A/N: I keep unofficially retiring from fan fiction only to get sucked back in by smut. Welp. There are worse fates.
My original novel, Hotline, is available for pre-order from Riptide Publishing. If you like the smut you read here, go check it out: riptidepublishing . com/titles/hotline.
Warnings: blow jobs, fingering, anal sex, first time, m/m/m threesome, age difference, some slight command play.
…
The first time Shiro catches them, he's mildly exasperated.
Because really, he had plans for his evening that didn't involve lecturing two teenage boys on the evils of public indecency.
And, if he's perfectly honest with himself, he's annoyed that he didn't see this coming. The last thing he expects when he walks into the training room late one night is to find Lance and Keith making out on the floor. At first, he's too shocked to react. He feels his eyes widen comically as he takes them in: two wiry bodies sprawling in a tangle of limbs, chests heaving, mouths open wide and locked together with such ferocity, they look like they're trying to eat each other.
It's artless and inexperienced—sloppy and downright obscene—but Shiro has to admire their enthusiasm. Their lust is palpable. He swears he can smell their hormones like a sharp tang in the air. They don't even look up when he enters, too lost in what he can only assume is a first-kiss rush. It's the kind of rush Shiro hasn't felt in years, what with his awkward teen phase being well behind him. But for a moment, while he watches them fondle each other gracelessly, he feels a ghost of something, a phantom ache low in his belly that wants.
It's that down-to-the-marrow throb that snaps him out of his stupor.
"All right you two, break it up," he calls, clapping his hands. He's still not used to the feel of the cybernetic prosthetic where his hand once was. He may never get used to it, a fact that he does his best not to dwell on, especially in the face of two horny teens about to hit their prime.
The boys snap apart like rubber bands. They gape at him, too startled to bother trying to hide what they were doing. There would be no point anyway. Keith's jacket is more off than on, Lance's eyes are dark with arousal, they're both panting, and through their jeans, he can see the outlines of matching erections. Shiro's own cock twitches in his pants at the sight, but he doesn't even register it, intent as he is on discipline.
"Well?" he asks. "Care to explain yourselves?" If there were any part of him that believed this was serious, he'd be less annoyed and more concerned. But this is Keith and Lance, after all. Lance never takes anything seriously, and Keith is almost as bad. They were probably bored or got a little too riled up during a fight and didn't know what to do with that energy. Shiro expects them to say as much and waits patiently for an answer.
"Uh," says Keith.
"Well . . ." says Lance.
"Oh good, you've both brought your typical eloquence with you," Shiro retorts.
Keith hangs his head, ashamed, but Lance, the little brat, just grins with bruise-red lips. He looks like a cat with a stolen fish he knows he shouldn't have.
Shiro's irritation is immediate, quick as lightning and white-hot, though none of it shows on his face. He has to take several breaths before it dissipates, leaving an iron taste like blood in his mouth. He didn't used to be so hot-tempered. Being held prisoner by hostile aliens will do that to a person. He doesn't let even a hint of it out, preferring to bury it beneath the caring, even paternal face he wears for the sake of his team.
And if there's a shadow of something else in his annoyance—a darker, more primal drive simmering beneath the surface—he ignores it.
His teammates don't need anger from him. They need guidance. They need a leader.
He takes them to the common area, sits them down, fixes a calm smile on his face, and explains.
"I understand why this happened, but it can't be allowed to continue."
Everyone else on the ship is asleep, and it's quiet, for once. Peaceful. Shiro is talking to them from a few seats away Not looming over them, like some leaders would, or scolding them, as if they were errant children. Because they're not children, of course. They're both technically adults, much as they might look like lanky teens to him. Their behavior was irresponsible, but harmless. He may play the father figure at times, but he has no desire to parent them. He just needs to make it clear that he expects them to act like . . . well, adults.
Technically, they were doing something very adult, says a traitorous voice in the back of his mind. And you didn't mind half so much as you're pretending.
He shuts that thought down.
"I understand better than you think," he continues. "The heat of battle does things to a man's head. Emotions are running high out here, what with the threat of a Galra attack constantly hanging over us. We've all been living in close quarters too, even closer than normal pilots, considering the link we have with each other and our lions. This sort of thing," he waved between them, "is inevitable. Though I must say, I really didn't expect it to be you two."
