Archive of Our Own

On a dusty red morning, a dark silhouette appears against a sunrise-painted sky. 

It’s too early to be up, but the town’s been waiting, and a sound that could be either the rustle of the wind or a chorus of excited whispers falls over the empty streets.

They’re telling tales about the lone cowboy, most likely, stories rooted in truth that have taken on the character of folklore after years of being passed from mouth to ear, too much enthusiasm to be recounted entirely without embellishment.

There’s an air of reverence when they speak of him, between the hushed tone of their voices and the way they lean in close to say it, their eyes taking on a spark of wonder. He’s a mystery to them, and it adds to their admiration, allows stories of his deeds to take on a life of their own. Every few months, he comes riding in from parts unknown, silent and stern, saying no more than has to be said and offering no more than a scattering of crumbs to feed their hungry curiosity. He’ll give just a hint of some adventure he’s been on since he last came, speaking into his glass of whiskey, and the men gathered around him at the bar will lean in closer, magnetized, but he’ll leave it at that.

To them, he’s no more filled out in detail than his black silhouette is on the horizon. An intrepid traveler, never stopping for long enough to rest his feet, riding in just for a few days and then disappearing off into the canyon again.  

The townspeople don’t understand him, but they need him. Soon, he’ll be piled upon with requests for help, big and small, tasks they’ve been saving for him until he appears next. 

Shiro, however, is waiting with anticipation for an entirely different reason. 

Beneath him, his horse shifts her weight, breathing out heavily through her nostrils. She’s impatient. He understands. He is too.

Shiro’s eyes stay glued to the horizon as he leans down to pat his horse’s neck. The silhouette grows larger, the dust around the dark horse’s feet coming up fiery orange, lit by the sunrise behind it. 

When the silhouette gets close enough, Shiro lifts his arm high and waves. Catching sight of him now, the silhouette turns, correcting its course to head straight toward him. Shiro swears he can see the figure perk up a little, sitting straighter in the saddle.

A smile spreads across Shiro’s face, wider than it should be, but he can’t help it with how happy he is at the sight, something warm and tickly bubbling up in his chest. He lets out a breath, almost a sigh of relief. 

Keith , his heart beats, and he kicks his horse forward. 

***

“So how long are you in town this time?” 

The clink of their swinging stirrups fills the silence as Shiro waits for an answer, walking beside Keith and holding his horse’s reins loosely in his hand. 

Keith’s eyes stay on the dirt in front of him, and he shrugs. “Maybe a week,” he offers noncommittally. 

It’s a little longer than usual, and Shiro feels lighter, almost like he could float an inch or two off the ground. Maybe this time, he’ll really get a chance to talk to Keith. To tell him what he can hardly contain anymore. 

He tucks his chin towards his chest to try to hide his smile, but Keith looks over just in time and gives a shy smile of his own, peeking up from under his wild bangs. Shiro shoves down an urge to reach out and brush them back off of his forehead. 

“Where are you staying?” He knows the answer before Keith says it, but he asks anyway. 

“I’ll get a room at the inn.”

Shiro’s smile wilts a little, drooping at the corners. “You know you really don’t have to put up all that money for a room every time,” he says quietly, though he knows it’s useless. “You’re always welcome at my place.” 

Keith shakes his head, gently. “I couldn’t impose.” 

“It wouldn’t be an imposition—”

A rapid thumping on the cracked earth interrupts him, approaching from the left, and they both turn. A young boy runs up and stops next to Keith, staring up at him with eyes big as flapjacks while he huffs and puffs, red-faced and winded.

Keith blinks down at him, looking about as bemused as his horse does next to him, fuzzy ears flicked forward and head high. 

“M-my ma said you were in town,” the boy manages between breaths, “but I didn’t believe her.” 

Shiro watches as Keith relaxes, softening into a smile. 

“You know you should always listen to your mother, young man,” he chastens lightly. “They’re usually right.” 

The boy nearly knocks his hat loose off his head from nodding enthusiastically, ready to eat up whatever his hero says. 

Shiro loves watching Keith with kids. His hand unconsciously comes up to rub at the center of his chest as he looks on fondly, pawing at the funny tight feeling there. 

