i wanna feel you in my bones (boy, i'm gonna love you)

by mothmanspee

Summary:

Keith couldn’t resist the urge to steal giggle-soaked kisses in the corridors or stick his nose into the crook of Lance’s neck at inappropriate intervals. He smelled the strongest there, his throat practically begged to be nipped and licked.

Simply put, Keith was insatiable. His mate was just too pretty, with his sharp features and perfect skin.

Maybe, just maybe, Lance had a point when he'd said Keith didn't have much control when it came to his boyfriend. Which had brought them to this entirely too dramatic sit-down conversation.

 

or, lance uses a poor excuse to edge keith for 11k and then fucks him for 5k

Notes:

• For champselysees.

with much inspiration from my dearly beloved oomf whom this fic is dedicated to, this completely ran away from me and devolved into whatever mess it is now.

multiple mentions of blood and other excessive bodily fluids!

you can pry switch klance from my cold dead hands and i still won't let go. AND i still make the rules. enjoy!! :))

(especially u cher)

Having a mate was fucking awesome, Keith decided.

 

It felt like the light at the end of his tunnel of growth pains and never-ending hunger. Being able to touch and kiss Lance whenever he wanted, leaning against him on the couch when they were having their regular paladin game night, their knees knocking together during meals and meetings. Scenting Lance whenever he wanted to, ensuring his mate always smelled like them. All of it a much-deserved reward for surviving his late-onset alien puberty.

 

Keith loved waking up with Lance in his arms, his angular face smashed into Keith's armpit, drool drying on the side of his mouth, and their legs a tangled mess. It felt safe, warm, like everything he'd been dreaming of for years, Keith’s very presence allowing Lance to unwind and let his proverbial hair down. Nothing could compare to watching Lance's chest rise and fall in steady breaths, face smoothed out and showing no signs of the usual tension that naturally came with the responsibility of piloting the Blue Lion. 

 

Being spooned by Lance came pretty damn close, though. A long, muscular leg thrown over Keith's hip, warm, damp air blowing against the back of his neck. Lance cuddled like a starfish; every part of his body had to be touching Keith in some way. It made Keith feel so secure, as if he were tucked away where no one else but Lance could reach him.

 

Keith was slowly learning how to swallow the lump in his throat and ignore the knot in his stomach that told him he wasn’t supposed to enjoy the casual affection.

 

The whole team helped him get used to it, Shiro would throw an arm around his shoulder for no reason other than the simple contact, barrel Keith into his arms because he could, and glow with pride when he performed particularly well during a mission.

 

Pidge took to punching him in the arm, meaning into his bicep to muffle their evil tittering laugh. Hunk strong armed him into group hugs, not taking no for an answer when Keith’s ears would flatten against his head in embarrassment.

 

It was as if an unspoken announcement had taken place, declaring that everyone needed to shower Keith with love and nonchalant intimacy until he accepted that he deserved it.

 

Even Allura caught on, brushing the back of her hand along the side of Keith's arm in silent encouragement, going so far as to pat the top of his head and ruffle his hair after he'd acted as the team’s representative during their last council meeting. The touches felt strangely normal and not entirely unwelcome, which Keith didn't know how to process, and wanted to pull away from, but had been unable to. It all made him feel tender and soft, off-kilter and confused--but so giddy it pressed against his skin, vibrating his body with sheepish joy.

 

Coran's version of affection was loud and boisterous compliments, ensuring that he informed Keith of his 'impressive combat techniques' whenever the situation presented itself.

 

But nobody could hold a candle to Lance giving him the same treatment. Every teasing smack, declaration of love, and look of fond exasperation sank into Keith’s stomach like lead and stayed there.

 

It didn’t help that Lance suffered from the same ailment as Keith, unwilling-to-take-your-hands-off-your-boyfriend syndrome.

 

He would ’accidentally’ graze his ass against Keith’s front, looking back at him in faux-innocence, like Lance's hadn't intentionally made him hard as a fucking rock. He'd lock their fingers together and rub his thumb over the seam of Keith’s wrist. Slide behind him and wrap his arms around Keith’s waist, pressing his face into furry shoulder blades.

 

Lance had an obsession with his hair that Keith pretended to be annoyed about. He grumbled and rolled his eyes when Lance would card his fingers through it, lightly scratching along his scalp. Keith didn't think he had Lance fooled for even a tick, always being met with a snicker and warm eyes when he protested against it, saying I'm not your pet.

 

No, Lance would say, you're just my big, fluffy alien boyfriend. It made Keith's belly flutter every single time. You’d think those butterflies would have gone away when they'd settled into their relationship. Nope. If anything, it got worse.

 

Lance had taken to occasionally calling Keith disgustingly saccharine nicknames: sugar, honey, sweetheart. He said he couldn't help it sometimes, apparently it wasn't fair how 'cute' Keith was. Lance just had to. He didn't mind, to put it mildly, hence the butterflies. It did not help his case any when Lance had leaned into his ear to whisper about how sweet Keith was on his tongue, and it's only fitting when your dick tastes like honey.

 

The first time Lance had called him 'sugar' in front of the others, Keith thought he was going to explode. Instead, he'd just blushed, popped a boner, and incited Pidge to point and cackle at them. Apparently, they were fucking gross and insanely gay. Which, yeah, kind of made sense. Shiro had lightly admonished them, but was unable to hold back his own amused snort.

 

But Keith didn't have a single leg to stand on when it came to being handsy and head over heels, if anything, he tended to act more abhorrent than Lance. 

 

Sure, his rut had been long over, but that didn't make him any less hungry for a slice of Lance pie. How could you blame him? Those legs that seemed miles long taunted him through Lance's bodysuit. The slivers of tan skin that were exposed by Lance's nightshirt when he stretched his arms up into the air or bent over drove Keith crazy. He didn't think he could ever get enough of Lance to fully satiate him, his appetite for the blue paladin seemingly bottomless.

 

Why should he hold back from his desire to consume Lance whole, stuff him into Keith’s heart, and keep him there? The way Lance touched him gave him confidence to do the same.

 

And touch he did. Sometimes he wasn’t even completely aware of the way his entire existence was drawn to Lance. His tail would curl around Lance's arm, only noticing when the fluffy tip of it was rubbed in between slender fingers. Against his will—well, not entirely—his ears perpetually ended up swiveling in Lance’s direction, tuned into his every move.

 

He couldn’t resist the urge to steal giggle-soaked kisses in the corridors or stick his nose into the crook of Lance’s neck at inappropriate intervals. He smelled the strongest there, his throat practically begged to be nipped and licked. Keith's claws itched for any opportunity to leave raised, red lines on Lance's skin. His fangs ached to sink into supple flesh and leave a permanent mark on Lance's neck.

 

Simply put, Keith was insatiable. His mate was just too pretty, with his sharp features and perfect skin. Too smart, his mind analyzes any situation swiftly and comes up with an effective strategy to handle it within doboshes. Even Lance’s laughter crawled right under Keith’s skin, ballooning under his heart and wrenching unbidden, toothy smiles from his lips.

 

Keith regularly had the thought cross his mind that he could spend the rest of his life just talking to Lance, and he'd die happy. It was crushed as often as it came up, the idea of never holding Lance in his arms again dropping and twisting in his gut, creating tight knots that made Keith shove the train of thought to the back of his mind.

 

Maybe, just maybe, Lance had a point when he'd said Keith didn't have much control when it came to his boyfriend. Which had brought them to this entirely too dramatic sit-down conversation.

 

Lance motions for Keith, patting the spot on his bed directly next to him. He'd been cornered on his way to the training deck, Lance insisting they needed to talk and the drones would still be there when they were done.

 

"C'mon, dude, I don't bite," Lance waggles his thin brows, "except for when you want me to." Keith groans and takes his allocated seat, his stomach rolling in tense anticipation and tail looping around his own leg for reassurance.

 

Based on Lance’s playful tone and easy-going smirk, it shouldn’t be anything to worry about. Yet, he can’t help the feeling of rejection swirling in his abdomen.

 

Did he do something wrong? Was Lance getting uncomfortable? Maybe he’d pushed him too far, touched too much—

 

A light flick to Keith’s nose snaps him out of his mental jumping jacks. “Keith, stop, I can feel you overthinking,” Lance chuckles, “I love you, okay? Chill out.”

 

The tangle in his intestines eases at that, if only slightly. Lance shuffles closer to him, brushing their thighs together. He licks his lips, briefly sucking the bottom one into his mouth and biting down into it before releasing a long breath.

 

"There's no easy way to say this--don't make that face at me, honey, you're fine--but you totally need to get your," he waves a hand in Keith's general direction, "half-Galra tendencies under control."

 

Keith flinches, stomach re-twisting itself back into an anxious coil, ears swiveling forward--pointed at their tips and alert. "What do you mean?" He asks cautiously.

 

"I mean, you literally growled at Hunk the other day. Hunk! Just because he hugged me," Lance throws his hands up. "He does that all the time! Hunk hugs everyone!" Keith scowls, remembering the feeling of sick possession that had scraped at his throat. Just as soon as the sound had left his mouth, he'd clamped a palm over it, eyes wide. Keith had apologized profusely, shame burning his ears.

 

"I said I was sorry."

 

"I know, buddy, and like I said, it's okay, but that's not even it. Your tail keeps getting all pissy when anyone gets close to me."

 

"Pissy?"

 

"Yeah, y'know? When it gets super straight or starts thumping against your leg?" Lance makes an aggressive slapping motion on his thigh, "Like this."

 

"Oh," Keith says, feeling a little dazed. Does he really act like that?

 

"And, you glared at Allura this morning when she passed me the juice," he says with finality, like he's checking off notes in his head.

 

"I did?"

 

"Yup," Lance says, popping the 'p.' He claps his hands together, an excited gleam in his eyes. "But, as your perfect and super cool mate, I came up with a plan." Keith feels like the rug has been pulled from underneath him, but it's obvious Lance isn't mad at him. If anything, he seems mildly amused and a little pleased, smirk still plastered on his face. He shoves the pit in his stomach aside, swallowing the lump in his throat that threatens to form. Communication is important; Keith needs to talk about his feelings with Lance, no matter how uncomfortable it is for him.

 

"Okay, what's this master plan, oh great and omnipotent Lance?" Keith intertwines their fingers, needing the small amount of contact to assuage his nerves. Lance strokes the side of his thumb absentmindedly, humming in thought. With each pass, Keith's stomach loosens until a quiet purr emanates from his chest, effectively soothed. Contentment aside, he's still waiting impatiently for Lance's response, needing him to break the silence growing between them.

