Thread by @akaiikowrites

greatness thrust upon him | #sheith | nsfw as hell | abo, canon, keith is a verified size queen & shiro proves his BDE isn’t just metaphor 🍑🍆💦

Everyone knows the legend of how Cadet Keith Kogane once broke out of his heat room to complain his knotting toy wasn’t big enough.

It’s fine. Keith’s not a cadet anymore, and he’s been on Altean-grade (and then Galran-grade) suppressants for going on five years. Theoretically everyone should’ve forgotten that embarrassing prologue to his nonexistent sex life. But they haven’t.

Like, they haven’t /at all/.

Which is why fifteen seconds into his morning stretches, an alpha comes over and asks: “Want some help?” The alpha is human, a lieutenant, and wearing leggings that cling to the outline of his dick enough to prove he’s a shower instead of a grower.

“Thanks, but no.”

The alpha - to his credit - gets the message and backs off.

Keith listens with half an ear as the alpha rejoins his friends. Per usual, there’s a few commiserating backslaps. Then: “Told you that your dick wasn’t big enough. You’re only what, eight inches?”

“Eight and a half!”

“Dude, he rejected a ten inch toy. No way was he going to—“

Thank fuck, the whole group moves out of the gym and out of Keith’s hearing. He doesn’t want to hear the tragicomedy of some alpha getting dragged for his respectable enough dick size.

Anyway, they were wrong. The toy’d been eleven inches. Without the knot.

Tiredly, Keith starts in on his leg stretches. It’s wonderfully mindless to focus on the burn in his thighs as he leans into his splits. When his forehead touches the mat, he wonders if he could sleep here.

Nice as the nap would be, he knows it’s not worth it. Everyone would scold him. ‘See!’ they’d say, eyes big and lovingly judgmental. ‘You need to rest! This will be your first heat in years and you don’t even have a heat partner! Look at this informative omegan health pamphlet!’

Keith doesn’t need informative omegan health pamphlets, he needs a nap. And a dick.

🍆🍆🍆

The next alpha approaches him during lunch. Keith’s spent ten or so minutes pushing his food around his plate when the guy finally gets the guts to approach.

“Paladin Kogane.”

“Nope.”

Another comes by when Keith’s running drills with the Blades. (“Would you like to spar with me?” | “No, sorry, maybe you could take Acxa instead.”) And another while Keith’s selecting shampoo from the commissary. (“You’ve got beautiful hair. I should help you wash it.” | “No.”)

That night, after an /unassisted/shower, he pulls up his comms.

Deep space frequencies means it takes a few seconds for the call to settle and Shiro’s face to snap into blue-lit clarity. “What’s wrong?” Shiro asks. Probably because Keith just used the override code.

“I had to go off suppressants.”

As soon as he says it, he feels a little dumb. Going off suppressants is a normal part of heat cycling. The fucking pamphlets had assured him of that much. It’s not like he hasn’t been handling it.

“That’s rough,” Shiro says. All gentle and shit.

It’s enough to make Keith’s lower lip tremble and his eyes sting. He bites his lip, because the last thing he needs is for Shiro to think he’s about to cry. Which he isn’t. Even if Shiro’s easy kindness makes him feel raw with need.

“How soon are you going into heat?”

“Soon?”

Shiro laughs - a rough sound that strokes down Keith’s spine like velvet - and says, “You don’t sound too sure.”

The moment feels easy. Safe. Keith curls deeper into his bed. “I’m not. The doc said it could take two weeks to a month for the suppressants to leave my system.”

Humming acknowledgement, Shiro rests his chin on the palms of his newly built Altean-Olkari prosthesis. Keith has the sudden & desperate urge to feel it curled around his waist. Maybe Shiro knows, because his voice is soft when he asks: "Do you have everything you need?"

It's not fair that Shiro's like this. Sweet, and gentle, and protective. The perfect alpha.

"Yeah," Keith says, hunching his shoulders up toward his ears with the lie of it. "I'm fine." When Shiro raises an eyebrow at him, he amends, "I'll /be/ fine."

"Huh."

"I /will/."

