Keith considers getting up to lock the door at first, when Shiro's gray eyes darken over and he presses a series of moist and teasingly light kisses along Keith's jaw, and then forgets immediately about it.

The hospital's facility seems to be busier than ever — garbled yelling, the marching of feet and wheels squeaking noisily by with carts and gurneys, and the frequent, long-winded announcements over the intercom from outside Keith's door. Which is better for him than struggling to hold back whines and groans, as Keith arches his back slightly on the mattress, pushing himself closer to Shiro's face.

Shiro has already crawled up with him, positioned between Keith's legs and shushing him lowly. He rumples up Keith's hospital gown further, exposing his thighs and Keith's flat, muscular abdomen.

Two of Shiro's bare, organic fingers run along the slit of his entrance, dragging through the collection of slick and the heat without the thin barrier of underwear already tossed onto the sheets. God, Keith hasn't felt this wet in a long time. "Just, aah," Keith complains, heaving himself up and grabbing around Shiro's fingers going too-slow, easing them past his folds. At this point, he really needs Shiro go a little deeper instead of just casually finger-fucking his vulva until it drives Keith nuts.

His head already feels shrunken two sizes and fuzzy off the medication and his lust. "S'alright, I know what you need," Shiro murmurs, chuckling, pulling his fingers out of him much to Keith's aggravation.

Keith starts to doubt this until he feels Shiro's lips mouthing gently and suckling over his mound, nosing through Keith's dark, curly pubic hair. A faint, burning-hot line between pleasure and shock. It's been that way nearly every time since they wanted to attempt a more profound and sexual relationship.

He wouldn't change a damn thing.

They've lived through too much anguish and too many battles (sometimes the ones within themselves).

In the process of eating Keith out, Shiro helps Keith's heavily bandaged and injured lower leg from moving too much or tensing, shifting it upwards and resting the inside of Keith's right knee onto his shoulder.

Shiro's tongue circles roughly inside him, thrusting up, lapping and swallowing down the fluid leaking out of him. Keith quakes at every sensation, forcing himsel to knuckle down on the sheets. He then clutches into Shiro's silvery-grey hair, biting down on his puffy, red-raw lip to keep from panting any harder.

For once, Shiro isn't dressed up in the Garrison officer's uniform. The black-and-slate colored, leather jacket reminds Keith of when he first met Shiro, and when they used to outrace each other in the desert.

Keith lets out a loud, gulping cry when one of the Altean-tech fingers nudges and rubs down against his engorged, sensitive clit. The vibrating sends him over, flash-flaring an orgasm out of Keith as he comes onto Shiro's open, softly humming mouth and his face, Keith's walls clenching and loosening rapidly.

"Oh shit, wow," Keith mumbles. He wipes his forehead with his palm, holding it there. In a daze, Keith watches Shiro's fluid-shiny lips twitch up, as the older man scoots up and mumbles Keith's name. Shiro kisses his chin over, and over and over, finally brushing their mouths together and Keith can taste himself with a small, eager lick between Shiro's lips, not hating the musky, semi-salty essence.

He nearly misses a firm, insistent knock on the hospital bedroom door.

An unlocked door.

Keith's eyes widen. "Shit! Shit shitSHIT!" he whispers, yanking down his gown and pulling the blankets over himself as a deeply flushing Shiro tumbles off the cot. They barely have enough time to get distance and compose themselves when one of the MFE fighter-pilots enters, bowing his head expressionlessly.

"Forgive the intrusion," Kinkade says tonelessly, not regarding Keith but Shiro who rolls his shoulders and clears his throat awkwardly. "I was told I could find you here, Captain."

He presents out what looks like a communication's holo-device. An older and more weathered version.

"… What is it, lieutenant?" Shiro asks, furrowing his brows.

"Commander Iverson instructed me to give this to you as soon as you were located and to mention it was found among Adam Winlow's possessions. I believe there is a recording addressed to you."

A pulse of heat and worry coils up Keith's insides as the light visibly fades from Shiro's eyes. The other man bows his head again in respect, heading out the door and shutting it for privacy. "Shiro?" Keith speaks up, eyeing his partner sinking down into one of the plush, maroon-hued waiting chairs, fiddling with the device wordlessly and scanning through the video-recordings. "Hey, Shiro?"

