Chapter Text
It’s been a while since Keith set foot on Company-restricted property. The security on this shitty little backwater couldn’t stop a drunk elephant smuggler, but after everything that happened in the wake of the Atlas disaster, even the thought of that fucking orange logo painted on everything and the clean-cut administrators mincing around the clean gray hallways with their bullshit little clipboards made Keith nauseous with rage. He didn’t want to be there, didn’t want to be reminded.
But Lance is insistent that he learn to swim, and there’s only one organization on this rock with the funding to blow on something as ludicrously extravagant as a swimming pool.
He’s wearing one of Lance’s spare Company jumpsuits just in case they pass anyone. Keith focuses on the bad fit (long enough in the leg that he had to cuff them up, and tight in the shoulder) and Lance’s hand in his. Those little differences are enough to keep him from sinking too deep into bad memories.
As Lance predicted, the place is empty this time of the workshift cycle. They only have one pair of trunks between them, but Lance assures him skinny dipping is more fun anyway so they stash their clothes in a locker and move on with just towels.
(Keith doesn’t have the experience to compare, but he’s certain skinny dipping truly is superior because it involves naked Lance. A much better situation than the pajama nonsense.)
Then Keith follows him through to the pool itself, and he has to stop three steps in, breath stolen.
The whole space rustles, open and echoey. Draped down the walls are sheets of hydroponic plants, a riot of dark leaves and flowers and trailing vines. Clusters of potted trees hide the border between wall and ceiling. The exotic scents of earth and living flora blend with the smell of chlorine. In the middle of it all, the rectangular pool shines, still and glassy and bordered with stone.
And overhead, the vast clear dome.
The massive gas giant Ivant dominates the sky, so large it overflows the span of his fingertips if he spreads his fingers and holds his hand at arm’s length. Stripes of vivid blue and seafoam green swirl across its face, coiling into storms crowned in snowy white. The crystal-cold knife edge of the Rings slash across its expanse and split the void of space. Throughout their shimmering tracks are studded the shining gems of minor moons.
Keith stares up at it all, stunned. His skin prickles with goosebumps despite the humid warmth. He sees Ivant all the time when flying—through the visor of his heavy flightsuit helmet, on Red’s screens and through thick scratched-fuzzy port windows. Except for the executive suites, where the Company didn't mind blowing a fortune on proper shielding for the sake of a view, most of the mining station is deep underground, protected from the hostile frozen surface of the moon and the radiation of the planet.
Gazing up at the sky, naked and unshielded except for a dome so clear it might as well not be there, a profound ache of something awestruck and longing wells up in him, bowling him over with its depths. Earthsickness. Was this how their ancestors felt, looking up at the stars of the human home planet through the leaves of living trees rooted in wild soil? Small and sacred and fitted into the universe? Right where they should be, without need for high tech shields and canned air and artificial gravity and programmed daylight and suits and supplements, where life-giving water was abundant all around them, before they ever mined ice from alien skies?
A hand slides into his, and that fits just right too.
“It’s pretty amazing, huh?”
The planet overhead lights the whole room blue, shimmering on the water and the waxy leaves, and it glitters in Lance’s eyes. With the dappled reflections off the water dancing over his smooth dark skin, he looks like something fey and ethereal and unreachable, but he’s warm and real against Keith’s palm and between his fingers.
“Beautiful,” he says hoarsely. Impulsively he cups Lance’s cheek with his free hand and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Thanks for bringing me. Fuck, if I’d realized it was like this I would have come up just to look.”
“I’m glad I could show it to you,” Lance beams. “You wanna get in? I promise I won’t let you drown.”
“Yeah, let’s do it! Race you!” Chucking his towel onto a lounge chair, Keith takes off (past the no running sign) and leaps off the edge into the shining water.
The first sensation is shock. Keith can’t remember that he’s ever been fully submerged in water – maybe in a bath as a very small child. He didn’t think it would be that cold, but the cool heaviness is all over his skin, sapping heat away nearly instantly. But he’s here with Lance, and his foot touches solid tile. He redirects the adrenaline spike of panic to shove down against the bottom and explode back up.
The second he bursts above the surface, Lance’s accusing screech is echoing around the dome. “You said you couldn't swim!!!”
“I can't!” he gasps out, before dropping under and bouncing off the bottom again, splashing wildly. The water sluicing down his face feels like being in the shower, but the altered gravity of his hops through the water is very strange and disorienting. Experimentally he kicks his feet up, scooping at the water and trying to keep his head above the surface in an awkward paddle. Water immediately goes up his nose.
“Oh my god, Keith, don’t drown yourself!” Lance jumps in (the wave of water it kicks up splashes Keith in the face, now who’s trying to drown him) and is at his side in two easy strokes.
“It says it’s only six feet deep,” Keith manages to sputter out.
“You’re not six feet deep, shortstack!”
“Not much shorter than you,” Keith scoffs. He latches onto Lance’s shoulders and wraps his legs around his lithe bare waist, making them both sink and spit water for a few seconds before Lance bounces them a few feet farther into the shallower end where he can stand properly with both their heads above the surface. “And I knew you wouldn’t let me drown.”
“Oh my quiznack, you’re a menace,” Lance growls. But his eyes are bright and dancing, and his arms are warm and strong wrapping around the small of Keith’s back, and Keith can’t help but kiss him.
Keith was absolutely right about Lance being a good kisser, by the way. He’s very good at it and it’s very nice. He indulges himself for a second – several seconds—before breaking away with a smack. “Ok. Teach me to swim, fishman.”
Lance insists that the first step to learning to swim is learning how to float. He coaxes Keith into leaning back onto Lance’s hands until he can kick his feet up off the bottom and stick them out in front of him, and instructs him to spread his arms and legs into an X.
