonna rock your world.”
“I know you will.”
They share a few more sweet, soft, sexy promises as their breathing evens out, and Keith bids Shiro goodbye with a last sorrowful whisper of how much he misses kissing the other man’s lips.
Only once the phone screen is black once more, does Keith allow himself to sink his head into his hands.
It is Thursday. He has only four more days of having the attention of the most beautiful man in the world, before Keith has to rip the rug out from under his feet, and he needs to spend nearly all of them driving, racing, and driving again. He groans.
***
The atmosphere at the High Point Raceway is electric. It is the first formal race of the National Pro League season, and the fans who have driven out to Pennsylvania are chomping at the bit.
Keith arrives late Friday night, sleeps alongside his bike after a single good luck beer shared with Regris, and poses for his promo shoot alongside Red, fully rebuilt and beautifully shiny in the morning sun.
Big screens all around the track and the concession stands play the individual competitors promo reels all day. Keith thinks it is stupidly self-indulgent but he can’t help but feel pride at how he looks in his clip, leaning with his hip against the bike, helmet tucked casually under his other arm, the Marmora motors insignia flashing bright on his chest. The photographer wanted his hair out of his eyes, but Regris had hollered that Keith needed something to hide his ego behind. The laugh which followed is cut out by the clip, but the smile is there.
Keith loves it.
He wishes he could show Shiro.
After his allotted twenty minutes on the track for private practice, Keith checks his phone to find an early morning selfie of Shiro in bed with his head resting on his shoulder, his starlit hair dragged back from his face.
T.Shirogane
Look, no mud.
T.Shirogane
Miss you. Can’t wait you have your lips on mine again.
Keith crouches down, pushing his fingers into the packed red dirt which compromises much of the area around the track, and then takes a photo of his hand. The background is blurred beyond all recognition, except that he is outside somewhere with blue sky.
Keith2310
Plenty of mud here ;)
He promises himself it will be the last lie he ever tells.
***
The race officials finish their announcements, and Keith watches as the water sprayer unit rolls gently off, its nozzles dripping gently. The track is perfectly wetted, and just for this lap, the going will be pretty smooth – at least, it will be at the head of the pack, and Keith doesn’t intend on being anywhere else. A marshal on a quad pulls up next the row of dirt bikes, all waiting in their designated spots for the air-horn to sound, and Keith spares a glance along the row to find Regris giving him a thumbs up – his wild grin evident despite his helmet and goggles. Keith rolls his eyes.
Someone shouts something over the deafening hum of sixty-odd dirt bike engines. Someone revs their engine down the line from Keith – he thinks it might be Lotor from team Sincline – and it sets several other’s going as eager riders inch forward.
Keith releases one handgrip in order to stroke Red’s smooth paintwork with one hand.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, voice low enough that with the din, no one else will hear him. “Wait now.”
He eyes the first corner, there is a big flat section in the lead up to that first turn as the track narrows from the width of the starting line, and everyone is going to be gunning for the left side in order to make it through the Holeshot first. Keith sees his path like the trajectory of a spacecraft, a shining laser beam which will carry him from here to the win. He grins.
There is a roar, a blast of noise, and the race is on.
Green fifty-two, and Lotor in his black get up with red and purple accents, are ahead of Keith as they come to the first turn. The rider in green leans back a few inches too far as they try to control their speed, and Keith holds his line to skim past their front wheel with a scant inch to spare, and sprays dirt over Lotor as he sails past. He guns the engine, hitting the Holeshot marker first before taking the turn which leads up to the first jump.
Lotor takes the chance for big air, as do Regris and several others, but Keith sticks to his line – very un-dramatically staying on the ground – and by the time they make it to the moguls, the pack is split into half a dozen riders up front and the rest of the others battling it out for last place.
The first lap is always the easiest – there are no weird grooves made by other riders to throw his balance or pull him onto a line he doesn’t want, and Keith finds himself fighting it out with Lotor and a guy in the orange and white of the Garrison Racing Team for the next few laps.