 

"Training!" Lance enthuses, spreading his palms in a dramatic, arching movement above his head.

 

"Baby, we train all the time. If that was gonna help, we wouldn't be sitting here having this conversation." Lance rolls his eyes, prodding Keith's chest with his finger, pressing it sharply and insistent into the meat of his pectoral muscle. He does it again for good measure.

 

"No, moron," Lance says affectionately, "Not that kind of training."

 

"Okay...." he trails off, needing Lance to fill in the blanks. Keith is lost, but not worried—he trusts Lance, and if he says he has a plan, it's been thought out extensively, every nook and cranny of it examined for any faults.

 

"Basically, you can't touch me for a movement. I think if—" Scratch that, there's no plausible way Lance had thought this through, decided it was a good idea, and said it to Keith's face.

 

"No."

 

"Keith," Lance nudges his knee against the large, fur-covered one next to him,  "Sweetheart, if you would just—" he tries before Keith cuts him off mid-sentence with a hiss.

 

"No," Keith's ears compress to his skull, tail flicking and starting a steady rhythm against the mattress, only working to prove Lance's earlier statement. "Absolutely not. That'll just make it worse."

 

"It's actually a really good exercise if you think about it."

 

Keith does not agree with this at all and has no intention of budging.

 

...

 

Keith budges. Of course he does, it's Lance. All his infuriatingly handsome mate had to do was bat his eyelashes and trail a finger up Keith's arm, telling him how proud it would make him, that he could 'be good, right?' Keith didn't stand a chance with a pouty, simpering Lance pressed against his side.

 

'The rules are simple,' he'd said, playing with the edge of Keith's sleeve, 'No touching me for a movement. No growls or nasty looks directed towards anyone the whole time. If you crack, no fucking me for a phoeb.' Lance had finished his statement with a smile, all cruel and pretty. Keith's only allotment was that they could still sleep together, sans sex. He didn't have to say it out loud, Lance knew his mate wouldn't get a wink of rest otherwise.

 

Keith is already regretting agreeing to this plan. It's stupid, unjust even.

 

Lance starts strong, pushing Keith away from him and sliding out of bed when their alarm goes off at the beginning of the movement. "Your time starts now, sugar." He blows Keith a kiss, stumbles into his clothes, and smacks the pad by Keith's door to open it. There is definitely an exaggerated sway to his hips. Keith's palm falls onto his face with a mournful groan. He cannot possibly survive this.

 

It's barely a few vargas into his exercise of will, and Lance has already thoroughly tested his patience. Evidently, everyone in the fucking castle needs a hug and a pat on the back. Don't get him wrong, Keith is on his own journey of self-love and expressing his care for his pseudo-family in more physical ways, but this is beyond ridiculous. Surely, Lance doesn't need to linger in the half embrace he tugs Hunk into, tucking his face against his best friend's shoulder. And, yeah, Keith loves Hunk and all, but he also kind of wants to rip his throat out. Just a little.

 

But he doesn't, he grits his teeth and clenches his jaw, and turns away from the display.

 

When Lance is hanging on Shiro's good arm, asking pointless questions he already knows the answers to about his prosthetic, it's a little easier to deal with. Until Lance throws his head back and laughs at something Shiro says, exposing the inviting column of his throat for everyone to see. The urge to stomp over and pull Lance off of Shiro rises like bile in his throat. It's not fair, he shouldn't be jealous of the man he considers his brother.

 

Yet, Keith still finds himself thinking that his muscles should be the ones Lance loops his arm through. His claws are digging into his palms, but he doesn't look away this time. He makes himself watch Shiro chuckle good-naturedly with Lance, face twitching valiantly in an effort not to glare daggers at the two people he loves the most.

 

Deep purple blood pools into his fists and attempts to trickle between his clenched fingers. Of course, Lance and his dumb Keith-is-in-distress senses notice, and he shoots Keith a look. It's somehow concerned and exasperated at the same time. Lance jerks his gaze to the first-aid kit hanging next to a floating sink, saying go clean that up, right now with nothing but his eyes. Shiro—thankfully—is none the wiser, still going on about the augmentations Pidge had just added to his arm.  

 

He patches up his hands, grateful for the distraction. Keith is sucking deep, steadying breaths into his lungs when Shiro comes up behind him and slaps a hand on his shoulder. He startles, unintentionally ripping the bandaging he was in the middle of wrapping around his palm. "You alright, man?' Shiro says, gesturing to his hand.

 

"Yeah, just had an accident. No biggie." Keith exhales in a slow, practiced way, sending him a shaky smile. Shiro doesn't say anything, just squeezes his shoulder.

 

Lance seems to be under the impression he's granting Keith mercy when he switches tactics. He does not consider it a kindness when Lance starts taunting him with his body. He stretches in the common room, like it's fucking normal and something he does all the time.

 

It's not.

 

He typically does them in Keith's room or the training deck, he knows what his taught lines of muscle do to Keith's psyche. To add fuel to the fire, Lance is making these little sighs and groans as he leans into each movement. It's dramatized and unnecessary, but still similar enough to the noises Lance makes when he first sinks onto Keith's dick that it sends him reeling.

 

Keith has to leave then, he doesn't trust himself anywhere near a sweaty, vocal Lance and has no intention of failing his 'training.'

 

...

 

That night, Keith enters Lance's room with more force than required. He's keyed up and has been sporting a half-chub all day, but can't help deflating as soon as he sees Lance at his desk applying a face mask. The mundanity of the sight relaxes Keith. Twice a movement, Lance scrounges up everything he needs to mix this concoction together, and he always overestimates how much he'll need. 

 

It's just a movement, and this is Lance, his mate. He doesn't want to take his frustrations out on his boyfriend and abruptly feels silly about his behavior, he was the one who agreed to this. 

 

Lance declines to comment on his entrance. His tongue is poking out of the side of his mouth in concentration, eyebrows screwed together. Lance is leaning too close to the mirror, which Keith has realized by now is an integral part of the process. Lance lowers the tool he was using to spread the thick cream, beaming at Keith. "Hey, been waiting for you," He points at the bowl in front of him, "I made too much, and it won't stay good all night, you gotta let me put some on you."

 

So, Keith sits at the edge of the bed and lets Lance turn around and apply the paste to his skin, closing his eyes and inhaling the scent of his mate wafting towards him. It's musky, warm, and familiar, with a touch of citrus and a hint of something sweet that must come from Lance's extensive collection of beauty products. The salty smell of sweat curls around the other notes, depositing a placating bundle of scent straight into Keith's nose.

 

Lance bats his hands away when Keith tries to hold onto his waist and lean closer. "Out of bounds. Only sleepy-time cuddles for you, Mr. Kogane." Keith whines but keeps his hands to himself. Lance is warm, the heat radiating off him in waves and soaking into Keith's skin. He looks close to edible, freshly moisturized, and his lips glossy from a sleep mask. Keith wants to lick him from head to toe, homemade face mask and all. He knows if he tries, he'll only earn himself several movements of pathetic, self-induced sexual frustration. 

 

Having Lane's face so close to his own and not being able to kiss him stupid is torture. The hand Lance isn't using holds his jaw in place the same way he does when they're making out, and Keith gets restless. Which he thinks has to be intentional. As a result, Keith decides revenge is the best course of action, lowering his voice into the rumble he knows drives Lance up a wall.

 

"'m sorry, baby, you just look so cute in your face mask. Couldn't help myself," he says, looking up at Lance from behind lowered lids. Lance tuts, unimpressed by the shameless display.

 

"Nice try. That's exactly why we're doing this." Lance's blown pupils give him away, cutting the edge of his haughty tone.

 

"I can't wait for this bet to be over. I'm gonna bend you over every surface in your room and make you scream," Keith promises, but doesn't push any further, the threat of a phoeb without Lance's heat wrapped around his cock ringing through his ears. Lance chokes and tries to cover it up with a cough. The tips of his ears darkening with blood are his only other tell.

 

"It's not a bet, dude. This is training. An exercise in control that you desperately need, clearly," Lance tries for miffed, and falls short, landing somewhere between petulant and mildly aroused. 

 

Lance finishes applying the mask, releasing his grip on Keith's jaw. He pats the side of Keith's neck and admires his handiwork with a crooked grin. "All done, sweetheart." Lance declares, clapping his hands together. Supposedly, Keith is just supposed to sit and wait for the cream to dry and not touch his boyfriend.                          

 

The wave of relief that crashes through Keith's body when they finally lie down is absurd but welcomed readily. He's been dying to get his hands on Lance this entire quintant. As soon as his boyfriend gets under the covers, Keith wraps his entire body around his naked form. His face settles into the juncture where Lance's neck and trapezoid meet with a trilling, pleased sigh. Lance laughs at him, but slides his legs under one of Keith's and wraps his arms around his nape.

 

Keith presses barely there kisses to Lance's neck, soft kitten licks sprinkled between every other one. Lance allows it. Fingers come up to scrape gently along the crown of Keith's head, and he drifts to sleep, muttering a 'thank you' into Lance's throat.

 

...   

 

By the fourth quintant, Keith realizes Lance wants to kill him. It's not the first time he's thought this, but it is the first time he's been completely sure it's a true statement. 

 

He wakes up to Lance grinding on his thigh. The soft, panting moans would usually be music to his ears, but they grate on him this morning. Lance has to be asleep. There's no other explanation for his slow, aborted thrusts against Keith's leg—they definitely violate the terms and conditions of their arrangement. He's making little keening sighs, exhaling wetly against the spot on Keith's chest where his head is lying. Each warm puff of air brushes across Keith's nipple, making it harden and pebble.

 

Keith feels like he's reaching the limits of his patience. They're already more than halfway through the movement, and he's done nothing but suffer. He had watched Lance suck his utensils clean two nights ago, making direct eye contact with Keith across the table, and fucking winking. Lance muttered something under his breath about 'a taste of his own medicine' after Keith's eyes had almost bulged out of his head. He didn't bother asking about the comment, knowing Lance would somehow find a way to turn it around on Keith, and undoubtedly cause him more grief.

 

Which Keith felt he'd been served enough of, stuffed to the brim and fit to burst. By this point, he'd spent countless vargas with his jaw tight and hands fisted at his sides. He couldn't even find much solace in his teammates; Lance's excessive touches permeated their skin in rolling swells of citrusy musk, serving as a cruel reminder of what Keith wasn't allowed to have. 

 

The quintant before, Lance had even gone as far as wearing one of Keith's dirty workout shirts to train in. The scent had enveloped his body, mixing with Lance's natural odor in a mouthwatering blend. The smell of their combined sweat on Lance was akin to the aroma that lingered after they fucked. It did terrible, awful things to Keith's dick. 