“Are you teaching me how to float or just getting me to spread my legs?” Keith asks skeptically.
“Psh! Like I even have to set up a big act to get you to spread ‘em, slut,” Lance laughs.
Despite the teasing, Lance’s hands underneath him don’t squeeze or tickle, just holding him up. When Keith feels like he might be able to stay in place, Lance starts to let him go. Automatically Keith finds himself buckling at the waist. Panic spurs at his throat as his butt sinks, arms flailing out. But those hands immediately catch him and lift him back up, safe and sturdy.
“Head back, belly up,” Lance instructs. “Arch your back a little. That’s it.”
It reminds Keith of seeing Lance working in his flat, with his rolled-up sleeves and serious expression. He’s grinning but focused, putting the flirting on pause while getting Keith acclimated. The steady print of his hands under his head and the small of his back feels like security.
Lance slowly lets go again. This time Keith focuses on arching his back, swimming his arms back and forth a little.
“That’s it. There you go. You’re doing perfect. Don’t try to do too much, just let the water hold you up.””
That’s a good description. Keith feels cradled, gazing up at the planet and its glistening rings, like he’s in a little bowl with the universe stretching above him.
“How’s that?”
“Kind of like low grav?” Water ripples over his skin, cool and silky and heavy. Logically he knows it makes sense that his body can float on water, but it feels instinctively strange, almost magical. “It’s weird. But cool.”
For a long, dreamy while, they float side by side, looking up at Ivant.
“It looks so different from on a ship’s screen,” Keith marvels, still in awe.
“I know, right?”
“I know this system like the back of my hand. But I’ve never just seen it straight on like this.” He feels like he could take it in for ages, tracing the spiraling storms and the trails of shepherd moons through the rings with his eyes. “Wonder if the Company would ever spring for some of those fancy ass pleasureboat giant windshields, then I could try and gank one for Red. That would be aces.”
“That would be so sweet,” Lance agrees fervently. “Doubt it’ll happen though.”
“Yeah. Not like they’re sending their best out here,” Keith snorts.
“…Yeah.” For a while they’re just quiet, the ripples of water the only soundtrack to the stunning view. Lance speaks up again, “I mean it’s still pretty special seeing it close up from a ship, even if the viewports suck. “
“That’s true. I wouldn’t give that up for anything.”
“You must really love flying.” There’s an odd tone in Lance’s voice. Keith wonders if it’s different, for someone who spent most of their life on an actual habitable planet, instead of the cramped corridors of space stations and airless moons.
“Yeah,” Keith says, but love doesn’t go even close to far enough. “Flying…it’s my life. It’s pretty much the only time I feel free, you know?”
“I hear you’re really good,” Lance says, and Keith huffs a laugh out his nose. He did say that, didn’t he. Well, it’s the truth.
“Yeah, I am.” He starts to nod, then quickly stops when water sloshes up over his face. “Dad would take us on flights, when I was real little. And then Shiro started teaching me for real, later. I’ve been flying most of my life. Even the fucking Company can’t take that from me.” Even if they took everything else. It’s more to himself he says quietly, “I don’t need their shitty sponsorship. I’ll always find a way to fly.”
“Mmm.”
Ugh, on a date with this really sweet guy and here Keith is blathering on about himself. “What about you?”
“Me?” Lance says, inexplicably surprised.
“Yeah, you’re a pilot too, right? You like it?”
“Love it. And I’m good too,” he adds, almost defensively. Before Keith can say anything though he goes on, “It’s the rush, you know? Figuring out a challenging route, the thrill of pulling it off.” His voice goes teasing. “And of course it catches all the fly babes.”
“Oh really,” Keith deadpans. “Fuck those fly babes, I’ll fight them all.”
Lance splashes a sprinkle of water over him. “Don’t worry, you’re still the flyest babe.”
Keith laughs, trying to splash Lance back and mostly managing to screw up his float. He flails a moment, regaining the balance Lance taught him. “Honestly though, I’m not surprised you had to come down to the Pits to have some fun on this shitty rock. There was always so much stupid horseshit going on in the Company bays back when I was there.”
“Yeah?” Lance asks, intrigued. “Man, you gotta give me the goss now. Any funny stories?”
Keith thinks about it, casting back in his memory for something that might make Lance laugh and coming up blank. “I dunno,” he says. “They were just always obsessed with the stupidest shit. Everything had to go in a fucking spreadsheet and ranked or whatever. Doesn’t matter what you’re doing, there’s always a fuckin’ bean counter getting in your face, bitching about numbers. And then they’d get the other pilots obsessing over that garbage too and kicking up a big stink about rankings instead of just focusing on getting the job done.”
“…Sounds about the same as now,” says Lance.
“Figures. Sorry you still gotta deal with that, it fucking blows,” Keith commiserates. “Don’t let their shitty attitude get you down, man. Some of them used to give me a hard time after I get sacked, trying to fuck up my gigs or make a scene in the Pits. Like, fuck’s sake, find something better to do. Like not suck at flying.”
“That…sucks. I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Keith says dismissively. It’s not like he’s the one still stuck with them. “They’ve mostly stopped. And as long as they’re not fucking with my jobs, I don’t give a shit what those chucklefucks think.”
“Yeah. Welp.” Lance curls up, getting his feet under him and standing with a slosh of water. “You’ve got the hang of floating, so now let’s get to swimming!”
Apparently there are different ways of swimming, and Lance claims this one is the ‘breast stroke.’
“I think I already know this one,” Keith says, copping a feel of Lance’s pec and earning himself a laugh and a chlorine-flavored kiss.