Halfway through the race, the numbers read in a blur as Keith speeds past the official start/finish line for the eighth time, he comes very close to the rider from Garrison, and Keith is sure he can hear the other racer swearing at him as they head into the moguls yet again. Red growls underneath him, and Keith pulls up hard to jump the gap between one hump and the next. His instinct is correct, because he clears the top of a fallen rider from the previous lap by a scant distance. The Garrison rider is less lucky, and swerves off the track. Keith doesn’t have the time to look back and check if they are alright, because there is another jump ahead and it is empty enough that he can indulge in a decent whip.
When Keith lands the jump the crowd goes nuts, and the boost pushes him faster down the track towards victory and the twenty-five championship points he desperately wants to have to his name at the start of the season.
The marshal puts out the two-laps remaining board, Keith grins. He is hot, sweaty, his arms ache, his feet are practically numb from the shaking of the bike, and there isn’t one bit of him which doesn’t hurt at least a little, but it is exhilarating beyond all belief. This late in the race, the breaking bumps at the end of each jump require control and precision, but Keith has never felt more focused.
He powers through the tabletop and jumps the entire thing, putting a good lead between himself and Lotor once more, and grabs hold of the line he wants when Red takes the next corner. He gets one foot down, just for a second, to keep balance, and then he’s speeding away again, certain that unless he fucks up and crashes, he cannot be caught.
Keith passes finish at full speed for the penultimate time, and there in the crowd is a stark flash of silver hair. Keith blinks, but already the image is a memory, and the first jump is coming up and he needs to concentrate. Keith pictures how it will feel to win, to stand on the props of his bike with his fist in the air, to grin across the track at Shiro and open his arms for a crushing hug of victory.
He bets Shiro’s kisses would still taste great, even when Keith is splattered in the red dirt of the track.
Except that they won’t, because it isn’t going to happen. Shiro isn’t here, and Keith can’t celebrate his victory with the man he knows he’s already fallen for, because there’s a pretty high chance that Shiro is never going to speak to him ever again.
There is a dark shadow in the corner of his vision, Keith’s mind screams at him to move. Lotor is right there, having eaten up the gap whilst Keith took the turns at too leisurely a pace, and now he needs to battle for the lead all the way to the finish. He takes the next jump too high, Lotor inches ahead, but Keith cuts him off at the next tight corner when Lotor chooses to take a wider line and Keith risks his place by following a hair line thin ridge of packed earth between two dips before gunning the engine. He sticks close to the ground for the next jump, gaining ground, and shoots past the finishing line with Lotor three lengths behind him and eating his spray.
He coasts, fist in the air, approaching the main stands as Red’s engine finally quiets. The noise of the crowd is intense, there are press photographers and fans screaming his name, but Keith finally puts both feet on the ground and feels the bottom fall out of his stomach.
Because there at the front – VIP pass in hand – is Matt, just like he said he would be. And next to him is his friend, who is tall with broad shoulders and only one arm; and the most beautiful face Keith has ever seen.
Someone knocks Keith on the helmet – it’s Regris – and Keith needs to be shaken again by the shoulder before he remembers to remove it. He has to break eye contact with Shiro as he does so, and for a terrible moment Keith doesn’t know if he’ll be relieved or heartbroken if he looks back up to find Shiro gone.
But Shiro is still there, and Regris is cheering in his ear and Kolivan is asking something about the bike and Keith cannot hear anything any of them say. He pitches off Red’s saddle, takes two steps and staggers in the mud.
“Whoa! OK- Keith, adrenalin crash. C’mon buddy, let’s get you sitting down and get some liquids in you before the press are on your heels.”