 

Anyone who thought Lance McClain was above cruel and unusual punishment towards aliens was sorely mistaken. 

 

Keith's stupid, rapidly hardening cock snapped him back into reality. A trail of drool had slid down from the open side of Lance's mouth to puddle around Keith's nipple. After eons of merciless teasing, the small crumb of contact almost feels like an entire meal. Keith bites his lip to stifle a whimper that begs to crawl out of his throat, not wanting the noise to wake Lance. 

 

His mate needs the rest, having a tendency to over-extend himself in everyone else's best interest. What was Keith made of by now if not self-control? If he's already managed to swallow every growl and dirty look that wanted to come out of him for this long, he can let Lance sleep. While he was rubbing the slick length of his cock against Keith's thigh. Yeah. Not a big deal. The small pool of Lance’s precum dripping down his leg? Totally fine.

 

His gums ache in protest. He needs to sink his fangs into the flushed skin surrounding him. Leave pretty blotches of red, yellow, and purple anywhere his mouth can reach. 

 

Keith starts utilizing grounding techniques, filling his cheeks with air and swishing it back and forth to each side. He draws out his exhales, making them longer than his inhales in an effort to slow his thundering heartbeat. His cock is so stiff it hurts, but he's getting closer to some semblance of calm, his tail going from an erratic thump to a steady beat. It goes without saying that an unaware Lance chooses this exact moment to mumble against his chest, his breathy voice forming a soft, "Keith..."

 

The restraint he was clutching at mere ticks ago slips through his fingers. His hands dart down to grab Lance's hips, deepening the slow, filthy roll into something harder, more desperate. He hikes his thigh up just a little, enough to slot it directly against Lance's leaking dick and grant him more leverage. Keith tips his head back and lets a quiet groan unleash from his throat, clenching his eyes shut tight. He guides Lance into a harsh grind, biting his lip so hard the metallic tang of his blood gathers on his tongue. Keith almost thinks he could climax from this, quintants without getting off building, convincing him that the sensation of Lance's pleasure alone is enough. If he just—

 

"Aha!" Lance shoots up and slaps an accusatory palm to Keith's chest. "I knew it," he crows. Keith startles, jerking away from Lance to stare at him in shock. His mouth hangs open, and Lance slides a finger under his chin to close it for him. "Careful, buddy, you might catch flies."

 

Keith doesn't bother mentioning that there are no flies in space, he knows Lance is fucking with him. "What was that?" He deadpans, surprise giving way to indignation. 

 

"That," Lance smacks his lips together in a self-satisfied grin, "Was a test. Which you failed miserably." He swipes a thumb across Keith's bloodied lip, bringing it to his mouth to clean and release with a pop. Keith's eyes follow the movement, his dick twitching in interest.

 

"You set me up," Keith breathes. "You wanted me to fail."

 

"What can I say? You're just too easy." Lance has a pleased grin on his face, but there's something behind his eyes that sends alarm bells ringing through Keith's head. He had just thrown all his progress out the window, all that was left was for Lance to land the finishing blow. No sex for a phoeb. Keith reasons with himself—a phoeb was light work if the only way he wasn't allowed to put his hands all over Lance was sexually. 

 

Keith hangs his head in defeat, but he's not entirely upset with the situation at hand. All bets are off, he can touch Lance again. Hold his hand and swipe kisses from his lips freely, press Lance close, and inhale that intoxicating scent. Outside of the few moments they spend entangled at night and in the morning, Keith has been thoroughly deprived of his normal intake of Lance's physical affection. 

 

"Aww, Keith. Don't worry." Lance simpers. He cups Keith's face to bring it level with his own, and strokes a thumb down his jaw. 

 

Ignoring the warning signal flashing brightly in the glint of Lance's eyes, Keith rolls his eyes at his mate, "I'm not worried, I'm relieved. I don't care if I don't get to fuck you for phoebs, baby." A half-tilted grin pulls at his cheek, and he fondles the scarred, muscular sides of Lance's waist. "As long as I can touch you again."

 

Lance tosses his head back and laughs as if Keith had just told him something hysterical instead of a factual statement. Blood thumps in Keith's ears. This is when Lance is going to twist the knife in. And he does.  "Oh, no, sweetheart. We're still going—you're not getting out of this that easy." He reaches for Keith's wrists, slowly pulling them away from his body. Lance places them back onto the bed with a pat and a disarming smile. "In fact, if you coulda just kept your hands to yourself, I would've come all over myself and let you rub it in. You've been doing such a good job," he coos. 

 

Until now is left unsaid, but, nonetheless, hits Keith's stomach like a sucker punch. Cold dread creeps up his spine, washing away the excitement that had just been dancing under the surface of his skin. Disappointment sidesteps its way into the fray. Lance knows he loves massaging his mates' spend into his chest, stomach, and thighs. Drenching every part of Lance's body—that only Keith gets to see—in the heady smell. 

 

"Lance. That's not even fuckin' funny." Keith tries not to whine. A thin, perfectly shaped brow arches in response. 

 

"Never said I was joking, buddy. In fact, you actually get to just sit here and watch while I jerk off," he leans into Keith's ear, whispering, "And you can't lay a finger on me."

 

Keith feels like this goes beyond cruel and unusual, dipping straight into torture rather than punishment. He doesn't attempt to muffle his whimper this time. "Baby," he begs. 

 

"Don't you 'baby' me, mister. You dug your own grave, you can lie in it, too." With that, Lance flops onto his back, pointedly not looking at Keith. He's smirking; he knows Keith is watching, knows he's salivating at the sight of Lance's tanned fingers skimming from his throat to his abdomen. He traces slow circles, pinching and pulling at his nipples whenever his fingers return to his chest. Keith sits up and crosses his legs. He might as well accept his fate and enjoy the show. 

 

Lance's cock has barely flagged, but it did soften enough that Keith gets to watch the blood flow back into it with each tug against those stiff, dark brown peaks. Lance plays with them until they're sore and puffy, making Keith bemoan the fact that he's not the one pulling gasps and soft moans from his boyfriend's mouth. He's grateful for the sight anyway. Keith will take anything he can get at this point, his still dick straining painfully against his boxers, and his hands digging into his own thighs for support. 

 

He watches as Lance trails his fingers down, down, down until they finally grip the base of his dick. Keith feels saliva pool in his mouth, the scent of Lance's arousal sharpening when he wraps a hand around himself. Lance strokes his dick slowly, rubbing the head with the heel of his palm every few pulls. He hisses each time he does it, teeth clenched and eyes squeezed shut. 

 

"Keith, fuck—it feels so good," he opens his eyes with a sly, shaky smile, making direct eye contact with Keith. Lance's breath hitches while he struggles to talk, "Bet—hnng—bet you wish you were the one getting me off, huh, sugar?" Keith bobs his head fervently, groaning in agreement and palming himself through his boxers. His cock has already started to leak, creating a wet patch near the tip. The rough friction of the cloth against his dick sends a shiver wracking through Keith's body. 

 

Lance pulls his hand away from his shaft, glaring at Keith, "No touching means you too, moron. How else are you going to get your instincts under control if you can't even resist this?" That's not even fair, he thinks sullenly, but does not voice to Lance. He's not stupid and has no desire to be teased any further than he already is.

 

Keith pulls his hand away from his dick—reluctantly, mind you—and mumbles, "Okay, okay, sorry, Lance. I'll be good." Lance's eyes crinkle when he beams back at him, finally reaching back down to grasp his cock. His head tips back, and he releases a long breath when he starts slowly tugging his dick again. 

 

There's fire and ice in Keith's veins, he feels like he's evaporating from the inside out. Each sound that spills from Lance's lips has him gripping his thighs harder, claws threatening to pierce through his skin. Lance's hips jerk up into his hand, the pace he's stroking his cock at quickening. Keith is so hard it fucking aches. Keith meets Lance's gasping moans with his own breathless noises, the tips of his fingers losing circulation and lightening from how hard he's digging into his thighs. He's sweating, drops of it rolling down his face, starting at his temples. 

 

He knows Lance is close, he can taste it in the air and see in the way Lance's body starts to quiver. His tan, muscular frame is shining in sweat, his abs clenching and releasing as he chases his orgasm. "Shit, 'm gonna cum, Keith, so close—" Lance cuts himself off, crying out when he wraps his fingers around the tip of his dick and ruts into it frantically. Keith leans down to breathe against his ear, rough and strangled, "Yeah, baby? Gonna come all over yourself for me? Show me what I'm missing?" 

 

That's all it takes for Lance to spill into his hand, eyes screwing shut and a filthy, wrecked sob tumbling from his lips. Then, Keith's claws do puncture and drag through his skin, not being able to take any more of the sight in front of him. Warm blood drips from his thighs as he watches Lance come apart. He's making choked, grunting sounds, milking his cock to over-sensitivity, Lance's cum slicking the way for his hands to yank at his cock with abandon. Keith's dick throbs, his denied orgasm pulsing through him and shredding at his nerves. 

 

His claws only release from the meat of his thighs when Lance calms down, loud groans turning into winded huffs as the tension melts from his body. Keith literally cannot handle another tick in the room next to a flushed, cum-coated Lance. Nor is he particularly interested in showing his mate the gashes on his legs. Lance is going to get that pinched, concerned look on his face, and Keith doesn't think he can stomach the attention right now, not when he isn't allowed to lap up or rub in the cooling substance on Lance's fingers and abdomen. 

 

So, he scrambles off the bed, turning around so Lance can't see him. In the brief moment before he tears his eyes away from the mattress, he notices a dark spot directly under where he had just been seated. What the fuck? He tucks the information away for later, planning to track down Pidge when he figures out where it came from. 

 

Keith manages to choke out a, "Gotta go stick my bayard into something," before he grabs the closest thing to an outfit he can find, literally tucks his tail between his legs, and runs away, Lance's surprised cackle following him out the door. 

 

... 

 

Turns out, Keith's ass had been leaking like a fucking faucet. That wet spot on Lance's bed? It's called slick, which he finds mildly disgusting. 

 

He had haphazardly bandaged his leg, washed the deep purple from underneath his fingernails, and went on a wild-Pidge hunt. They ended up being in their lab—go figure—tinkering with unidentifiable pieces of metal and wiring. Keith had frantically explained that something was dripping out of his asshole, he'd contracted a weird Galran disease, and was likely going to die. Pidge hadn't bothered to look up from their work, tapped a few buttons on a nearby holo-screen, and told Keith to read it. 