Despite that, Shiro can easily imagine what happened. Undoubtedly, one of them was up late practicing. Probably Keith. He's the more responsible of the two, by far. Lance had probably wandered in, spotted Keith, and couldn't resist a chance to challenge him. What had started as a "friendly" spar had escalated until things got heated.
Before they knew it, it wasn't just a fight anymore. The violence was still there, but there was something else, something more primal. They probably weren't even sure what they were doing until it happened. One of them tackled the other and they both went down in a mass of arms and legs. Still grappling, they'd rolled across the floor until they landed in a tangled heap, hot and sweaty and so full of pent-up emotion there was only one true outlet for it.
Shiro couldn't guess who had leaned in first—both options were equally likely for different reasons—and it didn't matter. All it would have taken was one touch, one hungry press of lips, and they would have melted into it.
If Shiro hadn't interrupted them, he's positive they would have ended up fucking on the floor.
"But," he says firmly, dispelling the mental image with a shake of his head, "just because I understand how it happened doesn't mean I can allow you to continue. You put instant gratification before the mission, and that was wrong of you."
"But we—" Lance begins.
Shiro cuts him off with a look. He slumps in his seat, folding his arms over his chest.
"Like I said," Shiro continues, "it can't happen again. You're not in trouble, so please don't think that, but you have to understand. We're a team. We have to stay focused. The whole universe is counting on us. We can't afford distractions right now."
The boys are silent. Shiro looks between them, waiting for one of them to argue with him or promise it won't happen again. Something.
Lance stares hard at the ground and, for once in his life, remains silent. Keith, on the other hand, looks right at Shiro. There's no challenge in his gaze. More like . . . curiosity.
Shiro can't begin to interpret that. He's suddenly exhausted. "All right. It's late. You should both get some sleep. We'll let this be the end of it."
The moony eyes that Lance gives Keith across the table suggests that this is not, in fact, the end of it. Shiro grinds his teeth.
"So, we're really not in trouble?" Lance asks, still staring at Keith.
"I think I've made my position clear," Shiro states. Lance jerks toward him at the sharpness of his tone and then crosses his arms, sullen.
Shiro feels a pang of guilt and adds, "But for the record, there's nothing wrong with what you two did. It was just poor timing. It could have happened to any of us."
"Could it?" Keith asks, eyes keen.
Before Shiro can respond, Keith grabs Lance's hand and yanks him from the room. They're out the door and into the hallway in a flash, but Shiro swears he hears them whispering to each other just before the door slides shut with a soft susurrus of air.
Shit, Shiro thinks. He gets the feeling his stern talking to was not as impactful as he'd hoped.
…
Several days pass, and Shiro almost manages to convince himself that they've put this minor indiscretion behind them. Maybe he is the leader Allura pegged him as. He successfully stopped an ill-advised dalliance before it could happen, sparing a lot of potential hurt feelings in the process. He handled his team in a firm but calm manner, befitting the Paladin of the Black Lion.
All in all, he thinks he did a damn fine job.
Until he walks into the mess hall and finds an enraptured Keith watching Lance lick some sort of creamy dessert off a spoon in a way that is clearly meant to be lewd.
Keith's eyes are wide, his mouth a little open as he leans across the table, watching Lance's tongue work the utensil. He takes a breath, and Shiro can tell from the way his Adam's apple bobs that his breathing has hitched in his throat. Shiro has never seen him like this before, so intense and unguarded. Even in battle, he holds some part of himself back. But right now, he's an open book, desire written on his skin in bold, black letters.
Captivating as it is, Shiro's true attention is on Lance. The flash of pink tongue darting out from between his lips is hypnotic. The sight ignites a flame in Shiro even as irritation blooms in his gut. He ignores the pulse of desire between his legs, picks up a tray from a nearby table, and pointedly lets it slide from his grip. A bang echoes in the air.
Lance drops the spoon with a clatter, and they glance at him, their faces turning matching shades of scarlet. There's a drop of cream on Lance's lip, stark white against his brown skin. The desire to wipe it away—or lick it off—is overwhelming.
But Shiro is too annoyed to pay it any mind. If his eyes linger on it for a moment too long, it's because he's deciding what to say. He thought they were beyond this. He clears his throat in a way that he hopes is sufficiently threatening but doesn't speak. For some reason, his vocal cords don't seem to be working properly. When he swallows, a funny feeling sticks in his throat.