Watching Lance swim is incredible. He cuts so smoothly through the water, like it’s as natural as walking. Keith, meanwhile, quickly gets the hang of the movements, but has trouble putting his face underwater without getting it up his nose and spluttering to a graceless, nose-stinging halt. Lance is a good teacher, though, and after several struggling laps up and down the pool, he finally declares Keith good enough to not drown immediately if he falls off a boat.
Lance also teaches him what he claims is a popular pool game on Forant. Keith isn’t sure if he’s fucking with him.
“So I’m trying to catch you but I have my eyes closed, I’m just following your voice. When I say ‘Marco’, you say ‘Polo’. Got it?”
He does not. “Got it.”
Keith shuffles aways as quickly as he can as Lance spins dramatically, sparkling droplets of water flying off of him. He comes to a stop pointing in another direction. “Marco!”
Right, ok, now him. “…Marco Polo?”
“No it’s just – you just say Polo, babe.” Lance bobs toward him, eyes scrunched and hands searching.
“Polo.”
“You gotta wait ‘til I say Marco, otherwise you’ll give yourself away.”
“I thought that was the point,” Keith laughs, backing away.
“It is, but you’re supposed to try to get away. You only say Polo when I say Marco.”
“Polo.”
“Keith!” he scolds, splashing water out in an arc in Keith’s direction.
“You said it!”
“You’re such a brat. Marco!”
“Marco Polo.”
“Dammit, Keith!”
“It’s the same difference!” Keith splashes him back, and in a final lunge Lance grabs him, laughing.
“How are you so bad at that?” Lance demands between kisses, pecking them all over Keith’s face and neck while he squirms in his arms. “You’re lucky you’re cute!”
“It’s a silly game!”
“Ok, maybe that one’s more fun with a group,” Lance relents.
“If you say so.” Keith still isn’t sure he gets it, but that’s ok. He’s having fun anyway.
“There’s one more thing I have to teach you,” Lance says solemnly. “The most important thing.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“You gotta watch out…for butt sharks!”
Keith surprises himself with how he shrieks with laughter as Lance goes for his ass with both hands. The only response, of course, is to try to dunk Lance. They horse around for a while, wrestling and throwing each other in the water. Giggles and yelps echo around the dome amidst the splashing. Keith loves fighting, both for real and for play, loves the feeling of warm muscle flexing under his hand, the shove of flesh on flesh, forceful and intimate.
Very intimate. The play-fighting turns into making out again against the edge of the pool. They are, Keith is delightfully reminded, naked. Super naked and slippery-wet. It’s a good…everything. No complaints. Good naked slippery Lance. Good skin sliding on skin, thigh to thigh and hand to cheeks, mouth to mouth and cock to cock. Keith is really warming up to this whole swimming thing.
“Quiznack. We absolutely cannot jizz in the pool,” Lance gasps against his lips. “C’mon, let’s go. The showers here are way nicer than the Pits ones.”
Yes, they are.
Even nicer is the sexy man with him in the nice showers. Keith shoves him against the tiled wall as the stall fills with steam, enjoying the return of warm skin on skin under the hot water and Lance’s slick, eager mouth against his. His hands are cupping Keith’s face, thumbs stroking his cheekbones, and yeah, it’s very nice in here.
“Hey,” Lance murmurs between plucking kisses. “How—how would you feel—about switching things up?”
Keith struggles to scratch up a brain cell that’s not focused on kissing Lance. “Switch up how?”
“Well….” Lance takes Keith’s dick in hand and gives it a squeeze, firing up the heat in his gut. “I hear you fuck like an animal.”
Oh. Wow. “That how you wanna be fucked?” Keith’s voice drops even as his gut swoops, low and dark as the Pits. “Like an animal?”
“However you’d wanna do it,” Lance laughs breathlessly, pulling their bodies tighter together and palming over the heads of both their cocks at once. “Mostly just want you. Any way you want.”
Keith really likes the sound of that – topping, sure, but Lance wanting him either or any way. Honestly he’s a little surprised Lance wants to switch. Not opposed at all, just surprised. Most of the dudes he’s fucked it’s just been one way or the other. He’s also surprised at how hot it’s making him that he and Lance have had sex enough times now that ‘switching it up’ can be a thing – that there’s a pattern to even break. Fuck, he wants to try everything with Lance.
Apparently he’s taking too long to respond in his reverie, because Lance asks, “Or…do you prefer bottoming when it’s not Pits stuff?”
“I mean I’ll sit on that awesome dick of yours any day of the week and twice on Sundays. I guess I prefer it?” Keith says honestly. “But I can go either way. I’m alright with topping if you want.”
“Oh, don’t you worry, you’re still my pretty little fuckhole even when you’re topping,” Lance teases, and that—
Fuck. Yeah. Yeah. Keith is very on board with this flightpath. He doesn’t even know how Lance has done it, but he feels like he’s been stripped down to studs in the few months they’ve known each other, able to be vulnerable and safe with someone in a way that’s wholly unfamiliar. It makes him want to walk on the edge, get a little freaky, put himself out there for Lance to tear apart and piece back together.
“Are you sure you wanna? I’m not hung like a horse,” he throws out, hoping Lance will pick it up and run with it.
“I mean we can’t all be me,” Lance says jokingly, “But you have a pretty cock. I like it plenty.” He cups the head of Keith’s dick pointedly, slipping the tip of his thumb along the edge of the foreskin.
Damn. He’s so fucking sweet, even when Keith’s trying to get him to being a bit not-so-sweet. He takes another stab. “Yours is way better.”
“That bother you?” Lance sounds a little smug, but his eyebrows furrow, uncertain.
