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Love like an ache in the jaw

Chapter 4

Summary:

Shiro goes into rut. What more can I say.

Notes:

Here is the 4th and final (chonky) installment! I very much hope you enjoy :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

When Shiro wakes in the morning, his body is sore. Every single muscle has the kind of ache and persistent tingle that usually comes along with a good workout, individual muscle fibers twitching irregularly. He stretches his legs reflexively as the ache sets in, and the burn makes him groan. Beside him, a rustle of fabric and heat against his side brings back flashes of memory—of last night, of the club, the overwhelming tide of protectiveness, coming home and…well. Shiro feels his cock stir at the memory, despite his exhaustion.

Gradually, he floats closer to awareness, his breather growing shallower, his eyes starting to flit behind his eyelids. He remembers waking up one more time during the night, all tangled up in the blankets and Keith and covered in a sheen of sweat, once again wracked with need. He remembers kissing Keith awake and coaxing him to turn onto his stomach so he could fill him again, both of them too tired to do much more than rut lazily, slowly rolling into orgasm before collapsing into sleep once again.

He untangles a hand from the sheets to rub his eyes, clearing the sleep from them and blinking them slowly, reluctantly open.

His mind is clearer now than it has been since some point at the club. There’s still a fogginess to his thoughts, a feeling of easy distraction, echoes of the uncontrolled way he felt last night—but he’s cognizant enough that reality comes crashing down on him like a ton of bricks.

Fuck.

He is absolutely, definitely in rut.

For a minute, he just lies there, stock still and letting his mounting anxiety wash over him, until his stomach is rolling and he feels a little bit like the room is spinning.

He’s in rut, and he doesn’t really even know what that means for him, since he’s never had one before. But he does know that it means…losing control. Not…not being himself. He doesn’t know what he’ll be like in rut, what he’ll do—but images flash though his mind, unwelcome, of other times he hasn’t been in control of his body, and the association sends a sick, sour feeling clenching his stomach, and his breath catches in his chest.

“Shiro?” The whisper breaks him out of his spiral. “You awake?”

Keith’s voice is gentle, quiet, a little hoarse with sleep. He doesn’t sound angry, or afraid, or even worried, really.

Shiro squeezes his eyes shut tight one last time, then lets out all the breath in his lungs in a heavy sigh. Then he sits up, grunting at the burn in his abs.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m awake.”

He doesn’t look over, but he can feel Keith sitting up and shuffling closer.

“Are you…?”

“I’m…pretty with it. At least for now.”

There’s a pause, and Shiro finally turns his head. Keith is cross-legged, facing him, and he shuffles forward when Shiro meets his eyes, until his knees bump into Shiro’s thigh. The touch is grounding.

“So uh, I guess you can have ruts, after all.”

Keith is wearing a wry smile, but Shiro can’t bring himself to reciprocate his lightness. He gives a mirthless chuckle instead.

“Yeah…guess so.”

There’s another stretch of silence. Shiro stares at his hands in his lap. Keith watches him.

He doesn’t need to say anything—Keith knows him well enough to understand. He’s been there through all of it, after all. That scar on his cheek says so loud and clear.

The next thing he knows, Keith is shifting onto his knees and grabbing onto his face with both hands, directing it so that Shiro has to look at him.

“Shiro. I am not the slightest bit afraid of you. You are not dangerous just because you’re in rut. You’re just…really horny, and a little overprotective, and kind of an emotional wreck. You’re still you.”

There’s no hesitation or doubt in his eyes. They don’t waver from Shiro’s, and Shiro feels some of the held breath release from his lungs, some of the pressure lifting off the center of his chest where it was beginning to feel suffocating.

“You’re…honestly really sweet in rut, if the last few days leading up to it are any indication. It’s cute.”

Keith actually blushes. “You just need to…take care of me, and to know you’re a good alpha. And have lots and lots of sex,” he shrugs.

Keith’s fingers slide back from his cheeks into his hair, starting to stroke through the short strands, fingernails lightly scratching at his scalp. Shiro leans into it; he can’t help it.

“You’re a good man, Shiro. Through and through.” He leans in and dusts a kiss on Shiro’s lips, soft and short. His voice has gone so soft, so gentle, Shiro feels like he wants to wrap himself up in it and fall asleep.

“This is…this is something new, sure. But truth be told, I’m kind of excited to go through this new experience with you. I want everything with you, Shiro.”

Finally, Shiro feels like he can move. Like his limbs aren’t weighed down by heavy lead. He reaches up to wrap his fingers around one of Keith’s wrists next to his cheek. His thumb strokes the tender underside of it, and he can feel Keith’s pulse under the delicate skin. His head is starting to go a bit fuzzy again, but he’s held on long enough to know that this is okay, that it’s going to be okay.

Keith’s fingers in his hair are hypnotizing. It makes him flutter his eyes closed, and when he opens them, Keith’s expression is radiating fondness.

“Alright, baby,” he practically coos. “Let’s get you through this rut, hm?”

Shiro nods dumbly and slumps forward, resting his forehead on Keith’s shoulder. He turns his head to the side and nuzzles at his neck, taking a couple deep, calming breaths of his mate’s scent.

“Can I…can I feed you breakfast?” Shiro whispers into the cradle of Keith’s neck. He feels him nod.

“Of course, baby. Of course. You’re so sweet. C’mon, let’s go to the kitchen.”

***

Shiro loses his previous apprehension pretty quickly, once his fuzzy rut brain takes back over and he’s able to pursue his goal with a single-minded purpose—that goal being to take care of Keith.

It’s still early morning, and their kitchen is quiet, save for the sounds of silverware clinking and the crunching of bacon. Keith tried turning on some talk radio when they got down here, but Shiro stiffened at the sound of the voices, so he turned it off.

Shiro had some trouble deciding what he wanted them to have for breakfast—he wanted to cook Keith something substantial, but also wanted to be able to feed him now, so he spent a couple minutes paralyzed with indecision, stuck between some cereal or protein bars and the ingredients for pancakes before Keith stepped in and pulled out a bag of frozen hash browns from the freezer and a package of bacon as a compromise.

When the food was ready after some quick frying up, Keith went to sit on his side of their tiny circular breakfast table in the kitchen, but froze in place when he noticed the slightly forlorn look on Shiro’s face.

Evidently, Shiro wanted Keith on his lap for this, so that’s where he now sits, perched on Shiro’s thigh as Shiro feeds him bites of hash browns and pieces of bacon. He’s happier by the minute, smiling almost shyly up at Keith as his need to provide is fulfilled.

Keith makes sure Shiro eats too, little bites in between the ones he lifts to Keith’s lips—he’s going to need the energy for the next few days, after all. Shiro looks happy to do that, too—any way he can please his mate, he’s all for.

The over-the-top affection that has been a feature of the past week of pre-rut is here in full force, and it’s quickly becoming maybe Keith’s favorite part of this Shiro. It’s just…adorable. Shiro can’t keep his hands off him, like he wants Keith to be closer even when he’s sitting on his lap. His flesh hand has made a seemingly permanent home on Keith’s hip, his metal arm wrapped around his waist when he’s not feeding Keith by hand, and he keeps nosing into Keith’s neck, nuzzling at him and smiling like he can’t help it.

Keith doesn’t mind it. Not at all.

When Keith has finished his plate and Shiro holds up a bite from his own, complete with puppy eyes, Keith shakes his head and gently pushes Shiro’s hand away.

“I’m full, baby. But you should finish your food.”

Shiro frowns and looks between the fork and Keith’s mouth, making a little displeased huff.

Right. Keith isn’t dealing in the realm of rationality right now. He needs to speak to Shiro’s alpha instincts directly.

