Thread by @DorisDuksozz

Because I am a perfectly normal earth human, I sit in traffic and think about the Sheiths that are all living in my heard as result of various things.

This train of thought is /undoubtedly/ brought to you by the below art and my own love of Keith's back

https://twitter.com/kaa05n2/status/1112772320433725443?t=5ff9V6qlc-OadDsGHbbWrA&s=19

#sheith #longing

Keith runs hot.

This shouldn't come as any surprise to Shiro, given the other man's temperament, but the first night he comes out of their shared bathroom to the bared line of Keith's back laying on top of the covers of his bunk, he almost chokes.

He definitely stares, heat pooling unexpected and low in his stomach and he feels his face flush.

Keith is wearing nothing but a pair of tiny boxer briefs, riding low on his hips and tightly hugging to his pert bottom and Shiro can't help but /notice/, can't help but enjoy the

view. Keith is all lean lines and long muscles and Shiro knows he could fit himself around him and around him and around him while Keith fit himself around /Shiro/ and the thought is devastating.

The nape of Keith's neck is pale and delicate and it makes Shiro hungry, a low sound escaping his throat as he wonders how that skin would feel under his mouth, taste against his tongue, as they moved together and he needs to get ahold of himself because Keith is his /friend/ and

all he's doing is /lying there/ and he certainly isn't trying to make Shiro half hard and completely crazed with want,

but he is.

He hopes Keith is asleep because Shiro's been standing in the doorway, in the light cast from the bathroom, frozen and raking his hot gaze up and

down Keith's body and surely that isn't what he should be doing in this moment.

So he swallows heavily, takes one last, longing look at the other man, and clicks out the bathroom light. Makes his way to his own bunk as quietly as he can in the darkness.

He lays down, pulls

the covers up to his chin and takes hold of himself.

He doesn't stroke or touch or try to pleasure himself, Shiro is, quite literally, trying to get a grip on himself and the pounding of his heart and the sudden realization that Keith is fucking /beautiful/ and he wants him.

He's always been aware, peripherally, that Keith is attractive. He notices when others notice Keith, even if Keith doesn't seem to notice it himself.

He's never felt jealous, he's never felt possessive, he's never felt /threatened/ - because he and Keith are friends, the best

of, and Shiro knows nothing could ever change that. The whole universe could stand between them and they would tear it down together, keep on going.

The two of them.

Shiro's hand squeezes hard on his cock as he tells himself that's a perfectly normal thought to have about your

best friend.

That everything about what has happened tonight has been perfectly /normal/ and he presses his face into the pillow, stifles a groan, knowing nothing is going to be normal ever again as the thought of crawling into Keith's bed keeps slithering around

in his mind, forcing him to imagine what sharing that small space pressed against Keith's small body might be like.

He drifts off, still griping tight to his cock, face hot as he thinks of Keith.

Of Keith and nothing else.

AN// this is pretty much all my brain has done today, so I have two more parts written and I hope to have the second part up soon. ☺️☺️☺️

#sheith #doubledoseoflonging #pining #nsfwish #nsfw #shirorubsoneout part deux

Shiro wakes, cock still held loosely in his hand, head full of dream!Keiths and tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He glances over at Keith's bunk, unable not to wonder what his skin looks like

under filtered, early morning light - but his bed is empty.

Shiro listens for noise in the bathroom but...

Nothing.

Keith must have already left for the morning and while something pangs in Shiro's chest that Keith didn't wait for him to go down for breakfast, he, and his

cock, are decidedly grateful for a few moments alone.

Shiro tightens his grip and furiously jerks himself off, almost too hard for it to truly be pleasurable, eyes screwed shut and bottom lip clenched between his teeth, keeping Keith's name from spilling out of his mouth.

He

thinks about Keith's pretty eyes and slender neck and smart mouth. He thinks about that mouth, hot and wet and willing, wrapped around his dick instead of his own hand, Keith's eyes doing the smirking now and he comes shockingly hard into his own hand, up the left side of his

chest, his breathing erratic as he forces down the feeling like he just betrayed Keith somehow.

Shiro knows that Keith will never know but he still feels strange about it. He's never touched himself and thought of Keith before and now. Now Shiro isn't sure he'll ever think of

anyone else again.

It's been less than 12 hours since Shiro's dick and stomach and heart decided Keith is something he wants, badly, and he reminds himself that this is /Keith/ he's thinking about, his best friend, and tells himself to stop, now, while maybe he still can. That

Keith would likely never look at Shiro the same again if he knew and the thought almost makes him ill. Shiro tells himself to let this go, to forget what Keith looks like in the halfdark, to stop wondering after more.