 

He hadn't been a fan of the muttered 'I thought this was gonna happen.' When he'd finished reading the article, Keith really wasn't a fan of it, throwing a clipped, but genuine, expression of gratitude on his way out. 

 

He's leaning against a wall far away from Lance's room and Pidge's lab, processing the information he'd just taken in. Galran bodies adapted to suit their sexual partner if they were of a different species, ensuring procreation and preventing their extinction. So, all because of Lance's stupid 'training,' his rectum was basically preparing to be bred. To top it off, his slick has the capability to give Lance a fucking knot. 

 

Keith closes his eyes and thumps the back of his head on the wall. How is he even supposed to approach that conversation with Lance? Hey, baby, my ass makes juice that can physiologically alter your dick. Wanna take it for a spin? He groans at the thought, sliding down to sit on the floor in defeat. It's not like he hasn't thought of Lance fucking him, he definitely has. But Lance has never brought it up, and Keith doesn't know if his boyfriend would even be into that. Who would want a huge, purple alien crying on their cock? Lance, probably, but Keith hasn't asked and doesn't want to.

 

On the off chance Lance says no, Keith is pretty sure he'll never emotionally recover from that. Once Keith's body realizes his dick is still getting wet, and has no reason to produce more slick, everything will go back to normal. He only has to hold out for a few more quintants, then he can have Lance any way he wants, and put the whole butt juice thing behind him. 

 

When this movement is over, he's going to pick Lance apart piece by piece, put him back together, and do it all over again. 

 

...

 

Keith does not come remotely close to doing that. After cornering him in the training deck and demanding to spar with a salacious grin, Lance is decidedly the one breaking him. His scent crowds against the walls of the room, determination and smug satisfaction undercut by the sweet smell of Lance's arousal. It burns Keith's nose, stomps all over his resolve, and curls heat in his pelvis. 

 

He breathes heavily out of his mouth to avoid jumping Lance right then and there, but it only results in Keith tasting his mate in the air. He has to swallow the drool quickly collecting on his tongue, and ignore the sudden wet slide between his legs. It feels like everything from the past movement has caught up to him, yanked him by his hair, and is having its way with him. Keith can hardly think straight, the only things seemingly allowed entrance into his mind are Lance, Lance's sweat, and Lance bent over and stuck on his cock. He deliberately steers clear of the mental image of himself stretched around Lance. 

 

It doesn't make his hole drip any less, doesn't cool the heat in his belly at all. If their sparring goes on much longer, there's no way Keith will be able to hide the inevitable puddle in the seat of his pants, Lance is bound to notice, and they'll have to talk about it. He dodges each blow that comes toward him with far more difficulty than usual. He's on the defense, head too clouded with the effort of overlooking the sheen on Lance's skin and the harsh breaths leaving his mouth. 

 

Lance is flushed all lovely and sweet, the same way he gets when Keith has a vice grip on his hips and he's trying to squirm away from overstimulation. The strength it takes Keith to disregard the throbbing pangs shooting through his gums when his fangs elongate could move a mountain. Keith wants to bite, needs to lay his claim on his mate. Lance's neck would look so—

 

"Keith, what the fuck is that?" Lance interrupts his train of thought, pointing a panicked and incriminating finger at Keith's thighs. He'd been so worried Lance would find out about his freaky ass juice, he hadn't had time to consider his boyfriend noticing the sloppy bandage job poking through the fabric of Keith's pants. He looks down to see just how obvious it is, and oh—shit. The gauze wasn't visible. 

 

But the splotches of dark purple blood seeping through it were. Lance drops his weapon and stalks toward Keith, anger written clearly across his face. "Did you seriously agree to spar," He seethes, poking Keith in the chest, "With open wounds? Please tell me you're joking." 

 

Keith raises his hands sheepishly, the knowledge that there's no getting out of this sinking into his gut heavily. He should've known the gashes would re-open, should've known Lance would notice and be livid, but the thought had never crossed his mind. How is Keith supposed to tell his boyfriend no when he asks for something? 

 

"I forgot, alright? I'm sorry," he says, trying to placate Lance and smooth out the crease in his brows. It only succeeds in raising his voice a few octaves. 

 

"Forgot?" Lance shrills, digging his finger harder into Keith's chest, "How do you forget about that? You're literally soaked in blood!" 

 

Unfortunately for Keith, the palpable combination of concern and outrage coming from Lance does it for him. "Baby, I'm fine, really," Keith says, rubbing his hands down the back of Lance's arms, whether to comfort his mate or satiate his own desire unclear. He melts into the touch, and Keith wonders if this movement has been driving Lance just as crazy. 

 

"C'mon, idiot. You're gonna let me fix those bandages for you, and I know you didn't clean them right." Lance's tone softens considerably, but his gaze is still intense. Keith lets himself be tugged along, Lance marching a determined path to the med-bay. He huffs and puffs about Keith's lack of self-awareness the whole way. 

 

 

Lance makes him take off his pants as soon as they enter the room, leaving Keith in a worn-out shirt and his boxers. It's not until Lance has him perch on a counter and crouches between his legs that Keith realizes he's in trouble, in no way, shape, or form was he prepared to look at Lance being framed by each of his thighs. Strong hands grip each of his thighs, spreading them so Lance has better access to the bled through gauze. The rubbery texture of the gloves against his fur should’ve felt impersonal. 

 

But the warmth behind them undeniably belongs to Lance. That’s really all the information Keith’s brain needs to head south. Lance is using shears to cut the mangled bandages off of his legs when he looks at Keith, an unmistakable question in his eyes. 

 

“Lance, baby, don’t you think you should pay attention to what you’re doing when you’re holding scissors to my legs?” Keith asks, breaking their eye contact before his boyfriend has the opportunity to grill him. 

 

Lance scoffs and brings the tool to the front of Keith’s face, waving it back and forth, “The blades are blunt for a reason, sweetheart.” He looks unimpressed with Keith’s evasion tactics. “You wanna tell me how this even happened?” 

 

Keith has no interest in telling Lance that he could barely contain himself when he'd been faced with his mate touching the dick he’d been deprived of for quintants. “Not really,” he grumbles under his breath.

 

The gauze falls away from Keith's leg in soggy strips, and Lance’s eyes widen. It would be comical in any other situation, but Keith’s stomach clenches in anticipation of the words he knows are about to come. 

 

“Dude, are those claw marks?” Lance breathes in disbelief. Right. Of course. He knew his mate was too smart not to put two and two together. 

 

“Why are you asking if you already know?” Keith says, muffled behind the palms he's using to cover up his face. He wants to crawl into a hole and hibernate for the rest of his life. 

 

Lance grabs his wrists and pulls them away from Keith’s face. “Because I want you to tell me what’s wrong, sugar,” he says, gaze returning to the gashes that are slowly oozing purple down the sides of Keith’s thighs. “And I need you to tell me why you didn’t seem to think it was worth mentioning to your mate.” 

 

Keith can feel his ears burn, but as uncomfortable as he is, Lance is right. It's not fair to keep his boyfriend in the dark, even if it is something as inane as shredding his legs to ribbons because he wasn't allowed to get his hands on Lance's dick.

 

"It's embarrassing," he whines, stalling for time. Lance stays quiet, but rubs reassuring passes on Keith's inner thighs with his thumbs. Keith draws in a deep, shaky breath, steeling himself before he spills his guts. "I was trying not to touch you," he starts, looking down and fiddling with the edge of his shirt, "Y'know, earlier? Just wanted to show you I could keep my hands to myself."

 

When the silence between them stretches uncomfortably long, Keith risks a glance at Lance's face. He's expecting an amused smile, puzzled exasperation, or maybe even sympathy. He sees none of those things. Instead, Lance's pupils are wide, and there's a delicate blush staining his cheeks. Lance darts his tongue out to lick his lips before sucking his bottom lip into his mouth with a sharp breath. His grip on Keith's thighs tighten, no longer soothing. Lance's lids lower and his voice drips in sugar when he says, "Oh, honey, really?"

 

Lance's reaction quickens Keith's breath, and heat spreads through his body. Lance was right, Keith is so easy for him. He nods, breaking their eye contact before he can do something else to jeopardize the thin line of self-control he's managing. He's hard, and he knows Lance can see it, the flimsy cloth of his boxers doing nothing to conceal the outline of his cock. Lance just chuckles lightly, but there's an edge to it that makes Keith think the line might snap. 

 

"What am I gonna do with you?" Lance tuts, seemingly returning to his work. He dabs disinfectant along each wound meticulously, humming in a way that should be absentminded. Keith is not fooled. He waits. It doesn't take long. Lance scoots closer inside the bracket of Keith's thighs, feigning innocence when he reaches across Keith's leg to grab the gauze sitting on the table. It might be believable if Lance wasn't breathing through his mouth, warm gusts of air brushing Keith's dick with each exhale.

 

The traitorous thing twitches when Lance pulls back, gauze in hand, and grazes the tip of Keith's cock with his wrist. He catches the smirk that tries to tug at Lance's lips before it gets wiped away. It's replaced with what is clearly supposed to be concentration, but looks more like gratification. "Lance," he warns, looking to the ceiling. 

 

"What? Can a man not treat his boyfriend's injuries?" Lance replies, tone deceptively light. 

 

"Baby, please," he begs, "I really can't do this anymore, you're driving me crazy." The heat in Keith's body spreads into an all-encompassing fire when Lance laughs at him. 

 

"Should've thought about that before you decided to stick your stupid claws in your legs and not tell me." 

 

Keith whines in the back of his throat. They have yet to talk about his slick—which is valiantly trying to leak out his hole—and humiliation already burns through him. “I’m sorry, Lance. You’re right, okay?”

 

Lance hums in response, evidently pleased with Keith’s answer. Lance lifts his knee up from the counter, winding a stretchy compression wrap around the layer of gauze on one of Keith’s thighs. 

 

It tilts Keith’s pelvis enough that his hole raises from the table with a barely audible squelch. If Lance notices, he doesn’t say anything, finishing the dressing with a gentle pat. Lance dips down to press a kiss on top of it, looking back up at Keith with an expression that's nothing short of corny. Keith's heart tugs, little butterflies settling in his tummy. They mix with the heated desire in his stomach, making him feel lovesick and dizzy with lust. His mate takes such good care of him. 

 

The thought makes his hole involuntarily release a trickle of fluid, the image of Lance taking care of him in other ways flashing behind his eyes. Keith bites back a whimper, trying to clench his cheeks together without Lance noticing, his body tense like stretched rubber. 