So he smiles, sweet as sugar syrup, and lays his head on Shiro’s shoulder.

“Thank you for feeding me, alpha,” he purrs. “You take such good care of me.” He can feel Shiro’s chest puff up under his cheek. “I’m all done for now, but I’d like you to finish your food so you have plenty of strength and energy to take care of me and…to-to fuck me.”

He stumbles on the last bit, heat rising to his cheeks.

There’s a rumble in Shiro’s chest, and his arm around Keith tightens. He nods seriously, like Keith has made some excellent points, and quickly eats the rest of his meal, turning to Keith once the plate is clean as if looking for approval. Keith smiles, straightening up on Shiro’s lap and kissing his cheek.

“Good. Now, how about a shower, hm? We worked up quite a sweat last night, didn’t we?”

Shiro lets Keith lead him to the bathroom, where he turns the shower on and waits for it to reach a good temperature—just this side of too hot, just like Shiro likes.

When it’s ready, he steps back to gesture Shiro in. Shiro hurries to obey, moving forward and about to step into the shower fully clothed before Keith throws an arm out to stop him.

“Wait!” Shiro freezes, blinking at him owl-eyed. “Shiro, your clothes.”

Shiro looks down at himself for a moment, confused, and then seems to realize what Keith is saying and pulls the clothes off of himself in record time, tossing them haphazardly behind him. Now naked, he looks for Keith’s nod of approval before stepping into the shower and under the spray.

Keith goes to close the sliding glass door, figuring Shiro will get more horny than clean if he comes in there with him, but he really should have known better than to think he could get away with that right now.

Before the door is halfway closed, Shiro’s big hand is flying out and clapping onto it, stopping it in its tracks. He’s frowning a little, more confused than anything, like he can’t work out why his mate wouldn’t be joining him in the shower. So he reaches out and grabs Keith to pull him in.

Keith squawks as his clothes are quickly soaked, shaking water out of his hair.

“Shiro! I’m still—“ Keith stops when he sees the confused, verging on hurt look on Shiro’s face and sighs. Might as well just get naked now.

Shiro paws at him when he gets back under the spray after tossing his clothes over the doors, apologetic and worried.

“It’s okay, hey, I’m not mad baby. Now—don’t you want to wash me?”

Shiro nods vigorously. He takes Keith by the hips and steers him around, flipping their positions so that Keith is under the shower spray. With a concentrated crease between his brows, he tips Keith’s chin up to tilt his head back into the spray, running his hands over his hair to get it wet without getting water in Keith’s eyes. Then he lathers him up with shampoo, massaging it into his scalp with careful fingers. He’s so gentle. Far more gentle than Keith thought an alpha in rut could be. But he shouldn’t be surprised. This is Shiro, after all.

After rinsing all the suds out, Shiro pumps a generous amount of Keith’s favorite conditioner into his palms and starts working it into his hair, all the way down to the tips of it which lie wet and plastered to the small of his back. Shiro’s fingers there make him shiver involuntarily, and Shiro notices, glancing up at him with eyes a shade darker than they were before.

He moves on, though, after the brief interruption, grabbing some lavender-scented shower gel and beginning to rub it over Keith’s skin, working his way over his shoulders and arms first, then his chest and stomach. He slides his hands up Keith’s neck, carefully lathering his throat, up to the underside of his jaw, where Shiro’s fingers fit perfectly.

Keith’s whole body is tingling under the attention, not enough but something, a taste of what Shiro could give him. He bites his lip as Shiro soaps up his back, drawing Keith forward into his chest while his arms loop around him, scrubbing thoroughly. He holds his breath when Shiro slides one hand down his ass, skipping it for now, and hooks under the back of his thigh, encouraging him to pick it up.

Shiro places Keith’s hand on his shoulder, and Keith holds it for balance as Shiro uses both hands now to wash him down. He works down his thigh first, then his fingers are in the sensitive crease of Keith’s knee. The sensation makes Keith’s breath catch, but then Shiro’s moving on, lathering his calf, fingers digging into the muscle and releasing some tension Keith didn’t even know was there. He sighs when Shiro does the same to his achilles tendon, then the arch of his foot, kneeling now to reach, propping Keith’s heel on his bent knee.

He looks up at Keith before pressing a kiss to his knee and placing his foot back on the ground. Keith shifts his weight in anticipation, and Shiro picks up the other leg, working from his foot up, this time.

Keith’s breath is coming heavier now, and there’s no way Shiro isn’t noticing the way his belly rises and falls more quickly, the way Keith’s grip is a little tighter on his shoulder.

Shiro looks up at him again when he reaches the top of his thigh, flesh hand rubbing into his hip. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t break eye contact as he leans in and kisses the inside of Keith’s thigh. His metal hand creeps further upward, and Keith knows he’s feeling the slick that’s surely dripping down his inner thighs by now, building over the course of this careful treatment.

Shiro groans, a guttural noise that rattles in his throat. His hand on Keith’s hip clamps down, pressing divots into his flesh. Fingers find the source of his wetness and dance over his entrance, and a slick-drunk haze falls over Shiro’s face.

Before Keith knows it, Shiro is pushing him back into the spray, quickly washing the suds down the drain, then pinning him to the shower wall.

He gasps at the cold tile against his back, then at Shiro’s mouth landing hungrily on his hole while one hand throws Keith’s leg over his shoulder to open him up.

“Oh! Shiro,” he pants, hardly able to keep up, because Shiro is pushing his tongue into him, lapping his slick up artlessly and desperately. His hands claw Keith’s cheeks apart, fingers playing at his rim as Shiro shoves his face closer, as close as he can get between Keith’s thighs with him standing the way he is. It’s the best kind of overwhelming.

Shiro’s feeling overwhelmed, too, if the way he moans and whines is any indication. When Keith glances down, Shiro is unsurprisingly hard, his alpha cock swollen and red and ready to mount.

Shiro plunges two fingers into him just as he stands, tossing Keith’s leg off his shoulder and pressing his whole body against him. He stays there just for a moment, before he takes a step back and grabs Keith’s waist, flipping him around to then cover his back.

He slips in easily, with Keith being as turned on as he is, and considering how often he’s been filled over the past week. Keith blushes at the thought at the same time that he moans and claws at the tiles.

Shiro’s breath is hot against the back of his neck. He snarls and kisses him there, a scrape of teeth like he’s holding himself back from biting. Keith kind of wishes he would.

He strokes himself as Shiro fucks him quickly, pushing him up onto his toes and eventually flattening him against the wall, forcing him to let go of himself and reach back to cling onto Shiro instead, just holding on and taking it.

Soon, Shiro pops his knot—Keith can feel it bumping up against him, pulling on his entrance, stretching it. Something about it—the pressure, the promise of more, has Keith coming with a surprised shout. Shiro lets out a sharp grunt as Keith squeezes down on him reflexively, and then Keith feels him start to come.

Instead of shoving his knot in as he finishes, Shiro pulls out suddenly, fisting his knot and spilling the last couple ropes of cum over Keith’s lower back. So much for all that washing.


After the shower, while they’re toweling off and brushing their teeth and getting dressed in soft, comfortable clothes that surely won’t stay on for long, Shiro can’t seem to stop smelling Keith. He noses at his neck, then pulls back, then does it to his hair, his shoulder.

“Shiro?”

Shiro huffs. He’s frowning, clearly agitated, sniffing and huffing and sniffing again. Then it occurs to Keith. They just showered. Well—he just showered, really. But he must not smell like himself anymore, or like Shiro, covered up by the flowery scent of soap and shampoo. Shiro’s cum dripping back out of him is, apparently, not enough.