He's only just finished cleaning himself up, the slightest

flush still tinting his cheeks, across the bridge of his nose, the tips of his ears, when the door to their room slides open and Keith slips in.

Shiro's certain he was letting this all go but he wasn't ready for the sight of sweaty, disheveled Keith or aware of how easily it

would shatter his resolve into a million tiny pieces.

He's trying not to stare at the way Keith's tank is suctioned to his torso with sweat, clinging to him like a second skin, mocking Shiro as if it knows he wants to be just as close to the other man, /closer/ even, and Keith's

compression leggings laugh along at Shiro's pain.

He snaps his gaze up to Keith's eyes, keeps it there as Keith meets his gaze, pushing damp hair out of his eyes and smiling at Shiro by way of greeting.

And Keith's always done that, a little quirk to the right side of his

mouth, just for him, but it's never made Shiro's pulse ramp up like this before -- has it?? He's certain he would have noticed and his eyes are helpless not to follow as Keith goes to his bunk, grabs a few things, heads to the bathroom.

Shiro is still watching him when Keith

looks over his shoulder at him, says, "Gonna take a quick shower, then. Breakfast?" Shiro nods quickly, not trusting his voice, and Keith turns away.

What was a pang in Shiro's chest is now a flutter.

He spends the entire five minutes it takes Keith to shower doing deep

breathing techniques and trying to calm down (his raging libido, more than anything, if he were being honest) before having to face his best friend and act like he hasn't just discovered he wants to literally fuck his brains out.

Because stars does Shiro /want to/.

This becomes something of a routine for them over the next several weeks.

Keith gets up early, works out, comes back for his shower, for /Shiro/, before they have breakfast together.

In trade, Shiro works out late, before bed, coming in to shower late enough that Keith is

asleep by the time he gets out.

At least, Shiro /thinks/ he's asleep...

Keith's back is always to the bathroom door, breathing slow and deep and even. He never reacts to the light, responds to the way Shiro lingers in the doorway, never rolls over to catch him openly lusting

of every inch of Keith he can touch with his eyes and his heavy breaths and his imagination.

Keith never has on more than a thin, narrow pair of trunks, is always lying canted slightly forward on his side, legs bent, one knee before the other, and his back begging Shiro to

slide in behind him, spoon up against him, /envelop/ him completely and see if they fit together just so in real life the way they do in Shiro's dreams.

Shiro looks but never touches, tries not to loiter too long, and it only stokes the flames in his gut higher and higher and

hotter and hotter until his is burning with want /all the fucking time/ now.

By day Shiro strives to act like nothing is any different, like he isn't openly watching Keith all the time now, like his gaze isn't heavy and needy and laden with everything he wasn't prepared to feel

and doesn't have a clue how to give voice to.

Privately, Shiro wonders if Keith /has/ noticed his watching because, well, Shiro has noticed Keith looks at /him/ sometimes, eyes darting quickly away when he finds Shiro's gaze already on him.

Sometimes this makes Shiro feel

bold but.

Never bold enough.

So he takes his shower, and doesn't touch, doesn't say anything, does nothing more than look and want and hope for a few too-long moments before he clicks out the bathroom light and forces himself to bypass Keith's bed for his own.

Every night he

falls asleep dreaming they sleep in the same one, and he knows that he is torturing himself, that he needs to stop doing this, he needs to stop looking, he needs to stop /thinking/ but he can't turn his brain off.

Shiro is helpless to derail the train of thought circling

endlessly through his mind: the strong lines of Keith's back, his long, lean legs, the soft, so soft, look of the skin at the nape of his neck, his dark hair splayed across the pillow where Shiro wants to lay his head, bury his face, breathe deep, finally let go.

Shiro hates

himself for letting this...this.../thing/ get so far out of his control.

He never should have let himself indulge the thought of /Keith/ and what it would be like to /have him/ as more than his best friend. Keith is already the most important person in Shiro's life & he couldn't

stand the idea of losing Keith /before/ he fell head over heels into longing and lust and something too close to in-love to be comfortable, and so Shiro knows he couldn't take losing Keith now with a hundred thousand times more surety.

He /needs/ to stop, he tells himself.

The only person he's hurting with this is himself, he thinks.

But, still, every night he stands in the shadow of his desire, lets his eyes and mind and heart drink their fill. Then Shiro turns out the light, bypasses Keith's bed for his own, and pulls a pillow to his chest,

falls asleep allowing himself to pretend it's Keith for one more night.

---

End part two

Will polish up it part three for respectable viewing tomorrow. Cheers.

#sheith #thelongerthelonging #longingtakethree #ithinkshiroisdemi #pleasejusttouchalready

Part three: Self-Aware...ish Shiro

Shiro has been trying.

