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They're celebrating tonight. It's nothing like any of the more formal post-war banquets meant to foster diplomacy that have been going on as of late. It's more of a "thank goodness we're alive and the Galra occupation has ended" sort of event, but mostly, it's a chance to unwind. Keith has gotten used to wearing a uniform and maintaining the appearance of being amiable among diplomats and high ranking military officers, but it's a relief to finally have the freedom to let loose. For Keith, that means beer and a quiet corner where he can hang out with his best friends—namely, Shiro.
Shiro.
He stares at Shiro and wonders how it's possible for someone to look so hot in a pair of sensible brown slacks and a grey Henley top. The shirt has a cute little rainbow stitched on the pocket. How is he finding that
sexy
? He traces the outline of Shiro's solid body with his eyes, and he realizes Shiro would look good in a paper bag.
Shiro is cracking open another beer when he pauses to smile at Keith. For a moment, he looks as if he's considering something, but he just shakes his head and tags a swig of his beer.
Keith has seen him tipsy, and he's seen him falling on his face drunk. But that was before—before Kerberos, before Shiro's broken heart had mended, and even before Adam had broken it. (Logically, he knows that both of them had been hurt, and that it's all in the past—but Keith remembers the way Shiro had looked after they broke up, and he can't forgive Adam for that.)
Anyway—drunk Shiro, post-Kerberos, post-intergalactic war, post-everything that they've been through together, is different. Specifically, he's much more handsy than usual. Well—he's always been tactile, and he has always been even more affectionate when he's had a few drinks, Keith supposes. He would often sling his arm around Keith's shoulders, or give Keith the biggest bear hugs at the end of the night, or—okay, so it’s a regular, sober occurrence too; but this is
different
. His touches never lingered quite like this before, he never toyed with the baby hairs at the back of Keith's neck that fell loose from his braid, never ghosted his lips against his ear every time he wanted to whisper about some inside joke between them–which seems to be frequently tonight. It's not like Keith doesn't enjoy it, but every touch sends sparks through him, and it's a little overwhelming.
Keith cocks his head as Shiro puts his large, heavy flesh hand on Keith's shoulder for the twentieth time that night. "How much have you had to drink?"
Shiro grins and rubs his hand into Keith's threadbare t-shirt. He can feel the heat of Shiro's body through the material, and he wonders if he could burn up just from this. "A few. Not too many." Shiro slides his hand down to Keith's chest and settles it over his heart. "Keith."
"Shiro," he replies, while focusing on trying to slow his heartbeat, because he's sure Shiro can feel its rapid pace hammering against his chest.
Shiro leans in close to Keith so his lips are almost touching the scar on Keith's cheek, and Keith feels too warm, like the room is spinning even though he's only working on his third drink of the night. Shiro lingers a moment, his hot breath heating Keith's skin, and then wraps his arms around Keith and pulls him close. "Keith," he whispers against Keith's ear, and it sends a shiver through Keith's body that he's not really able to hide. "I—"
Suddenly, Shiro is interrupted by a drunk Lance—
of course it's Lance
—latching himself onto Shiro. "Are we hugging? I love hugs."
Keith scowls at him from behind Shiro's shoulder, but Shiro just laughs.
Allura pulls Lance away and gives them an apologetic smile. "Sorry. Lance was wanting to ask if you'd like to carry—what do they carry again, Lance?"
"
Karaoke
," Lance clarifies.
"Right."
Romelle sidles up to Allura and pulls a face. "What is a
yokey
?"
"I'm not exactly sure," Allura starts, "But I think it may be some kind of musical instrument."
Keith pulls back and gives Shiro a look. "No. Absolutely not, Shiro." But it's too late—Shiro is already grinning widely at him, eyes shining brightly like an excited puppy, and he makes it so hard to resist.
"Come on, Keith. Please?"
"I
hate
singing."
"That's a lie," Pidge calls out from where she's setting up the karaoke machine.
Keith's face burns. "Okay, fine. I hate singing in front of people."
Lance playfully punches Keith in the shoulder. "Oh come on, Keith. You put on a show for us just last week—"
"That was an accident! I left my comm on!"
Shiro pouts. "I didn't get to hear it."