Regris parks Keith at the side of track, in the ‘racers only’ area where he has the tiniest modicum of privacy, but Keith doesn’t stay there. He needs to find Shiro, he needs to explain before the other man has time to draw all the wrong conclusions about him. He catches sight of the nearest information screen – displaying the race results as the later riders arrive – and realises that his face along with his race number and footage of him on his bike, have been broadcast for hours. Shiro has known who he is since before Keith even started the race.
His heart sinks.
Keith heads for his trailer, because that’s where his phone is, even though he knows he is expected for track-side interviews. Kolivan will be pissed at having to cover for him, and it grates to know that Lotor will absolutely use Keith’s disappearance to his advantage – as though the richest family in motor sports need any more publicity – but finding Shiro is more important.
When Keith reaches his phone, there are several new notifications waiting for him.
T.Shirogane
My buddy got us tickets to go and see dirt bike racing! It’s not as good as getting to see you, but at least he’s doing the driving!
Next comes a picture of the High Point raceway as experienced by a newcomer seeing it for the first time, all the banners and signs and red dirt track and the string of emojis accompanying the shot makes Keith’s heart flutter. He remembers how it felt when he was a teenager the first time he came here and saw all this.
T.Shirogane
It’s SO loud here!
T.Shirogane
Keith...
T.Shirogane
We need to talk.
Keith’s fingers quiver over the keypad, unable to work out what to say, then he hears a noise behind him and turns.
Shiro stands in the open doorway of his trailer, dark brows pulled low, his mouth a firm line.
“Shiro-”
“Interesting farm you have here, Keith,” Shiro’s voice is dark, and suddenly it is easy to see the determination which allowed a boy with one arm to start his own farm and build it into a thriving business. His steps clang loudly on the trailer ramp.
“I can explain.” Keith feels like the ground might fall out from underneath him. His body feels far away, his phone slipping from his fingers to clatter noisily to the rubber flooring. His heart is hammering so hard against his ribs, Keith feels like he might be bruised by the impact.
“I don’t want to hear it.”
Keith doesn’t remember Shiro moving, but all of a sudden, the bigger man is filling the entrance to the trailer, blocking out the late afternoon sun, crowding close. Keith’s shoulders hit the back wall with a thud.
“Shiro-?”
Shiro cups the side of Keith's face in his hand – fingertips curving behind his ear and jaw even as his thumb brushes over Keith's slack lips and cheekbone. A layer of red track grime comes away on his skin.
“Muddy boy.”
Keith gulps noisily.
Shiro face is so close that the white strands of his bangs tickle Keith’s nose, then the pad of Shiro’s thumb is pressing into the divot of Keith’s chin, coaxing his lips open. Shiro licks into his mouth without warning, their lips sealing together as all Keith’s breath leaves him in a rush. It’s easy to get lost in the sensation of kissing Shiro, because kissing Shiro is still the most wonderful thing Keith has ever done. He moans softly, and Shiro swallows the noise, pushing him harder against the trailer wall, one firm thigh slotting in between his own.
The crash of emotion of seeing Shiro watching from the edge of the track isn’t enough to combat the overwhelming torrent of adrenalin and dopamine his brain received when he crossed the finish line. Keith startles at the intense pleasure which climbs his spine when Shiro’s broad thigh presses tight against his tumescent cock through the thin fabric of his racing pants. He tries to draw enough breath to form words, but Shiro gives him no space and Keith whimpers under the onslaught of Shiro’s tongue tracing over his teeth, back of his head hitting the plywood panelling behind him. Shiro’s fingers rake through his hair before pulling, and Keith keens as a path is bitten down the column of his throat.
The moment he brings his own hands up to settle on Shiro’s trim waist – not to push him away but just to feel him, to get some bearing on the situation – Shiro shifts his weight and drops to his knees.
“Wha-? Shiro?”
Shiro’s big hand is splayed over Keith’s abdomen, the span of his fingers practically reaching both hip bones at once. Keith’s belly quivers under Shiro’s palm.
“Well, you did win, didn’t you? There should be some reward for that.”