"Yeah, you will," Shiro says. He's got a fond tilt to his mouth, like he thinks Keith is adorably stubborn, and it's more charming than it has any right to be. "I'll be back in four days, okay?"

Keith stamps down the surge of hope & want. "But you're not due back for a week...?"

"I can get the mission done in four days." The cocky assurance in Shiro's voice /does/ things to Keith. He really hopes the blush he feels isn't visible over the comms.

Half burying his face in his pillow, he mutters, "Just don't start an intergalactic incident."

Another rough laugh from Shiro dislodges the tension in his spine. For the first time since the suppressant taper started, Keith feels relaxed.

"Don't worry, Keith," Shiro says. "I'll handle it. You focus on taking care of yourself."

"Yeah, I will."

"I mean it."

"So do I."

"Keith..." The tilt to his mouth is exasperated & still so achingly fond. That'd be devastating enough without what he says next, which is: "You haven't built your nest yet. Why don't you get some things from my room?"

Blushing hot, Keith shoves his entire face into his pillow.

People remember his Garrison-era heats for the legend of his dissatisfaction with the largest toy in the Garrison's stock. Keith's almost grateful for that. Because what he remembers clearest about his Garrison-era heats is how inconsolable he'd been. How pathetic. How desperate.

Shiro - as the only alpha in his life he trusted - had always given him the heavily scented blankets and clothing needed for his nest. It'd never been enough. Keith had wailed for his alpha, and bounced helplessly on toys that never gave him what he wanted, and cried. A lot.

Not that Shiro'd ever found out any of it. Thank fuck. But Keith's thinking about all of it - and about what it'd mean to go to Shiro's room and gather up things scented like his best friend (his chosen alpha) - and he feels the old same want that's acute enough to pass for need.

“I don’t. I don’t know—“ Keith tries. “It’s—“

“You don’t have to, but we both know you’ll feel better if you do. I can tell you haven’t slept.” Guilt barely has time to sink its claws in before Shiro soothes it away with: “It’ll make me happy if I know you’re nesting properly.”

And, well, /fuck/.

🍆🍆🍆

Keith tells himself he'll be sensible. Restrained. Dignified. Instead, he ends up stealing all of Shiro's bedding and most of his clothing. It takes three hours to assemble his nest - he misses a meeting in the process - and the result is...

Well, the result is that he spends the rest of the day lolling happily in a nest that's /drenched/ in his alpha's scent. By the time he heads out to dinner - wearing one of Shiro's hoodies - he feels relaxed & comfortable & grounded.

Shiro'll be so happy when they talk tonight.

The buoying contentment doesn’t last long. Maybe five steps into the caf. Alphas converge on him like he’s a french fry and they’re a flock of seagulls. Keith tries to be polite - he’s the Black Paladin - but it’s hard when the third alpha in as many /seconds/ puts a hand on him.

Eventually Hunk and Romelle rescue him, hustling him to a side table and bracketing him in with their bodies. The rest of the Paladins glare at anyone stupid enough to approach. His protective pack lets him eat in peace. But the scene in the caf is only a taste of what’s to come.

Over the next three days, Keith finds himself cornered at least a dozen times. Some back off with a simple ‘no’. Others require more persuasion.

“Come on. You can’t go through it alone.” It’s a pilot this time - an MFE fighter from another Garrison base - who leans in too close.

“Yeah, I can,” Keith says, leaning away. All he has to do is grit his teeth through this. Drills will be over soon.

The pilot leans closer. “We all heard what happened last time. You don’t just need a bigger dick, you need someone who can give that dick to you til you scream.”

And, like, he’s not /wrong/.

Keith knows at least part of his problem back then was how silicone was never going to replace the flesh & blood alpha his body craved. But this idiot isn’t his alpha. “I’m not interested,” he says.

“I’m eleven inches,” the pilot replies.

Keith doesn’t know what happens. The suppressant taper started almost two weeks ago, and alphas started noticing a few days after that. Despite everything he’d kept it together. Curt sometimes, yes, but fucking /civilized/.

“And my alpha’s thirteen,” he says.

Dead silence falls. Keith enjoys it almost as much as he enjoys the way the pilot’s jaw drops. It’s vindicating. Being polite is overrated.

