.

.

There's something in this recognition of the sweet, light oil glistening on Shiro's armor-thick prosthetic fingers. Something deeper and more intimate than just sexual memory.

He barely knows anymore when his mind is letting him deal in good or bad kinds of associations.

Learning about Adam's death hasn't made it easier to sort his muddled, heavier thoughts, and neither has being in the throes of Earth's newest war. But… with Keith… …

Keith has been nothing but patient about Shiro's hardships and his reluctance in delving in stronger emotions. "Guess you are stuck with me, old-timer," he says teasingly, wearing the soft, orange-and-white pattern garments, Keith's temple bandaged. The hospital room smells like dusty, dull warmth and Shiro needs him, to reaffirm touch and comforting presence, leaning in and opening his mouth slightly to Keith's grinning lips, reveling in his happiness.

Once all of the paladins are deemed fully recovered and discharged, Shiro inquires for the paperwork as a transfer in the living quarters. He and Keith familiarize themselves with the spacious, empty barracks, often and well. Fortunately, Keith's wolf vanishes during this.

He needs all of Keith, every blessed, skin-soft inch and noise. The younger man quivers above the sheets, his cock hanging between his thighs and oozing steadily with pre-cum.

Shiro's oil-glistening fingers never let up, working open that tight ring of muscle in front of him, slicking Keith's rim until it colors to a heated, deep pink. His mechanical and highly advanced prosthetic, gifted by Allura, is far larger than Shiro's bare hand. He's astonished that Keith's body can already sloppily suck him in like this, right to his middle and forefinger.

"How're you feeling, baby?" Shiro's voice rumbles out, as he gently rotates both fingers. God, he wants to feel Keith's warmth for himself, but restrains the sudden and wild urge.

At first there's silence. Keith drops his head and releases a low, guttural moan.

"Really good…" he says breathlessly. Keith's naked, narrow hips shift and roll backwards until Shiro's organic hand grips onto him, keeping him upright. "Uunh… more…"

Shiro appreciates the show of enthusiasm, but they've never done this. Anal, yes. But never fisting or entertaining the thought of Shiro's prosthetic going deep inside his channel. Of all things, he doesn't wanna somehow hurt Keith in the process.

"Let's take it nice and slow for now…" Shiro shushes him, pressing an encouraging kiss right up against Keith's tail-bone, humming against his salt-sweaty, moist flesh. "We got time…"

They have kept off the overhead standardized lamps, minus the bathroom's glowing, yellowed light peeking out and slitting against the rug. As soon as his partner goes relaxed, Shiro thrusts his fingers in, out, in Keith's hole, slowly before filling him completely with a rough, upwards push, angling for his prostate and half-hearing Keith gulp out shakily for air.

"Nngh…!"

Shiro eases the pace, watching as his stretched, pink rim clenches down repeatedly. "Keith?" he asks, not getting a response as the younger man collapses to his elbows, quivering harder.

"Oh fuck, nnhn… Shiro…"

Going on his instincts, he slides his bare, organic palm over Keith's waist, reaching around him. Shiro wants to ask but discovers his partner's cock already softening and throbbing, its tip dripping body-warm fluid. He inspects the mess left behind, smiling faintly. "That's good," Shiro whispers, almost like praise, pulling out even more slowly and mouthing over Keith's nape.

"So good, Keith…"

.

.

They don't see each other as much during these last couple of weeks.

Keith flies out with Black to provide aid to the more ravaged parts of the war-torn Earth, and occasionally runs drills and training sequences with the other pilots in the Garrison using their fighter jets.

Shiro preoccupies his time with Earth's top-ranked generals, meeting after meeting, first about all of the intel he has on the Galra Empire and then discussing better and more complex strategies about protecting the Earth during the next alien invasion. Or so the generals call it. They talk as if there aren't already multitudes of aliens living among them, building shelters, growing food and providing aid.

It doesn't reassure Shiro about peace following the disasters of Sendak's invasion.

He runs a hand over his face, letting out a long, aggravated sigh, walking out of the building.

Most of the weather turns cool greyish-blue and overcast. He's considering head back to his room, maybe getting an hour of restless sleep before the mess-hall opens for dinner, and curiously peers around one of the terraces when Shiro hears the accustomed pitch of Keith's voice.