“But- Shiro! I’m sorry- I shouldn’t have-”
“Hush,” Shiro instructs. The pop of Keith’s stud fly pinging open is incredibly loud, and seconds later Shiro has Keith’s pants and underwear bunched down around his thighs, his lips tantalisingly close to the twitching length of Keith’s cock. “So, this is what you meant when you said you jerk off in the garage sometimes, huh?”
Keith makes a choked noise. He thinks he’s swallowed his own tongue.
Shiro wraps his fingers around the base of Keith’s cock, and Keith’s knows that if he was actually responsible for supporting his own weight, his knees would buckle instantly. Shiro strokes him once, then leans in and licks across the tip of Keith’s cock just where his foreskin starts to retract.
“Ahh!”
“Pro-league dirt bike racers don’t date one armed guys whose main conversation partners are goats,” Shiro says. “But I spent the whole drive here wishing I could do this.” Shiro licks him again. “You can explain later.”
“Shi-”
Shiro kisses the tip of Keith’s cock, and Keith loses the ability to form words as wet, soft, wonderful heat envelopes his length. Shiro’s mouth is like a caress, welcoming and eager; better by far than Keith’s hand has ever been. Suddenly Keith thinks he understands why people like to have sex, but gazing down at Shiro – those grey eyes watching him back with focused intent – Keith knows he doesn’t want this from anyone else.
Just Shiro.
Keith pants as Shiro works Keith’s cock into his mouth. His hand gives way for his lips, and Keith finds it once more splayed across his abdomen, fisting his shirt and pulling it askew. Tentatively, he reaches for the fabric and yanks it from Shiro’s grasp, pulling it up until his whole chest is exposed. Shiro hums happily around his cock, and Keith sees stars.
“Oh fuck!”
Shiro smiles at him – smiling even with his mouth full, which should be illegal or impossible or something – and pulls back to tongue at Keith’s slit. Keith’s toes curl in his boots.
Keith wants to scream.
There are people in the staging area where the trailers are parked, and Keith really doesn’t want one of them coming to investigate the noise. He jams the fabric of his shirt into his mouth – which is sort of terrible idea, because now he can taste the track dirt and his own sweat and it’s a fucking weird combination – but Shiro hums around his cock again in obvious pleasure.
Keith remembers the way the other man looked at him through the phone screen, tracing the lines of his own chest to match Keith’s movements and shivers in a manner that has nothing to do with being cold.
He lifts his hand to his chest and the feeling of the noise Shiro makes is enough to have his dirt-caked boot soles skidding against the textured flooring. Shiro’s hand strokes up over his belly, their fingers meeting across Keith’s sternum, and Keith refuses to admit that he whimpers helplessly at the way their hands look together. Shiro plucks at the leather of Keith’s riding gloves, and his cheeks burn with further embarrassment.
Shiro leans in close, tilting the angle of his head as he swallows Keith down to the root, and Keith scrambles at the smooth panelling behind him, as pleasure ricochets through his nervous system. He has no idea how he can take more of this, only that he never wants it to end. The movement has Shiro’s silver forelock falling into his eyes, and before he can think, Keith runs his fingers through the strands, combing the hair back from Shiro’s face.
Shiro purrs.
“Oh…”
Shiro sucks him hard, cheeks hollowing, and Keith’s fingers tighten on reflex. Shiro makes the deep, pleased noise again, and Keith grins.
“Pretty.”
Keith has never seen anyone preen whilst on their knees with a mouthful of cock, but it is apparently possible. Shiro looks fantastic doing it.
“So beautiful, Shiro. Fuck-” Keith grits his teeth, staving off a hit of sensation which threatens to overwhelm him and drag him under the heavy tide of his impending orgasm. He thinks he pulls Shiro’s hair; Shiro doesn’t complain. “I can’t- fuck- I’m so close.”
The cold air hitting his spit-slick cock is exactly like a slap and Keith whines.