So Keith isn’t surprised when Shiro crowds into him and takes him in his arms, bringing him closer, enclosing him. Shiro starts to scent him, rubbing his cheek up against the scent glands on Keith’s neck and then rubbing his own neck against Keith’s, mixing their scent together and covering Keith in it. Keith just lets him, squirming and giggling when it tickles but otherwise lax in his arms and waiting patiently for him to be done.

When he’s satisfied that Keith smells right again, he stops but doesn’t let him go, electing instead to hoist Keith up into his arms and cart him into the living room, dumping him gently onto the couch. He disappears for a moment, then comes back with an armful of blankets, looking exceedingly proud of himself.

“Oh, thank you baby,” Keith says, managing to hold back a giggle. Shiro beams, and begins laying the blankets on Keith, draping them over him and tucking them in around him carefully. He then joins Keith on the couch, laying down and cuddling up behind him until they’re a little pile of warmth. He wraps Keith in his arms and hooks his chin over Keith’s shoulder, and then swiftly falls asleep.

Keith chuckles softly, careful not to wake him up. He’s not surprised. Rut takes a lot of energy.

Shiro’s heavy, half on top of him and weighing him down gradually as his muscles slacken with sleep and he sinks into the couch. He feels Shiro’s breath as it deepens and slows, the rise and fall of his chest steady and comforting.

Keith’s not quite ready for a nap himself, at least not until the warmth and pressure lulls him into it anyway, so for now he just lays here, worming a hand out of his cocoon of blankets so he can stroke Shiro’s hair. There’s a little bit of tightness in his chest, the happy kind, and he smiles as he watches his husband sleep.

***

Keith wakes at the same time Shiro does, to the feeling of him sleepily nuzzling at his neck, grunting softly as he gradually drifts to the surface. Keith yawns, then realizes he was purring when the noise stops and then kicks back up again when he lets it.

He wonders what time it is. It’s hard to keep track anymore, with the strange schedule they’re keeping. When he blinks his eyes open, he sees dappled light cast onto the kitchen floor, shifting and blinking as a breeze rustles the tree outside the window over the sink. Probably afternoon, then.

He stretches, moaning softly when it pulls at his sore muscles. Shiro paws at his belly, a rumble in his throat. He shifts behind him, and Keith feels his hardening cock slotting up between his cheeks insistently.

“Mmm,” Keith sighs, yawning again into the crook of his elbow. He reaches back and wraps his hand around Shiro—at least as much as his girth will allow, the tips of his fingers barely meeting each other—and strokes him idly, not sure if he’s coaxing or teasing or helping take the edge off before Shiro fucks him again.

In mere moments, he’s completely hard, stiff and unyielding under Keith’s palm. His cock is hot, but the rest of him is, too—Keith can feel it radiating off of him, like he has his back to the sun. He wouldn’t be surprised if Shiro is approaching the peak of his rut, body preparing to fill his omega over and over, to show his prowess and prove his worth.

Shiro growls and bucks into Keith’s hand. Keith rubs his thighs together, wondering how much longer it will be before Shiro snaps.

The answer is not long—as soon as Keith finds the right angle to twist his wrist and flick his thumb over the head, collecting the thick pearl of precum from his slit, Shiro surges forward, pressing Keith belly-first into the couch and mounting him with no further preamble.

Keith chirps, muffled by the cushion where his face is suddenly buried. The angle has Shiro spearing down towards his belly, straight into his g-spot before pushing past it and stretching him, filling him to the almost-too-much point he’s grown used to, but still somehow never quite expects.

It steals the breath from his lungs, at first, just how much it is—how big Shiro is, how intensely he feels every movement right now. Every sensation is heightened, from the slight scratch of the sofa against his naked skin, to the puff of Shiro’s hot breath against his shoulder, to the pounding of Shiro’s cock inside him, splitting him open, rubbing every spot inside of him.

It’s overwhelming, to say the least, all this stimulation when he’s still fucked raw from the past 24 hours, when he’s had just enough of a break that everything feels fresh and new and sensitive again.

He can’t decide if it’s a good or bad feeling, just that it’s a lot, but then all of a sudden he’s coming all over the couch with a drawn-out trill, so that answers that.

Shiro groans happily, nipping at the side of Keith’s neck and speeding up his thrusts, chasing his own release now. It comes quickly, and when his knot pushes its way into Keith’s hole, Keith howls into the cushion. He’s so full, overstimulated, and another sudden orgasm crashes into him. His whole body convulses, clenching involuntarily around Shiro’s knot and forcing another spurt of cum out of him.

He’s babbling, he realizes as he gradually comes back to earth, comfortably crushed under Shiro’s weight in a way that feels like it’s the only thing holding him together. It’s mostly Shiro’s name, and other words for it—things like alpha and mate that make the tips of his ears grow hot.

It’s unclear if Shiro really fully understands Keith’s words this deep in rut, but he recognizes his name, humming and chuffing into the nape of Keith’s neck.

This time, once his knot has shrunk enough that Shiro could pull out, he doesn’t. Keith keeps waiting for it—for Shiro to let out a sated, tired groan and uncouple them so he can roll onto his back and fall asleep or wander into the kitchen in search of food to refuel them.

Instead, Shiro stays inside him, even as he softens and naturally slips partway out, until Keith is only filled with half of his cock. He’s laying lazy kisses on Keith’s neck and shoulders, scenting him and smiling dopily into his skin, rubbing a big hand back and forth absently over his stomach, like he has no intention whatsoever of moving from their position anytime soon.

They’re sticky with sweat and cum, and every so often Keith twitches with the oversensitivity of still being filled, and he’s too hot, surrounded by Shiro’s fever-warmth, but nothing could make him move right now. Not with the love of his life, his best friend, his mate, happy and relaxed and laving him with affection, here where nothing can encroach on their joy, where Keith has not a shred of doubt in his mind that he is limitlessly loved.


Shiro is, evidently, now in a stage of rut where he can’t stand to be physically separated from Keith, in any way, for any duration. It’s sweet, if inconvenient, and Keith can’t be too bothered by the soreness when Shiro wants to keep him on his half-hard cock for as long as possible.

After an extended period of cuddling, Shiro grabs Keith and rolls over with him so he can lie on his back with Keith sprawled on top of him, apparently comfortable enough to fall into a long, deep nap.

When he wakes, Keith thinks for sure he’ll pull out and they’ll go clean off, but instead, to Keith’s surprise, he simply tightens his grip around Keith and stands up with him still speared on his cock.

“Shiro!” Keith yelps indignantly, hands flailing for something to grab on to as Shiro starts walking with him into the kitchen, like carrying Keith around in a squirming bundle pressed against his chest is no trouble at all.

“Okay, this is—this is overkill,” he grits out, teeth clenched as Shiro’s now a little more than half-hard cock is jostled inside of him. “We can’t just stay like this for the rest of your rut—oh!”

Having grabbed a packet of cheeses and cured meats from the fridge, Shiro ignores Keith’s protests and promptly sits down heavily on one of the stools at their kitchen island.

“Baby, okay, let’s stop moving for a moment, huh?” Keith pants out, grabbing the edge of the counter and gripping it white-knuckled while Shiro makes a confused noise and rips the snack package open.

Keith hisses when he shifts again, shuffling in the seat and apparently adjusting to get comfortable in this position before he finally stills.

When Keith cranes his head back to shoot Shiro an accusatory look, Shiro looks quite pleased with himself, evidently very satisfied with having his omega perched in his lap and on his cock while he feeds him.