Keith has always struggled with people—people who aren’t Shiro, anyway. But he’s good with kids. 

“Mister, I want to be just like you when I grow up,” the boy says bravely

Keith bends down slightly to be more on the boy’s level, resting his hands on his knees.

“I wish you well in that endeavor.” He leans back and squints, holding out a hand at the level of the boy’s head and bringing it up to his own, like he’s sizing up the distance. “I’d say you’re well on your way.” 

The boy grins wider than if he’d been handed a basket of sweets, tips his hat to Keith, and takes off running back over the hill, nearly tripping over his own feet.

Keith laughs softly as he watches him go, and there’s a new lightness to his face when he turns back to Shiro and shrugs, like he has no idea how he affects people. Shiro just shakes his head.

“Can I at least convince you to come in for some coffee?”

Keith rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Alright.”

***

To the townspeople, Keith is almost more of an idea than he is a man, a shadowy sketch of a person cloaked in mystery. But to Shiro, he’s so much more than that. 

As he fills his kettle with water and sets it on the flame, Keith settles in beside him in the small kitchen corner and silently opens up the bag of coffee grounds, something that’s always tricky for Shiro to do himself with just one arm. 

He watches as Keith moves around his house with a familiarity that makes his chest ache, pulling out two chipped mugs and setting them on the small table by the window. 

He’s a friend, although calling him that feels almost insulting in its inability to describe what Keith means to him. 

They’ve shared thoughts with each other that no one else has heard, they’ve spent dark, painful nights with only each other to lean on, they’ve seen each other’s blood and mended each other’s wounds. Shiro would entrust Keith with his life—hell, he has—and he knows Keith feels the same. 

He pours their coffee grounds—extra strong for Keith—and inhales the smell at the same time that Keith does. They both laugh, and a bit of the still-orange sunlight catches Keith’s eyes as they crease around the corners.

Shiro knows he’s not the only one who’s yearned for Keith. 

Many others have, too—he’s seen it in their eyes, lingering looks that Keith never so much as notices, much less returns. But for them, the yearning is tempered by the mystery that surrounds him, the way he’s known by everyone as someone almost unreachable. For Shiro, it’s different. The pull is stronger, because he knows exactly who he’s being pulled to. It’s harder to let go of the fantasy of having Keith at his side, because he can imagine so clearly what it would be like. He knows how Keith’s voice would sound first thing in the morning, and how he would look blowing the steam off of his coffee across the table from Shiro, just like he is now. 

Still, he’s not convinced that Keith is within his reach, any more than he’s within anyone else’s.

“So, what have you been doing since the last time you came around?” Shiro asks, to change the topic of his own thoughts. 

He stirs some milk into his coffee and watches Keith look out the window, squinting against the sun. 

“Oh, just...the usual.”

Shiro smirks. “So, riding into town after town, birthing calves and healing ill grandmothers and rescuing cats from trees, then disappearing under cover of darkness, leaving a trail of swooning hearts behind?”

Keith snorts into his coffee and shakes his head, brushing Shiro off with an eye roll, but Shiro knows he’s really not too far off the mark. Keith’s adventures are filled with good deeds and bravery. Sometimes Shiro thinks of him as more of a knight than a cowboy. 

He’s proud of Keith, he really is. Incredibly so. He never fails to be impressed by the man he’s grown up to be. 

He just wishes it didn’t mean he had to be gone all the time. 

“I wish you’d stay longer.”

Keith sighs and looks down at the table, hands tightening around his mug. His mouth twists into a frown. “You know I can’t.”

“Why not?” Shiro pushes, because he can’t help it, too spurred by the pain in his chest from weeks of going without Keith. 

“I’m not...I’m not built for staying in one place. The townspeople here—they only like me because I show up to help them and then leave. They’d tire of me real quick if I stuck around.” 

I wouldn’t, Shiro wants to say. Never.

“Keith…I don’t think you give them enough credit. You’re a good man, and they know that.”

Keith shoots him a skeptical look, but leaves it be, and Shiro does too, at least for now. 

He has a week with Keith before he takes flight again, he reminds himself. And he’s going to make the most of it. 