“Patience.” Shiro smooths his thumb in the little hollow of Keith’s hip bone, right next to the flushed length of his cock. “You’re gorgeous, Keith.”
“Coming from you…”
“Tch.” Shiro shrugs, the movement telegraphed by his residual limb. “We’re not talking about me. Championship winners are the ones who get the rewards.”
“I haven’t won the championship yet. It’s only the first race of the season.”
“Details.” Shiro wraps his hand around the base of Keith’s cock again. “You still won.”
“I don’t care.” Keith reaches down and grabs Shiro’s chin, bringing the other man’s eyes back to him. “I should have told you.”
“At least I got to have this much,” Shiro mutters softly.
Keith stills.
“Shiro?”
“Hot guys with dirt bikes don’t want boyfriends who have to be up early to milk goats,” he says despondently.
Half-naked and aching for release or not, that is something Keith cannot let slide.
“Fucking hell, Shiro. No. I love you.”
“Huh?”
Keith launches himself at the other man before he can really think it through – the cramped space, the fact his pants are trapping his knees, Shiro’s lack of balance with just one arm – and sends the pair of them crashing to the ground. Luckily Shiro lands with his head on Keith’s slept-in bedroll, and Keith catches himself before he would have put a knee in Shiro’s groin. He ends up kneeling between Shiro's thighs, staring at the other man barely a foot away.
“I. Love. You.”
“Um…” Shiro’s cheeks are pink, as though he’s the one who’s been caught with his pants down. “I thought you were gonna dump me.”
“The fuck-? Why the heck would I do that? You’re smart and funny and kind and really fucking hot. You’re like, the nicest guy I’ve ever met. Literally.” Keith winces prematurely. “I thought you we’re going to tear me into shreds for lying to you.”
“I’m not thrilled about the lying,” Shiro says evenly.
“I’m so fucking sorry. Really. I am. I don’t have a smallholding, I’ve never planted anything without Colleen’s direct instruction, and I don’t actually know what a hoe is.” Keith hangs his head, his bangs pooling on Shiro’s chest. “I didn’t mean to lie to you.”
Shiro’s hand moves through his hair, soft, soothing, settling. Keith wants to get lost in the action.
“Then… how did you end up on the app?”
“Fucking Pidge and Lance and their damn meddling.”
“Your flatmates?”
“Yeah. Apparently, I’m too grumpy for my own good.”
Shiro frowns, and this time he strokes Keith’s hair back from his face as his lips tilt up into a sweet little half smile. Keith chews his own lip.
“You’re not grumpy, Keith.”
“Not around you.” Keith head butts him, because even though he is – he feels naked with the way Shiro is looking at him. “Why would I be grumpy around you? You’re awesome.”
“I think you’re biased.”
Keith arches an eyebrow at him.
“You haven’t been through winter on the farm yet,” Shiro offers, “there’s never an end to the mud.”
Keith thunks his face into Shiro's chest just once, then tosses his head back as he laughs. He can feel the tears tracking across his skin and his cheeks hurt, but it’s wonderful.
“Fuck… Shiro! I professionally spend all of my free time mucking around in the mud, even in the summer!” He makes a sweeping gesture to his clothes, the caked dirt on his boots, the sullied floor of the trailer. “No talk of a little mud is going to scare me off!”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.” Keith leans down and strokes his fingers over Shiro’s cheekbone. “Can I kiss you again?”
“I had your cock in my mouth, I think we’re a bit past the point of- ummph!”
Keith grins in the privacy of his own head, his lips too busy with kissing. ‘With tongue’ is an incredibly effective way of shutting Shiro up. He leans into it, loving the way Shiro opens up for him, and then he feels like he’s left his stomach behind – once again – as Shiro uses the considerable breadth of his thighs to flip them over. Keith makes a soft ‘oof’ of surprise.
“Pretty, Keith.”