With a low, happy rumbling in his chest, almost like an alpha purr, Shiro hooks his chin over Keith’s shoulder and wraps an arm around his stomach, pressing him back against his chest securely before he reaches for a slice of salami and a piece of cheese and then brings the morsel to Keith’s lips.

Keith takes it, because he needs the food, and he knows Shiro needs to feed him right now. But he’s distracted enough by the very conspicuous feeling of a huge, hard alpha cock buried inside him that it’s the most he can do to open his mouth whenever he feels something pressed against his lips and take the food from Shiro’s fingers. His awareness is spotlight-narrow, everything else hazy and seemingly unimportant. It almost feels like being in heat, the way his body and mind are reacting to the intensity of the last 24 hours, like Shiro’s hormones are rubbing off on him.

Admittedly, he’s preoccupied enough that he isn’t able to give as much attention as he should to making sure that Shiro gets the necessary nutrients in him too—he does his best, grunting and pushing the food towards Shiro a few times so he knows Shiro has at least eaten something, but he makes a note to self to get him to eat something more substantial later.

When Keith is full, he turns his head to the side at the next offering, refusing the food. Shiro allows it, chuffing and nuzzling Keith’s cheek. He pops the last piece of cheese into his own mouth and then closes his arms around Keith’s waist. Keith barely has a chance to brace himself before Shiro is shifting his weight forward and standing up, pressing Keith forward until his hipbones are pinned against the hard edge of the counter.

Keith gasps, both from the surprise of the sudden movement and the way it makes Shiro sink deeper inside of him. Shiro doesn’t put him down—he would have to pull out in order to do so, so instead, Keith’s legs dangle down, toes barely brushing the tile floor.

Shiro nips at the nape of his neck. Keith doesn’t have to guess what he’s thinking.

His grip shifts and his fingers dig into the meat of Keith’s hip and then he’s leaning forward, pressing Keith’s chest down on the counter and starting to thrust in slow-but-sharp movements.

Almost immediately, Keith knows it’s going to be too much. Tensing and hissing through his teeth, he slaps a hand back against Shiro’s stomach to hold him off, then wraps his hand around the base of Shiro’s cock when he slows and pulls partway out in response.

He can smell the rut-heightened concern spiking in Shiro’s scent right away, which isn’t what he wants, so he takes a moment to focus on his own scent, making sure it’s calm and sweet.

“Too sore,” he explains breathlessly, “here—“ he nudges at Shiro so he pops out of him fully, then redirects him to his ass.

It only takes Shiro a moment of pause before he’s notching the head of his cock against Keith’s rim and then thrusting right in, continuing on as he was.

Keith moans, a sound that echoes off the stone and tile of the kitchen, and buries his face in the crook of his elbow. It feels good, so good, even though it’s so sudden and so much, and he’s wet there, too, the slick squelching sound leaving no doubt of that as Shiro picks up his pace.

He’s not even sure if he can come anymore; he has to run out of steam eventually, and right now he feels about as wrung out as a used washcloth. But hell, it sure feels like he’s going to. With each pounding thrust, Shiro is pushing up inside of him, making room for himself and pressing and rubbing against Keith’s sweet spot with his girth, and soon, Keith feels his thighs starting to tremble.

Shiro’s clearly getting close too, losing his rhythm and gripping Keith’s hips tighter, and when he pops his knot, Keith barely has time to realize it before he’s popping it inside of him with one hard thrust, knocking Keith’s hips against the countertop and punching a shouted moan out of him.

“Shiro! Holy shit, ohhh, fuck.” Keith bites down hard on his lower lip as he comes loudly, shaking apart.

He’s never been knotted in the ass before. It feels like it shouldn’t fit, but it does, somehow, barely, and the pressure has him jerking with the aftershocks. The squeeze must be incredibly tight for Shiro, and sure enough, he collapses over Keith’s back and comes too, with a few desperate pumps even as they’re firmly locked together.

The wisdom of kitchen-counter sex comes into question while they’re now stuck together in this less-than-comfortable position, but Keith doesn’t exactly expect wisdom from an alpha this deep in rut—even if that alpha is Shiro.

Shiro contents himself with lapping at every bit of Keith’s skin that he can reach in this position while they wait for his knot to go down, apparently not the least bit bothered by the situation.

This time, when it’s gone down enough, Shiro finally does pull out, catching Keith by the waist before he slides straight off the counter and onto the floor in a puddle and guiding him down. He keeps an arm around Keith after his feet find the floor, helping keep him upright while he finds his balance again.

Jesus. Keith isn’t sure he’s ever felt so sticky. He can feel both of his holes fluttering, clenching around nothing and stretched open enough that he can’t stop some of Shiro’s cum from leaking back out, which is both gross and hot, and he feels his cheeks flame.

He also really has to pee, so as soon as he gets the feeling back in his legs, he’s disentangling himself gently from Shiro’s hold and making a beeline for the bathroom.

Shiro follows him, padding a short distance behind him a little bit like a lost puppy.

He stands in there with him, because apparently waiting outside the door is far too much distance between them, and watches as Keith relieves himself and then grabs a washcloth. Keith doesn’t think twice when he wets the washcloth under warm water and starts scrubbing it over some of the dried cum from earlier—but then he hears a whine coming from behind him.

He spins around to see Shiro, looking at him with the most forlorn, hurt expression, glancing between him and the wash cloth like he can’t imagine what he could have possibly done wrong that his mate would be cleaning himself up instead of letting him do it. Even though Keith knows it’s silly and a classic manifestation of Shiro’s rut brain, it’s kind of heartbreaking.

Immediately, Keith rushes over, cooing.

“Hey, it’s okay baby—here, here, you do it.” He pushes the washcloth into Shiro’s hands, hoping that’ll be enough to wipe that look off his face.

Shiro takes the washcloth and runs it carefully over his skin, the wounded expression lifting off of him more and more with each moment, while Keith provides a running litany of assurances of how well he’s doing.

“Thank you, Shiro,” he says when he’s all wiped down and Shiro is now going over the same spot for the third time, almost like he’s locked into the task and can’t break himself out of it. “I’m good now, thank you. I’m thirsty, though—“

Keith doesn’t even have a chance to suggest going to the kitchen to get themselves some water before Shiro is dropping the washcloth, shooting up to attention at the first sign of something Keith needs. In the blink of an eye, he’s being swept off his feet again—and he supposes he should get used to only traveling in Shiro’s arms for the duration of this rut.

In the kitchen, Keith kisses Shiro’s shoulder and gets him to pour himself a glass of water, too, which he promptly gulps down. He must have been thirsty—Keith reminds himself to make sure he’s drinking more, and tries not to stare at the droplets of water that escaped his sloppy drinking and are rolling down his chin and throat.

Shiro needs fuel of some kind, so Keith pulls out one of his protein shakes from the fridge. Shiro takes it without protest at first, uncapping the bottle and taking a swig, but at soon as the first drop hits his tongue, he changes his mind. He rears back from the bottle like it stung him, face screwed up in disgust. A displeased little growl bubbles up from his chest as he fixes the protein shake with a personally offended look, and Keith can’t help but laugh.

“Shiro,” he manages between his chuckles, “you drink those all the time.”

Shiro shakes his head vigorously. Keith’s always wondered what was wrong with Shiro’s taste buds that he thought those things were good. Now he knows his doesn’t.

With some coaxing, Keith manages to get Shiro to drink most of the shake, so at least he’s gotten a bit of highly concentrated nutrients to make up for all the energy he’s been expending and his lack of interest in feeding himself. He preens at Keith’s praise, which is adorable, even as he’s making faces at the taste.

