Late one night Keith and Shiro are sneaking back in from hover bike racing in the desert and then suddenly there’s the sound of a security guard.
Laughing Shiro grabs Keith’s hand and tugs him back down a hallway, then another. Just as they’re
Eventually Shiro puts a hand over Keith’s mouth as the guards footsteps get closer.
And that—
Their eyes meet and it’s electric. Dangerous and strange. Shiro shifts his stance and they rub together.
Shiro can’t help how he leans in then, putting his mouth to Keith’s ear. “Quiet,” he says. There’s a delicious muffled whine in response.
Heat piles quickly. They’re not... they don’t... but shiros heart is pounding from the run, from the bike,
Then Keith’s hips move, half a grind. Something that could be written off as an accident.
But he’s hard.
There’s a louder sound from Keith, Shiro keeps his hand over his mouth. It’s hard to know what this is, what it should be, if Shiro should stop it—
It’s excruciating. Not enough.
But he doesn’t because they aren’t—
There’s another shift against his thigh, Keith’s cock rutting against him,
Keith’s head bows back and knocks the wall hard, a wuff of breath blowing out his nose. He shifts against Shiro in rhythm, like he’s— he’s—
Shiro can’t even think it. It’s impossible.
But.
He takes a deep breath against Keith’s neck. He tries to come up with anything to say or do but his head is empty. He’s so, so turned on.
“I think the coast is clear,” keith says, voice a low gravel whisper.
/Nothing is fucking clear,/ is all Shiro can think in response.
/end