Keith was probably suckered in already, but that infuriatingly cute pout is what seals the deal. So, that's how he finds himself with a microphone in hand, singing—"
Boy Problems?!"
"Just go with it!" Lance calls from the couch.
And Shiro is smiling at him, so he does go with it, because he wants to keep seeing that. Keith would do anything for Shiro if it made him happy–even if it meant embarrassing himself in front of a significant portion of the Garrison.
He quells his nerves by downing the rest of his beer and looking at Shiro the entire time, who is singing along with him and giving the odd encouraging whoop here and there. Keith ends up enjoying himself, even if he's pretty sure he'll regret it in the morning. Afterwards, Shiro claps animatedly and tells him "You're really good, Keith. You should sing more often," and it's so earnest that Keith nearly believes him.
It's Shiro's turn next, and everyone, including Keith, is impressed at how well he can sing. Keith knew this already, but he's always impressed by Shiro. Shiro is dancing along to the music, and it's harder than usual for Keith to keep his eyes off of Shiro (not that he ever makes a concerted effort, really).
He isn't really paying much attention to the lyrics, until Shiro dances up to him and slides a finger down Keith's chest while singing
I bloom just for you.
Keith looks around quickly and notes that Shiro isn't touching or even pointing at anyone else. In fact, Shiro is looking Keith straight in the eyes the entire time. Everyone applauds when the song ends, except for Keith, who is staring at Shiro and trying to connect the dots. There's only one conclusion he can arrive at, but that's ridiculous and very clearly out of the question.
Shiro passes the mic to Coran, who starts singing some awful Altean song—or maybe it's just Coran's voice, Keith isn't sure which. Keith stares at Shiro, at his big broad shoulders, his stupidly huge biceps, his handsome face, and his dumb cute ears. He's flushed, and Keith isn't sure if it's the alcohol or the singing, or maybe something else. He lets his gaze linger on Shiro's smiling mouth and wonders what he tastes like.
Shiro walks up to Keith and places a hand on his shoulder, firm and steady as always. "Keith," he says, snapping Keith out of his thoughts. Even when Shiro is being goofy and tipsy, he looks at Keith like he really sees him. Suddenly, he feels exposed, like Shiro can tell that Keith wants to kiss him, or worse—that Keith is desperately in love with him. He's said the words before, but they were preceded by "you're my brother," so Keith is 90 percent sure, give or take, that Shiro didn't see it as a romantic confession (even if it kind of was).
"Let's go get some air," Shiro says.
Keith nods dumbly and follows Shiro out of the common area and into the empty Garrison halls. Shiro turns around with a smile and grabs Keith's hand to pull him around a corner. "Wh-where are we going?"
Shiro tugs hard and he falls forward against Shiro's chest. Shiro wraps his arms tightly around him and—
is he smelling my hair?
Keith wonders. Shiro smells good, like whatever flowery soap he uses, and a little musky from the day’s sweat. Shiro pulls back, still smiling. "Are you having fun tonight?"
Keith smiles back. "Of course. Always do when you're around."
He makes a small, surprised sound, as if it should be unexpected that Keith most enjoys himself in the company of Shiro. His expression turns serious, and Keith suddenly fears the worst. What if Keith has been too obvious? He's been staring at Shiro more openly tonight–maybe Shiro has noticed. Maybe Shiro wants to put an end to Keith’s
feelings.
He starts to mentally prepare himself for the inevitable:
Keith, it's clear you’re in love with me, but I just see you as a friend,
or,
I've fallen for someone else
(maybe that cute guy in the bridge crew who's been cozying up to Shiro—Colton? Cyrus? Bertrand?)
,
or more devastatingly,
I think I just need some space.
He knows he's being ridiculous, but he feels too vulnerable, and it's easy to let his insecurities get the best of him.
"Keith—I know we talked about our fight, but—"
"It's in the past, Shiro. It's fine." Not what he expected, but it's not a great topic either. The last thing he wants to think about tonight is having to fight his best friend. He still has nightmares about it, can still recall the wild look in Shiro's eyes. He remembers how it felt to slice through Shiro's arm, and how doing it made him feel like his heart was literally being torn in two. He dreams of losing his grip on Shiro and seeing him disappear forever. He wakes to the sensation of falling endlessly through space.
"I know, it's just—I wanted to know if—or
how
—you meant it." Shiro is blushing furiously, and Keith melts a little at how cute it is.