 

"Relax, sugar. I got you, just one more left and you're done," Lance says encouragingly. He trails soft squeezes from the top of Keith's thighs all the way up to his hips, settling his hands around them and rubbing circles with his thumbs. Keith's dick and entrance are steadily dripping slick by now, and he can't look at Lance between his legs without imagining those plush lips wrapped around his cock. 

 

"Lance, you have to stop," he pleads. If he has to deal with one more tick of Lance's strong palms on his skin, his resolve might break. He grips the underside of the counter in a weak imitation of stability.

 

"What's wrong, buddy? Can't take the heat?" Lance coos at him, digging his thumbs deeper into the divots of Keith's hips. They stutter against Lance's hands, bringing Keith's cock closer to his face. A high, pitchy whine tumbles out of his lips when Lance leans in to laugh right over his dick. 

 

"Baby, please, I'm losing my fucking mind," he begs, dick twitching, leaking, and so hard it hurts. His tail starts to thumps against the leg of the table, Keith's patience slowly bleeding away. 

 

"Just one more. You're so close." Lance has no idea how true that statement is. Or, maybe he does if the gleam in his eye has anything to say. Keith's claws strain against the metal underneath them, and he sucks in shaky lungfuls of air, ripping his gaze away from Lance. He plans to bolt away the moment Lance is finished treating him. If he doesn't, Keith is fairly sure that Lance will keep teasing him until he breaks.

 

Keith's eyes squeeze shut through the disinfectant, and he digs his claw further into the metal with a horrific sound while Lance wraps the gauze around his thighs. Lance is mumbling to him, telling him he's doing a good job, that he's almost finished, and Lance is so proud of him. Each word is said close enough to Keith's leg that warm puffs along his fur accompany them. 

 

Keith is damn near feverish—flushed, aching, and sweating bullets. He doesn't even need to see Lance, and Keith is still melting into his hands like putty; the grip on the side of his hip that's meant to steady him makes Keith feel off-kilter and dizzy, head rushing with blood. 

 

"Look at me, please? You're just about done, honey, only gotta put this last layer on," Lance coos at him. He makes it clear he has no intention of finishing until Keith makes eye contact with him, pausing his movements and humming under his breath like he has all the time in the world. Keith has no interest in listening, but he hates the idea of not giving his mate what he wants. 

 

So, Keith cracks his eyes open and turns his stare between his legs. Lance is flushed too, lips a pretty red where his teeth have been working at them. His pupils are so big they're close to completely swallowing the blue of his irises. The sight is eerily similar to Lance's face after it gets fucked, the only things missing being dried tear tracks and spit dripping down his chin. 

 

Lance's swollen lips split into a broad grin when their eyes meet. "Thank you, Keith, always so sweet to me," he croons. 

 

"Love you so much, Lance. More than anything," Keith says breathlessly, not bothering to tell his mate he'd pluck moons from their orbit if Lance asked. 

 

"I know, idiot. I love you too," Lance's eyes crinkle as his smile grows wider. The light that shines from his expression almost distracts Keith from the wrecked desperation he feels for anything Lance will give him. Keith has no idea how he's managing to keep his ass clenched tightly enough that his slick hasn't made a visible appearance.  

 

He realizes all at once why Lance wanted him to look, and that his hopes of nothing escaping his hole are terribly misguided. Lance is pressed close to his thighs, so close that each winding circle the fabric makes around his thigh causes Lance's arm to slide roughly against the damp length of Keith's covered cock. 

 

Gasping moans slip between his teeth, louder and with more of a growl than the situation reasonably calls for. It should be a relief when Lance finally finishes, but it's not. Keith is shaking, covered in sweat, and he's pretty sure his underwear is about to give out. Lance draws back and sits on his heels. A shit-eating smirk covers his face, but his panting breaths and glossy eyes tell Keith he's just as affected. 

 

When he looks down, there's an obvious, and not at all modest, tent in Lance's pants. He cannot fucking do this anymore. Every rational thought in his mind flees, the only thing that remains is the visceral image of Lance hovering over him, his cock so far inside of Keith that he can taste it.

 

"Lance."

 

"Hmm?"

 

"Fuck me," Keith hisses, ears and tail flicking irritably. He's so pent up, he doesn't care about his stupid self-control, Keith has more than proven by now that he can restrain himself. 

 

"Oh, c'mon, sugar. It wasn't that bad. Besides, a little edging is good for the soul," Lance says, seemingly oblivious to what Keith means. 

 

"No," Keith insists, teeth bared and his dropped fangs on display, "I need you to fuck me." He lifts his ass from the table, turning on one hip to put the soaked fabric of his boxers on display. "Now, baby, please—I'm ready for you."

 

Lance sucks in a sharp breath from behind him, but his eyes aren't wide and surprised. There's no petrified horror on his face. Just lowered lids and a deeply satisfied expression that makes Keith pause, ice dropping into his veins. No fucking way. Don't tell him—

 

"I didn't think there'd be this much. Oh, Keith, you're dripping for me, huh?" Lance breathes in awe, reaching out to drag his finger through the mess. Keith whimpers, involuntarily jerking back into the touch, before he collects himself enough to be confused and mildly outraged. 

 

"What the fuck do you mean 'this much’?” Keith tries to growl at him, the effect somewhat lost when Lance pets against his hole harder, and he can't keep his hips from rocking into it. "Don't tell me Pidge told you."

 

"Didn't have to, one of us actually read that entire article instead of skimming it to make sure he wasn't coercing his mate with his breeding lubrication," Lance snarks back. 

 

"Did you plan this the whole time?" Keith asks incredulously. At this juncture, he wouldn't put it past Lance. Not after this morning, not after the quintants of merciless torture he had been made—chose—to endure.

 

Lance stands up and hums, encouraging Keith to lean his stomach against the counter. His feet plant on the ground, a slight bend in Keith’s knees that makes his ass rise in the air. "No, but it was definitely an added bonus. Lift your hips, sugar—there you go—look at how wet you are for me." He slides Keith's boxers off, dropping them to the floor with an unceremonious plop. 

 

"Lance," he whines emphatically, ignoring his mates' comment. His hole does all the talking for him, a warm trickle of slick sliding out of him like his body wants to show Lance just how wet it can get. "Why didn't you say anything?" 

 

"Wanted you to tell me yourself, I thought you knew and didn't wanna talk about it yet. Why does Pidge know?" Lance does not sound very amused by this information. 

 

"I thought I was dying or something, I don't know!" Keith stresses, his ears flattening and tail sticking straight up in indignation, the action only serving to expose his twitching entrance. Lance throws his head back and cackles, his displeasure about Pidge being aware of Keith's slick fizzling away.

 

"You're such a dumbass," Lance coos fondly at him, before bringing his gaze back down to where Keith needs it. Calloused hands grip each of his cheeks, spreading them as far as they can go. Keith can feel his hole stretch open slightly, a gush of liquid releasing from where it had been trapped. He muffles a whimper into his hand, not wanting to grant Lance the satisfaction of him already falling apart from a few touches. It wouldn't have mattered, Lance's own groan is far louder than Keith's

 

His tail twists around Lance's arm, warmth burning in Keith's lower stomach and threatening to engulf him. "Don't be a dick while you're trying to get yours inside of me," Keith rasps, jaw clenched tightly. There's no real heat behind it. Lance clicks his tongue, but doesn't say anything.

 

He focuses his full attention on Keith’s ass, gripping and kneading each round globe of it. All Keith can see is the metal counter and the medical supplies in front of him, and he’s grateful for that. Unfortunately for Keith, he can hear the deep, shaky inhales Lance sucks in from behind him.

 

If Keith was forced to look at that perfect, rosy face, he might cum on the spot. He knows Lance’s lips are red and puffy, he can never seem to stop pulling them in between his teeth when he’s turned on. They'd be warm and soft underneath Keith's, more sensitive than usual, each nibble and lick would have Lance shuddering against him. 

 

Lance’s finger stroking around his rim pulls him from his thoughts. The action tugs on Keith’s tail, and the filthy combination has him keening. He feels fucked out, and all he’s done is make a mess of his underwear. 

 

“I think I get why you’re so crazy about watching your cum come out of me, I could sit here forever, honey. Watch you drip all over my fingers from nothing.” Lance pants, his voice low and scratchy.

 

Keith rocks back against the digit, seeking relief. Lance must not be expecting it, a choked sound erupting from his throat as his finger slides inside of Keith until its last knuckle nudges his rim. It’s not enough, there was no resistance, no stretch, or burning pressure to accompany it. He groans in frustration. Lance’s free hand pinches Keith’s ass cheek in retaliation, but he keeps the finger inside. 

 

"Relax, dude. It's not like I'm going anywhere," Lance wiggles his finger for emphasis, mapping out the loose circumference of Keith's hole. 

 

"More. Now. Please, Lance," Keith grunts, each syllable forcibly ripped out of his esophagus. He knows the pleading is getting to Lance, he can feel him shudder at the words, the tone in Keith's voice. He relinquishes the grip his tail has on Lance’s arm and brings it up to rub encouragingly along his mates' sides instead. 

 

"You're fuckin' insatiable, you know that?" Lance groans like he's at his wits end. The finger inside of Keith is joined by another, the dull ache in his hole barely scratching his itch for more, more, more. Keith exhales slowly, caging the urge to shove Lance to the ground and use him like a dildo, not entirely sure if he wants to curse or thank his biology. "I knew I could get you to leak all over the table, you're crazy for me, huh, sweetheart?"

 

Keith sputters but doesn't bother arguing. He's right, Keith feels like a fool for thinking Lance wouldn't want him like this. He's just as crazy about Keith, of course would Lance want to fuck him. "Says the guy who's hard as rock. I haven't even touched you, and that thing could poke my eye out," Keith pants, trying to get the upper hand. Lance isn't phased.

 

"How can you blame me? My hot, alien boyfriend made homemade butt-lube just for me," Lance says sweetly, his tone not matching the filthy way he's scissoring Keith open. "Your body needs me so bad it literally altered itself so I'd fuck you. I wish you could see the way you're just swallowing my fingers. Still not enough for you, though, is it?" 

 

Lance's words settle in his stomach and spread like fire, burning through him and eating him alive. Keith shoves back against the intrusion, begging for another finger, something bigger and better. Lance makes a little pleased sound, shoving deeper and crooking his fingers. Keith realizes what he's looking for, knows he's going to fall apart as soon as Lance brushes that bundle of nerves inside of him. Trying to save himself from coming prematurely, Keith huffs, "Lance, if you don't fuck me soon, I will go find the nearest object to do it myself."