Really, he has. He just. Hasn't made any progress.

In fact. He may be....back sliding? Falling in deeper?? Whatever it is he's

doing, it isn't stopping, that's for sure.

Truth be told, he's bolder now, touching Keith more and more often and it /isn't/ casual, no matter how "innocent," not like it was before. When Shiro puts his hand on the other man's shoulder, it makes him feel hot, his whole hand,

arm, /being/ feels heavier, wanting and almost possessive, as it clings to Keith in a way it didn't before.

Shiro's hands linger and it makes him feel exposed and he cares less and less and less as it becomes harder and harder and harder to keep all of his desires trapped inside

of him.

Shiro wonders if Keith can feel the fundamental difference in the nature of his touch, if he wonders what's changed, if he already /knows/, knows exactly what it is Shiro really wants to be doing with his hands on Keith's body.

He tries to keep his need quiet,

soothe it with small bites but Shiro is certain everyone can see it screaming Keith's name in his eyes, and he wishes he still felt shame.

Keith is beautiful and whipsmart and broken enough to be perfect, and Shiro wants him, all of him, every last fucking molecule, and he

discovers he has no problem staring down any one who comes close, who shows an interest, and Shiro tries to pretend it's just friendly protectiveness, because Keith /deserves/ someone who will appreciate and worship and die for all the small, wonderful things about him, and fails

to notice the way Keith's neck flushes red from up under his shirt collar at the attention, the way he is watching Shiro from beneath his heavy bangs and lowered lashes and licking at his bottom lip, because it is the only time Shiro /isn't/ looking at him.

If he was, maybe

he'd see that it's Keith who thinks that he's in love with Shiro, not the other way around.

Day after day, they dance the same steps as always, following their strict routines, orbiting each other around the elephant in the room.

Shiro knows it's only a matter of time until he breaks.

And he cares less and less and less about the dangers and more and more and more

about the possibilities

Shiro is slowly brushing his teeth, he's lingered in the bathroom tonight, mulling over his thoughts, his actions, how things have changed since that first night.

How confused shame has transformed into clear awareness.

Sometimes he wishes he could summon that same chastising level of embarrassment, that same slickshame that made him too afraid to admit what he was feeling, let alone /act/ on it.

But he can't.

There's no room for shame anymore, not when there's so much want and need,

desire and admiration, so much lovelust crowding it out.

Not when Shiro has to admit that he was stupidly slow to realize that Keith's wit was charming, his eyes arresting, his fierceness endearing. His loyalty is affecting in a way Shiro has no words to describe, only feels

low in his gut, the foundation of everything Shiro has ever felt for Keith and he wonders after what /he/ means to /Keith/. Wonders what it will take to win Keith's heart and knows, he'd do anything, give anything, give /everything/

and where that idea was anyways too much before Keith, Shiro wonders now if it's enough.

He spits into the sink, staring sightlessly as his thoughts continue to wander, and then --

Just as he steps under the spray of the shower head to rinse off, Shiro thinks he can hear small, soft, breathy sounds on the other side of the bathroom door, his head popping out from behind the curtain so fast his neck wrenches, and just the /thought/ of what, of why,

of /Keith/ makes his dick twitch.

He shuts the water off hastily, body still a little soapy and he strains every bit of his hearing, trying desperately to hear over the sound of his own heart jackhammering in his chest. And yes, his dick tells him,

/that/ was definitely a bitten off moan, low, raspy, and Shiro bites his own tongue to keep from moaning in response.

Is Keith out there, lying atop his sheets, nestled into his pillows and fucking himself into his own hand?

Is he thinking about Shiro while he touches himself?

/Fuck,/ Shiro thinks, and begs any God willing to listen that Keith is thinking about him right now.

That Keith has his small, capable hand wrapped around his cock and that he is wishing it was Shiro's instead.

A stupid, prideful wish and all his hopes in a prayer.

He's gotten out of the shower and hastily towelled the soapy water off himself and he's already reaching for the door and there's barely even a towel around his hips as his trembling hand pulls it open, throwing the light of the bathroom across Keith's back.

Shiro sighs softly in disappointment, in embarrassment, but he doesn't wonder what's come over him. He knows this train of thought, this nightly ritual, has been slowly undoing him and he wills his erection to go down as he tries to think through the 'what now' of not having put

on clothes /before/ he came out of the bathroom.

He runs his prosthetic hand through his damp hair, stomps down on the desire to lift to comforter and-- wait.

Wait.