"I—meant what?" Keith's face reddens along with Shiro's, because truthfully, he doesn't really want to go here either. He doesn't want to talk about the thing that he said that he meant
romantically
because he can't handle it being one-sided. Shiro's friendship is more than enough, and he's too afraid to lose that if his true feelings come out.
"Keith." Shiro reaches for him and brushes a strand of hair gently from his face. Keith fights leaning into the touch and stares at the ground between them instead. "You said I was your brother."
Oh. He had meant that, too. But more in an all-encompassing way than a familial way. He's not really sure why it came out like that, and he's thought of a million different ways to say it since.
I need you, I would die for you, you're everything to me.
He wants to say those things now, but what comes out instead is, "Uh—yeah."
Shiro's brow furrows, and for a moment he looks hurt. "Is that really how you feel?"
Keith's heart pounds, and he tries to bury the swell of emotion threatening to bubble over. Shiro is the sun, and Keith's heart is far too close for comfort. "It's—I mean, I feel a lot of things."
Shiro's expression softens, and he takes a step closer to Keith. "I know."
He tries again, but his last drink seems to have taken hold of his clumsy mouth. "I mean, you know, you're my best friend. You are my brother—well, not literally, or in a familial way really. I mean I guess you are my family, but not like—I just—I love you. Uh—That's not—"
Shiro just chuckles and slides his hand against Keith's cheek, over the scar, and tilts Keith's face up to look at him. Shiro is so handsome, and Keith thinks maybe it's just privilege enough to be able to look at him, that he's so amazing that simply being in his space is more than anyone deserves. "I love you too, Keith," he tells him.
"Oh." And then Shiro kisses him, so gentle and sweet that Keith thinks maybe he's imagining it at first. "
Oh,
" he says again when Shiro pulls away.
"Yeah."
And then all of Keith's well-honed, feelings-for-Shiro related self-control goes out the window. Keith grabs Shiro by his shirt and pulls him forward so he can kiss him again. He tastes like alcohol, but there's something else behind it, and Keith wants more of it, wants to know Shiro's taste (and for no one else to know from this moment on). Keith licks at Shiro's lip, and he opens with a low moan. Shiro turns them and backs Keith into the wall. He cups Keith's face in his hand, thumb trailing down Keith's jaw, and his larger, Altean hand slides up the length of his back. Keith feels like the ground might give out beneath him, like he's falling, but Shiro is here to hold him steady. His heart pounds, elated at the realization that Shiro wants him the same way he's always wanted Shiro.
When they part, Shiro's face is flushed and his lips are pink from their kiss. He rests his forehead against Keith's. "I've wanted to do that for so long," he says.
Keith just laughs, because he knows the feeling, is intimately familiar with it—but suddenly he wants to know just how long Shiro has been in love with him. "How long?"
Shiro shrugs. "I don't know, exactly. But I guess—" Shiro pauses. "Remember that planet you and I crashed on after we fought Zarkon? I think that's when I started to realize it."
"Shiro.
Shiro.
That was so long ago." Keith pulls Shiro closer and kisses him hard. "I could've been doing this with you this whole time. Do you know how long I've wanted this?"
Shiro blushes. "I have an idea, yes."
He doesn't have to ask why, though. Shiro doesn't need to say it, because Keith knows. He knows about all of the shit Shiro deals with, knows the war took priority, knows there was a time when Shiro wasn't really Shiro. He knows that Shiro needed time to process everything—dying, being disembodied and alone for so long, being thrust into a body that both is and isn't his own. He also knows the fear that comes with admitting your feelings to your best friend.
"Doesn't matter," Keith decides. "I would've been happy as your friend, Shiro. I'd still love you the same."
"Keith," Shiro says, his voice full of emotion.
Keith reaches up and wipes the tears forming in Shiro's eyes. "You're not supposed to be the weepy drunk." He kisses Shiro on the cheek. "Besides, we've got plenty of time together now."
"Yeah," he agrees. But it seems like something desperate is sparked in Shiro—maybe it's knowing how many times they've nearly lost each other, or maybe it's just the realization that their feelings are mutual, that he's
allowed
to kiss Keith. Either way, Keith is reeling as he's pulled into an empty conference room.