“No. I like it that way.”
His mouth drops in a tiny o shape, speechless. Dammit. There’s probably a smooth way to express what he wants, but Lance is always so ready with the dirty talk, Keith kind of assumed he’d take off running with the idea without him having to spell it out. And now as the moment stretches and Lance doesn’t say anything it’s getting awkward.
They were having fun and then Keith had to go and fuck it up.
“You look like you have a bee in your mouth,” Lance says finally.
“…What.”
His eyes sparkle with mirth. “You look like you’ve got something on your mind. Whatcha want, baby?” Lance presses another warm kiss to his mouth, then trails them up his jaw. “What dirty little thoughts are you cooking up in that pretty head of yours?”
“You can, uh.” Fuck, why is it so hard to say? It’s just Lance. He spins out the nasty degrading talk like it’s a second language. Cock-slapped Keith in the Cage, came on his face in the Pits. And he was totally on board with choking Keith in the moment when he asked for it. Surely this won’t be too weird for him.
“C’mon, Keith. Be a good boy and tell me what you want.”
Keith takes the plunge. “With the talking. Like when you call me fuckhole or whatever. You can be meaner.”
Lance’s brows scrunch, eyes darting back and forth between his own. “You want me to…be mean to you? How…what do you mean?”
He licks his lips, mouth suddenly dry. “Like, you can say I’m no good. Or my dick isn’t good. Or not as good as yours.” Lance starts to interject, but he forges on, flushing hotly. “But that I’m, um, still yours anyway?”
Lance blinks rapidly, water droplets scattering off his lashes. For the second time in a minute Keith has apparently struck the guy speechless, which is probably some sort of record. He’s usually so expressive, but in this moment he’s unreadable. And then Lance is throwing his arms around him, hugging him tight. Keith hesitantly hugs back.
“It’s just an idea. I didn’t mean to like—make it about me. We don’t have to if you’re not into it,” Keith mumbles into his shoulder.
“I’m into it,” Lance says vehemently. “Damn, baby, I’m into it. I just – I don’t want to go overboard on you by accident. I want to use a safeword on this one, ok?”
“Yeah, that’s fine,” Keith says, thrilling with combined relief and anticipation. “Alert light system?”
“Perfect.”
After they’ve rinsed off the chlorine stink and turned off the water, Keith winds up kneeling on the tile, Lance’s foot propped up on his shoulder, while he carefully fingers him open. He’s gonna have bruised knees later and he loves it. Keith wants to feel it for days, like he did when Lance railed him in the Blade bathroom. Also, Lance has legs for lightyears, lithe and brown and slicked wet, and Keith is all about getting up close and personal with them. He goes gently, kissing his thigh and petting softly at the tight furl of Lance’s asshole before slipping in a fingertip. It’s overwhelming, how honored it makes him feel that Lance wants to have him in a way he says he hasn’t had anyone recently.
“Whoo, ok, yeah. Go ahead with another finger,” Lance says when he’s been sliding one in and out up to the biggest knuckle for a minute. Keith obeys, keeping a watchful eye on Lance’s face as the man lets out a whistling breath and his toes flex against Keith’s shoulder. “Two fingers might be enough. That’s already bigger than your little wiener,” Lance says offhandedly, then immediately peers down at him. “Color?”
“Mmm. Green,” Keith says, holding Lance’s hard, silky cock against his cheek and nuzzling at the thick root of it. Lance tightens on him like a vise as he curls his fingers to stroke him on the inside.
“Yeah? You like that? My little cumslut, you like how a real cock feels? Must feel like a friggin’ cannon when you’re just used to your dinky lump.” Keith feels his own dick twitch against his thigh, and lets out a shuddery sigh against Lance’s shaft. “Color?”
“Green.”
“Just a useless little washout with a useless little dingle…. Color?”
His gut drops, not with arousal but with a tangle of grief and anger. “Ye – Yellow.”
“What’s up baby. Tell me what you’re thinking. That a no-go? Which part?”
Keith takes in a deep breath, presses his forehead into Lance’s belly. “That’s…yeah. The useless stuff is fine. I don’t want to talk about – about leaving the Company.”
“Ok. I got you, sweetie. Thank you for telling me. Right into the bin it goes.” Gentle fingers comb soothingly through his wet hair. “Got another correction, now I think of it. That pathetic little toy between your legs isn’t really yours, is it baby. It’s allll mine, just like the rest of you.”
Fuck, that’s hot. Keith basks in the way Lance looks down at him when he says it, blazing and possessive.
Lance keeps on like they’re playing his silly Marco Polo game, zeroing in on Keith’s reactions until he’s hitting bullseye with every comment like a sharpshooter. By the time he’s stretched and ready Keith has leaked a small puddle of pre on the tile and his head feels full of wonderful tingly static.
With Lance slightly bent and braced against the wall, Keith presses into him in slow, careful pulses, petting his hip and ribs. Both because he doesn’t want to hurt Lance, and because he is trying desperately not to come immediately. Lance is so gorgeous, with the lean muscular taper of his back and wet curls of hair against the back of his neck, and that pert little ass is squeezing on him tight.
“Doing ok?” Keith asks shakily.
Lance takes a couple deep breaths, shifting his weight on his feet slightly. “Is it in yet?” he wheezes. “I can’t feel it.”
Keith can’t help it. A snorting laugh escapes him. That sets Lance off into a fit of laughter, making him shiver around Keith’s aching dick. Keith’s giggles melt into a moan, forehead dropping between Lance’s shoulder blades.
“Let’s time out on the talking stuff for a sec,” Keith says when he can catch his breath, stroking Lance’s side soothingly. “Seriously, you ok? Color?”