Lance has the decency to look guilty. He watches Shiro through thick, black eyelashes. Keith, on the other hand, cocks his head to the side and sweeps his eyes up and down Shiro's body in an inquisitive way.
Shiro files that away for later and stomps toward the computer display on the far wall. As soon as his back is turned, they slink away without so much as a word of apology. It's probably for the best. If they'd said something, Shiro might have lost his temper, and he doesn't want to do that. He's not sure what he wants to do, but the need for action is burning in him, low and hot.
While the machine dispenses an unappetizing pile of green goo onto his plate, images flash through his mind: Keith's penetrating eyes, Lance's cabernet lips, and most of all, their chests rising and falling together like a single pair of lungs. Like their lions becoming one.
By the time his food is ready, he's shaking with what he tells himself is vexation. Why, why, couldn't they have just left it alone?
He isn't certain why it bothers him so much, but it does. If Hunk came to him tomorrow and professed his love for Pidge, he would give him the same spiel about distractions and responsibility, but if they persisted, he would eventually relent. Give them his blessing. Move on. Because he'd meant what he'd said: between pilots who were this close, intimacy was inevitable. With Keith and Lance, though, it was different. Seeing them together did things to him, poked at nerves he hadn't realized were exposed.
It's because they ignored a direct order, he assures himself. They're not respecting your leadership, and you've been nothing but understanding. It's impertinent.
He nods to himself. That makes sense.
Or, another voice muses, it's because you want to be a part of what they have. You want to feel that closeness, and you want to see what they were going to do next, before you interrupted them.
He banishes that voice to a far corner of his mind. He takes a fork and stabs his food-goo far more viciously than is necessary.
…
The next time he catches them, he's resigned.
His first thought is that they must be doing this on purpose. His second is that he has never, in his life, seen something quite so guilelessly beautiful.
Shiro is a man of discipline. Always has been. He trains against the guardian robots every evening at the same time and then showers in the Altean ship's version of a locker room. The communal baths are just down the hallway from the training rooms, and there's never anyone around. He feels comfortable walking down the silent corridor in a soft shirt and sweatpants, which cling to him with sweat. He's looking forward to stripping them off and standing beneath the spray of a hot shower until the water stings his skin numb.
He's been doing this for weeks, and he's never seen a soul. That's why it comes as such a shock when the door to the showers shushes open, and someone is already inside. The air is thick with steam, but he has no trouble seeing who it is. Lance is leaning against the tile wall with his head thrown back, long neck exposed. Keith is kneeling in front of him, sucking his cock with the kind of single-minded determination Shiro has come to expect from the young Paladin. And enough enthusiasm to make a brothel madam blush.
Lance is holding on for dear life, long fingers buried in Keith's dark hair, eyes screwed shut tight as if to block out all other sensory input. A stream of half-formed curses and moans pour from his slack mouth. Water sluices down his chest. He doesn't have the same hard, carved-from-marble muscle that Shiro does, but there's promise etched into his lanky lines. His biceps jut out beneath his skin as he flexes his fingers against Keith's scalp. And fuck, is he stunning.
The same goes for Keith, though it's clear from his slighter build that he was designed for speed, just like his lion. Shiro can see subtle strength in his broad shoulders and narrow waist—he's seen it before in the way he swings his sword with the lethal agility of a thief in the night—but there's still something subtle about him. Something reserved.
Though right now, he's sucking cock like he's never had a shy day in his life. Water drips from his black hair, plastering it to his brow. His red lips are wrapped around Lance's cock, and the contrast between them and the dark-with-blood shaft is lovely.
Just then, Keith opens his eyes a sliver, his gaze latching onto the exquisite expressions Lance is making. He looks like he's the one getting pleasured, like he's feeding off Lance's moans. He hollows his cheeks with the force of his suction, and a shudder works its way through Lance. It's visible as it travels down his spine. Shiro feels it as though it were vibrating through him instead, leaving devastation in its wake.
He should stop this. He should remind them what's at stake here. People are out there fighting for their lives right now, and a moment's distraction is all they need to lose everything. But fuck, they look so gorgeous together, and if two previous warnings couldn't stop them, it seems this train wreck is determined to happen.
And Shiro . . . Shiro wants to be on board when it does.