After a few precious sputtering tics, the pilot snaps, “You don’t have an alpha.”

Once again, he’s not /wrong/, but.

Keith gestures to the Garrison uniform jacket he’s wearing. The one that still smells like Shiro. Like /alpha/. “You’ve heard of him. Captain of the Atlas. Champion of the Galra Arenas. Commander of the Coalition.”

Each title leeches a little more color from the pilot’s face.

Lifting his chin, Keith goes for the metaphorical jugular: “Takashi Shirogane.”

The pilot swallows audibly, then mumbles something indecipherable as he steps back. It’s more than vindicating to watch him flee. It’s euphoric.

At least until Keith notices the audience.

🍆🍆🍆

“Don’t be mad.”

Shiro blinks. In the blue tinted light of the comms, his hair looks like starlight and his bemused smile is something out of a fairytale. “What?”

No one told him yet. Somehow. By some miracle. No one’s told Shiro what Keith announced in a Garrison flight hangar.

For a tic, Keith allows himself to fantasize that maybe he won’t have to tell Shiro. It’s a good fantasy. Nearly as good as the one he has about Shiro sweeping him into his arms and carrying him off into a sunset while declaring undying love.

“Keith? What happened?”

Right. Keith can do this. As the Black Paladin, as a grown ass adult, as a—

Oh fuck. Keith absolutely cannot do this. The only option is to go become a nun on Daibazaal.

“/Keith./“

“I might’ve told an entire flight hangar that you’re my alpha and have a thirteen inch dick.”

Any other time, the howling laughter this pulls from Shiro would be gratifying. It’s the kind of laugh that steals all composure & oxygen. The kind that Shiro doesn’t allow himself often. When he does, Keith feels a possessive pride that can carry him through a week of bullshit.

Now is not any other time. Quietly, he buries himself in his nest, heart clenching on nothing and spine pulled tight as a marionette string. At least Shiro’s not mad, he figures. That’s. That’s /something/.

Eventually Shiro quiets. “Keith? Oh. Oh, Keith. I’m sorry for laughing.”

“‘s fine.”

“No, it’s not. It’s not fine. Look at me.” Shiro infuses his words with the low coax of alpha command, and even if Keith weren’t already gone on him it’d be impossible to resist. “I’m sorry.”

Keith swallows and pulls one of Shiro’s pillows closer. “‘kay.”

Shiro eyes him for a few ticks longer. Soft. Assessing. “So why did you tell a flight hangar that we’re mated?”

“Pushy alpha,” Keith says. Amends, “Alphas. They’ve been like this for weeks. I— I just thought— No one would mess with me if they thought I was yours.”

Leaning forward with a hum, Shiro says, “You did good.” The warmth of his praise washes over Keith, as sweet as one of their hugs. Fuck, his heat must be close if praise is effecting him this much. “And I’ll be there tomorrow morning to handle any stragglers. Don’t worry, Keith.”

But Keith does worry. If this suppressant purge has taught him anything, it’s that alphas will chase after any omega in (almost) heat. Even him. Once Shiro arrives, it’ll be obvious they’re not mates and next time this happens Shiro may be mated for real. Keith’ll be fucked.

Some of it must show on his face. Fuck. He’s never been good at hiding things from his (not really) alpha.

Shiro sighs and scruffs a hand through his hair. “Trust me. I’ll take care of it.” Before Keith can protest, he adds, “Go to sleep, baby. I’ll see you soon.”

🍆🍆🍆

Romelle answers his comm ping with a whine. “Keeeeith, whyyyyy.”

“Shiro called me baby.”

Big blue eyes suddenly take up most of the holo screen as she mashes her comm close to her face. “This is good. Lance tells me that baby is a common Earth endearment. Shiro is endeared.”

“I guess?” Keith drops his comm so he can scrub at his face with both hands. His cheeks are hot to the touch - either from the blush or from his oncoming heat. “Oh my god, Romelle. I told an entire flight hangar that he was my alpha.”

“You did,” she confirms. “You did do that.”

“And then I told /him/ that I told an entire flight hangar that he was my alpha.”

“Yes, that was very brave of you.”