Keith doubts this. He is sweaty and his hair has been crushed flat by his helmet for the past forty minutes, but nothing in Shiro’s expression suggests that the other man is being anything other than truthful. Heck, Shiro has probably never told a lie in his entire life. Shiro settles his weight over Keith's crotch, rolls his hips, and Keith’s eyes practically roll back in his skull.
“Oh fuck.”
“You’re so responsive.” Shiro coos. “I bet you’re gonna be really vocal in bed.”
“Sh-Shiro-”
“Bed would be better.” Shiro rocks his hips again, and Keith feels every micron of Shiro’s plump ass dragging over his exposed cock. “I was gonna treat you so nice when you came up on Tuesday. Candles and everything.”
“Candles?” Keith manages, impressed that he can make his vocal chords do anything so organised as form words.
“Yeah. Got Kinkade on standby to do the morning milking so we can sleep in. I’ll make you breakfast in bed and nice bath…” Shiro drags his hand across Keith’s belly again, pulling his shirt askew. “Want to treat you right for your first time.”
Keith stares up at him, feeling his cheeks heat ever further with the contrast between Shiro’s sweet words, and devastating motion of his hips.
“I want that.”
“Yeah?” Shiro thumbs over Keith’s nipple, and Keith arches up into the touch. “You wanna leave all your fancy racing friends to come to my farm and let me spoil you?”
“Yes.” Keith uses the leverage of both arms – arguably his only advantage over Shiro in any given situation other than driving – to push himself into a sitting position and into Shiro’s space. He grabs Shiro’s jaw, loving the way the other man smiles at his touch. “Yes, Shiro. I want all that.”
Shiro grinds down against him again. Keith groans.
“You don’t want this instead?”
Keith leans in further and kisses him. Shiro kisses back, and Keith cannot say how much time passes like that, with the pair of them pressed together so that he barely feels like there’s space where they aren’t melded together. The floor of the trailer is uncomfortable and his boots are still dirty and his bedroll is hardly the softest thing on the planet, but none of that matters. Shiro is kissing him back and Keith’s in love.
“You won your race,” Shiro reminds him with a soft chuckle, kissing his way down Keith’s jaw. “Don’t you have to go pick up a trophy or something?”
“Nah,” Keith smooths his hands down Shiro’s ribs and over his hips, settling on his ass. “Got a great trophy right here. So, farm boy, you gonna let me make it up to you, for pretending to have a farm?”
Shiro arches an eyebrow at him.
“There’s a livestock auction in Jamestown tomorrow. It’s on the way back.”
“You want another goat?”
“Nah… ducks. You owe me a duck.”
Keith can hardly kiss through his laughter, but he manages it somehow.
***
Three days, seven hours of driving and four big black and white Ancona ducks later, Keith receives a text from Regris. Along with links to several web articles detailing Keith’s win, is a question accompanied by a host of smirking emoji’s.
Regris
So, how was your first time?
Keith turns his face away from the screen and blushes hard into the pillow. Shiro’s pillows are plump and silky and Keith honestly has no idea how his boyfriend ever forces himself out of bed when his bed is this comfortable. Keith never wants to go home again.
His bike is already here. He doesn’t actually need to go home.
There is a soft huff of laughter and then the zip-ping of a message being sent. Keith glances up to see Shiro holding his phone.
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes.”
“What did you tell him?”
Shiro smirks.
“Nothing that isn’t true, baby.”
Keith’s cheeks burn at the soft little pet name. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it.
“Do I want to know?”
Shiro hands him his phone. To Keith’s delight, there are no new apps installed, and the one responsible for this entire situation was summarily deleted before they’d even left High Point. But there are three messages sent to Regris.
Keith
This is Shiro.
Keith
Keith is fine. He’s blushing.
Keith
I pinned him down and rode him until he passed go without stopping.
As Keith gapes at the screen, another message arrives from Regris.
It is unprintable.