He waits ten seconds, listening to the splash of water and the ring of desperate moans, before he says, "If you're going to do this, you should at least do it right."
Lance's head jerks toward him. Keith stops sucking and pulls off Lance's cock with an obscene popping noise. Neither of them shows any sign that they're surprised to see him. That pretty much confirms it. They were waiting for him.
In unison, their eyes swing down to his crotch. He regrets wearing loose pants now. There's absolutely nothing to hide how hard he is. He folds his arms across his muscled chest to cover how vulnerable he feels as two sets of eyes dissect him, taking in the signs of desire scattered all over him. From his flushed face to his panting breaths to his cock hanging heavy between his legs, there's no pretending this doesn't turn him on. The urge to palm his neglected dick is overwhelming.
Keith is the first to speak: "What should I do?" His spit-shiny lips are sinful as they form the words. He doesn't look the slightest bit embarrassed. When Shiro had first caught them kissing, he'd assumed Lance was the mastermind. But now, he was starting to wonder.
He clears his throat. He can think about that later when he's not staring at two naked, aroused young men who are awaiting his response. "Is this your first time? With a man?"
Keith nods. Lance's head lolls on his neck in a way that resembles a nod as well.
"I thought as much," Shiro says, lips turning up. "Your energy is good, but your technique needs work."
"Well then, leader," Keith says, blinking water from his eyes. "What do you suggest?"
Oh, Shiro thinks, I am a bad man.
"Hold the base of his cock to steady it," Shiro instructs. "Don't try to take all of him in. You'll choke, and you can do the job just fine if you focus on the head."
Keith does as he instructs, and it's a sight to behold. He takes the head of Lance's cock into his mouth and suckles. From the noises Lance makes, he has a talented tongue.
"Holy crow," Lance says, blissed out.
Shiro's cock grows infinitesimally harder, straining against the fabric covering it. "That's it. Easy, Keith. Watch your teeth."
Lance is babbling now, some mixture of Keith's name, Shiro's, and, "Oh fuck yes."
Keith takes another inch of him in, tongue working so obviously Shiro can see it against his cheek, and then he strains to look at Shiro.
"That's good," Shiro compliments. "You're doing so good. Both of you."
They glow from the praise, as Shiro knew they would. They were such competitive boys, so desperate to prove themselves. And he knows just how to encourage them. Though he never thought it would be under such circumstances.
"He's almost there, Keith," Shiro says. "See how he's tensing up? Just a little more, and he'll come. Won't you, Lance?"
Lance nods his head frantically before letting it fall back against the tile.
"He's right on the edge," Shiro observes. He sounds impassive, but his heart is racing. Desire, sharp and potent, is seeping into his very bones. He can only imagine how Keith's mouth must feel, how delicious Lance's cock is, thick on his tongue. "He needs something to push him over. Take the heel of your palm and roll it against his balls."
Keith does, a deft hand sliding between Lance's legs. Shiro wasn't at the right angle to see just what he was doing, but he could tell from the startled moan that burst from Lance that Keith did something right. Lance jerked, and Keith popped off his cock again just in time for come to splatter on his chin and neck. It was gone in an instant, washed away by the shower spray, but Shiro knows the image of Keith's pretty face striped with white is going to have a starring role in his masturbatory fantasies for years to come. When Keith reaches between his own legs and pumps himself a half-dozen times before shouting as well, it's all Shiro can do not to come, untouched, in his workout clothes.
For a moment, they all just breathe together. Then Keith rises to his feet, wobbling on weak knees. His eyes are fixed on Shiro. "Want help with that?" He gestures to Shiro's erection. There's a challenge in his tone, though for the life of him, Shiro can't figure out what game they're playing.
Lance looks between them, an eyebrow quirked. It's clear he has no idea what his co-pilot—his lover now—has planned. But Shiro is willing to bet he'll go along with whatever Keith wants. The way he eyes Shiro's clothed cock and licks his lips, his damned beautiful lips, is enough to tell him that.
Shiro is tempted, so very tempted, but watching two teenagers get off and getting off with them are very different things. They've crossed a line already, there's no denying, but Shiro can still step back before this goes too far. He feels the years between them more heavily than ever.
The silence drags on for a beat too long, and something shifts between them. Things are heated one second and uncomfortable the next.