Static crackles through the device.

"—I don't know why I'm doing this—talking to a dead man here—" Adam's voice filters through the speakers, gruff and sounding exhausted. The video is of him sitting alone in his quarters, uniform-top missing and Adam's broad, naked shoulders tensing up. "—I'm not going to sit here like I was right this whole time when I said you would die up there," Adam says sternly but mournfully, facing the camera and removing his glasses, scrubbing his wrist under his red-rimmed, dry eyes. "I didn't want that. I didn't want to be right. I don't regret what I said—but I regret how I said it, and now it's too late—too late—too la—"

The video-recording flickers off. Shiro rises to his feet quickly, his features paled out and pinched. "I need to go," he mumbles, nearly fleeing out of Keith's hospital room and leaving the item on the chair.

Leaving Keith with the echoes of loved ones and regret.



Even from a distance, the memorial is noticeably bathed in the amber-yellow glow of candlelight.

A frosty cold, gusting burst of night air stings the corners of Keith's eyes, as he hobbles down a smoothed, concrete walkway with a pair of crutches. His normal coordination is still trashed, but Keith guesses that he will find Shiro right along the eastern portion of the Garrison's militia-run sanctuary. Nobody has walked by, or through the grassy quad to get back to the headquarters. Or reported him for insubordination yet.

And sure enough, he glimpses the dark patch of Shiro's jacket. Shiro catches onto the faint thudding of Keith's crutches approaching and turns around, frowning. "What the hell are you doing out of bed?" he asks, observing Keith for another long moment before tucking his organic arm underneath Keith's armpit.

"Isn't it obvious?" Keith replies, leaning against the other man heavily and returning the mildly irritated quality of Shiro's frown. "Looking for you, Shiro… you didn't come back… …"

Keith's voice fades off, solemn and rueful.

Shiro winces, hugging Keith one-armed and using his prosthetic to help Keith straighten up. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, his guilt flooding out. "I didn't know what to do after seeing that."

"Yeah… yeah, I get it."

As if sensing a twinge of doubt from Keith, Shiro leans in and buries his nose and mouth deep into Keith's soft-silk, black hair. "Hey… I love you, Keith, alright?" Shiro points out, chest-to-chest with him. Keith shuts his eyes, trying to ignore the prickle of tears. "That's never gonna change."

"I know," Keith answers him, quietly but with enough confidence to mean it. He knows Shiro means it without any conditions. "But… it's okay to miss Adam too, Shiro. He shouldn't have died."

Shiro's next breath quivers out.

"No, he shouldn't have," he breathes, hugging Keith tighter and sighing raggedly when Keith's fingers stroke his nape. A beat passes before Shiro pulls away, cradling the side of Keith's face with his Altean-hand. "Did you seriously leave the recovery wing without getting seen or did you knock someone out to do it?"

A curt, offended noise escapes Keith's numbing lips. "What am I gonna do, Shiro? Hit them with this?" He smacks one of his crutches to Shiro's hip, bursting into laughter along with his partner.

It's a little less cold when moving around, but Keith feels grateful anyway for Shiro's jacket being draped around him and pulls it closer. "Let's get you back inside then, before someone calls Iverson about you missing," Shiro says helpfully, touching his organic hand to Keith's lower back.

Maybe it's for the best.



Voltron isn't mine. I very much have a lot of Post Season 7 fics to share with you guys! But we take it a day at a time! I'm not satisfied with how we ended it with Adam so I tried one version in my head I imagined and maybe I'll do the other version some other time. BUT ANYWAY SHEITH SHEITH I LOVE SHEITH. This fic covers my bingo space "Oral Sex" for the NSFW Genre card I received by Voltron Bingo! I am SO GLAD this event is happening because it gives me more of an excuse to write (I'm sure you guys are tired of getting a million billion things from me jknszfjsna I'm sorry I have maniac anxiety and it's the only way to shut it up)! SO ALL MY SHEITH FANS AND CURIOUS MINDS WHO WANDERED IN,,,, thanks for being here and please yes I would love to hear your reactions/thoughts on this!