[ … huh. the world doesn’t end. he may be stockstill, but he can hear it moving all the same, from the scratch of a cat clawing at the carpet to the faint buzz of the fluorescent light left on in the kitchen. so maybe this isn’t the moment to crash and burn. or maybe they simply haven’t hit it yet. amazing, really, that it’s only when keith’s mouth is pressed to his that shiro thinks he may have gone about this the wrong way. still, regret is a heavy label and one not easily taken back. they’ve crossed a line, fine yes, they went there, but now options fan out in his mind and within the timeframe of snapped fingers, he needs to decide.
push him away? weather the inevitable fallout and hope for the best in mending the broken pieces of their friendship?
stay and wait him out? don’t reciprocate but let keith take what he needs before the argument is reiterated and lines are recemented?
or… respond. is that even an option to consider?
the thing is -- the world hasn’t ended, right? their friendship has survived through gossip, separation, expectation, and death. stolen identity and attempted murder is there too, he supposes. so what’s his problem? why would he think that after all that, they would buckle under the strain of intimacy? perhaps because shiro’s out of practice and hesitant of it in a way his tactile nature would never suggest. all this talk about not wanting to make keith uncomfortable -- shiro’s there too. again, his powdered acts come into focus and he thinks they weren’t isolated, fabricated acts. the colors leeched from a bank of repressed feelings. that’s why he’s so wound tight about all of this, because at world’s edge he’d been looking and on the roof he’d been feeling and he doesn’t want to think about the implications of any of it.
two ticks? three. fuck, what’s his decision?
he gives in. unsurprising; he always inevitably does. keith has no idea how much power he has over him, does he? he’s got that magnetic pull to him and a finesse to beat every odd stacked up against him. apparently, being able to entrap the last functioning brain cells of one takashi shirogane is a skill keith has unknowingly mastered by merely being his stubborn, hardheaded, forever infuriating self. fuck, he loves him despite the faults, even this boldness. the anger is there too though and… that’s not what he wants for keith.
his own frustration simmers low and doesn’t rise to meet keith’s. instead, shiro goes in the opposite direction. he softens under the strain and shifts his feet, centering his weight to offset him touching his hand to keith’s waist. it slips around to find the small of his back. the other hand at keith’s forearm skims down his arm and then abandons it altogether to grasp at his nape. he tugs briefly at the flyaway strands that grow too long before flattening his palm, cupping the back of his head.
there. now, about him being out of practice.
the angle is all wrong. noses together and lips mashed too close, it’s aggressive, almost violent, and again, shiro thinks not like this. instead, he thinks soft, gentle, make it good. because if they’re here and set on doing this, then at the very least, they deserve a kiss representative of what they mean to each other. for shiro? keith is a precious someone and he tries to convey that in the tilt of his head an’ sweetening of pressure.
it’s a bit of a disaster, at least the start and this slow rebounding, but shiro is fading fast anyway. keith fills his senses and steals his breath and hell, he forgot how good it could feel to be this close to someone. it’s too much and yet not enough and keith’s mouth -- it’s plush and molded to his and if shiro just parts his own to tease with the barest hint of moist heat, maybe they can try…
he makes a noise in the back of his throat and he draws keith closer with his hand there in the dip of his spine. the gem is there. distantly, he thinks it and then it has him smiling the faintest bit, palm rubbing slow in half-distraction, as though trying to pinpoint it, before finally settling for a hold that has keith pressed close hip to chest. ]
i refuse to scroll up to ever see that icon again.
push him away? weather the inevitable fallout and hope for the best in mending the broken pieces of their friendship?
stay and wait him out? don’t reciprocate but let keith take what he needs before the argument is reiterated and lines are recemented?
or… respond. is that even an option to consider?
the thing is -- the world hasn’t ended, right? their friendship has survived through gossip, separation, expectation, and death. stolen identity and attempted murder is there too, he supposes. so what’s his problem? why would he think that after all that, they would buckle under the strain of intimacy? perhaps because shiro’s out of practice and hesitant of it in a way his tactile nature would never suggest. all this talk about not wanting to make keith uncomfortable -- shiro’s there too. again, his powdered acts come into focus and he thinks they weren’t isolated, fabricated acts. the colors leeched from a bank of repressed feelings. that’s why he’s so wound tight about all of this, because at world’s edge he’d been looking and on the roof he’d been feeling and he doesn’t want to think about the implications of any of it.
two ticks? three. fuck, what’s his decision?
he gives in. unsurprising; he always inevitably does. keith has no idea how much power he has over him, does he? he’s got that magnetic pull to him and a finesse to beat every odd stacked up against him. apparently, being able to entrap the last functioning brain cells of one takashi shirogane is a skill keith has unknowingly mastered by merely being his stubborn, hardheaded, forever infuriating self. fuck, he loves him despite the faults, even this boldness. the anger is there too though and… that’s not what he wants for keith.
his own frustration simmers low and doesn’t rise to meet keith’s. instead, shiro goes in the opposite direction. he softens under the strain and shifts his feet, centering his weight to offset him touching his hand to keith’s waist. it slips around to find the small of his back. the other hand at keith’s forearm skims down his arm and then abandons it altogether to grasp at his nape. he tugs briefly at the flyaway strands that grow too long before flattening his palm, cupping the back of his head.
there. now, about him being out of practice.
the angle is all wrong. noses together and lips mashed too close, it’s aggressive, almost violent, and again, shiro thinks not like this. instead, he thinks soft, gentle, make it good. because if they’re here and set on doing this, then at the very least, they deserve a kiss representative of what they mean to each other. for shiro? keith is a precious someone and he tries to convey that in the tilt of his head an’ sweetening of pressure.
it’s a bit of a disaster, at least the start and this slow rebounding, but shiro is fading fast anyway. keith fills his senses and steals his breath and hell, he forgot how good it could feel to be this close to someone. it’s too much and yet not enough and keith’s mouth -- it’s plush and molded to his and if shiro just parts his own to tease with the barest hint of moist heat, maybe they can try…
he makes a noise in the back of his throat and he draws keith closer with his hand there in the dip of his spine. the gem is there. distantly, he thinks it and then it has him smiling the faintest bit, palm rubbing slow in half-distraction, as though trying to pinpoint it, before finally settling for a hold that has keith pressed close hip to chest. ]