“Green. Yeah. Move a bit.”
“Ok. You call color too if you need to stop the…talking stuff.”
“Yeah. Ok. I’m ready to time back in.”
“Ok.” Keith eases out and sinks back into that welcoming silky heat, building up to a punishing rhythm. “Fuuuck, Lance, you feel amazing.”
“Mmm, glad you’re having fun, sweetie. Want you to feel so good,” Lance groans, arching to push luxuriously back against him. “Can hardly even feel you humping away back there, but that’s ok. Want my little fucktoy to enjoy himself. It’s no trouble at all to stand here for the ten seconds it’ll take for you to blow your little pickle.”
Fucking hell. How is Lance is so good at this? Keith is in real danger of actually nutting in ten seconds at this rate. Biting his own lip hard enough to bruise, he braces one hand on the tiled wall, grips the cut of Lance’s hip with the other, and focuses on seeking out that spot that’ll make it really good for him. Lance asked to get fucked like an animal, and Keith’s going to give his all to make sure this incredible man gets everything he wants too.
“Ah, ah,” Lance cries out. “Shit, right there. Doesn’t—doesn’t matter your dick is so small and useless. It’s mine, it’s mine, just like your sloppy hole is mine. My favorite toy. My slutty little dildo. If I needed a proper dicking-down I’d get you a strap-on—”
“Oh fuck,” the moan bursts out, his voice cracking. The flush of delicious humiliation at the idea of wearing a fake cock and fucking Lance with it while his own goes ignored blazes through him like a wildfire. He snaps in harder, pounding as fast as he can keep up for more than a minute.
“Yeah? You like that?” Lance laughs huskily. “Fuck, of course you do, you just wanna be owned, don’t you? Just a breathing, drooling sex toy, that’s all you amount to. I mean what are you even good for, other than keeping my cock warm?”
Keith doesn’t even know how he does it. The man’s a marvel. Even getting nailed into the wall Lance manages to keep up a blistering monologue that has Keith’s brain melting out his ears. Goddamn, Keith wants to give him everything he’s got. With one hand he’s gripping Lance’s hip hard enough to bruise, pulling him back in time with his thrusts, but with the other he takes his greedy fill and tries to find every little place he can reach that makes Lance gasp. The soft underside of his upper arm, his hard little nipples, the bottom edge of his ribs, the sinewy muscle where neck meets shoulder. And of course, his fantastic cock.
“Mmm, yeah, baby, clean my rifle,” Lance moans, jerking in his grasp when he finally gives in to the craving. “You like having a real dick in your hand, little slut? You a whore for my fat cock?”
“Fuck,” Keith gasps like Lance has torn it out of him. “Y-yeah.”
“Say it. I wanna hear you say it.”
Humiliation sends shocks of heat down his spine, straight to his own dick. “I’m a whore for your fat cock,” he keens, breath hitching when Lance spasms tight on him.
“Tell me what you like about it, Keith. Tell me how much you love my cock,” Lance demands.
More words? Keith doesn’t know how to words on his own right now. If he could tell Lance with his lips and tongue, lick and worship and love on his spectacular dick, that would be so much easier, but that’s not what Lance is demanding right now. “’s fuckin’—perfect. The perfect cock. So thick and good. Fucks me deep.”
“Yeah? Keep going, toy.”
A whimper wrenches out of him. He’s going to push, going to keep making Lance feel good, push past his own limits to do what Lance says. “Feels – feels so heavy in my hand. So fucking hard and—and soft too.” He swipes his palm over the velvety head of Lance’s dick, slick pre smearing. “Feels so good. In my hand, in my mouth, in my ass, between my legs, on my face, anywhere. Everywhere. Wanna taste you, Lance, tastes so good, wanna have it in my throat, wanna—wanna—fuck, I don’t know, I just want your cock so bad—"
“That right? Wish you had a cock like mine?”
At first he had no words, but now that Lance has pushed him to speak, it’s like a dam has broken in him, the words babbling desperately out of him like they’re completely bypassing his brain. “Don’t care, it’d be a waste of good dick, I’d rather be sucking yours, never took another cock as good as yours, just wanna take it anywhere, any time, Lance, want you in me all the time—"
“Ohhh, oh my god, oh, quiznack. I’m really close, babydoll, wanna come on your dick,” Lance groans into the crook of his arm.
“Ok,” Keith sobs out, struggling to keep focused and not come. Nothing is as important right now as staying hard for Lance, keeping up the rhythm and hammering his prostate and jacking his perfect, perfect cock, making it so so good for him even though Keith’s brain is nothing but lint and mush right now.
“Get – come over here, come around,” says Lance, flapping a hand behind him at Keith.
His rhythm stutters in his confusion. “Thought you were close?”
“I am,” Lance says fervently, “Fuck, I am, but I don’t mean I’m gonna finish with your lil’ peanut in my tush, I mean I’m going to jizz all over your useless little dicklet. Mark it mine, just like I marked your face and your hole—"
Keith is utterly blindsided by his own orgasm. He whines, high and strangled, come spattering down Lance’s thigh.
“Oh my god, did you just come from me saying that?” Lance groans. “That’s so quiznacking hot, oh frick. Baby, you good?”
“Fuck. So good. Wanna get you off,” says Keith, light-headed and buzzing.
“Get over here, get your sweet ass over here, wanna look at you, sweetieboo—" Keith goes willingly into Lance’s arms and lets him press him up against the wall, crying out when long fingers grasp his sensitized dick and stroke him through a final small spurt. “Itty bitty cocklet, itty bitty bit of spunk,” Lance croons. “Did you shoot your bitty bottle rocket, just from thinking about me blowing a big sloppy load all over you? Get your hands up, baby, hands up and spread your legs. Fuck, yeah. Show me that pathetic nub. Show me what’s mine.”
