[ keith cups his face and again, the loud rattling of turbulent thoughts abruptly quiets. he can breathe. he can think. actually, no, he takes that back -- he can’t do either. not when keith is looking at him like that. like he’s the beginning and end of his universe. ridiculous, shiro must be seeing things, because that can’t be right.
except, a thumb brushes at his scar, softening those thoughts until he’s preening under the attention. shiro’s never much liked the mark -- or any remnant reminder of his time in galra captivity. to this day, when he notices someone’s gaze drifting to it in the midst of a conversation, he hates it a little more. keith’s attentions are different though. they aren’t fueled by curiosity or pity. and they aren’t given as a juvenile ploy to soothe something that is forever damaged and unable to heal. instead, they’re almost reverent in their sweetness. kind and quietly accepting, because just as shiro adores all parts of keith, keith returns that affection tenfold. all in all, it makes him feel cherished. loved even.
he’s drowsy on the feeling. a slow, mildly distracted lowering of his lashes and -- oh?
he eyes that hopeful smile for an extended beat and then he tilts his chin, lips bumping against the the line of keith’s thumb, where it meets the beginnings of his palm. shiro doesn’t taste skin though. no. of course it’s worn leather. still, shiro presses his smile harder into that glove and makes a point to purse his lips for an unmistakable kiss. ]
In that case...
[ lashes still half-mast. lips still brushing black fabric. shiro’s palms settle on keith’s hips and holds him there. ]
no no. the only play boy here is keith.
except, a thumb brushes at his scar, softening those thoughts until he’s preening under the attention. shiro’s never much liked the mark -- or any remnant reminder of his time in galra captivity. to this day, when he notices someone’s gaze drifting to it in the midst of a conversation, he hates it a little more. keith’s attentions are different though. they aren’t fueled by curiosity or pity. and they aren’t given as a juvenile ploy to soothe something that is forever damaged and unable to heal. instead, they’re almost reverent in their sweetness. kind and quietly accepting, because just as shiro adores all parts of keith, keith returns that affection tenfold. all in all, it makes him feel cherished. loved even.
he’s drowsy on the feeling. a slow, mildly distracted lowering of his lashes and -- oh?
he eyes that hopeful smile for an extended beat and then he tilts his chin, lips bumping against the the line of keith’s thumb, where it meets the beginnings of his palm. shiro doesn’t taste skin though. no. of course it’s worn leather. still, shiro presses his smile harder into that glove and makes a point to purse his lips for an unmistakable kiss. ]
In that case...
[ lashes still half-mast. lips still brushing black fabric. shiro’s palms settle on keith’s hips and holds him there. ]
Wanna make it official?