Thread by @keefsimp

#sheith non sexual intimacy, temporary outside POV, caretaking, minor blood and injury, let’s go

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The mission was hell, and Keith comes back bruised and battered and bloody.

He needs a fucking shower.

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Pidge has been biding her time. It’s 4 vargas since she recieved a packet of intel from Keith before he promptly went dark.

It’s a technique he employs when a mission went particularly bad and he fears active pursuit.

It’s times like these when Pidge doesn’t tell Shiro.

Because the thing is, Shiro worries.

Shiro does a lot of things, one of which is holding up the universe on his back.

No one ever said his ship wasn’t named aptly.

So, Pidge waits. Until exactly four vargas and thirteen dobashes later when Keith’s ship touches down in ATLAS’s hangar.

Pidge is watching through a camera.

If Keith knew, which he likely does, he would say that Pidge was spying.

And then he would high five them.

Surveillance is something they have in common, after all.

It takes a full two dobashes for Keith to exit the ramp, which in itself is abnormal.

And when Keith comes out limping, which Pidge has seen him do exactly six times since she’s known him, Pidge begins their message.

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PIDGE: Keith’s back. Mission successful. Went straight to your quarters. Definitely injured.

PIDGE: You’re welcome.

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The message pings Shiro as they enter the fifth hour of the meeting.

Shiro’s so annoyed that he’s legitimately considering begging off.

He does not need to be involved in a discussion on how best to provision ATLAS on their next shore voyage. This is the domain of Colleen Holt, and Hunk, and Shiro’s presence is completely extraneous.

Also, he hasn’t seen his husband in two movements and frankly he’s cranky about it.

So when Pidge pings him, he doesn’t even try to be subtle.

Just as well. He already has their attention when he abruptly rises, tells the gathering to direct any relevant memos to Veronica, and rushes out the door.

By the time he reaches the hallway, he’s already running.

ATLAS, speeds his way, as she always does and for which he’s never been more grateful.

He encounters no one, which is lucky, as the sight of a running Admiral would probably ruin anyone’s day.

Not that Shiro cares about opinions right now.

Not when his sole priority is Keith.

But it’s still nice to have ATLAS watching out for the general anxiety of his crew.

Upon reaching their quarters, Shiro wastes no time before loudly calling Keith’s name.

His own heartbeat pounds in his ears, but he still hears the quiet hiss of the shower and then Keith’s voice, upon which hinges Shiro’s entire world.

“In here,” he calls.

And Shiro goes.

When he enters the bathroom, it’s to find Keith in the shower, hair dripping beneath fogged glass.

Shiro doesn’t even bother undressing before opening the door and stepping in, taking Keith’s shocked face in his hands, and pressing their foreheads together.

“Keith, are you okay?” he says, searching those dark eyes for any secret they will give him.

Keith stares back at him, fine hair leaking rivulets over his bruised temple.

“Shiro,” he says, finally. “Let’s get you out of these clothes. You’ll be soaked.”

As his hands move toward the buttons on Shiro’s jacket, Shiro whispers his name again, insistent, and Keith smiles, haggard and tiny, but there.

“I’m okay enough for this,” he says.

So Shiro allows it, and as Keith fumbles with his buttons, Shiro takes in his body.

His chest is peppered with blossoming red bruises, and there’s a regeneration patch on his ribs, through which Shiro can see a wound closed up with Keith’s neat stitches.

Shiro ghosts his fingers over it and Keith inhales beneath his palm. “Didn’t have a lot of other options,” he says.

Shiro says nothing as he helps Keith slide his jacket from his shoulders before tossing it over the side of the shower along with his tank.

When Keith’s bruised fingers fumble with his belt, Shiro takes them in his hands and kisses each of his wrists.

“Let me take care of you, Keith.”

Keith gazes at him. And then he whispers, “Shiro.”

Shiro takes it for the assent that it is. “ATLAS, switch to bath.”

The tiles rearrange. A second faucet springs to life.

Shiro strips off his pants and then sinks down, leaning his back against the wall and reaching up both hands for Keith.

“Sit with me, baby.”

And when Keith turns around to lower himself into Shiro’s lap, he bites his lip to hold back his gasp.

Because Keith’s left flank is black and blue, and because he didn’t even hesitate to let Shiro see it anyway.

Keith settles against him, and Shiro strokes his knee before cradling one of his bruised hands, raising it to his lips where he kisses each knuckle.

“Do you want to tell me about it, Keith?”

Keith shakes his head. “Not right now.”

“Okay, sweetheart. Do you need me to talk?”

“No,” Keith whispers. “Just…”

He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t need to. Shiro knows.

He gentles his hands over Keith’s body, soothing the aches with his touch and kissing every bruise he can reach.

Keith sags against him, nosing into Shiro’s jaw to scent him and press his lips against his pulse point.

It soothes him, he’d told Shiro once. To take Shiro’s scent into his lungs. To feel the evidence of Shiro’s life against his mouth.

Shiro massages Keith’s wrists and kisses his hair until Keith surfaces from his throat. Then Shiro pops the cap on the shampoo.

He’s washed Keith’s hair many times. In happy moments of indulgence, in somber moments like this.

It’s calming, and Shiro grounds himself in the feeling of touching Keith. Of working his fingers through Keith’s fine, thick hair, and massaging his scalp.

They are quiet, save for Shiro’s murmurs of, “Close your eyes,” before each rinse of Keith’s hair.

By the time he is finished, Keith is boneless, his head lolling against Shiro’s shoulder, limbs sagging beneath the water.

Shiro kisses his cheek before gathering him to his chest and lifting them both from the bath.

Then he sits Keith down and tends to his wounds.

When he lays them down for bed, holding Keith against him so as not to put weight on his injuries, he says, “I’ve got you, baby.”

Keith presses his face into Shiro’s neck and whispers, “I know.”

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Fin.

And here it is on AO3 if anyone wants to bookmark 💕

archiveofourown.org/works/42936321