.

.

Shiro rests.

In the middle of visiting Earth and being reunited and preventing another war.

Keith doesn't blame him.

He conks out for 72 hours straight, taking up Keith's entire bed with all of his muscle mass. Shiro wakes up suddenly in mid-afternoon while Keith is sharpening his blade and asks him if there's any pistachio ice cream.

"No idea why, but I just got a craving for it," Shiro mumbles.

He yawns and stretches his arm over his head, blinking out the fuzzies in his eyes.

(Pidge managed to scrap together a decent replacement of a working prosthetic-arm when Shiro decides to give up the Altean tech, considering their limited resources. He thanks her and refuses to use it initially while living temporarily with Keith. It's a sometimes decision. Keith also doesn't blame him for that.)

"We gotta head into town for it," he informs Shiro, tugging on his father's red-and-white coat.

Keith witnesses the blatant and frustrated reluctance as the older man sighs, climbing to his feet, heading for the locked, wood-frame chest holding his prosthetic-arm. He gives Shiro some privacy, walking outside for the gigantic shed and where his father's hover-bike is regularly kept.

It's a little hot to Keith's bare fingertips, and dusty, but seems to be in good condition.

Shiro comes up behind him eventually, wearing his dad's long-sleeve and vest, his mouth dropping open. "Oh my god…" he says, laughing under his breath and sliding his organic hand over the rusty-red of the old, familiar vehicle. "You gotta be kidding me. Does it still run?"

Keith's mouth lifts into a smile.

"Once I get some particle-gas for it, yeah. I got a tank and a half left."

He hasn't seen Shiro — the real Shiro — grin this hard in who knows how long. "Geez, I remember trying to teach you to ride this junk, Keith. You nearly hit a boulder."

A huffing, amused snort.

"Not doing anymore," Keith announces, getting the hover-bike fueled up and checking over all of the mechanics, listening to the dull, purring noise of its energy-boosters. Once he's satisfied, Keith hops on and flips on the motor, stretching out a hand for Shiro.

There's a little, teasing gleam in Shiro's exposed straight teeth and eyes, as he clasps on.

"Guess I'm trusting you with my life here," he points out, saddling himself behind Keith. It feels good to have Shiro's presence so close, his arms securely tightening on Keith's waist.

Keith revs up the hover-bike, tossing a bigger, easygoing smile over his shoulder.

"We won't even get a scratch."

.

.

During those loneliest moments, when Keith needed to clear his head or not think about his family abandoning him, or Shiro's disappearance, he would take a long nighttime ride.

By now, Keith likes to think he's memorized every crater, every trail and rock.

They somehow forget about the ice cream, speeding along the desert's remote, bleak environment and up the mountain-pass, racing against the colors of the sunset drenching them in reds and pinks and golds. At one point, Shiro bellows out his delirium and thrill to the sky itself, leaning his head backwards. It's the exactly what Keith's ears need to hear the most. Sweeter than any song.

Sweeter than his own heart pounding against his ribe-cage, when Shiro looks at him, with blown, dark pupils and love and worship. Keith feels himself pressed down against the hover-bike, sucking around Shiro's tongue gently moving in his mouth, frantically arching and colliding their hips and bumping hands for their zippers. He wants that affirmation of real and alive and you're here, as compelling as the sensation of their naked cocks humping and grinding together, until Keith sees lowlight stars behind his eyelids.

The hover-bike takes all of their weight, humming out the sound of mumbling, affectionate syllables and ragged breathing and Keith's guttural, filthy cry when his orgasm hits.

"You were right…" Shiro whispers. He breaks apart the kiss, rubbing the tip of his nose and lips against Keith's throat, until the other man swallows hard and focuses on his partner, meeting their eyes. A mischievous, wide grin. "… We didn't scratch the bike."

Keith pffts! in a shallow, breathy exhale, knocking his forehead to Shiro's temple.

They're gonna be alright.

.

.


Voltron isn't mine. LAST ENTRY FOR VOLTRON NSFW WEEK! I didn't get to do as much as I wanted for it but I figure,,, a little is better than nothing! It's "Free Day" and then also this covers my "NOISE" space for Voltron Bingo and my NSFW Genre card! This is fairly lightly on the NSFW but whatever it still counts. WHO DOESN'T NEED MORE SHEITH IN THEIR LIVES? I HOPE EVERYBODY NEEDS SOME MORE SHEITH! Any comments/thoughts are so so appreciated! I love hearing from you guys!