Shiro wants to crawl out of his own skin. He steps aside and points to the door. "Get to bed. We have training early tomorrow." Keith opens his mouth, purportedly to argue with him, but Shiro cuts him off, "Go. To separate beds."
Lance whispers something to Keith. Keith nods. Shiro desperately wants to know what they just said, but he points more insistently toward the locker rooms. "I said go."
They race off, still whispering. The last Shiro sees of them is Keith's wild hair, which is sticking up in places from Lance's grip. Fuck. Shiro shivers all the way down to his toes.
Once they're gone, Shiro resists for all of two seconds before he stands under the same shower head and fucks his own fist to the memory of the sound Lance made when he came.
…
He knows it's wrong. He's older and much more experienced than them. He's their leader. They trust him, look up to him, and it would be bad, so very bad for him to take advantage of that trust.
But it's all he can think about. As he lies awake in bed that night, he replays the memory of them in the shower over and over again. There's a need in him that won't go away no matter how hard he wills it.
He scrubs a hand down his face. He's too old for this.
…
The boys are determined to shove their lasciviousness in his face.
That's all he can think when Lance swaggers up to him in the hallway outside of his quarters— Keith in tow, of course—and demands that he shows them how to fuck.
"Shh," Shiro hisses, looking around. "Do you have to be so loud all the time?"
"We want you to show us," Keith says from behind him. Of course he's not happy to let Lance do all the talking. He has to chime in. "We want it to be you."
"Why me?" Shiro asks miserably. The question is directed at both Keith and the universe.
"Because we trust you," Keith says. "It has to be you."
Shiro is a good man. A good leader. But he is not a saint and never has been, and with two virile, handsome young men practically begging him to get them off . . . He just can't seem to remember why he thought this was so wrong.
"Come on," Lance says. He wets his lips, and Keith swears he feels it on his dick. "Show us how to make it good."
They're so goddamn shameless about it. Approaching him in the hallway where anyone could come along and see. Shiro knows he should say something, yell at them again, but he's rooted to the spot. His cock gets hard so fast it makes him dizzy.
"Come inside," he says, hitting the switch by his door. It slides open and clicks home. "And be quick about it."
They scurry in, and Shiro races after them before he can change his mind. There's quite a bit of uncoordinated fumbling as everyone tries to remove both their and each other's clothing, but eventually, Shiro gets them both on his bed and while he sits next to them, instructs Lance on how to fuck Keith open with nothing but spit and his fingers.
Keith writhes against Shiro's sheets, and Shiro thinks it is quite possibly the most erotic thing he's ever seen. Lance has his pale knees shoved to his chest and is working him relentlessly, trying all sorts of angles until he finds one that makes Keith's back arc off the bed like it shocked him.
"Do that again," Shiro commands. "That's it. Go slow. He's already had too much."
It's true. Keith, with only two fingers in him, is already so fucked out Shiro suspects a light breeze could make him come. Tantalizing as that thought is, he doesn't want the night to end so soon.
"Lance, get on your knees. Keith, on your belly."
The boys scramble to do as he says, and that makes a fresh wave of desire wash through him. Shiro arranges their bodies into the position he wants: Keith with his ass in the air and Lance draped over his back, skin to skin. Then he helps Lance take his dick in hand and guide himself into Keith's body.
When he slides in to the root, all three of them shudder. Lance's pace is hesitant at first, but with some coaxing from Shiro and enthusiastic moaning from Keith, he finds a rhythm that is both deep and brutal. Even Shiro is impressed. Lance acts like a clown half the time, but balls deep in Keith, he couldn't be more serious. The ecstasy on his face is exquisite as he drives himself again and again into the body beneath him.
Without warning, Keith's arms give out, and they fall to the sheets. Lance doesn't stop thrusting, though. He changes his pace to a grind, deep within Keith, and fuck if that isn't hot. Shiro reaches down and squeezes himself through his jeans. He gasps at the unexpected burst of pleasure. He's not even the one having sex, and he's close.
Suddenly, Keith turns his head and looks right at him. "Shiro. Please."
Shiro stares at him. Somehow, he knows exactly what is being asked of him, but he has no idea if he can provide it. Lance's slow grind is wringing gasps of pleasure from them both, but it isn't enough. Shiro can feel it in his sinew, or maybe his soul.