He's dressed in the looser version of Garrison-cadet uniform, seated on a bench and cradling one of the activated holo-reader devices in both hands. A man, perhaps two younger than Shiro and in rumpled, oversized civvies, stands right next to Keith with a haughty expression. Shiro already distrusts the vibe around him, and how ridiculous that trimmed, blond goatee looks.

"… so you're one of those paladins of Voltron I keep hearing about?"

Keith nods, glancing up from scanning the holo-reader.

"Yeah," he replies monotonously, but not dismissively. The guy must have found Keith sitting on his own and tried to engage in a conversation. Shiro remains out-of-sight, narrowing his eyes.

"What's left of this planet owns a lot of gratitude to you. Your service won't be forgotten. You must feel like a hero." Keith doesn't say anything to the man's observation, eyes back on the dull, orange glow of the holo-reader. A leer forms over the man's pale, crooked mouth. "Not much of a talker, are ya? That's okay…"

Shiro's chest tightens, and his jaw strains with the effort to not clench when the man plops down next to Keith. He drapes an arm around Keith's now tensing shoulders. "We don't gotta talk to have a good time together, you know what I mean… whaddya say…?"

"No, thanks," Keith mutters, avoiding eye-contact and trying to lean away.

"C'mon, sweetheart, don't be like that… …"

Before he can fully form the thought, Shiro's prosthetic whirs out, silently darting around the corner.

The man visibly startles when Shiro's disembodied fingers pry him away, nudging the man's arm off Keith's shoulders and lightly grasping down. "Hey, Shiro," Keith murmurs, looking down at the prosthetic on his right shoulder and then at Shiro himself approaching them.

"Hey," Shiro breathes out, the corner of his mouth uplifting when Keith's face warms.

The man gapes, sizing up his competition and dragging himself back onto his feet. Apparently it's not worth it. "Oh, sorry…" he mumbles. Shiro watches on in half amusement and half irritation as the tall, lanky man then simpers. "You're… Takashi Shirogane, ain't ya?"

"Last I checked," Shiro answers, keeping his tone pleasant despite his sarcasm.

He can hear Keith snorting with laughter in the background.

"This is gonna sound outta nowhere, but can I get a photo?" The man blurts out, cracking a wide, careless smile at Shiro. "It would mean a lot and my kid will get a kick out of it."

Keith's eyes meet his, searching cautiously. Shiro glances back to the man with a little less negative emotion, offering a one-armed shrug and agreeing. He's sure to make it a friendly grin, even when the man randomly and excitedly throws himself into the photo, making a peace sign while hugging an arm around Shiro's neck.

The phone-device gives off a bright white flash.

The man hoots, checking over the photo. "Sorry again about keeping you both!" he shouts, rushing off towards the main walkway, colliding into a grumpy officer while waving. "It's been real!"

Shiro's chest heaves up, exhaling and relaxing. Keith pockets his holo-reader.

"… How long was he there for?" Shiro asks quietly, neutrally when his partner leaps up and brushes off his knees, facing Shiro. Keith shrugs his hands casually into his trouser-pockets.

"Few minutes." Keith's nose crinkles, as if not particularly fond of the memory. There's a genuinely appreciative look on Keith, and Shiro uses his organic hand to hold onto the side of Keith's burn-scarred cheek, tangling into dark locks. "Glad you showed up though," Keith adds lowly, accepting a brief, eager kiss, wrapping his arms around Shiro's middle. "Didn't wanna get into it with some asshole."

Shiro's gigantic, armored prosthetic sneaks up Keith's back, crawling under his shirt. They laugh into each other's grinning, kiss-raw mouths, hearts pounding in time.

Me too.

.

.


Voltron isn't mine. Aaaaah. Gotta love that Sheith. Okay well I finally put out my fic I wrote for the Sheith Prompt Party on Tumblr! This was for my first prompt I chose which was"Jealous Shiro interrupting a stranger hitting on Keith" and this also covers my "Finger-Fucking" bingo space for my NSFW Genre card made by Voltron Bingo! Thank you to the mods for both events and I hope whoever prompted this get to see it! Any comments/thoughts are deeply appreciated, you guys!