***

Shiro’s not sure what he’s doing when he gathers a small bunch of the hardy wildflowers that grow in the dry field at the back of his property, ties a bit of twine around their stems with the help of his teeth, and tucks them into his breast pocket to bring to Keith when he meets him for a sunset ride.

When he rides up next to Keith and holds them out to him, his hand trembles, and Keith glances down and back to his eyes several times in quick succession, wide-eyed and blushing pretty as the salmon-pink sky behind him. 

He’s not sure either why he rustles up a pair of unused stirrup leathers from his back shed when he sees that one of Keith’s is fraying in the middle, and brings them to him where he sits at a corner table at the back of the saloon.

It feels an awful lot like courting, and when after the first couple of times he realizes that that’s just what it is, he decides to continue. 

His efforts over the years to earn Keith’s affections haven’t been successful, true, but he’s never allowed himself to try this earnestly before, always a little hesitant, afraid that more direct advances will scare Keith away entirely. He would do anything to avoid that. Having Keith once in a blue moon is better than never, and never is something that Shiro doesn’t think he could cope with. 

But after all this time, he’s starting to believe that losing Keith isn’t something he has to worry about, not really. 

When he smiles, Keith smiles back. Each time he rides into town, he heads straight to Shiro, before anything else. And when he leaves all too soon, a shadow of sadness only enters his eyes when he’s bidding Shiro goodbye. 

Years of silent pining have done him no favors, and he’s not getting any younger, and life is a gift that’s never a guarantee. 

If he could only get Keith to settle, to stop chasing phantoms for long enough to let himself be loved.

So Shiro begins to shyly court him, and Keith accepts the little gifts blushingly, a little confused, but helplessly pleased. Shiro spends as much time with Keith as he can during these few days he has him, and he’s happy to find that Keith seems to want to, too. They go on morning rides out past the outskirts of the town, where they can let their horses gallop freely and race each other across the broad, flat sands. In the afternoons, Keith often comes in for coffee or tea, and in the evenings, Shiro goes into town to meet him for dinner. 

He’s not sure what, but something feels different this time. He feels like for the first time, maybe he has a real chance. 

***

There was one time Keith stayed in one place for more than a few days at a time. 

Shiro doesn’t like to think about it, so he doesn’t, often, except when the memories come in sleep and give him no choice. 

He already admired Keith before it happened, although looking back he didn’t yet recognize the feelings tumbling in his chest for what they were. Knowing Keith as a young man, scrappy and cactus-spiked, but trusting with only Shiro, and watching him grow, helping him heal, took care of that for him. 

Shiro’s always believed in Keith. But he never realized just how much Keith believed in him. Not until they were both faced with the limits of what was under their control. 

When Shiro lost his arm, Keith had just departed on one of his first trips out across the desert, back when he was just testing the waters of the newfound freedoms of maturity and it hadn’t yet become a habit. Years later, Shiro still isn’t sure how Keith knew. But just two days later, when he was still lying delirious and feverish in his bed with a phantom pain where his arm used to be, a familiar face appeared in front of him, kneeling at his bedside, flushed and wind-blown and breathing in short gasps. 

Keith stayed with him the entire time. Shiro would drift in and out of consciousness, but each time he reemerged, he could count on turning his head to the side and seeing Keith there, slumped in a rickety chair someone had brought. 

Once the worst of it was over, Shiro tried to set him free, to send him off on his next great adventure. But Keith was having none of it. He stayed, stubbornly, at Shiro’s side throughout his long recovery—months of healing and adjusting and learning a new way of life. Keith walked beside him, tensed and ready to catch him, when Shiro hoisted himself up into the saddle again and tried to learn how to balance with an unbalanced body, how to guide his horse with only one hand. He attached a clamp to the table so Shiro could open cans, and stalked around the house searching for things that could be a hindrance, glaring at them like they’d personally offended him.

Only when Shiro once again felt comfortable in his own skin, or as much as he could be, did Keith start to get that restless gleam in his eyes again, lingering too long on the horizon. 

He almost didn’t leave again. When it came time for him to depart, on a hot morning that had sweat beading on Shiro’s neck before he’d even gotten out of bed, there was a moment where Keith hesitated. He looked back and forth between the open desert and Shiro, a frown creasing his brow. He opened his mouth as if to say something, fingers tight and pressed white around his reins, but Shiro shook his head. 