It’s even more adorable when, once he’s decided he’s done drinking the protein shake, he scoops Keith up into his arms and sits on the counter stool, apparently for the sole purpose of snuggling him. He squeezes Keith tight and nuzzles his face into his neck, smiling so happily that it makes Keith’s heart physically ache. Shiro may not be able to tell him that he loves him right now, but he feels every ounce of it. And Shiro—Shiro deserves this sweet, content softness more than anyone he knows.

He pets Shiro’s hair and kisses his forehead, and whispers his love into his ear.

***

Shiro has a rough night.

It’s clear that this is the true peak of his rut—or at least Keith hopes it is, because he can’t imagine things reaching any higher of a fever pitch. His body won’t let him get much sleep, waking him up with heat and need every hour or so. He growls and snarls like it’s painful, although he shakes his head when Keith asks him if it hurts. He’s nearly always hard, now, his cock not having a chance to soften fully after his knot goes down before it’s stiffening up again and rousing him from his sleep.

It’s no picnic for Keith, either—he wakes whenever Shiro does, if only enough to roll over and spread his legs, although once or twice he’s deep enough asleep that he wakes up with Shiro already inside him.

A couple of times, Keith doesn’t let Shiro fuck him, just too worn out and tender and needing a break. Shiro’s stopped easily when Keith grunts and pushes at his hip, groggily offering a hand instead, or letting Shiro rut against him or fuck between his thighs.

Early in the morning, when only the very first slivers of blue-tinted light are filtering through their curtains, Keith wakes to Shiro pawing at him again. He yawns at first, stretching and humming in acknowledgment, tilting his head to let Shiro scent at his neck. It takes him a moment to get his bearings, blinking the blurriness out of his eyes. He feels much more rested now—he must have gotten a good chunk of sleep.

Shiro, on the other hand, is clearly exhausted. When Keith rolls over to get a look at his husband, there are dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes, and half of his fluffy forelock is plastered to his forehead with sweat. He can barely get his muscles to work, clearly, as Keith watches him struggle to prop himself up and crawl over Keith, arms shaking as he does. But he can’t rest—his body won’t let him. His pupils are wide with need, forcing his irises into thin rings of silver.

“Oh, baby, hey,” Keith croons, voice croaky from sleep—and ruined from moaning. He pushes at Shiro’s shoulder gently, but it’s enough to tip him over, making him fall onto his back with a thump. Shiro whines, hands still grabbing for Keith but too tired to get back up, although he tries.

Keith clucks his tongue, sitting up hurriedly and pressing a hand to the center of Shiro’s chest to stop him.

“I know, I know,” he assures, getting up onto his knees. “It’s okay.” He straddles Shiro, kneeling over his hips and leaning forward while he pushes the covers down and gets a hand around the base of Shiro’s cock, angry red and leaking.

“It’s okay, puppy,” he coos, slotting him against his slit and rubbing some of his own slick down his length to ease the way. “I’ll pop your knot for you, you just lie there, hm?”

Shiro makes a sort of half-whine, half-moan that comes out as more of a gurgle in his throat—Keith’s never heard that noise before.

He lowers himself down carefully, breathing through the stretch and pausing halfway through to adjust until his thighs start burning. When he settles on Shiro’s hips, filled to the brim, he bites his lip and looks down at Shiro, who’s staring up at him like he’s some kind of miracle. He lets a long breath out, and it comes out shaky, because even though he probably should have lost all sensation by now, it still feels good. He wonders absently if maybe Shiro’s rut pheromones are affecting him in some way, too, and starts rolling his hips.

He starts slow, increasing his pace as he goes until he’s working Shiro’s cock expertly. Shiro stays obediently still, letting Keith do all the work, lax except for his hands laying loosely around Keith’s hips.

Keith breath starts coming in short, airy gasps, and he slams himself down harder, seeking the pressure somewhere deep inside him that’s making him see stars. He feels when he pops Shiro’s knot, pressing insistently at his hole with each roll of his hips down. He teases it for a few strokes, grinding down on it but not taking it, until the rubber band keeping Shiro docile suddenly snaps and he grips Keith’s waist, growling as he yanks him down hard on his knot and holds him there.

They both come, and Keith is pretty sure he blacks out for a moment, head spinning as he gasps for breath.

“God, baby…you’ve gotta be setting some kind of record,” he pants. Shiro yawns, eyelids already drooping again. Keith snorts. "Alright, big guy.” He lowers himself down gingerly onto Shiro’s chest, wincing when it makes his knot shift inside him. By the time he’s settled comfortably draped on top of him, Shiro’s nearly asleep already, breath stuttering in the beginnings of a soft snore.

Keith’s not far behind, lulled by the gentle rise and fall of Shiro’s chest below him, like being rocked to sleep by waves.

***

He wakes again, a couple of hours later, to Shiro’s face buried between his thighs, lapping up his slick and licking at his holes.

Keith groans and widens his legs reflexively, still half-asleep and hazy, but his body knows pleasure and it wants more. He tosses his head to the side, hand knotting in the sheet below him. Shiro’s thumbs dig into his inner thighs.

He’s making quiet, happy rumbles in his throat as he eats Keith out, almost a purr. There’s a different note to it now, an absence of feverish desperation that signals that he’s over the peak of his rut, now on the way back down. Keith has no idea how long this phase will last, but it’s off to a good start, at least.

Shiro slips his hands further up Keith’s thighs, until his thumbs trace the crease of them and then dip in to spread him open, letting his tongue delve deeper, dipping inside and tasting him. Keith lets himself drift, awake but not alert, letting the gentle pleasure of Shiro contentedly making a home for himself between his legs wash over him in waves. Shiro is generous with his tongue, hungry but patient, easing off each time Keith’s thighs start to tremble for just long enough that his sensitivity builds back up when he goes back to work.

In return, Keith lets his pleasure show, a soft litany of moans falling easily from his lips, mumbled, half-coherent praise that makes Shiro chuff with pride.

Keith is soaking. It would be uncomfortable if he didn’t know that his husband will carry him straight to the shower after this and he can throw the sheets in the wash. When Shiro slips two fingers in beside his tongue, it’s embarrassingly easy, with how slick and open he is. It makes his cheeks flush, but he moans loud and spreads his legs, shifting restlessly against the mattress.

“Mmm, Shiro.”

Shiro rumbles in response and crooks his fingers, finding that soft spot that makes Keith’s thighs clamp around his head. He lets out a wet gasp when Shiro licks a line up his cock, swirling his tongue around the head and then swallowing him down to the root.

“Shiro, god,” he groans, throwing his head back.

Part of him wants more, more than this gentle torture gradually taking him apart, but at the same time, he knows this is what he needs. Shiro always knows what he needs.

When the insistent press of Shiro’s fingers makes him come, Shiro eases his way down, pulling off his cock but still mouthing at the base of it idly while his fingers gently rock, letting Keith ride them through the aftershocks.

Blinking his eyes fully open for the first time this morning, Keith looks down, while Shiro wipes his glistening wet cheeks and chin on the back of his hand and rests his chin on Keith’s thigh, grinning up at him.

Keith laughs breathlessly, flopping his head back on the pillow. He shifts, stretching his legs, and stares up at the ceiling, waiting for it to stop spinning.

“You…you’re gonna kill me,” he pants.

Shiro hums, rubbing his cheek on Keith’s flushed thigh.

“Mmm, baby.”

Keith’s head shoots back up, almost fast enough to give him whiplash. Shiro’s still just looking up at him, like he has no idea he’s just spoken for the first time in…two days? Three?