Shiro locks the door behind them and then Keith's back hits the wall. He lets out a surprised gasp that quickly turns to a moan as Shiro kisses him hard. It's desperate and uncoordinated, and Keith can't get enough of it. Shiro slides his Altean hand behind Keith's back, feeling the curve of Keith's spine. It spans the width of Keith's waist, and Keith feels a little rush at the realization of just how big his hand is.
Keith bites Shiro's lip and pulls away gasping. "Shiro." His breath hitches as Shiro tugs at his braid to expose his neck so he can suck a bruise into it, high up enough that it won't hide well. Keith wants it, wants to be claimed by Shiro, and for everyone to know it. Shiro's hand slides lower down to grip his ass, and Keith can't help the desperate whine that leaves his mouth. There's something so delicious about the way Shiro towers over him, about the way Shiro covers his entire body and then some. It makes him feel owned and protected all at once. He slides his thigh between Shiro's and can feel just how much Shiro wants him.
Shiro moans into crook of Keith's neck and presses his hips forward. Keith feels like a teenager, so eager that he's just rutting against Shiro and rushing towards the finish line. (To be fair, Shiro
has
been the main subject of most of Keith's fantasies since he was 14 years old.) But Shiro looks just as desperate, meeting the grind of Keith's hips with his own. Shiro releases his braid and runs a hand down his chest and stomach and then slides under his shirt just to feel skin on skin.
"Shiro," Keith pants into Shiro's mouth. He's well aware of how wrecked he sounds already. He runs his fingers through Shiro's hair and digs his fingers into the muscle of Shiro's shoulder. He can feel himself leaking pre-cum into his briefs, and by the look on Shiro’s face, he’s doing the same. Keith wonders what he tastes like, but right now he just needs to see what Shiro looks like when he comes. The heat between them is too much, and everything feels too urgent for taking time–at least, for the moment.
"Sh-Shiro," he pants, shaking against Shiro's chest. He's holding onto Shiro's bicep so hard he's sure it'll bruise.
This isn't how he imagined his first time with Shiro, and it's messy and haphazard, but it's perfect. It feels good to grind his cock against Shiro's massive thigh, even if it is through their clothing. He can feel Shiro's dick rubbing up against his belly, hard and
huge.
It's not like he's never seen Shiro in the showers before, not like he hasn't ever noticed the very large dick print in Shiro's pants before now (
everyone
knows Shiro tucks left). But the fact that he can
feel
it pressed up against his stomach sends a thrill through his body. He wants to feel it without the layers of fabric, to feel the weight of it in his palm, in his mouth. He wants it to split him open.
"God, Keith." Shiro slides his hands under Keith's thighs and lifts him so their cocks are pressing together through their clothing.
He gasps sharply at Shiro's easy strength and wraps his legs tightly around Shiro's waist. He wants to know what it would be like to have Shiro fuck him like this, pressed up against the wall, his big hands spreading him wide while he thrusts into him. "Shiro," he gasps against Shiro's mouth. He bucks his hips hard to get more friction and to feel Shiro's length against his own. "Want this in me."
"Yeah?" Shiro pants.
"Mm. Y-yeah. Shiro, Shiro I'm—"
"Me too, Keith."
Keith comes with a low groan, shuddering against Shiro and spilling into his briefs.
Shiro shifts them so he's rutting against Keith's stomach again. "So beautiful. So perfect," he breathes as he comes hard.
"I love you, Shiro. I love you so much."
Shiro kisses him again, slow and sweet like honey. "I love you too."
The mess in his underwear is gradually becoming increasingly uncomfortable, but Keith isn’t interested in stopping kissing Shiro anytime soon.
“We should go before someone comes looking for us,” Shiro says before giving Keith another hickey on his neck.
“Let them.”
“We do have some important things to discuss,” Shiro tells him.
Keith frowns a little, but he supposes Shiro might want to talk about this development in their relationship, or maybe how they’ll go about keeping things professional during their day-to-day duties. “Oh. Right.”
“Yeah. Like, whether or not you’re ready to go again, or, should we go to your quarters or mine?”
Keith smirks at him. “The answer is yes, and mine are closer.”
It takes longer than it should to get to Keith’s quarters, but only because they can’t keep their hands off each other the whole way.