“And then he called me baby.” Not just called him baby, but called him baby in the gravelly tone he used when he wanted Keith to pay attention. To submit. To—

“Does he think he’s obligated to mate with me now?” Keith blurts. “As a friend thing? Because I told everyone we were?”

When he peeks through his fingers, he sees Romelle’s puffed cheeks and furrowed eyebrows. She’s thinking. It looks ridiculous. Fuck. They’re both ridiculous.

“Is that how Earth courtships work?” she finally asks.

Keith grimaces. Back when he’d been on Earth and noticeably omega, no one had wanted to court him and he’d been too hung up on an alpha he couldn’t have to have cared even if they did. “I don’t think so. But you know Shiro.”

Romelle nods agreeably and puffs her cheeks again. The space wolf jolts from its nap on the floor at her noisy exhale. “I suppose you’ll have to ask him,” she says. “When he returns.”

“Yeah...”

🍆🍆🍆

Keith’s plan is simple & achievable. It also self destructs in seconds.

This time the alpha is Altean. Colony born, with enough alchemical prowess to have made him an asset to the Coalition’s nascent wormhole program. Keith is pretty sure they’re just having a conversation about quintessence anomalies until the Altean places a hand on his shoulder.

“Did you know the Alteans have perfected quintessence syncing techniques to assist omegas through their heats?”

It’s definitely the most unique come on he’s gotten, and it doesn’t have anything to do with dick size so that’s something. “Um. No. I didn’t know that.”

The Altean nods sagely. “I thought not. You see, many omegas - particularly those sensitive to quintessence like yourself - find that they require something /more/ during mating.”

That’s not a dick reference. It’s not. Keith can’t handle that being a dick reference.

“This is why Altean alphas - like myself - have learned to enlarge our knots and stamina via quintessence manipulation.”

Fuck. It /was/ a dick reference.

Keith feels a little of his soul die. All he wanted, when he came here, was to be the first to see Shiro. It was the plan.

Clinging to his plan with white knuckles, he says, “That’s nice for Altean omegas. When is the Atlas due to land?”

The Altean raises an eyebrow and subtly tightens his grip on Keith’s shoulder. “I assure you, not all Altean alphas discriminate. I would be happy to show you—“

“Show him /what/.”

Keith knows that whip crack tone - the easy command wielded with brutal precision - and hearing it now feels like dipping into a warm bath and having ice water dumped over his head simultaneously. He’s not surprised, when he turns, to see Shiro in the doorway.

"Ah," the Altean says. The hand on Keith's shoulder tightens again, and if he weren't part Galra it'd be leaving bruises. "Captain Shirogane. You have...returned."

"I have," Shiro says. There's not an /ounce/ of give in his voice. "Keith needed me." A pause, then: "/Needs/ me."

Keith can count on a single hand the number of times he's seen Shiro like this. One of those times, Shiro'd been possessed by Haggar and trying to kill him. It shouldn't be hot now to see the clench to his jaw or the way his eyes have gone murderous dark. Shouldn't be, but is.

"Ah," the Altean says again. "Then perhaps we should continue our discussion later, Keith."

Slowly, Keith drags his gaze back to the Altean. He's been trying to be polite to his 'suitors' - he knows what it means to be a leader - but he's never going continue this 'discussion.'

Is there a polite way to say that? Years of diplomacy lessons from Allura and she'd never gotten around to how he should say 'I never want to see your quintessence engorged dick, ever.' Keith opens his mouth. Closes it.

"You didn't say what you wanted to show him," Shiro says.

"It's a personal matter."

"I was unaware you'd been with the Coalition long enough to have personal matters with Keith," Shiro says. The prosthetic creaks faintly as he curls it into a fist. Some of the veins spark lurid blue. "Or that you'd stay long enough to act on them."

Someone coughs. It sounds very far away. Keith has a sinking awareness that once again he's managed to gather an audience. Fuck. This isn't good for Shiro's reputation, or for Keith's plan of helping Shiro escape being labeled as his alpha.

Pulling away from the Altean—

Make that /trying/ to pull away from the Altean. As he takes a step forward, his shoulder is pulled back by the man's unwillingness to read the room and /let go/. Keith looks back. "I need—" he starts.