The barest bit of a blanket covers Keith's backside tonight, the smallest sliver from the small of his back

down to the tops of his thighs and Shiro gulps, white noise deafing him as he wonders if Keith is /naked/ beneath that flimsy barrier. If he would find nothing but skin of he did lift the covers, drop his towel, slide in behind Keith and press the length of himself flush against

the other man.

Shiro's eyes roll in his head at the thought and he's dizzy, it's too hot, he's going to combust, he just knows it and he's not sure he wants to stop it from happening anymore.

Keith may be his best friend but nobody has ever made Shiro want like this before.

He's never felt so out of control, like he might actually die if he didn't touch and taste and take and it's a heady realization.

He doesn't just want Keith, he wants /all/ of Keith, he wants everything, every day, every moment, for forever. But he doesn't know how to start,

how to handle the intense wave of emotion that is /right now/.

And he hangs his head, sighs out everything he feels into the space between them, trying to let it go.

He turns back into the bathroom, doesn't bother to close the door as he quickly drops the towel, slips on his

shorts, turns back to Keith's form on the bunk before him.

Shiro has every line committed to memory but he lets his eyes linger, just for a moment, on the curve of Keith's shoulder, the dip of his waist into the rise of his hip and tells himself he can keep this thing inside,

he /can/.

Shiro clicks off the light, climbs into bed, and pretends he'll be able to sleep without dreaming of possessing all the things he's denying himself. He pulls the pillow his doesn't think of as Keith to his chest and asks himself if he even wants to anymore.

Shiro lays in bed, listens to Keith's quiet breathing, and thinks about what lies beneath the slip of covers over his slender hips.

Shiro wonders if his own hands would cover a larger expanse of skin than the thin fabric and feels no guilt as his cock chubbs. He is becoming

more and more comfortable in his need, he's borderline wanton with desire, and Shiro knows he's playing a dangerous game as he touches himself beneath his blanket, pretends like he's trying to be quiet, and performs like Keith is awake to hear him.

--fin part three--

#sheith #thelongestlonging #longing #aninterlude #nsfw #justalittlemasturbation

Part 3.5, from Keith's POV, aka I Can't Help But Hear You

Keith knew better than to get comfortable. Something always went wrong when he'd decide to let his guard down. It was foolhardy of him to

think that this would be any different.

Just. It has been a while.

Shiro was always around, his bed right on the other side of the shower, even, and the kind of privacy Keith needed for ... for /that/ was often too hard to come by.

But Shiro has been so...attentive lately,

so. Present and there and close and, stars, so... so fucking /handsy/ and Keith wants to believe it means something more, something special, and his cock is all too elated the other man is touching him, each (nota)caress neatly filed away for Keith to torture himself with later.

Shit but Shiro has some big hands, and he's been in the bathroom for ages, hasn't even gotten into the shower yet and, yeah.

Keith has enough time, he thinks, slipping his underwear down and off, rolling onto his back, closing his eyes as he runs his hands down body.

His palms are calloused, catching scratchy on his sensitive nipples, and he shifts in the sheets, restless, and longs for Shiro's strong, steady hands in place of his own.

He tweaks his left nipple, just barely grazes the skin of his strenum with the tips of the fingers of his

right hand, a ticklish touch and lets himself recall the low, warning noise Shiro had made at some guy in the breakfast line that morning. He had been trying to talk to Keith about music or maybe hoverbikes or something, Keith wasn't paying attention, really, until he'd felt the

breadth of Shiro's hand pressed to the small of his back as Shiro crowded in close behind him, the sound issuing from his throat, his flat glare, had had the desired effect and the guy snapped back around, silenced, but it had also gone straight to Keith's cock with a very

different effect. Thinking of the way the sound had vibrated through Shiro and into Keith still made his dick stand up and take notice and, this time, he couldn't contain the small, wanting noise that rolled off his tongue, fell from his lips into the quiet of their shared space.

Keith wraps his hand around himself, wishes it were larger, wishes it came with Shiro's warmth or his mouth on his skin or his cock buried to the hilt in Keith's ass.

He strokes himself twice, slowly, up and down and again, luxuriating in the thought of Shiro wanting and

touching and taking him. Keith is already a little breathless, still torturing his left nipple with tiny tugs and slick circles and the thought of how Shiro's solid weight would feel, pinning him to the mattress makes him groan, hard, harder than he should, followed by a gasping

little shudder, fuck, oh fuck, and there -- there's the shower, there's still time.

And then the thought of Shiro naked and /wet/ and sofuckingclose has his hand unconsciously speeding up, circling his cockhead to gather wetness with every curling stroke, Keith's hips hovering

just off the bed and his thighs desperate for Shiro between them.