“I’ll be fine, Keith. Really. You’ve done more than enough. So much more. I can’t keep you tied down here.”

To his surprise, Keith’s frown deepened, and his mouth twisted into a thin line as he fixed his gaze down onto his saddle. Whatever it was, the moment passed, and when he looked back to Shiro, his eyes reflected the same sorrow Shiro felt in himself. At least Keith would miss him, he told himself, and waved as Keith turned and rode off, watching the horse and the man and the cloud of dust until they disappeared over the horizon. 

He assumed Keith’s hesitation was because he was still worried about him, because he felt some sense of duty to stay, and Shiro couldn’t let him do that. He couldn’t let Keith waste his young, wild life, not for him. 

But after all these years, sometimes Shiro wonders if maybe, just maybe, he got it all wrong.

***

Shiro has a plan. 

Well, it’s really not much of a plan, in that the details are sparse and it’s really no more than a determination to tell Keith how he feels, in some way, on the last day before he leaves. The feeling is weighing so heavy on his chest that he knows he just has to get it out, before Keith can take off again, leaving Shiro to long for him until the wind blows him into town once more. It feels like the right time, now, for some reason Shiro can’t define. But the words feel closer to his lips than ever, threatening to spill out whenever Keith is near him. 

A day before Keith told him he planned to leave, Shiro is spending the afternoon mending a fence in his field. It’s not an ideal time for work like this, the searing sun beating down on his back, but it has to be done. He’s crouched in the dry grass, doing his best to hold the new rung up against the fence post with his shoulder while he uses his hand to nail it in place, when his attention is stolen by the rhythmic sound of cantering hooves pounding on the earth behind him. 

He turns just as Keith pulls up to a halt behind him, kicking up a small cloud of dust that stings Shiro’s eyes, though he doesn’t close them, won’t lose any moment to look up at Keith, a proud, beautiful shadow blocking out the sun. 

“I’m leaving,” Keith says, getting straight to the point. “I came to tell you—”

Shiro’s heart sinks and begins to race in panic all at once. He stands, dropping his hammer, hardly noticing the clatter as the fence rung falls back to the ground.

“What? No, you—you said you were staying ‘til tomorrow…” 

Keith breaks his gaze and sighs, an uncomfortable set to his shoulders. He doesn’t look happy with his decision, there’s no doubt of that, and there’s something conflicted and pained in his frowning face.

“I just…I just have to go.” He looks off into the distance, searching for what, Shiro doesn’t know, but he refuses to believe that he couldn’t give it to him, whatever it is. 

“Keith…” Shiro reaches out, up, like he could draw Keith to him and never let him go. “Come down. Please.” 

Keith hesitates, blinking, surprised perhaps by the honest vulnerability in Shiro’s voice. After a moment, he swings his leg over and hops down out of the saddle, leaving him standing too close, so close Shiro has to tilt his head down to meet his eyes. 

“Don’t leave.” 

“Shiro…”

“You can’t...you can’t just keep running, Keith.” His heart is pounding in his chest, and he moves forward, closer to Keith, desperate. He can’t let Keith slip through his fingers now, he can’t.

Keith frowns, but Shiro knows he’s hiding behind it. He’s taking small steps backwards as Shiro presses forwards, not fearful, but trying to avoid this conversation. But Shiro won’t let him. 

“I’m not running,” he protests, but it’s weak and laced with doubt. 

“ Keith. ”

Somehow, Shiro has ended up turning them and walking Keith backwards, half-cornered against the fence, where he leans back against it now, staring up at Shiro, wide-eyed.

“Then let me come with you,” he says before he can think it over. 

“What?” 

“I want to be where you are, Keith. So if you don’t want to settle, at least let me follow. I can’t—I can’t keep letting you go anymore.” 

Keith’s eyes dart back and forth, searching Shiro’s face. They’re wide and shining and fearful, filled with doubt and confusion and a glimmer of desperate hope that Shiro recognizes all too well. So he does the only thing he can to wipe that look off of Keith’s face, and he kisses him. 