 

"Patience, honey. Good things come to those who wait, and all that. Thought you wanted to be good for me?" 

 

"Don't you dare say anything to me about patience," Keith growls, tail flicking. Lance snickers from behind him, momentarily pausing his search for Keith’s prostate. 

 

“Sorry, sorry, you’re right," he coos, not sounding sorry at all. "You've been doing such a good job this whole movement, I think you might even deserve a reward." Long, slender fingers brush against a spot inside of Keith that makes his knees buckle, and toes curl. A wheeze tumbles out of him, and Lance responds to it with a victorious whoop, pressing harder against Keith's prostrate. 

 

"There you go, sugar. Does that feel good?" Lance murmurs. He already knows the answer to his question, but Keith still nods furiously. "I gotta see your cute little face while I make you lose your mind. Turn around for me, buddy." Lance's fingers slip out of him, Keith whining at the loss but complying. The cool metal nips at Keith's back, soothing some of the heat radiating from his body. "Thank you, so good to me. C'mon, scoot back a little. Perfect, Keith, just like that. Put your feet on the table, okay?" 

 

Keith feels completely exposed, his wet, stretched hole on display for Lance's viewing pleasure. Holding his neck up to see Lance in the cradle of his legs, flushed and panting, makes the discomfort that comes from the motion worth it. Lance doesn't waste any time crowding against Keith, grabbing his knees, and spreading them wider. He leans down to get a closer look and sucks his bottom lip between his teeth.

 

"Fuck, you're so wet for me. Need it that bad? Getting yourself all sweet and ready for me?" Lance asks, tone laced with desire. Keith tries to respond, but gets interrupted by three fingers shoving into him without warning. The half-formed insult that had been sitting on his tongue is exchanged in favor of a debauched, choked wail. 

 

"Finally found a way to shut you up, huh?" Lance smirks from between his legs. Keith can barely hear him, blood rushing in his ears, and the filthy, wet sounds coming from his hole drowning out Lance's voice. The urge to sink into the pleasure rather than rise to the bait is strong, but not stronger than his need to wipe that smug grin off of Lance's face.

 

Keith drops his feet off the table and pushes himself up to get a hand around the nape of Lance's neck. It effectively pushes the fingers inside of him deeper, finally giving Keith a taste of the feeling he'd been craving. Despite the shiver that wracks his body, he composes himself enough to look down at his mate and growl, "You and your fucking motor-mouth have no room to talk. How about you shut up and fuck me?" He grinds down onto Lance's fingers, slow and dirty. "Or do you wanna kee—hnng—keep going on about how good I look and how wet I am?" 

 

Lance's face is covered in a hot blush, mouth agape. He snaps it closed when Keith's tail brushes along the front of his body, but not before a high-pitched wheezing sound comes out. Keith smiles slyly, fangs peeking through his lips, before continuing in a low voice, "Better yet, why don't I just finger myself? Since all you wanna do is run your mouth." 

 

Keith strikes a nerve, if the sudden and brutal curl against his prostate is anything to go by. He jerks into it with a gasp, his grip on Lance's neck tightening. Firm, deliberate circles are rubbed against that spot, and Keith feels like his brain is melting out of his ears. Each slow press licks up his spine, pure fire spreading through his limbs. Lance is playing him like an instrument, consistent, depraved sounds in varying pitches being plucked from Keith's lips. 

"Any other empty threats you feel the need to share?" Lance tries for cocky and in control, but comes across as more wanton than anything else. His eyes are glassy when he looks up at Keith, his lips shiny and darkened with the blood rushing there. Lance's gaze keeps switching from Keith's entrance devouring his fingers, to the drool that slips out of the side of his boyfriend's mouth. He's just as much of a wreck as Keith is. 

 

"The only thing that's—oh, fuck, right there, baby, please—" Keith warbles, the hand he has on the back of Lance's neck reaching up to tangle in soft, brown strands. He yanks the hair in his grip tighter, bringing Lance's ear closer to his mouth, "The only thing 'empty' about me is my ass being full of your skinny ass fingers instead of your stupid dick," Keith hisses, squeezing around Lance's digits like his mate has somehow forgotten where his fingers are. 

 

He's exaggerating, Lance's fingers are slender but still plenty capable, strong, and sure in the way he toys with the bundle of nerves inside of Keith. But the embellishment is worth it when Lance falls for it, squawking at him in outrage and separating the three fingers inside of Keith. The stretch aches, making him finally feel stuffed.

 

"Big words from the man who's whining and crying all over my 'skinny ass fingers,'" Lance says, amusement undercutting his voice. "Don't act like you're not drooling for me, sweetheart, it's literally all over your chin." He wipes the saliva from the corner of Keith's mouth and sucks the drenched thumb into his lips, groaning at the taste. "So sweet for me."

 

"Baby. Lance," Keith pants, close to snapping. "Need you inside of me, I'm ready, please," he begs. Lance gurgles on his spit like the words shoot him in the chest, scissoring his fingers inside of Keith. He places his hand on Keith's hip, encouraging the stuttered roll they make onto his hand. Lance's fingers close and bloom methodically inside of him, scraping his prostate in a maddening, offhanded way, and making Keith's walls spasm and contract repeatedly. 

 

The touch would almost feel clinical, if it wasn't for Lance's glassy, blown eyes and his dick poking a hard line through his pants. Lance stills his fingers and looks up at Keith with as much of a serious expression as he can muster with his hand still buried in Keith's ass. "You sure this is what you want? Because if you just needed some action, we can—"

 

"Lance," he growls, ears pressed against his head, "I couldn't be more sure if I tried. Are you blind or something? Take your clothes off and fuck me." 

 

"You're gonna kill me," Lance says shakily, removing his fingers from inside of Keith and sucking them into his mouth, eyes fluttering closed at the taste. Keith doesn't bother responding, Lance doesn't have a leg to stand on when he does shit like that. Instead, he huffs, leans back, and watches as Lance rips his clothes off with no finesse, his hands clumsy with enthusiasm. 

 

When Lance pulls his boxers down, there's a thin trail of precum that sticks to the fabric and makes Keith's mouth water. Lance catches his eyes and waggles his eyebrows suggestively, making a wide gesture towards his dick. "Like what you see?"

 

Keith scoffs and rolls his eyes, the effect dampened by the clear fondness that's pulling a small smile from the corner of his mouth. "You know I do, didn't this whole thing start because I like it a little too much?" 

 

Lance's eyes twinkle with mirth, a lopsided grin spreading across his face, "No such thing as liking my dick too much, it really is the perfect specimen," he says, closing his hand around himself and stroking it a few times, spreading the precum along his length. "Well, maybe except for yours. Now, that's a perfect dick," he muses. 

 

"Tell that to the Lance who decided I needed exposure therapy," Keith deadpans, not sounding nearly as amused as his boyfriend does. Lance brings a hand to his chin, pretending to seriously consider this. 

 

"He says it was just an excuse to edge you for a movement." 

 

Keith groans, annoyance and desire clashing inside of him. He can't decide if he wants to throttle Lance or bend over, ass up, for him. The latter wins by a landslide, his hole still leaking with slick and twitching, reminding him how empty it is. "Just shut up—for once—and stick your dick inside me," Keith demands, putting his feet back on the counter, tilting his hips up, and widening his legs to put his puffy, glistening purple rim back on display. 

 

Lance sucks in a sharp breath and looks like he just stepped foot into a candy shop, eyes wide and mouth hanging open slightly. "You might catch flies," Keith mocks. Lance bites back in affronted sound, frowning at Keith. 

 

"Am I not allowed to appreciate my boyfriend's body?" Lance asks like he's offended.

 

"You can appreciate how tight my ass feels," Keith shoots back, losing patience. Lance finally steps in between his legs, grabbing Keith's hip to draw him closer, nudging his tip against the dripping opening. 

 

"I'm gonna wreck your shit, dude, you don't even know it yet," Lance breathes.

 

"Then fucking prove it. Quit running your mouth and do som—" Keith doesn't get to finish his sentence, Lance choosing that moment to shove inside of him, sliding home in one thrust. A wet, choked wail is all that can come out of Keith's mouth, heat searing through him. His hole clenches around the intrusion, throbbing spikes of pleasure clouding his head. 

 

Lance holds still, panting and shaking, a low whine breaking loose from his chest. He shifts his hips into a deep, slow grind, stretching Keith open and making his throat rumble with a trilling purr. Keith feels full, sated and yet still ravenous for more. The angle isn't the most comfortable, his are legs spread wide, and his back doubled is over so Lance can fuck into him. 

 

But it's worth it to get to watch Lance's pretty face fall apart, eyebrows pinched together, eyes shut, and his skin flushed and sweaty as he makes little whimpers with each roll of his hips. Lance's arms curl around his shoulders, and he leans his face into Keith's collarbone, hot, wet exhales dampening the fur there. Keith coils his tail around Lance's waist, tracking an insistent, uncoordinated trail against his side. 

 

"Fuck, Keith," Lance groans, hips stuttering in their grind when arms slip around his waist and Keith's hole clamps down around him, "You're so wet, so damn warm, I can't get enough." Keith purrs louder, rocking back harshly onto Lance's cock as he adjusts to the intrusion. He needs more, wants to feel like his brain is getting fucked out of his head. 

 

"C'mon, Lance, just move. I'm ready, you feel so good—yes, yes, fuck, yes, just like that, baby—" Keith whines as Lance pulls out slowly, pauses to watch the tip of his dick stretch Keith's rim obscenely, and rams back inside of him. A choked, thick sound gets trapped in his throat as Lance keeps going, inching back sluggishly before he slams back into Keith's opening. 

 

Each harsh thrust grazes against that bundle of nerves, sending intermittent shocks through his body for every staggered and methodical movement Lance's hips make. The slick, wet sounds of their skin colliding reverberate through the room, warming Keith's ears and making his eyes water.

 

"Keith, honey, you look so good like this, stretched all pretty on my dick," Lance gasps, chin tucked to his chest so he can stare at the way his cock splits Keith open. He reaches his hand down to thumb along the edge of where they're connected, whistling lowly at the way it twitches against his finger. "And you said I was made for this? Fuck, you should see yourself. Look at how wet you are for me, how you take me so perfectly."

 

Lance grips the side of his ass and pulls his thumb tight, spreading Keith's hole slightly before sharply thrusting back inside of him. As if to prove Lance's point, a trickle of slick flows out of Keith when he buries himself to the hilt. Keith bites his lip, groaning and shuddering around Lance's frame, and smacks a hand on the table to steady himself.