Something loosens in Keith’s chest, letting a breath escape him that it feels like he’s unknowingly been holding. It’s not…it’s not that he was afraid he wasn’t going to get Shiro back, after this. He knows how ruts work, knows this is all perfectly normal and there’s nothing to be worried about. But still…this is new, to them. And maybe it’s just a bit of a relief to see that they’re moving in the direction of coming out on the other side.

Just as expected, once he’s had his fill of basking in the afterglow, Shiro scoops Keith up in his arms and carries him into the bathroom. Keith doesn’t bother to protest—and realistically, he can admit that walking on his own two legs is becoming increasingly difficult.

He lets Shiro sit him on the side of the bathtub and wash him, in between getting distracted by the miles of bare skin available to him to kiss and bite and suck little marks into.

This far into his rut, Shiro has clearly entered a new stage—besides the baby-steps return of his speech, the flavor of his relentless horniness seems to have shifted. It’s no longer so much of a basic, animal need, thoughtless and ravenous. He doesn’t need it as badly or as often, doesn’t seem to be wracked with pain or frustration when he hasn’t knotted something hot and tight in too long, and, it becomes clear as the day goes on, he’s more focused now on attending to his mate, bringing him pleasure and making him come.

It’s still overwhelming, for both of them no doubt, but it’s easier now, and Keith finds himself relaxing into it—into being pampered, fed and washed and cuddled and coaxed to orgasm more times than he can count—of course Shiro is one of those alphas who has to make his omega come a ridiculous number of times during rut.

Shiro becomes gradually more verbal, too—“Pretty omega,” he rumbles into his back as he’s rocking into him, “Mine,” he growls spontaneously when Keith is curled in his lap on the couch, half-asleep, “Keith,” he finally hisses as Keith pillows his lips tight around the head of his cock and blinks up at him.

He’s constantly fluffing up the pillow, dragging armfuls of extra blankets from the linen closet and dumping them in Keith’s lap, waiting expectantly for him to make a nest, huffing and helping when Keith evidently doesn’t do a good enough job.

Lucky for Keith, he doesn’t seem to notice how Keith is constantly suppressing laughter, or how when he’s not, he’s staring misty-eyed at his husband, at how sweet and good he is. It’s a privilege to be the one to go through this with Shiro, to learn what his ruts are like and recount it to him later, complete with fond teasing.

He sleeps a lot more as his rut winds down, too, which Keith takes advantage of to get some work done—as much as he can while trapped under Shiro’s heavy arm or burrito-ed in blankets, quietly tapping at his PADD as Shiro snores. Keith does his fair share of napping, too—god knows he needs it after the last couple days.

On what Keith thinks is the fourth day, in what looks like the afternoon, Keith is sending some messages back and forth with Kolivan about an upcoming humanitarian mission, wrapped tightly in a blanket and held against Shiro’s chest, tucked under his chin while the alpha dozes on the couch.

He managed to convince Shiro to let them crack open the windows in the kitchen to air out some of the…stuffy, rather pungent air that’s built up in the house over the past few days. Shiro didn’t like it, spend the first couple hours alert and eying the windows suspiciously like a band of alphas might burst through and steal his mate at any moment, but he couldn’t ward off his sleepiness for long.

Now, Keith’s eyes are getting heavy, too, and his PADD is drooping in his hands. He manages to type out one last response to Kolivan before he drops it completely and decides it’s okay if he succumbs to the sleepiness for just a while, he’ll have plenty of time to pick his work back up later.

Just as his mind is going cottony and his limbs iron-heavy, a piercing ring breaks through the peacefulness of the house.

It startles Keith unpleasantly back awake, his whole body jerking in surprise as he nearly falls off the couch. Before he knows what’s happening, a growl is ripping through the air behind him and Shiro is jumping up, clambering over the back of the couch and landing on the floor with a thump.

Keith sits up, struggling to clear his bleary eyes and see what’s going on.

Shiro is still growling as he stalks across the room to their front door, and it occurs to Keith that whoever just rang their doorbell is about to get a face-full of territorial alpha.

Keith gathers the blanket to cover himself, clothed only in Shiro’s shirt which drapes off his shoulder and barely kisses the tops of his thighs, and clambers up off of the couch, getting ready to do damage control.

Shiro rips the door open. Keith can’t see at first what’s beyond it, because Shiro’s filling up the whole doorway with his hulking frame, shoulders hunched defensively.

“Whooaaa, okay there, big guy,” comes an amused, familiar voice. Matt. Shit, Keith thinks, and scurries toward the door, tripping on the trailing blanket and nearly faceplanting as he does.

Shiro’s growl doesn’t let up even in the face of his friend. There’s a little bit less alpha in it now that he sees who it is, at least, which is good.

Before Keith can get close enough to see around Shiro’s bulk, another voice pipes up.

“Sorry man,” Hunk chuckles nervously, “we uh, we come in peace! Haha—“

“Guys, what the hell,” Keith grumbles, appearing behind Shiro’s shoulder. Who, he realizes with a sudden combination of horror and great amusement, is stark naked. He doesn’t seem to notice or care, but Keith knows he will at least a little when this is all over, so he sheds the blanket in favor of throwing it over Shiro’s shoulders with a grimace.

Matt’s eyebrows disappear under his bangs when he sees him. He whistles, long and low. “Whew. The state of you…”

A new warning growl rumbles through Shiro’s chest, and he glances back, displeasure plain on his face when he realizes Keith is half-naked, swollen-lipped and covered in love bites, clearly debauched. Hurriedly, he moves to the side in front of Keith, covering him with his body so Keith has to poke his head out from behind him to see their visitors.

Hunk holds up two nearly-bursting plastic bags like a peace offering. “I uh, brought you some food?”

“We just wanted to check on you two, make sure you were doing okay,” Matt adds. He shrugs his shoulders, hands stuffed in his pockets casually, but he eyes Shiro and Keith in turn in a way that betrays his genuine care.

“We’re fine,” Shiro snips, not budging or relaxing in the slightest.

“Thank you, and thanks for the food, Hunk,” Keith hurries. He’s starting to smell the food from here, and if he’s honest, his mouth is already starting to water. He could really use an actual meal that wasn’t frozen first. “Really. We just, ah, aren’t really in a position for visitors right now,” he smiles tightly.

“No, of course, yeah, that’s fine, here, I’ll just—“ Hunk steps forward with the intent to bring the food inside, but he’s stopped when Shiro takes a step forwards, letting out a full-alpha growl.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna be possible right now,” Keith says. “You could just—leave it on the threshold?”

Nodding, Hunk carefully places the bags down in front of the door. Shiro tracks his every move, not letting his eyes off of him until he’s straightened and stepped back from the door.

“It sure does smell like sex in there,” Matt observes. Keith shoots him a glare.

“Alright, time to fuck off now, thank you,” he sing-songs. Matt holds up his hands and walks backwards off their porch, Hunk waving apologetically and hurrying off in tow. Shiro bends down to pick up the bags in one hand, then slams the door closed with the other, probably with more force than was really necessary.

Now that they’re alone, Shiro drops the blanket and dumps the bags on the coffee table and moves to wrap Keith into his arms instead.

“Mine,” he growls quietly, like he’s just making sure.

“Yours,” Keith agrees, nodding into his chest.

Shiro’s frowning, pouting, almost.

He paws over Keith’s body, hands wandering like he’s taking inventory of everything that’s his.

“Not for them,” he adds.

“No. Only for you.”

Shiro huffs, then buries his face in Keith’s neck, scenting him.

“Have to…make sure they know you’re off limits,” he mumbles.

Keith scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s in question.”