Keith feels delirious, the echoes of orgasm still fizzling through his limbs, as he lets his wrists be pinned to the wall above his head. He widens his stance and tips his hips up, presenting his softening junk to Lance.
Lance’s eyes are ablaze, raking down Keith’s body. He takes his own cock in hand – huge and hard and dark, his flushed balls drawn up tight and the slick head ruddy and dripping.
“There it is. Just a little squishy for me to play with,” Lance coos, smacking Keith’s softness with his heavy dick. The shock of sensation sends a full-body jolt through him, makes his thighs quiver. A strand of pre flings up, stringing between Lance’s hard-on and Keith’s ballsack before falling to stick to his flaccid dick. “Who does this belong to, babydoll?”
“You. Belongs to you,” Keith pants.
“That’s right.” He slaps his cock against it several more times, eyes dancing when it makes Keith shake and shiver, dick twitching in a futile attempt to harden again. “You’re nothing but a toy. My toy. The only thing you’re good for is being what I want. Cockwarmer, dildo, cumdump.”
“Yes,” he sobs.
“Such a good little fuckpet.” Lance starts fisting his cock, punishingly fast. He leans forward, his other hand pressing harder on Keith’s wrists. His voice is strained when he rambles on, “Fuck, baby, my favorite toy, my sweet little slut – gonna mark you up, gonna cover you all up with my giant load—"
“Yeah, please, Lance, want it, please—”
Lance moans, long and guttural, as he follows through. That beautiful cock jerks and spurts, ropes of thick cum striping over Keith’s flaccid pink dick and balls and sticking in the dark wet hair around them. If Keith hadn’t already come he never would have been able to keep himself from doing so in that moment. Lance’s mouth drops and he sags forward, lashes fluttering, and Keith is there to catch him.
“That’s it, thank you, Lance, thank you,” Keith says feverishly, pulling his hands free and wrapping his arms around his back and holding the back of his head, nuzzling his temple, nosing down his cheek until Lance tips his face up to kiss him. His breath at catches the feel of cum smearing between them.
“Was that good?” Lance asks anxiously as soon as their lips part.
“It was fucking amazing,” says Keith, kissing him again. He never wants to leave this shower, if it means detaching from Lance. “Was it good for you?”
“Hell yeah. I’m pleased to report you live up to your reputation. You absolutely fuck like an animal, baby. Did me so good. Five stars. No public review, though, I don’t want to fight off a line of people knocking your door down to order what I had.”
Keith huffs a laugh. He’s overflowing with that warm fluff. If an overstuffed cushion can be effervescently happy and cared for, that’s him right now. Unable to fight back the smile pulling at his mouth, he presses it to Lance’s, kissing all that soft fuzzy fondness right back into him.
They use the defiled shower for its intended purpose. As promised, it is ten million times nicer than the Pits shower, scalding hot and with decent pressure. It’s also nice to soap each other down, gently clean between Lance’s legs, feel Lance’s strong fingers work suds through his own hair.
“Hey,” Lance murmurs, placing a gentle kiss on his temple after toweling off his hair. “Let’s go back to mine so I can take care of you.”
Honestly Keith doesn’t remember the last time he felt more taken care of than he already does right now, but it’s not like he needs to be convinced to spend more time with Lance. “Yeah, ok.”
Keith is feeling relaxed and sleepy after all the swimming and mind-blowing sex. He’s more than ready to just sack out in bed together and snuggle and kiss more (a lot more) and maybe even fall asleep. Lance, on the other hand, seems keyed up when they get to his flat. Maybe he’s more of a night owl? Now that he thinks about it, Lance was up working really damn late that first time Keith came over. Maybe this is just how he rolls.
Keith goes along with his silly pajama thing with only a token argument, thinking that’ll get him to settle down a little at least, but if anything he seems even more frenetic. He won’t even sit down, constantly jumping up and offering to get things for Keith – a softer blanket (Keith’s plenty comfy, thanks), a different drink (Lance has already brought him water and tea and juice) – and all the while looking more and more anxious, peering into Keith’s face like he’s expecting to find…Keith doesn’t even know what.
“Lance, really, I’m fine. I’m great. It was perfect. You were perfect,” Keith repeats for the third time. He loves how attentive Lance is, but he’s starting to get annoyed. “Are you ok?”
“Why wouldn’t I be,” Lance says, which would be a lot more convincing if he’d said it without his voice cracking.
“Uh, you are not ok. Um. Fuck. Are you hurt?” Keith scrambles, alarmed.
“Am I hurt?” he says incredulously, with a little gasping sob, and oh shit, he is crying. “No, jeez, I’m not hurt, you didn’t hurt me.”
As an experienced astropilot, Keith is a pro at staying calm under pressure, and is totally not panicking. “Do—uhhh, do you want your jade thing?”
That has Lance laugh-crying, which is maybe a notch better than just crying, but Lance doing any kind of crying is awful.
Get a grip, Kogane. Whatever’s got Lance upset, he’s going to fix it. He’s not sure how yet but whatever it takes, he’s on it.
“Right. Come on, cowboy. Aftercare time.”
Keith bundles him into bed, climbing right in after. Immediately Lance curls into him, arms winding around his waist and teary face buried in Keith’s belly.
God, maybe he didn’t really want to bottom, or changed his mind. Or maybe Lance was stressed from still doing most of the heavy lifting—when he said he wanted to be fucked, did he want Keith to take charge? Keith pets at his hair and neck and shoulders, attempting to sooth. “Hey, hey. What’s up, fella? Be honest, did you not like it? It’s ok if you didn’t.”