 

"You're the pretty one," Keith manages to hiss, bracing himself against each rough piston of Lance's hips, his voice whinier than he'd like it to be. Lance throws his head back and laughs, slowing his pace to something languid and filthy. 

 

"Is that really all you can come up with? Already too dick-drunk to think right?" Lance simpers at him, grabbing the back of Keith's thighs, right underneath where he'd bandaged them. He pushes Keith's legs further apart, pressing closer against his fur and reaching deeper inside of him. Keith clenches down around him, growling in the back of his throat. 

 

It sounds like a purr more than anything, obviously pleased and only slightly annoyed. "Do you ever shut up?" Keith asks pointlessly, already aware of the answer.

 

"Nope," Lance pops his lips and grins up at him.

 

Keith is far too gone for the irritating, gorgeous, intelligent man in front of him, endearment bubbling in his chest. "Can I bite your neck? I wanna do that claiming thing, you and your smart mouth are mine," Keith urges, fixing Lance with an imploring look. "Wanna do it while you knot me and f—"

 

"Knot you?" Lance asks incredulously, pulling out marginally, and pausing his already slow pace completely.

 

Keith rolls his eyes at Lance, imitating the way he raises a single brow, and screws his mouth up to mockingly say, "'One of us actually read the article.'" He drops the quotation marks he'd been holding up in the air.

 

Lance sputters at him, slapping a hand against his chest. “I can knot you?” he asks, confused, but hopeful.

 

“Yeah, idiot. That’s what my slick is for,” Keith explains slowly, needing Lance to get with the program and keep fucking him. He leans into Lance’s ear, lowering his voice into something inviting, sultry, “Don’t you wanna fill me up? Keep me stuck on your dick?”

 

Lance makes a wounded, wheezing noise and squeezes Keith’s thighs harder, using the grip to slide his dick further inside of his mate. 

 

“Yeah, yeah, fuck—of course I do, what kinda question is that?” Lance huffs, pressing sloppy kisses to Keith’s chest. He pulls away, scanning the room for something before his gaze lands on one of the beds in the corner of the room. He jerks his head towards it, “C’mon, sweetheart, if we’re gonna do this, you deserve a mattress. I want you to be comfortable when I'm stuck inside you.”

 

Heat rises to Keith’s cheeks, reality sinking in, and appreciation for his mate curling in his chest. He’s about to get dicked down—lovingly—on an infirmary bed in the med-bay. 

 

Lance slides out of him gently, outstretching a hand to help Keith clamber off the metal counter he’s been sitting spread-eagled on. Keith's legs tingle when his feet hit the floor.

 

He shakes the pins and needles out of his lower body and shuffles after Lance. Keith watches as Lance hurries over to the bed, throwing himself on it so he can lie on his side, place a hand on his hip, and wiggle his eyebrows suggestively. “So…you come here often?” Lance asks with teasing, half-mast eyes, biting his lip to stifle laughter.

 

Keith stops in his tracks, his lips pulling into an exasperated, fond grin. He loves this moron so much he wants to scream it into a space-wide broadcast. It’d be a moot point, anyone who laid their eyes on the pair would probably get violently sick over their obvious devotion to each other.

 

Pidge pretends to do so on a regular basis.

 

He makes his way over to Lance with a smile still splitting his cheeks. “You’re such a dork,” Keith says against his lips when he plops down onto the bed, pressing his side against Lance’s. 

 

“You like it,” Lance mumbles into his mouth, licking the seam of his lips. Their tongues slide together just enough for him to taste Lance before he's pulling away to smirk at Keith, “You like it so much you made me knot inducing slick,” he croons triumphantly. 

 

“Whatever,” Keith grouses, “You’re gonna waste it all if you don’t actually fuck me.”

 

”Not if you keep leaking all over the place.” Lance slides a hand around Keith and presses two fingers against his hole, rubbing hot, wet circles into the loosened muscle. Keith keens, trying to rock into the touch, only for Lance to pull his fingers away and hold them in front of his face.

 

A thin trail of slick connects them, running down Lance’s fingers and making his smirk deepen. He wiggles them for emphasis, like Keith can’t see the fluid covering them and glinting in the light. 

 

“Are you gonna knot me or what?” Keith growls, pushing Lance’s fingers away from him. He just laughs, licking his hand clean casually, like the sight doesn’t make Keith’s dick throb and his hole pulse. 

 

“Alright, alright,” Lance smacks a sticky hand on Keith’s hip, making the fur there stand up when he removes it. “Get on your knees for me—perfect, just like that, honey.”

 

Lance praises him relentlessly when Keith settles with his knees spread open, lower back arched in the air, and his elbows and chest pressed against the thin mattress. He goes on about how sexy Keith looks like that, how having his ‘gorgeous mate with offensively large muscles’ under him is a ‘gift no one else deserves.’

 

Keith snickers fondly into his palm. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the easy words of approval that seem to flow freely from Lance. He lifts his ass higher in the air, swaying his hips side to side in a way that he hopes conveys his affection, lack of patience, and desperation to get fucked stupid. 

 

Lance moans behind him, using his hands on each globe of Keith’s ass to drag it up even more. It pushes Keith’s front farther into the bed, squishing his cheek against the flat surface. 

 

Keith’s tail wraps around Lance’s thigh, trying to direct him to back into his dripping entrance. Lance chuckles, but allows the movement, notching his cock against Keith’s hole. He hums thoughtfully, slapping the head of his dick repeatedly over Keith’s rim, making gross, sticky sounds each time it connects. 

 

“You want me back inside you?” he coos, nudging roughly against Keith's hole with his cock, slipping in and out teasingly. “Wanna cry all over my knot?” 

 

“‘m not gonna fuckin’ cry, would you shut up and just fuck me,” Keith hisses, not mentioning the fact that he probably will cry, he can never help himself when it comes to his mate. He can practically feel Lance roll his eyes behind him, an exasperated scoff signaling that Lance doesn’t believe him. 

 

“Get back to me when I’m knotted inside you, I bet your tune will change then,” Lance idly remarks, inching back into the sucking heat of Keith’s opening. Posing as unaffected doesn’t last long, Lance’s sharp exhale turning into a whine when he bottoms out. 

 

“Shit, dude—you’re so fucking tight. Like you wanna swallow me whole,” Lance chokes.

 

”Oh, wow, ple—hnng, fuck—please do not call me that while you’re balls deep in me, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Keith snaps back around the pleased, trilling sound emanating from his chest.

 

“Sorry, sugar, ‘s just hard to think when I have all of,” he grabs Keith’s hips, jerking him back onto his dick harshly, “This in front of me.”

 

Keith sputters and whimpers, heat coiling low in his pelvis. He’s half sure he’s already drooling, his face sliding against the mattress in staggered, sticky movements. He's definitely drooling by the time Lance starts a punishing rhythm, using his grip on Keith's hips to guide him into meeting each thrust. 

 

The wet, filthy sounds of their skin meeting warms Keith’s ears and makes them press flat to his head, each pounding jerk of Lance’s hips jostling him up and down. Keith feels like he’s being split open and eaten alive, wet, strangled groans leaving him every time Lance's hips meet the skin of his ass, making the raw tip of his cock rub against the sheets in a viscous, skin-tingling cycle. 

 

Lance must notice the way Keith's hips keep jolting slightly forward, seeking out the small amount of friction the mattress provides. His knees get pushed closer together, making Keith's cock draw completely away from the bed. "I don't really think you need that, do you?" Lance positions himself just right and stops his rhythm, grinding insistent, mind-numbing circles directly on Keith's prostate. "You're so wound up, I bet you'd come with just my dick inside you," He remarks casually, like he's not breathing harshly or melting Keith's body into a sexually frustrated puddle of goo.

 

Each relentless press against that bundle of nerves has Keith gasping, gripping the flimsy sheets in tight fists as shocks of white-hot pleasure shoot through him. The desire to bite and claim Lance bubbles and itches under his skin, making it feel more like a need than a want. Lance is his, and he needs everyone to see it. He wants to lay sopping kisses on the healed area, suck it dark and bruised so the color makes a stark, noticeable impression on Lance's tan skin.

 

Keith can't do much more from his current angle than stay bent over, back arched, and take the cruel, careful ministrations against his prostate. He bites down the choked, whimpering sounds that want to crawl out of his throat, and manages to plead, "Lance, baby, I need to see your face. Wanna bite you—claim you—and make you mine."

 

Lance chuckles weakly behind him, pausing the circles his hips are making inside of his boyfriend. "I'm already yours, idiot," he huffs, gently sliding out of Keith, and beckoning him to turn onto his back with an encouraging pat to his hip. "I want it too, though. C'mere, honey, let me see you," Lance murmurs. 

 

Keith rolls onto his back, making sure to avoid squishing his tail and scooting over enough to align his and Lance's hips. His eager, jumbled movements smear slick across the front of Lance's thighs, much to the amusement of his mate. Lance is sucking the side of his lip into his mouth, eyes twinkling brightly, and that familiar, thin brow raised high. Keith scoffs at him, wrapping his legs around Lance's waist impatiently.

 

"Lance," he hisses, scraping his claws lightly against Lance's back, "I need you, want you to knot me now." Lance shudders, eyes falling shut, and his expression dissolving at the sensation. Lance regains his composure, makes eye contact with Keith, and nods furiously, exhaling harshly as he grips Keith's sides and slides back inside of him. 

 

"Fuck, so good—you're still so tight, Keith," Lance says like it's the only thing he can think about. "Gonna wreck you, stuff you full and keep it there. Shit, is this how you feel when you're fucking me?" Lance's voice sounds frantic, needy in the way he's babbling. "I'm gonna ruin you," He swears, the grasp on Keith's hips turning into something vice-like, Lance evidently eager to make good on his promises to ruin him. He wastes no time slamming his hips in and out of Keith, each brutal slap of their skin is loud, echoing through the room. It feels filthy, the slick coating both of their lower halves making Keith flush and avert his gaze, each wet sound burning his ears. 

 

"Look at me. What's bothering you?" He tilts Keith's cheek to face him, eyebrows pinched in worry, and his temples dripping sweat. Despite his apparent concern, Lance doesn't let up on his pounding onslaught inside of Keith, every thrust against his prostate bringing him closer to the edge, pressure tightening in his pelvis. 

 

It's too soon, but quintants without release, merciless teasing from his boyfriend, and overstimulation make for a dangerous concoction. Keith's dick has been leaking steadily, a pool of fluid matting the fur around his navel. He's close to delirious, blood thumping in his ears, and the sheets nearly becoming ribbons between his claws. 