Shiro makes a noise like he’s not entirely convinced. His hands wander further, pushing up under the shirt barely covering Keith’s ass to grab it, taking a bold handful. Keith hums and steps closer, flattening himself against Shiro’s chest. The next thing he knows, he’s being spun around and pushed over the arm of the couch. The feeling of Shiro pressed against the backs of his thighs follows close behind.

Keith lets out a breathless laugh, bracing his hands against the cushion and spreading his legs.

“Something you need?” he teases.

Shiro grunts and palms Keith’s ass. Keith pushes up on his tiptoes, into Shiro’s hands.

“Go on, then,” he purrs.

Shiro’s hand slides inwards, he thumbs at Keith’s rim, puffy and loose and slicked with the load of Shiro’s cum he took there earlier today. He presses the tip of his thumb inside, just to the first knuckle. Keith squirms on it, and he pulls it out with a grunt, then plunges it back in, only to stretch Keith’s hole open. Keith feels the head of Shiro’s cock nudging in next to his thumb, holding it open for him. He pushes the first couple inches in alongside his thumb with a grunt. It stretches Keith even more than Shiro’s substantial girth normally would, and knocks the breath out of him in a reedy whine.

Shiro makes another low noise, one of appreciative satisfaction, then pulls his thumb out slowly. Keith twitches around him as he does, his rim fluttering involuntarily to tighten around what’s left inside him. At the same time, Shiro clasps his free hand around Keith’s hip and uses it to pull him back onto the rest of his cock until he’s buried to the root, Keith’s ass meeting his hips with a bounce. Shiro lets a pleased sigh rumble out of him, jerking forward once like he just wants to make sure he’s as deep as he can go, that Keith is really taking every inch of him.

Everything feels bigger in his ass, and he’s more sensitive here and less raw since Shiro hasn’t fucked it as much during the impatient heat of his rut. He can’t help the little noises that spill from his lips, turns his head to the side and rests his cheek on the cushion so Shiro can hear them better.

Shiro thrusts lazily at first, a slow, hard rhythm. The house is quiet, and the slaps of their bodies meeting is loud, and it makes Keith blush. For a flash of a moment, he wishes Shiro would take a picture, and the thought sends a zip of arousal down his core. He files that thought away for later and moans Shiro’s name.

Shiro’s other hand slides up from where he was spreading Keith’s ass, circles his hip instead, so he’s got Keith enclosed on both sides, using the grip to pull him back on his thrusts. His thumbs find the dips at the base of Keith’s spine and press into them—they’ll probably leave bruises, to add to Keith’s collection of keepsakes from Shiro’s first rut.

Keith feels Shiro lean into him, bearing down on his grip on his hips as he speeds up to a brutal pace that has Keith reeling, little “uh, uh, uh” sounds punched out of him with each time Shiro bottoms out deep in his guts.

“Mm, Shiro,” he moans, twisting his back into a deeper arch. He feels his own cock twitch against the arm of the couch, the pummeling to his sweet spot combined with the bit of friction there each time he’s jerked forward by the force of Shiro’s thrusts enough to have that knot in his belly tightening already.

Shiro collapses over his back when he comes, panting hot on the nape of Keith’s neck. His weight shifts only enough to shove a hand between Keith’s hips and the couch and stroke him roughly, only a couple strokes before he’s coming with a hoarse shout, his whole body convulsing and only held down by Shiro on top of him.

For a few moments, they stay like that, just catching their breath. Keith realizes that Shiro didn’t knot him this time, which is a good sign that his rut is progressing toward its end. Shiro occupies himself with laying little kisses down on each bit of Keith’s skin he can reach in this position, sprinkled with a few pinching bites for good measure.

As soon as Keith regains his voice, he grunts and squirms until Shiro gets off of him.

“We’ve gotta get that food in the fridge,” he pants.


Hunk’s food, unsurprisingly, is delicious. They eat bowls of a beefy, brothy soup with noodles in ungraceful, ravenous slurps sitting at the kitchen island, and it’s good enough that it occupies Shiro for a few minutes before he pulls Keith onto his lap and wants to feed him himself.

***

Keith is no longer sure what time it is, or even what day, when he waddles his way into the bathroom and squints his eyes against the harsh lights. He’s sticky, and that needs to change, and he’s pretty sure his teeth could use a good brush.

The tile floor is cold under his feet, so he shifts his weight back and forth, picking them up one by one. He glances over to the shower, giving it a moment of consideration before deciding that the sink and a washcloth will do. He grabs one off the towel rod and turns on the faucet, waiting for perfectly warm water before he wets it. He takes it to his face, first, gently rubbing off some of the sweat and god knows what other bodily fluids. It makes him feel infinitely fresher and more awake, and when he blinks his eyes clear and happens to look in the mirror, he now has the awareness to notice just how destroyed he looks.

There are bruises absolutely everywhere on his body—hickeys and bite marks smattering his neck, collarbones, the insides of his thighs, both dark red and faded purple; marks from fingers clenching around his hips, waist, and thighs. His hair is a complete mess, his lips red and swollen, noticeably plumper than they usually are and slightly parted, like he’s always ready to sigh out a moan.

“Good god Shiro,” he mutters to himself, turning to the side and craning his head around to get a look at the bruises that trail down his sides, his ass, the backs of his thighs. They tell quite a story. He bends over slightly and grabs one side of his ass while he holds onto the sink with the other hand for balance, then pulls himself open so he can see the state of his holes in the mirror—red, shining with slick and cum. He can see how loose he is.

Breath leaves him in a rush, like it was forced from his lungs.

He lets go of himself and straightens shakily, then turns back to the sink.

He passes the washcloth between his legs, wincing because it’s not warm enough anymore after sitting on the vanity. After cleaning gingerly between his cheeks too and down his inner thighs, he turns the water to cold and starts to brush his teeth.

The freshness feels good. The taste of mint in his mouth is a welcome change. As he’s brushing, there’s the sound of heavy steps, then Shiro comes around the corner and into the bathroom. Their eyes meet in the mirror. Keith smirks around the toothbrush stretching the corner of his lips, and Shiro’s eyes travel up and down Keith’s body slowly, mapping out what Keith’s already seen. Then they do it again. Shiro groans.

“Baby…”

“Hm?” Keith responds, feigning innocence. He spits into the sink and rinses his mouth with a palmful of water, and when he straightens, Shiro’s heat is against his back, his arms wrapping around him. He noses into Keith’s neck, kisses one of the bruises there. Thumbs over Keith’s nipple and makes him gasp. Then the world is spinning as Keith is picked up and thrown over Shiro’s shoulder like he weighs nothing.

He’s so used to it now that he doesn’t even shriek, just relaxes and lets himself be carted off into the bedroom. Shiro throws him down on the mattress with a bounce and follows to crawl over him, eyes dark and hungry.

Keith swallows hard. “Take a picture of me,” he blurts out suddenly. Shiro freezes. He groans, dragging his eyes over Keith.

“Yeah?”

Keith nods. “Want—want to have it for, for later.”

Shiro’s eyes grow wide as silver dollars. He reaches over to the nightstand, fumbles for his phone. He sits back, kneeling over Keith, and opens the camera.

“Just like that, baby,” Shiro murmurs, his brow creased in concentration. Keith doesn’t move from where he landed, sprawled out on the sheets, his legs parted and his hair a messy cloud around his face.

He holds his breath as the artificial shudder noise clicks. It’s an intense feeling to be on display like this, to know it’s not something fleeting and ephemeral that can’t escape the moment—that there will be evidence of how Keith looks right now, all the loving bruises Shiro has pressed into his skin captured in a permanent representation.

It makes him flush, his skin warm and prickly. He wonders if the camera will capture that too.

After taking a few pictures, Shiro throws his phone down on the bed and pounces on Keith to rail him into the mattress once again.