“I did, I just…fuck,” Lance snuffles. “I’m sorry, it’s stupid. I’m overreacting.”
“Lance. You’re not overreacting. You’re dropping,” Keith says firmly, suddenly very certain that’s exactly what’s happening here. Fuck, he should have insisted on talking it out more when Lance wanted to use a safeword. The guy always came across as so cocksure during sex, and Keith was so eager to play out the little scene, that he hadn’t been as attentive as he should have been. He cards his fingers through Lance’s hair, scratching his scalp lightly. “That’s ok. It happens. We’ll figure this out, ok? I’m here. What’s got you upset?”
Lance takes a few deep, humid breaths into his shirt. “I just feel like an asshole for saying some of that shit.”
“You’re not an asshole. I asked you to say that shit. I liked it,” Keith insists. “Do you believe me?”
“…I don’t think you’re lying. But I’m…Do you really think that shit about yourself? About being worthless?”
“I don’t,” Keith starts, then pauses, searching for words. Self-reflection is not one of his favorite pastimes but Lance deserves to understand where he’s coming from, especially if it’ll keep him from dropping again in the future. “I don’t really think about it that way, I guess? I know there’s shit I’m good at, shit people are willing to shell out money for, or….” He swallows, licks his lips. “I know I’m not…good with people. But I can get shit done. Flying salvage, fucking hard, whatever. So people put up with me even if they don’t really want me around, as long as I’m…useful to them.”
Lance makes a soft, sad sound at that.
Keith buries his face in Lance’s dried-fluffy hair. “And with you it’s…different. Feels different. You never make me feel like I need to be useful.”
“Oh, babe.” Lance’s arms squeeze around his middle. “I think people like you more than you realize.”
“Uhh, I think you’re just biased because you’re so fucking nice.”
The answering mumble is almost inaudible. “I’m not that nice.”
Keith scoffs. “You’re like, the kindest person I know. …Most of the people I know are bastards, but still.”
“I’m really not.” Long fingers pluck at Keith’s shirt. “I’m…I’ve never been the best at anything, you know?”
Keith hums dubiously, but instead of pressing the argument he bites his tongue, determined to listen. Lance did say he had a bunch of siblings who were all doing cool stuff. He can’t really relate, but Keith imagines it would probably suck, if he was always being compared to Shiro or something.
“It’s like, I’m always surrounded by quiznacking geniuses and prodigies. And then I’m always the runner-up who gets put in because they need to fill out the numbers.”
More tears soak into his shirt. Keith snuggles him more firmly, kissing the top of his head.
“I know you literally asked me to, and it was so hot when we were doing it, like, I could tell how much you were into it, but I just—” Lance’s breath hitches. “I would feel so fucking shitty if someone said those things to me, and now I can’t stop thinking about it, and I feel like such an asshole.”
“You weren’t an asshole, you were amazing.” Keith gathers his thoughts, determined not to fuck this up further. He knows he’s not good at comforting people. Even this aftercare stuff is not something he’s had occasion to do often, and certainly not with someone he’s interested in for more than a quick scene or fuck every now and again. “Look, all that stuff about being the best, you—it’s bullshit, man. There’s always gonna be losers who want to push you down to make themselves feel better, but what they think doesn’t matter.”
Lance’s hands spasm where they’re clutched in his shirt. Keith plants another kiss on the top of his head, hoping this is making sense and helping on some level.
“You’re doing just fine, alright? You’ve got a family that loves you and you’re helping support them, you’ve got a sponsorship, you get to fly and you like it. That’s all shit to be proud of. And I liked everything we did together, a lot. Fuck, I mean, you made me blow my load early, you were so great.”
“Right,” says Lance, but he still sounds miserable.
“I didn’t know how much that would bother you, but now I do. You made me feel really good and like…cared for and stuff.” Keith tips Lance’s chin up carefully, thumbing away the teartracks. “I want you to feel that way too. Next time we do anything new like that we’ll talk more first. Ok, starshine?””
“…Yeah. Ok,” Lance sniffs, pressing his cheek into Keith’s palm. His reddened eyes meet his own. “I don’t think your dick is terrible,” he says like it’s confession. “I like it. I like you.”
Happiness bubbles up in his chest, curling the corners of his mouth into a goofy smile. “I like you too.”
“You really liked it?” Lance asks, voice uncharacteristically small.
“I really did,” Keith assures him. “I like pretty much everything you do.” The vulnerability of the admission makes his cheeks heat.
Those ridiculously expressive eyebrows arch up high. “Oh really.”
“…Ok, no, the pajama thing is still stupid and annoying.”
“How dare you,” Lance says with a passable attempt at mock outrage. He still looks a bit wan though, tired and sad.
“What would make you feel better? You want a snack?” Keith grins, stroking the pad of his thumb over Lance’s cheekbone. “I could rub your jade roll on your face.”
“You don’t have to do anything,” Lance says, dropping his head to rest on Keith’s chest and looking fondly at him. The chest fluff rises up and threatens to stifle him.
“You sure? You want a blowjob?”
That finally gets a genuine laugh. “I mean, if you insist. It’d be awfully rude to turn down a blowjob.”
It’s a hopping night down in the Pits, and this time, Lance came in with Keith instead of having to seek him out. They’ve got their names in with the bookies to have their first regular fight against each other. Lance thinks Keith will wipe the floor with him—not that he’s about to admit that—but honestly, he’s down. He loves watching Keith in action, and Keith loves fighting, and they both love getting their hands all over each other. Maybe he can stretch it out by tickling him a bit again. But if (when) Keith wins a blowjob, his affectionate alley cat is probably going to want to turn around and return the favor five minutes later against a wall anyway. So really, they’re both winners either way.