 

"It's the noises," Keith finally grunts to Lance, voice cracking open in the middle. "Too much—shit, right there, please, please—they're too loud, it's embarrassing."

 

"Is that why you're tightening up around me like that? It's just because you're embarrassed about dripping everywhere for me?" Lance snorts, his tone toeing the line of patronizing. He reaches for Keith's nipples, pinching and rolling them in his fingers with sharp, sudden tugs. "Definitely not 'cause you're about to come, right, honey?"

 

Keith convulses around him, legs clamping around Lance's waist as he tries to jerk away from the stimulation, but there's no use. Each rough thrust up against Keith's prostate sends him careening into the tingling pain of Lance playing with his nipples. He feels like he's being picked apart, piece by piece, tears stinging his waterline and blurring his vision. 

 

Keith heaves wet, choking breaths, his cock is so hard it hurts, and the hot bursts of pleasure coming from inside him and his chest seem never-ending. He's vaguely aware of his tail thrashing wildly against Lance and the mattress with no apparent destination, his body desperately twisting forwards and backwards, seeking a tick of relief and finding none. 

 

"Lance," Keith whines, his throat thick, "I need to come, baby—hnng—let me bite you, need to claim you, please." The loud vibrations in his chest grow thundering, shooting buzzing pulses through Keith's body, his back arching, form growing taught, and hole clenching. Lance trembles against him alightly, pace stuttering as Keith writhes around him. 

 

Lance slips further inside his entrance, pressing his upper body as close to Keith's chest as he can, bearing his neck in a clear offering. "Fuckin' bite me—do it. I'm yours, Keith, c'mon. Come all over my dick and mark me up," he demands, side-eyeing Keith to make sure he's paying attention. 

 

Like he could look anywhere else. 

 

Keith's fangs crowd his mouth as drool spills from the side of his lips, the sweaty, gorgeous line of Lance’s neck making his gums itch. 

 

It’s not a touch against his dick or the snapping rhythm inside of him that brings Keith his long-awaited orgasm. It’s the smooth glide of his teeth into Lance’s neck, the way his fangs clamp down around the base of his mate’s throat, a sweet metallic taste flooding across his tongue. 

 

Keith stays latched onto Lance’s neck as the tight coil inside him snaps, and he shakes apart—his hips twitching, a moan gurgling around the blood and flesh in his mouth, his cock spurting hot stripes of white between them. 

 

Lance’s pace only falters briefly as Keith spasms around him. If anything, the teeth in his neck seem to spur him on, insistent thrusts milking Keith for all he’s worth. Lance is far from acting like he's unaffected anymore, high, strangled whimpers pouring from his lips and matching Keith’s as he fucks him past the point of over-sensitivity, dipping into a sharp throbbing pain as Keith's cock twitches weakly, dry and spent. 

 

Lance only slows when Keith releases from his neck to wail out a desperate, incoherent, pleading sentence. 

 

Lance pulls back to look at him, a question forming on his mouth, but Keith interrupts him with a deep, rumbling groan. He can feel the base of Lance’s cock thickening against his rim, the knot starting to form and trying to press inside. "Come inside me, now," Keith repeats, short exhales puffing out as he struggles to grind back onto Lance's dick. "I can feel your knot, pl—oh, fuck—please, please, baby. Need to look at your pretty face while you fill me up."

 

The tears in his eyes finally fall, clearing his vision enough to see Lance's lids flutter as he nods enthusiastically, cheeks flushing darker at Keith's persistent requests. Lance looks down to where they're connected, his jaw falling open slightly when he catches sight of the swollen knob on his cock. He bites his bottom lip and painstakingly slowly feeds the rest of his cock to Keith's hole, Lance's hips becoming flush with the back of his thighs. 

 

Just as sluggishly, Lance pulls out enough for the growing knot to tug against Keith's entrance as it retreats from his body. It makes a gross, sloppy noise, and Keith growls in frustration, "Quit watching it and actually do something with that stupid thing." Keith's cock had barely softened before it was rising again—his basically nonexistent refractory period thanks to his belated alien puberty—and he needs more, needs Lance to knot him, stretch him to his limit, and fill him up so much it leaks out of him.

 

Apparently, he's taken a leaf out of Lance's book and forgone his brain-to-mouth filter, because his mate shudders, eyes snapping to meet Keith's in a hot,heady gaze. A few drops of blood splatter onto his chest when Lance abruptly shoves forward, sinking the whole length of his dick back into Keith's  entrance.

 

Saliva pools in Keith's mouth as he chokes around a moan, their scents combining in a tantalizing way, the claiming bite only serving to enhance the aroma. He can feel Lance's knot gradually fill out inside of him with each insistent piston of his hips, stretching Keith open so he's loose and pliant. Lance looks deliriously pleased, pretty his blue eyes glassy and pupils wide as he chases his orgasm, pelvic bones snapping harshly against the back of Keith's thighs. 

 

"Fuck, Keith," Lance draws out in a long breath, his rhythm falling into something erratic and messy, his coordination slipping. "Gonna—oh, shit—gonna fill you up, sugar, make it drip outta you just like you want," he hisses, hips stuttering and quickening before he continues, nearly spitting as he says, "My stupid knot is about to split you open and make you cry harder, huh?" 

 

Keith can't even protest, each scrambling thrust knocking the air from his lungs and bringing a fresh well of tears spilling over his lash-line. He makes a strained, hiccuping noise, cock slapping against his stomach every time their hips meet. Molten pleasure rolls through him in relentless waves, Lance's knot swollen enough that it's too big to take out anymore. 

 

Lance uses his grip on Keith's hips to press his hips higher in the air, sliding the distended cock that much deeper inside of him with short, brutal snaps. The head of Lance's dick scrapes roughly against his prostate, the pleasure in Keith's gut coiling tighter with each maddening grind against the bundle of nerves within him. 

 

For all his talk, Lance himself dissolves into hitching, desperate, sobbing noises as ruts into Keith with abandon, all semblance of a steady tempo lost. Keith curls his tail possessively around Lance's waist, attempting to bring them closer--he's almost there. Lance gasps at the sensation, pressing as much of their skin together as possible, hips jerking inside of Keith with a hopeless frenzy. 

 

"Keith—"

 

"Lance, please—" Keith whimpers, the coil in his pelvis threatening to burst.

 

"Keith, 'm gonna come—fuck—you're so tight, feels—" Lance babbles, close to nonsensical, before a cracked, wet sob erupts from his throat, cutting him off as his knot fully expands, stretching Keith's hole to its capacity in a burning, satisfying sear. Lance whimpers and grinds sharply against his prostate once, twice, before a third, half-formed motion floods warmth inside of Keith. Hot pulses of cum pour into him, Lance's hips twitching with each shot of fluid from his dick. 

 

Keith spasms around the intrusion, the needy, broken sounds coming from him harmonizing with Lance's. Lance works a hand between them and pulls quick, sticky strokes over Keith's cock. He manages a slurred 'yesyesyes' before his body curls in on itself as much as it can, and Keith hurtles off the edge with a startled cry. Colors explode behind his eyelids, white-hot sparks of pleasure licking up his spine, and tears spilling from his eyes.

 

He's vaguely aware that he's blubbering something about Lance being his forever, never letting go, how good he feels inside, but all Keith can clearly focus on is the orgasm crashing around him. He's convulsing around Lance's dick, can feel the cum sloshing inside of him with each rock he makes against the knot inside of him, tingling heat consuming him. 

 

Lance lets him ride it out, encouraging Keith with deep, shattering nudges against his prostate. His hole clenches around Lance's dick, the warm jolts of pleasure easing, his breath coming slower. Keith can feel spit, tears, cum, and blood drying on him, but can't bring himself to care, relishing in the aftershocks throbbing through his lower body.  

 

Lance rubs soothing circles into the dips of Keith's hips, voice raw when he says, "That was so fucking hot, wow, dude. I have the sexiest mate in the universe."

 

Keith cracks a lazy, pleased smile, currently too fucked out and satisfied to properly respond. His legs are stiff when he drops them from around Lance's waist to lie heavily on the bed, shifting his hips from each side to relieve the discomfort as much as he can while still he's stuck on a knot. Lance slots between his thighs, scooting up Keith's body as much as he can, and squeezes his eyes shut, cranes his neck, and smacks his lips together obnoxiously, making kissing noises. 

 

Keith's stomach flutters at the display, heart clenching in his chest. He ducks down, straining his own neck to meet Lance's mouth, imitating the way his mate presses his lips forward and together. They connect with a gross, smacking sound, and they laugh into each other's open mouths, teeth knocking briefly. They pull apart, Lance shooting him a fond, tired smile and dropping his chin to Keith's chest, smearing tacky fluids between them. 

 

Keith clears his throat, petting Lance's side with his tail and carding a hand through his hair in a way that he hopes helps to show just how happy he is. "That was perfect, Lance. You look so pretty like that, y'know?" Keith scratches Lance's scalp, a low thrum emanating from his chest. 

 

"So, what you're saying is..." Lance trails off, smirk tugging his lips,"...my training was actually a really good idea, and you're so glad your ass started mak—" Keith tightens his grip in Lance's hair, cutting him off as heat rises to his ears. 

 

"Absolutely not, you idiot," he sputters, "That should not be your takeaway from this."

 

"What else am I supposed to learn from this other than the fact that my big, buff, sexy mate makes special butt juice just—" Lance doesn't get to finish his sentence, Keith yanking him into a silencing, brushing kiss. Lance doesn't seem to mind, leaning into it with a soft, pleased moan. Despite himself, Keith smiles into it, Lance licking his fangs and trying to slip his tongue between his teeth. 

 

"Thank you," Lance breathes softly when they separate, tone melted into something sweet. "You were so good for me, tried so hard to control yourself this whole time." Lance lowers his lips to Keith's chest, pressing reverent, squishy kisses onto the fur there. "You took me so well, honey, just like a dream."

 

Gratification burns through Keith, preening at the praise, and making contentment settle in his stomach. "Damn straight I did," Keith murmurs, pouring every bit of satisfaction, exasperation, and adoration into his voice that he can. 

 

Lance looks up at him, eyes crinkling, and a beam covering his face, "I love you, Keith."

 

"Enough to let me fuck you when your knot goes down?" Keith smirks, startling a laugh out of Lance before his mate raises an intrigued brow.

 

So, yeah, maybe Keith can admit practicing his self-control isn’t such a bad idea after all. 

Notes:

if this made you feel crazy or horny, come yell at me abt it on my twt!

(pls i learned how to inbed a link for this)

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of desire