Day 10 : Prosthetic
Shiro never touched anyone with his prosthetic hand. But god know he is a tactile man. Always giving comfort, reassurance, encouragement, in the form of small touch or light-caress. Especially with Keith, touch-starved, deprived of love for nearly all of his life. It had begun when they were just friends, and as their relationship became more, the touch had increased. Hugs, full arm embraces, soft grip that lingered too long after training.
Shrio had always favoured his right arm. It was the hand he uses to write, to wave, to point at things. Even in combat, while he had trained himself to be proficient left or right handed with a gun or blaster (or even sword), his right side was his preferred.
Now he still uses his right hand to eat, to explain, to draw. But when touching people, he only ever uses his left.
When Pidge was sad because an alien artefact that had remind her so much of her brother, it was Shiro who had hold her, his left hand embracing her small frame. The right was limp by his side, fist clenched, not knowing what to do if expressing Shiro's anger at the unjust situation.
When Hunk had made a particularly good dish using alien supplies, Shiro had been the first to congratulate him, praising his mastery and imagination. Hunk was proud of his success, and the quiet reassurance of Shiro's hand on his shoulder was a familiar gesture. Shiro's left hand.
When Lance had saved Shiro's hide in a horrible galra mission gone wrong, his sharp-shooting skill saving the day once again, Shiro had thanked him, a light pat on the back both an acknowledgement and a grateful act. Shiro's right arm was still clenching his weapon.
It was never his right. Not anymore.
And Keith was sick of it. Sick of watching Shiro be careful at every moment, changing side at the last moment so it was that left hand that connected with people, fighting a habit. And it was hurting him.
Keith may have been the only one to notice. It didn't matter to him if the others had payed attention, seen the dark linger in his eyes when catching himself, or the trembling in his right arm every once in a while. Keith was going to change this. And confront the problem the only way he knows how: by getting to it head first.
The perfect opportunity present himself on night. They were alone, ready to go to sleep in Shiro's bed. Keith's one was all but abandoned, now that he was allowed to be by Shiro's side. He enjoyed his presence, his touch, seeing him vulnerable and soft, smile on his lips. Oh, how Keith wanted it all, wanted everything Shiro would give him. And Shiro was an attentive lover, covering him in kisses and affection and small moments meant only for them.
Shiro was kissing him right now, their eyes closed, relaxing, enjoying the moment. They were holding hand still -left-hand for Shiro, always- and the air was becoming more heated by the minute. Soft groans and moans were escaping their mouth, their make-out slow and full of love, but still quietly escalading.
Keith's hands were gripped to Shiro's shirt now, bringing him closer, aching for more. Shiro was reciprocating in full, left hand tailing down the curve of Keith back. The right was on his hips, rigid and not moving.
"It's okay you know." Keith whispered between kisses.
Shiro nearly froze, giving a side look to his right arm before meeting Keith eyes. He saw desire, encouragement, acceptance. It was not Keith or the others that were afraid of Shiro's prosthetic hand, but Shiro himself. Scared of hurting them, doing something he would regret, the new member still alien to him.
"It's okay." Keith repeated.
"It's galra, I don't know what it can do." Shiro admitted.
"I'm galra, I'll be okay."
The logic was somewhat sound, but still Shiro was hesitant. He wanted this, wanted to move on. Wanted to embrace this part of himself. It was useful, and in this fight, he couldn't afford to lose such an asset. But at the same time, it was foreign, forced on him by galra druids, the same group that had made him fight for his life. It reminds him of the arena, of being champion, of his time in captivity.
Keith and Shiro were holding hand again, Shiro's prosthetic hand hold tight between Keith finger. The sensation he received were kind of strange, not diluted or absent in anyway, but new. Curiosity and comfort surpassed his fear, and without thinking, he moved his fingers past Keith hand, toward his forearms, feeling the muscle, the skin, the warm of another human body. He progressed to his shoulder, and stopped to his collarbone, so close to Keith's neck.
"It's okay Shiro. Don't doubt for a moment that I could kick your ass." Keith tried to reassure him.
"Don't I know it Keith."
Shiro was still kind of unsure, but seeing Keith's devoted smile, the trust wholesome and pure and indefectible in his eyes… It was what gave him the strength to touch.
Shiro's fingers lingered on the soft skin of Keith neck, light-caress rediscovering the sensation of his lover heartbeat under his skin. Soon he was taking Keith's face in his hand, holding it like the most precious of jewel. Keith was pliant in his hands, allowing Shiro his time, giving him his body to explore, and his trust to give him courage. His heart was already his.
They kissed softly once more, before Shiro began to head south. He caressed his neck, his mouth following, lingering Keith in kisses and opened-mouth promises. His hand was trailing to a sculpted pectoral, gracing the nipple and enjoying the new sensation. Keith moans were a nice bonus.
And Shiro touched and touched. Caressing Keith again and again, all over his body, reverently, rediscovering the man under him with new found confidence. And Keith was loving it, seeing Shiro bold, enjoying himself thanks to him. Every stroke was a reassurance, fingers like feathers, careful and lenient for the both of them. It was a first time all over again.
Shiro's hand were on Keith hips, and then on his thigh, parting them softly. Keith let him, feeling the heat pooling in his stomach, under his lover's touch and kisses. Keith was losing himself fast, not used to being this passive. He felt cherished, overwhelmed, loved, and the doubts the lack of touch had instilled were quick to disappeared.
It was so good, for him and for Shiro.
On Keith's legs, Shiro's finger were agile and precise, stroking the skin lovingly. His mouth was quick to follow, kisses more insistent, leaving small bruises and love bite on the inside of Keith's thigh. The knowledge that no one but him would see those gave Shiro inappropriate thoughts. Good thing they were making love.
Keith let out a strangled moan as Shiro hand travelled to the curve of his back, caressing, coming closer and closer to his behind every time, but still not crossing the line. He teased and explore, until finally he was tracing the line of Keith's bottom, to the part where thigh meet buttocks.
He was massaging, lingering, caressing, while dropping kisses on Keith navel. Keith was feeling overwhelmed. He was so sensitive, eyes closed, reinforcing the electrifying feeling Shiro left all over him. It was definitely better now that both arms were of use. And god did Shiro knew how to make him shiver. He was a mess, hand tangled in the sheets behind him, toes curling. For a moment, Shiro left his ministrations to look had him, smiling wide and kissing him again.
"You're too good for me Keith, so good. I love you."
"I love you too Shiro, oh Shiro!"
Shiro's hand was finally on his penis, gentle, caring, stroking him. It was too slow, and Shiro knew it. The rhythm increased, and Keith couldn't contain himself anymore. His arms latched on Shiro, attaching themselves on his back, his head finding refuge on the crook of Shiro neck. They were close, the pleasure that had built inside of them threatening to come out.
It didn't take long for them to reach complexion. There was so much love between them, sensual, and erotic, intimacy renew to new level, like coming home after a long time spend apart. Shiro left hand was on Keith's back, bringing them closer. Their arousals were touching, and Shiro's right hand was still stroking, bringing them to the edge. Keith let out a scream, partially muffled by Shiro's skin, and gripped him harder. Marks were bound to lingered on the black paladin back tomorrow.
Exhausted, Keith closed his eyes, enjoying the warm of his lover warped around him. Shiro was leaving chaste kisses on his hand, the other intertwined together.
It was his right hand.