He moans, far too loudly, imagining the way Shiro's thick, delicious thighs would look between his own leaner legs, breath hitching out on a soft sigh and then it catches, trapped in his throat when he realizes

the water has stopped.

And so has Keith's heart as he grips his cock like a vise, drags the corner of the blanket over his butt, rolls back onto his side, tries to learn how to fucking /breathe/ all over again as he waits.

Did Shiro hear him?

Keith knows the answer is /yes/

as the door clicks open, light spilling into the room along with the ragged sound of Shiro's breathing and Keith wonders, with as hard and loud as it is thudding in his own ears, pounding in his own head, can Shiro hear Keith's heartbeat racing in the quiet dark?

If so it would

surely give him away, but Shiro, as always, says nothing, just stands in the doorway between the bathroom and their room, silent but /there/. Keith desperately wills his erection to subside as he hears Shiro shift around behind him, a moment of silence during which Keith's dick

finally starts doing as it's told, and then Shiro is clicking out the light, making his way to his own bed, and Keith chastises himself.

He should have known better, and now he is throbbing and far too hot and taking long, slow breaths to keep from screaming from this unending

/want/.

Keith listens as Shiro settles into his own bunk and doesn't move, tries not to breath too unevenly, waiting for the other man's breathing to level out into sleep.

Instead, he hears the continued rustle of sheets, of /skin/, and his heart throws itself into his throat.

The sound is rhythmic now, and Shiro just whimpered very softest of 'oh yes, oh fuck's' into his pillow and Keith had just gotten himself under control and now he's fairly certain he's going to die in this bed with the hardest dick the universe has ever beheld.

Breathe.

He

needs to breathe, Keith tells himself, if he is going to have any chance of getting through this night alive and still inside his own skin.

Instead, Keith goes back to holding his breath as tightly as he's clinging to his self control and raging hard on because he doesn't want

to miss a single thing, a single sound, he needs to memorize it -- for later, have it for always, to be able close his eyes and pretend those words are for /him/.

If he only knew.

If he had any clue that Keith is the /only thing/ Shiro is thinking about as he strokes himself,

as Shiro gets giddy and deeply aroused by the thought that maybe Keith is awake, that maybe he can hear him, and that shouldn't make him bolder, but it does, and all Keith knows is that he can hear Shiro moving faster, can tell his hips are controlling the thrust, as the other

man makes low, wet sounds into that fucking pillow.

Keith wants to look but he's too afraid to break the illusion of his slumber, too afraid that Shiro might catch him watching, openly wanting, and that things would, could, never be the same between them again. Right now, he can

keep on pretending, they both can.

This is just another thing that never happened, that he holds in his heart, keeps in a box, shut so tightly no air or light or sound can get in or out.

And really, it's for the best, though Keith will never know it. He never would have

been able to keep quiet, keep still, if he could see the way Shiro has his face, his /teeth/, in the pillow, wishing he had Keith's neck under his mouth. Keep quiet and still as Shiro ruts down into his own hand, thrusts full purpose and weight, angled down into the bed, as if

someone--/Keith/--was gleefully and unmistakably plundered beneath him, Shiro's muscled back and ass and arms and those stupid, gorgeous thighs, /everything/ on full display as the blanket had slid down and off his body and Shiro failed to care, wanting to be seen.

Yes, better

that Keith doesn't look, his hearing hyper-sensitive as he hears every little murmur and sigh, and, really, it would be better, /safer/ Keith thinks wildly, feeling like an animal caught in a trap, if he didn't know how Shiro sounds, breathless and rough and needy with pleasure,

but it's too late for that - Keith will be tugging himself off to the soundtrack of Shiro's pleasure for the rest of his life, he thinks grimly as his cock throbs and twitches, jerks and fucking aches, reminding Keith stubbornly that they'd been busy, /before/, and that this was

decidedly not helping.

Keith pointedly ignores it, keeps pretending to be asleep, and praises whoever up there is listening that Shiro hasn't noticed the hitches in Keith's breathing over his own hard, rapid breaths and --

Shiro must be close now.

He's making an adorable little keening sound that sinks low and feral into Keith's gut and he wonders hazily what would happen if he got up, got into Shiro's bed, offered to finish the man off with his hands, his mouth, his body, whatever part of him that Shiro wanted to use.

But Keith continues to lay there, tries to even out his breathing before Shiro finishes, tries not to be stupidly jealous of Shiro's hand as he stutters out another wanton, wanting little sound and clearly comes.

Keith lies there, horny and hot and heart pounding, and tells himself that sound wasn't his name falling from Shiro's mouth but.

His cock will never believe him.

--end interlude--

--selfimplodes--

@threadreaderapp unroll