A/N: Originally posted on ao3 under the pen name youngjusticwriter.
A warm, thrumming hand slides upwards a shaking body only to stop at Keith's ribs. He's not shivering, nor does the hair on the back of his neck stand up, because of the sinister look the shadows cast on Shiro or because of being cold. No, he's shivering from having his armor hurriedly have been abandoned in pieces and being only in his confining boxers. The warmth of his hand against Keith makes Keith want to press into the touch, press into the hot metal that is a reminder of Shiro being taken from him, but he's too busy throwing his head back.
Mouth opened, sweaty strands of hair stuck to his forehead and throat, and noises being dragged out because of Shiro's other, clever hand that's cold (too cold).
There's happiness in his eyes as he looks down upon Keith. It makes him less sinister looking in the purple glow of his prosthetic that's the only light in the room that's empty besides them, the abandoned armor on the floor, the bed, and Keith's knife that once had belonged to his mother.
Not that Keith is afraid of Shiro because of the shadows. Keith hasn't been afraid of Shiro since before he had left for the Kerberos mission and that had been a fear at how much Shiro had become to mean for Keith; how different his life would have been without the man and how was he going to live without him till the months Shiro came back?
(He does begrudgingly until there's whispers in the communication team. Then a week later Iverson tells them how Shiro had failed the mission. That fear, a damn reasonable fear that had gnawed in his stomach and the back of his mind since Shiro had told him of the mission, and the mocking words of pilot error are on the forefront of Keith's mind when gets up from the floor with a stinging cheek. It's what on his mind when his nail bitten palm meets Iverson's chin and fingers dig into the man's eye; if you're going to get into a fight Keith knows not swing a punch drunkly like movies show, no, you go for the groin, the throat and the eyes. If you're going to be in a fight you fight to finish it sooner rather than later. The sooner someone wins the sooner Keith gets to deal with a lecture before finally being able to get back to his life.)
They can't have sex properly; Hunk would want to know what happened to his cooking oil he uses to caramelize something like onions and they won't waste salve that's for when the healing pods don't work. Instead they press together, cold skin with one steady warm hand against shivering skin, as close as possible and someone's fingers curl around their dicks as either one of them strokes.
Shiro' dry lips are against his neck as he gets both them off with his flesh hand. His lips mouthing words against his sweaty skin that strands of him hair are stuck on. Nails drag lightly against Keith's dick and he tries to toss his head back further but he can't. He's never been like this, Keith thinks with harsh breath as more sounds of pleasure from some pain are dragged out of him. Keith's short nails dig into the cold skin of Shiro's back as Keith stares into his Shiro's eyes (boyfriends - that's what Shiro use to call them when Keith himself hadn't know what they were, oh yes he knew of the word - how could he not when Mr. Tucker use to complain over dinner on how the pastor needed to spank the faggot out of his own son? - but he didn't know if that was what they were). The darkness of them that Keith could only see because of the purple glow of the warm prosthetic reminded him of black ice.
Keith closes his eyes not because of how close he is but to remember: a house far from the city and orphanage, a mom who wasn't his but could have been, there was this ugly shade of orange on the scarf she'd made him wear that day before they got in the car, some Christmas song on the radio that's volume was cranked as far as it would go, her voice - he couldn't remember it any more and than sliding, they were sliding and BAM the tree-
A hand stops caressing his ribs, it moves to his stomach-
glass breaks
There's a thrum of robotic arm and
it rains down on her. Blood on her head which was dangling right above the steering wheel.
There's warm blood on his chest too; there's no else alive in the castle to hear Keith's scream; pleasure from pain; Takashi was dead after-all.