Which is perfect. Just how he wants it. In fact, Lance would like to forget he ever thought of any of it as a competition. He’s been thinking about it, a lot, since that unexpectedly heavy scene they did in the pool locker room, and the aftermath. It’d been so hot, so sexy, but it had left him so raw and guilty, and he couldn’t even fully explain to Keith why. All that baggage about numbers and being the best can just stay shoved in a locked box in the back of his mind forever, thanks. Lance just wants to move on and just enjoy the relationship he has with Keith now.
And right now, that means having a drink at the bar and talking fake shit.
“You just aren’t ready for my wildin’ sneak attack,” Lance declares.
“It’s not a sneak attack if you tell me,” Keith snickers. “One of these days I need to start teaching you how to actually fight.”
“Pshaw. As if. You’re just jealous of my sweet moves. Maybe I can teach you the ways of Lance-fu!” Lance waves his arms around in flurry of jabs, ending with two flourished fingers pointing right under Keith’s nose. Keith, who has been watching with an indulgent smile, smirks wickedly and snaps forward to bite his fingers. Not hard, just catches them in his teeth, half-lidded eyes intent, and closes his lips around them to suck the tips.
“See? A brilliant and successful Lance-fu move.” Captivated, Lance presses down on Keith’s hot tongue, leaning closer to kiss the corner of his mouth—
“Well isn’t this a sight.”
The unexpected voice makes Lance’s stomach drop right out his butt. Keith goes immediately tense and pulls away, eyes narrowing with dislike. “Porck,” he says flatly.
It’s the grizzled pilot who told Lance about Keith being a regular in the Pits in the first place, all those weeks ago.
“It’s Prorock,” Pilot Prorock says reflexively, scowling.
“Whatever.” Keith is wearing the bored, annoyed expression that Lance used to think of as Resting Asshole Face back before the cage fight, before he actually got to know him. With a sickening sense of dread, he wonders if Prorock is one of the guys Keith said used to give him a hard time in the Pits.
One of Prorock’s eyelids twitches. He pointedly turns away from Keith, turning his leer on Lance instead. “For all your talk about making Kogane your bitch, I gotta say. I didn’t believe it ‘til I saw it myself.”
“Still spend all your time sitting around gossiping instead of doing your job, huh?”
This is the worst possible way they could start a conversation that Lance never wanted to have. “Babe, it’s—look, the thing is—"
Prorock seems to be getting a kick out of both Keith’s annoyance and Lance’s scrambling. “Never had much use for the pilots’ chitchat, didja? Not like Pilot McClain here. He had all kinds of juicy stories about that cage match of yours, not to mention all the bitching about your record-setting mullet beforehand and how he was going to wipe the flight boards.”
Lance has never really understood until this moment what a ‘gutted expression’ was. He immediately wishes he was still ignorant.
Keith looks at him like he’s never seen him before, eyes flicking between Lance’s own, looking for a denial. “What’s he talking about.”
Quiznack, he’s got to salvage this, has to fix the absolutely devastated look in those violet-slate eyes. “It’s different now,” he tries. “That was – that was before I got to know you—”
Keith barks out humorless laugh, shaking his head and taking a step back. “There’s always another boot,” he mutters to himself. “Always another fucking boot.”
“Just, just let me explain—"
“Explain what?” Keith throws his hands out. “That this was all—what? Some kind of fucking ego trip?”
“Babydoll—"
“Don’t ‘babydoll’ me,” snarls Keith, taking another step back when Lance tries to reach for him. “God, all those times you called me yours, is this what that was about? ‘Making me your bitch’ so you could – what, fucking brag about it to Company losers? If that’s what you gotta do to pump yourself up, babydoll, maybe you’re right to think you’re not the best!”
Defensive anger stings at his eyes. This isn’t a side of Keith he’s used to seeing. Lance has heard he’s had a temper, sure, and he can be stiff and surly, but this is screaming right past aloof, suspicious alley cat into a hissing, spitting, feral beast so fast it's making his head spin. “You don’t get it,” Lance manages to punch out through the hurt. “How could you fucking get it, you’re a quiznacking prodigy! You have no idea what it’s like to actually have to try hard to get noticed!”
“Maybe if you spent half the time you spend following me around training, you wouldn't be such a shit fighter. Or a shit pilot,” Keith snaps. “Ever think of that?”
It hurts, it fucking hurts, and hurts ten times more coming from Keith. It makes Lance want to lash out, hurt him back.
“If that’s how you talk to people, it’s no wonder you got sacked,” he spits. “All the shiny records in the world can’t make up for a shitty personality nobody wants to deal with. Did you ever think of that?”
Keith’s face goes terrifyingly blank for a moment, then rapidly boils over into incandescent fury. Lance braces for whatever vicious thing he’s about to spit out.
It’s Keith, though. Words aren’t really his style, are they.
Still, Lance isn’t braced for what does happen, which is that Keith punches him right in the solar plexus. He doubles over, bruising pain radiating through his gut, all the air stamping out of his lungs.
“Fuck off, McClain. Just—fuck right off,” Keith grits out, voice like it’s been dragged over gravel, and then he stalks away, shoving roughly through the clustered people that have apparently gathered to rubberneck.
Wait, Lance tries to call after him, but he’s still wheezing and breathless, and no words come.
“Aw, whoops,” Pilot Prorock laughs, taking a swig of his drink. “Doesn’t look like you really tamed that feral thing after all, huh?”
Fuck.