Shiro beats him to the metaphorical punch. "Let my omega go. Now."

The Altean lets go.

Keith takes a step away. Then another. Then he's running - not on purpose, he's not some fucking omega from a bodice ripper like the ones Lance hides in his sock drawer, but he's /running/. As he slams into Shiro's chest, an arm hooks around his waist.

Shiro hoists him up easily with one arm. Despite two years on the space whale, the alpha will always be built taller and broader and in moments like this it /shows/. Wrapping his own arms around those muscular shoulders, Keith buries his face into the crook of Shiro's neck.

One of the things he's never been able to articulate - not to anyone - is how fully Shiro's scent encompasses /home/. It's all the sharpness of a spaceship's beaten metal hull and the clarity of desert air after rainfall and the warmth of flannel worn by a scrub pine campfire.

After all these years, he's not sure if Shiro's scent is made up of things he associates with safety & love, or if he associates those things with safety & love because they remind him of Shiro.

Breathing it in now reminds him that no matter what, everything will be okay.

The past week and a half melt away. Keith burrows closer, nosing against the steady thump of Shiro's pulse where his scent is strongest. "'s good to have you back," he says. Just loud enough to know he'll be heard.

Shiro's arm tightens around his waist. "It's good to be back."

Another cough. It might be the same person from before. Or someone else. Fuck if Keith knows.

But it's enough to jolt him, and he tries to let go of Shiro so they can get a more respectable distance between their bodies. Only Shiro doesn't let go. Just holds tighter.

"Lieutenant Commander McClain," Shiro says. "Please complete docking and debrief procedures." This gets an affirmative from Veronica, and if she tells Lance about this whole mess then Keith'll have to leave Earth. "Alchemist Valan, I would suggest you look into a transfer. Soon."

It takes longer than it should for Keith to connect the handsy Altean to the name 'Alchemist Valan.' It takes even longer to realize that Shiro just pulled rank and threatened a presumably valuable ally. And after all of that, it sinks in that Shiro's carrying him from the room.

"That wasn't necessary," he says, before adding as an afterthought, "I can walk."

Shiro hums an acknowledgment. "Arms around my neck, baby," he says. When Keith obeys - more out of shock than conscious choice - he hooks his other arm under Keith's butt and hoists him higher.

Automatically, Keith's legs wrap around his waist. A blush crawls up his neck and he knows - he /knows/ - his cheeks have gone red. The same red as his first lion. "You can't carry me across the base," he says. It's a stillborn protest. Shiro can. More to the point: Shiro /will/.

"Do you want me to put you down?"

No. Keith bites his tongue and changes tracks. "You shouldn't threaten Alchemist Valan."

The growl Shiro lets out is like an avalanche. Keith /feels/ it before he hears it. The whine he lets out in turn is more submissive than he's ever dared.

"I should break his jaw," Shiro says. Despite the rage still giving gravel to his voice, his hands on Keith are infinitely gentle. Tucked against his chest, everything eases. "And his hands. No one gets to talk to you or touch you against your will like that. No one."

Some vestige of self-preservation keeps Keith from saying that the Altean didn't say anything all that worse than what dozens of alphas have spewed at him since the suppressants started wearing off. Instead, he says, "I appreciate it." Because he does. More than he should.

The sincerity drains at least some of the alpha fury. Enough that Shiro sounds only mildly irritated (but mostly curious) as he asks: "What did he want to show you?"

Keith figures it's not too dangerous of a question. "Alteans can make their knots bigger with quintessence."

"And he thought that was appropriate because...?"

Oh. Oh fuck. Keith clears his throat and is suddenly - /deeply/ - grateful that his face is mostly hidden against Shiro's neck. "Um. Do you...do you remember in the Garrison? When I broke out of the heat rooms?"

"Yes."

"People, um, they didn't forget about that."

They go on in silence for three hallways. No one they pass greets the newly returned Captain of the Atlas, which is enough for Keith to get the inkling that Shiro must look like some human incarnation of a Galran war god.