"Please," Lance echoes, whimpering helplessly, "we can take it."
"Okay," Shiro breathes, kneeling on the bed, "okay, but just a little."
He shucks his jeans like they're on fire and tosses them aside. He kneels behind Lance. The angle is awkward even with them lying flat, but he manages to perch over them, strong thighs flexing on either side of their slender hips. They're pleading with him to hurry up. He wants to take his time, to prepare Lance the way he knows he should, but their begging undoes him. He at least spits on his hand and slicks himself up. His cock hardly needs it. He's been leaking precum since the boys showed up in the hallway. It's not enough, but it'll have to do.
"You'll tell me if I hurt you," Shiro orders.
Keith is the one who answers. "Yes. Yes, just please fuck us."
Shiro shudders and takes himself in hand. He grips Lance's hip, digging his fingers in to still him. The first press against his hole echoes throughout his whole body. He pushes in, just barely, just enough to make the head pop past the ring of muscles, and that alone makes him see stars.
The men beneath him moan like he's fucking them both, and in a way, he is. When he pulls out and then sinks back in, he moves Lance's pelvis, driving him deeper into Keith.
"Oh, fuck, more," Lance whines.
"So demanding, even like this," Shiro says through gritted teeth, but he sinks in by another inch. "So tight, and nothing but spit and precum to slick the way. You should be begging me to stop."
"Please don't," Lance breathes. He pushes his hips back, forcing more of Shiro into him, and Shiro almost loses it. Then Lance thrusts back into Keith, and his moans join the mix.
It's too much, far too much for any man to withstand.
"I'm gonna—" Shiro sputters, "I can't—"
"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck," Keith suddenly shouts. He tenses up, and Shiro can tell from the way he claws at the sheets that he's coming. His orgasm sets off a chain reaction that shreds through them. Lance thrusts deeply into him with a sob and then stills. His ass clamps down on Shiro's cock, sending him toppling into a chasm of pleasure that blacks out all thought.
He has no idea how much time actually lapses, but it feels like eons pass before his brain reboots.
When he comes to, he's been shoved onto his side—ostensibly because he collapsed on the boys and half-crushed them—he's breathing hard, coated in sweat, with two naked teenagers cuddled up to his sides.
He's not sure what he expected to feel after. Shame? Regret? All he feels is bone-deep satisfaction and the simple joy of human contact, something he hadn't realized he'd been missing since . . . He couldn't even think. Since he lost his arm? Since his imprisonment? Whatever piece of him had been missing was back now, present in the sweaty brow Keith laid on his chest and the arm Lance slung around his waist.
"Well," Shiro says mildly to his ceiling, "this has all been . . . very unexpected. And hot."
Keith chuckles lazily. "Don't act like you don't know we planned this."
"You did what?"
"Oh, come on," Keith says with a yawn, "you have to realize all the times you 'walked in' on us couldn't possibly be a coincidence."
Lance's head pops up from the pillow. "They weren't? I thought they were."
"That's because you're an idiot."
That kicks off a round of bickering that doesn't end until Shiro says, "Enough."
They fall silent. Shiro is relieved to discover he hasn't completely lost his touch.
Then Lance flops his head over, and he groggily teases, "Don't talk to my boyfriend like that."
Shiro blinks at him. "Boyfriend?"
Keith stifles another yawn and says, "Yeah, Lance and I are dating."
Shiro is aghast. "You can't be! I would know." He furrows his brow. "Wouldn't I?"
"There wasn't really anything to know until recently. We decided to take things slow because of the whole intergalactic space war thing." Keith waves this off as if it were a minor detail. "That night you walked in on us kissing was the first time we'd really done anything. We tried to tell you when you were lecturing us."
Lance snickered. "You were pretty funny, Shiro. 'This can't be allowed to continue.' I almost busted something."
Shiro has no idea how to react at first. So much for him being in charge. It occurs to him that these boys have been playing him like a fiddle.
"Just to be clear," Shiro says slowly, "how do I fit into what you two have?"
"Why, you're our leader, of course," Lance says with an impish grin. "We're in this together. Forever."
"So . . ." Keith says, "same time tomorrow?"
Shiro considers it. This is a bad idea. I should call this off now, stop before we get in too deep . . .
"Yeah," he finds himself saying instead. "Same time tomorrow."
…