[ as with every other instance tonight, shiro positively preens at the praise. it is, perhaps, not quite as apparent this time due to the air being punched out of his lungs by a cock that has pleasure washing out every emotion from his expression, except bliss, but he does manage, at the very least, a happy, little upcurl to his lips. fucking incredible; keith says he feels fucking incredible. good. fantastic. wonderful. that’s exactly what shiro wants to hear from his baby – or is it his daddy? one or both; whichever. the point is… all he wants to do – all he wants to be… is enough to keep this beautiful boy happy.
– like you were made for me.
he still doesn’t have enough air. he does, of course, but everything feels crowded in his chest, like his heart is taking up too much space, like through every beat it’s growing in real-time with the love and affection he has for this boy. so it comes out breathless, more of a mumble. ]
Am made for you.
[ keith keeps talking and shiro wants to be like that, too: to be as strong as keith says he is, to say what needs to be said with conviction and power. he’s weak in the face of keith’s, though. his pecs throb from the way those fingers grabbed greedy and dug even greedier, compounding the stuffed feeling of his chest. the continued drag of those wonderful, yet overwhelming ridges inside him closes his throat, too, to anything other than moans and fumbled half words. he can’t string together long statements, not when that fullness brings him closer and closer to an end that he wants as much as he doesn’t. he does manage, however, with a bit of painstakingly forced concentration, to glue together short clips of words. ]
Won’t forget.
[ he’s been trying to soften the press of his hands. it’s keith’s fault. now with blooming marks on his chest, shiro loses the gentleness in his hands again, once more grabbing onto whatever he can: hips. he gets his legs open as much as he can, right into the strain of his flexibility’s limit. he just wants to be open; as open as he can be for the drive of that cock. he’s whining and he’s pulling, not even certain he’s helping, but trying to get keith to drive into him deeper. ]
Love you so much. Need it. Need you. Need, nnngh – right there.
[ he’s so close. endurance has a limit and he’s there, teetering for barely any time at all. just long enough for his voice to promptly grow louder and more desperate. ]
[ his eyes roll behind the curtaining shut of his lids and with that, the tension gives with a strong rack of his body. he cums hard and messy, every inch of him straining through the heated pulses of once, two, three spits of cum that hit between them. ]
i understand you... that's why i, too, am closing my eyes as i immediately tab out
– like you were made for me.
he still doesn’t have enough air. he does, of course, but everything feels crowded in his chest, like his heart is taking up too much space, like through every beat it’s growing in real-time with the love and affection he has for this boy. so it comes out breathless, more of a mumble. ]
Am made for you.
[ keith keeps talking and shiro wants to be like that, too: to be as strong as keith says he is, to say what needs to be said with conviction and power. he’s weak in the face of keith’s, though. his pecs throb from the way those fingers grabbed greedy and dug even greedier, compounding the stuffed feeling of his chest. the continued drag of those wonderful, yet overwhelming ridges inside him closes his throat, too, to anything other than moans and fumbled half words. he can’t string together long statements, not when that fullness brings him closer and closer to an end that he wants as much as he doesn’t. he does manage, however, with a bit of painstakingly forced concentration, to glue together short clips of words. ]
Won’t forget.
[ he’s been trying to soften the press of his hands. it’s keith’s fault. now with blooming marks on his chest, shiro loses the gentleness in his hands again, once more grabbing onto whatever he can: hips. he gets his legs open as much as he can, right into the strain of his flexibility’s limit. he just wants to be open; as open as he can be for the drive of that cock. he’s whining and he’s pulling, not even certain he’s helping, but trying to get keith to drive into him deeper. ]
Love you so much. Need it. Need you. Need, nnngh – right there.
[ he’s so close. endurance has a limit and he’s there, teetering for barely any time at all. just long enough for his voice to promptly grow louder and more desperate. ]
Keith. [ no, wait. ] Daddy. [ yeah, that’s right. ] Daddy.
[ his eyes roll behind the curtaining shut of his lids and with that, the tension gives with a strong rack of his body. he cums hard and messy, every inch of him straining through the heated pulses of once, two, three spits of cum that hit between them. ]