According to Krolia, the Galra mostly moved on from any concept of religion around the time they began spacefaring. Keith still wonders if he ought to pray to some ancestral force. The growl rumbling in Shiro's chest is strong enough to rattle the distant stars.

They turn a corner, and Keith finds himself not-quite-slammed against the wall of a small alcove. Gasping, he tips his head back to look up at Shiro.

In the dim light his scar is a stark brand across his face. A reminder that he spent a year battling the universe and /winning/.

"How many?"

Keith swallows, fingers digging into the tense muscles of Shiro's back. "How many what?"

"How many alphas came onto you like that fucking Altean did?"

"I- I don't know."

"That many, huh?" Shiro laughs, but there's no joy to the sound. "Were they all that crass?"

"No, it was fine. I handled it, Shiro. It—"

Leaning down, Shiro presses their foreheads together and murmurs, "Don't." The ragged edge of it cuts Keith to the quick. "Don't, baby. I shouldn't have left you alone. If I'd known..."

Outside their little alcove, the world goes on.

Keith's heart feels like a rabbit caught in a snare. All animal adrenaline. Swallowing again, he tentatively reaches up to pet over the close shaven buzz of Shiro's high and tight. "It's okay," he says, even though he's not sure what he's absolving Shiro of. "It's okay."

Slowly his hand works from Shiro's hair to his jaw, still clenched tight. Dark eyes lock on his - soft & challenging - before Shiro turns his head just enough to press a kiss into the palm of Keith's hand. Breath caught in his throat, Keith feels a hot tightening at his core.

"Are you going to let me take care of you?" Shiro asks. His breath is a warm rush against Keith's skin.

The tightening intensifies and he feels himself clench around nothing. Heat nips at the base of his spine. "You don't have to," he whispers. "I don't... I don't need..."

"Let me take care of you." Gently, Shiro presses their bodies closer together. Deeper into the alcove. Until he could pass for Keith's whole world. Their noses nudge against one another. They're almost kissing. "Let me be your alpha. Let me give you what you need, baby."

Keith doesn't need enhanced knots, or dickish alphas, or silicone toys. But he's spent so long thinking about what he doesn't need. What he won't miss. What he can survive without.

"You don't have to," he says. One last attempt at saving Shiro from this. "Not if you don't want—"

In a dark alcove off a main Garrison hallway, Shiro leans down and kisses him. And he never thought of kissing like this - as the curl of Shiro's fingers in his hair and the soft rasp of Shiro's chapped lips on his own - but it's everything. It's /everything/. Keith falls apart.

Whimper caught in his throat, he lets Shiro coax him through kiss after kiss. Something's shaken loose in his soul - falling further away with each slide of the bodies against one another - but he doesn't care. Won't ever care so long as Shiro keeps putting him back together.

"Let me," Shiro whispers. It's maybe a command but it comes out like a prayer. Benediction against Keith's kiss swollen lips. "Let me have you."

Out of all the things Keith has ever said, this is the most honest: "I've always been yours."

🍆🍆🍆

Krolia pings his comms way too early the next morning. "Congratulations," she says. Brusque as usual, but he can tell she's being sincere. "Where is your mate?"

Rubbing some of the sleep crust from his eyes, Keith croaks, "What?"

"Your mate," Krolia says. "Shiro."

"Oh."

That's a good question, actually. Yesterday they'd stumbled back into Keith's room and made out for a good hour in his nest. 'Stay,' Keith'd mumbled, as the exhaustion of his oncoming heat dragged him under. One nap later, they gotten up to join the Paladins for dinner.

After dinner, Shiro'd guided him back to his nest and tucked him in despite mumbled protests about not being tired. It'd been hard to argue too much when Shiro kissed his forehead and promised—

Vaguely, Keith gestures toward his bedroom door. "Um. Out there. On the couch."

One of Krolia's eyebrows inches upward. "You already banished him from your nest?"

"No." Like he would ever kick Shiro out of bed. The Abyss hadn't included sharing fantasies - which is the greatest blessing of his life - but Krolia had seen more than enough evidence of /that/.

When Krolia simply waits for him to continue - she has the patience of an old Earth saint - he debates. Humans would judge Shiro. Galra? Sinking lower into his nest, he says, "Shiro wanted to, uh, guard me. I guess. Mark the space as his territory. And he had some paperwork."