That night, Shiro holds Keith in his arms and strokes his hair, rubs a soothing gel into his reddened skin and a eucalyptus-scented balm into his lips. He still jumps and tenses at every sound, and checks the locks too many times, and he’s at least half-hard more often than not, but he’s more coherent by the hour, clearly nearing the end of his rut.

When he falls asleep, it’s deep and long. Keith lays awake for a while listening to him talk in his sleep, mumbles that are almost entirely about Keith, sweet things that make his heart ache, and the occasional thing that makes him blush plum-deep.

He sleeps through the night, and then some, well into the next afternoon—to the point that Keith starts to wonder if he should wake him up. But he resists, figuring Shiro probably needs this, and that maybe this long sleep is bringing him out of his rut.

He’s in the living room, cross-legged on the couch in Shiro’s sweatshirt and trying to get some much-needed work done when Shiro comes stumbling out of their room, blinking against the light and looking adorably rumpled.

“Hey,” Keith greets, quickly putting his PADD down beside him and turning around to face Shiro, who has a blanket draped around his shoulder and is otherwise naked.

“Hey,” Shiro croaks back, then clears his throat and pads over before launching himself into Keith’s side, burying his face in his throat and gathering him in his arms. He scents Keith eagerly, then sighs through his nose, his shoulders relaxing.

“You weren’t there when I woke up,” he mumbles into Keith’s neck.

“Oh, I’m sorry baby.”

Shiro shakes his head, then lifts his head up to give Keith a quick peck. “It’s okay. Just…stupid alpha brain.”

“Mm,” Keith responds, running his fingers through Shiro’s disheveled forelock. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Shiro says around a yawn, then tips forward and crashes into Keith’s chest, his face smushed into his sternum. “I think…I think it’s over, pretty much.”

Keith hums, scratching his nails over the back of Shiro’s head. He can’t deny that it’s…a relief, to be coming out on the other side of this. But he’s not necessarily glad it’s over, either. It was a special experience.

“How do you feel?” Shiro asks, suddenly shooting up to search Keith’s face, worry etched into his features.

Keith laughs, and reaches up to smooth out the crease between Shiro’s brows. “I’m fine, Shiro. I could use a break from your dick for like, a good while, but that’s all.”

Shiro doesn’t look entirely comforted, but he lets it be for now, rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck, wincing. “Yeah, I think my dick could use a break too. And the entire rest of my body.”

“I have an idea then.” Keith gently pushes Shiro back and unfolds himself from the couch, standing and offering Shiro his hand. He leads him to the bedroom and has him sit down on the bed while he digs through their bathroom cabinets, then lets out a triumphant “aha!” when he finds what he’s looking for.

He brings back a towel which he lays out on the bed with a flourish, and sets down a bottle of massage lotion on the sheets. Kneeling onto the mattress, Keith shuffles over to Shiro’s side and eases the blanket off his shoulders.

“Come on,” he coaxes, patting on the towel, and after a moment of hesitation, Shiro rolls over and crawls on top of it, lying down on his stomach with his arms crossed to lie his head on.

“There we go,” Keith praises.

Shiro melts into the mattress almost immediately at Keith’s first touch to his shoulder. He presses his fingers deep into the muscle and pushes them forward, eased by the lotion smoothed onto his skin.

“I should…I should do you first,” Shiro protests weakly, even as he moans.

“Shh, let me.” Keith straddles Shiro’s hips for a better angle and gets to work on his back first. He digs in, leaning into it, and works the tension out of Shiro’s muscles, satisfied by the way he relaxes, the feeling of the knots in his shoulders disappearing.

Once he’s done with Shiro’s back and shoulders, he massages his flesh arm, feeling the strength in it and coaxing it to relax. He works his way down, pressing his thumbs into the soft underside of his wrist, rubbing circles into his palm so his fingers splay out.

He presses his love into every bit of his mate’s skin, sure to soothe every muscle, head to toe. Once Shiro’s back side is done to his satisfaction, he has Shiro turn over and sits down on his stomach to knead at his pecs, soft and jiggly now while they’re not tensed. Shiro grunts, shifting under him, nearly making Keith lose his balance until he laughs and chastises him gently.

When he’s done, he leans down and kisses Shiro on the lips, slow and deep, but without intent behind it. Shiro’s eyes are still closed when he straightens up, and in a moment he lets out a long, pleased sigh. His hands come up to encircle Keith’s hips, rubbing up and down his flanks.

“Mmm, your turn,” he murmurs.

“Only if you want—“ Keith starts, but then he’s being dislodged and tossed down on the bed, and Shiro treats his body with the utmost care and affection, unraveling him until all his aches are gone and his limbs feel like jelly. His mind is fuzzy, his eyelids heavy, and even though it’s the middle of the afternoon, he feels like he could fall asleep. The last thing he’s aware of is Shiro kissing his mating mark and lying down beside him, cuddling up to his side and sharing his warmth.

***

Shiro wakes to Keith’s scent strong in his nostrils, his hair tickling the tip of his nose. He breathes in, and gives himself a few moments of this before he opens his eyes.

When he braves the light, he blinks his eyes open to see Keith, face close enough that it’s hard to focus on, those deep, thoughtful eyes studying him closely. He doesn’t stop when he’s caught, just smiles, a sight that can instantly unwind any hastily tied-up knots in Shiro’s heart.

Shiro sighs and slings an arm over Keith’s back, pulling him closer into his chest. He starts combing his fingers through Keith’s hair, smoothing and untangling it.

“So,” he starts.

“So,” Keith echoes, a smirk playing on the corner of his sweet cherry lips.

They need to have a conversation. A debrief. Of highest priority is that Shiro needs to know that Keith is okay, physically, and then that he’s not upset in any way, or didn’t like what happened during Shiro’s rut. He’s worried he won’t have. He doesn’t remember everything—although it’s starting to come back already, in fuzzy dream-like flashes—but he knows it must have been intense, a lot to ask of anyone, especially his husband and mate who has stood by him unflinchingly through every difficult twist and turn already.

Keith seems to be able to read Shiro’s thoughts, which isn’t surprising, and he shakes his head gently, smiling. He finds Shiro’s metal hand and brings it to his cheek, resting it in his palm.

“You were a perfect gentleman. As expected.”

Shiro scoffs. “I don’t know about that.”

“Well I do. Shiro, I know you. You couldn’t be anything other than sweet if you tried. You love me too much.”

There’s a lump in Shiro’s throat suddenly; he doesn’t know where that came from. Then Keith continues, whispering the words into the scant space between them.

“You’ve been my safe harbor since the moment I met you. Going through your rut with you hasn’t changed that. Nothing ever will.”

The lump is definitely bigger now, and Shiro has to lean in to press his forehead to Keith’s, grounding himself.

“Promise?” he whispers hoarsely.

Keith grins, then, sharp and bright, and reaches up to hook his pinkie finger with Shiro’s. “Pinkie.”


They lie there talking for a long while, once they’re each assured, feeling safe and anchored. They tackle everything there is to tackle—feelings are laid out, requests made for next time, plans to get this on Shiro’s doctor’s radar so his new ruts can be monitored as they develop. Shiro’s therapist would be proud. After, they eat more of Hunk’s food and curl up on the couch to watch some trash TV, because catching up on work can wait another day.

They take care of each other. Like always.


Notes:

Thank you so so much for reading!!

Notes:

I can't believe this is the first thing I've posted this year - I've really missed it and I'm so so excited to be sharing this. Thank you for reading! Chapters will be up once a week on Mondays.

You can find me on twitter @sweetfirewrites!