[ the point has been made. they can touch. they can kiss. they can toss up metaphorical middle fingers to malachite and come out of that recklessness unscathed. there’s no reason to drag this out. well, no reason shiro wants to put voice to. good thing his mouth is otherwise occupied then, huh. still, his mind whispers the truths to him and he doesn’t know how to compartmentalize the growing awareness that he likes this. keith’s hands on him, keith’s mouth on him -- his body molds to his just so and they fit together in a way shiro refuses to overanalyze.
this whole thing is backwards anyway. upside down too. it’s a mess of miscommunication and forced expectations, leaving shiro to feel as though he’s lost what little control he’s held. he may be physically anchoring keith to him, but he doesn’t feel like the leader here. are either of them? maybe not, but shiro still thinks keith has the better of him, because keith’s got him ensnared and trailing, hooked on the taste of his mouth. this all boils down to what keith is doing to him and that’s... sobering. there’s that wait again, but then the warning lapses; there’s too much hazy want feeding into the loop for him to draw himself away.
and then there’s his tongue.
all it takes is one tentative brush. keith’s already taken his mouth and shiro offers the rest of it up freely, lips mildly slack, mildly sloppy on the push an’ drag as he touches his tongue to keith’s. he gathers keith closer next, only in the sense that fingers tighten in hair, teasing the wetness out of strands that for once aren’t a tangled mess. another tilt to change the angle and he exhales heavy into the space between their mouths, tongue pressing, swiping --
he feels warm. it’s there in the flush of his cheeks and color across his nose. his head feels stuffy from it, heady too. in the span of two breaths, he honestly doesn’t know what to do with himself or keith or the situation as a whole. either way, he can’t say puffing out a breathless moan around the wet sound of their mouths is helping him figure it out any faster. ]
no i hate it. just gimme more sheith icons.
this whole thing is backwards anyway. upside down too. it’s a mess of miscommunication and forced expectations, leaving shiro to feel as though he’s lost what little control he’s held. he may be physically anchoring keith to him, but he doesn’t feel like the leader here. are either of them? maybe not, but shiro still thinks keith has the better of him, because keith’s got him ensnared and trailing, hooked on the taste of his mouth. this all boils down to what keith is doing to him and that’s... sobering. there’s that wait again, but then the warning lapses; there’s too much hazy want feeding into the loop for him to draw himself away.
and then there’s his tongue.
all it takes is one tentative brush. keith’s already taken his mouth and shiro offers the rest of it up freely, lips mildly slack, mildly sloppy on the push an’ drag as he touches his tongue to keith’s. he gathers keith closer next, only in the sense that fingers tighten in hair, teasing the wetness out of strands that for once aren’t a tangled mess. another tilt to change the angle and he exhales heavy into the space between their mouths, tongue pressing, swiping --
he feels warm. it’s there in the flush of his cheeks and color across his nose. his head feels stuffy from it, heady too. in the span of two breaths, he honestly doesn’t know what to do with himself or keith or the situation as a whole. either way, he can’t say puffing out a breathless moan around the wet sound of their mouths is helping him figure it out any faster. ]