"Paperwork," she says. Because of course that's what she's judging. Shiro's conscientiousness regarding his duties as Captain. Not that he decided he needed to drench Keith's quarters in possessive alpha pheromones. Then again, Keith's judging him for the paperwork too. A little.

"Yep," he says. "Paperwork."

"Well, I am happy for you both, and for your mating." Something on his face must give it away, because she asks: "You /are/ mated now, aren't you?" Faint worry lines have creased between her brows. "Not doing that human thing with the heat partners."

Another good question. But.

"Thanks for calling, and for the congratulations, but um. Hungry. I'm super hungry. I'll call you back later, okay?" Keith sees the glint of her fangs as she opens her mouth to chide him, but by then he's already closing out the call. Fuck.

It takes him a few minutes to pull on clothes and stumble out into his living area. Small concessions bought by saving the universe include the luxury of a combination living room / kitchenette, neither of which he uses. Maybe he'd use them more if the view was like this:

Shiro, chest and feet bare, wearing low slung grey sweatpants that cling to him in deeply inappropriate ways. Shiro, sitting on his couch with a PADD in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. Shiro, hair ruffled, looking like about nine of Keith's wet dreams come to life.

Made stupid by this sight & his own rampaging hormones, Keith manages to walk into the sleeping space wolf.

The wolf yelps and poofs away. Keith yelps and starts to fall. Shiro doesn't yelp, just cusses as he drops everything to lunge for Keith. They land sprawled on the floor.

"What the fuck," Keith manages. His cheek is smashed into Shiro's right pec which - honestly, there are worse places to end up. One of Shiro's thighs is between his too, which is nice. More than nice. Keith is not allowed to grind down on that thigh. He is /not/. "What the fuck."

Huffing out a laugh, Shiro lets his head fall back onto the floor. One of his hands settles at the small of Keith's back, the thumb sliding up under Keith's tee to rub at the notches of his spine. "Yeah, I know."

"Why did you—"

"You'd hit me if I told you."

"Tell me anyway."

"Alpha instincts," Shiro says, sounding equal parts amused & sheepish.

"Usually alpha instincts involve grinding against my ass during training, not staining my couch with coffee and damaging thousands of dollars worth of government equipment to spare me a few bruises."

Keith means it as a joke - it's the kind of thing he's heard plenty of omegas, from multiple species, say over the years.

But instead of laughing, his alpha's chest rumbles with a low growl. Their bodies tip in an instant - and Keith finds himself staring up into Shiro's face.

Tucked beneath him like this, the growl feels like thunder along every line of Keith's body. "What the—" he starts again.

Jaw tightening, Shiro buries his face against Keith's neck with a muffled snarl. "Sorry, I'm... My instincts are stronger than I'm used to. It's making it—"

After a moment, Keith lifts a hand to Shiro's chest. Right where his heart is thudding in an animal rhythm. "Clone body?" he asks, carefully.

"Sort of," Shiro grits. "Same instincts as before. From the arena." They'd talked about that time in pieces. How it'd stripped him down.

Made him something both more and less than he'd been before Kerberos. 'You're still you,' Keith had said. 'This is still you.' Because he loved Shiro - loved him for his courage and his self-sacrifice and his brutality. Back then, Shiro'd given him a wrecked half smile.

Now Shiro scents him, needy, and says: "Same instincts, but they're not—"

"Human." Feeling the hesitant nod against the hollow of his throat, he snorts and thumps a fist against Shiro's chest. "Don't know if you've noticed, but my instincts aren't exactly human either."

"I know," Shiro says. Then, like an afterthought, "Told you you'd hit me."

Keith's not proud of the strangled sound he makes then - something like a cat that's just had its tail stepped on - but he is a little proud of how he hooks a leg around Shiro's hip and /flips/ them.

Straddling his waist has a way of really bringing into perspective how /big/ Shiro is. Keith's thighs burn - leftovers from being carried the day before and the new abuse now - but mostly he likes the way he's forced to drag his slowly hardening arousal against Shiro's abs.