Shiro didn’t have much in the way of a plan. But this certainly wasn’t part of it.

His hand comes up to cup Keith’s cheek as their lips meet. It fits perfectly there, and he feels Keith lean into it before he’s even had a chance to react, like it’s instinct to chase more of Shiro’s touch. When his mind catches up to the feeling of Shiro’s lips sealed to his, he freezes for a moment, tensing under Shiro’s palm. 

Shiro waits for a beat, hoping that once the shock passes Keith will kiss him back, hoping he hasn’t just ruined everything. He’s about to pull back, heart sinking, when all at once, Keith lets out a long sigh, his lips part, and he melts into Shiro’s chest. 

A small noise is knocked out of Shiro’s throat, a broken sound of relief and amazement at once. Keith is so soft against him, and Shiro can feel his heart beating hummingbird-fast, and his hands land on Shiro’s chest and curl, so Shiro presses forward just that bit more against the fence, holding Keith closer to him. 

He’s kissing Keith. Keith. And he isn’t being pushed away. It’s almost more than he ever dared to let himself dream of, and it has his heart tripping over itself and his world spinning.

Keith isn’t kissing back yet, but Shiro can tell he wants to, so he coaxes his pliant lips to open further and dips his tongue into Keith’s mouth for a first gentle taste. 

There’s a rumble that Shiro realizes distantly is coming from him, vibrating in his chest. Keith tastes like summer, like sweet fruit and heat and dust. He slides his hand back to thread his fingers into Keith’s hair, caught there in its tangles. Using his grip to angle Keith’s head, Shiro pushes forward and kisses him deeper, chasing more. It will never be enough. 

When Keith shyly starts to meet Shiro’s tongue with his own in hesitant swipes, Shiro groans with pleasure. Keith’s arms wind their way around Shiro’s neck, like he wants to get closer, and his exploring kisses become bolder. 

There’s an urgency to Shiro’s movements, the way he kisses Keith a little too clumsy, explores his mouth with a little too much hunger, slides his hand down to grab his waist a little too hard. It’s born of the lingering fear that he only has so many moments to get to do this, before Keith realizes that it’s Shiro he’s letting push him against a tipping fence and taste the backs of his teeth, before he jerks away, angry, and rides away forever, because Shiro couldn’t possibly be this lucky, not really. 

When they part to gasp for air, Shiro knows he has to say what he feels, and it spills out of him, breathless, without a second thought.

“Please, Keith. Don’t leave. Just...just let me love you.” The words come out desperate, hoarse and painfully earnest. 

Keith’s gasp cracks through the air like lightning. 

“Y-you—you love me?” There’s no questioning the honesty of his surprise, not with the way his eyes are wide like a startled animal. He sounds broken too, sounds like Shiro feels, and maybe there’s a real chance for them, after all. 

Shiro shakes his head. It’s unimaginable to him that Keith couldn’t know. That he wouldn’t see. That he doesn’t understand just how worthy of love he is. 

But Shiro’s going to show him. 

“Of course, Keith,” he breathes into the space between them, the words only just out of his mouth before he’s closing it over Keith’s again, not holding back now, pouring his devotion into the way he moves their lips together, the way he strokes a thumb into the soft underside of Keith’s jaw and licks into him. 

“Will you let me worship you?” he whispers into the tender skin of Keith’s throat, kissing and nipping while he grips the nape of his neck. “Like you deserve, sweetheart. Can I do that for you, please?”

Keith shudders, a vulnerable sound leaving him, thin and wanting.

For the first time in a long while, Shiro wishes he had two arms, if only so he could wrap them around Keith and envelope him entirely, make him feel the love he deserves. But one will have to do, and he uses it to grab the back of Keith's thigh where it meets his ass and hoist him up. It’s easy with the way Keith has practically been crawling up him, standing on his toes and clinging to his neck. Keith gasps into his mouth when he’s lifted, but Shiro won’t let the kiss break, and Keith wraps his strong legs around Shiro’s waist without hesitation, anchoring himself there so it’s no difficulty for Shiro to pull back from the fence, taking all of Keith’s weight, and begin to walk them in the direction of his barn. 

It’s not far, luckily, and Shiro knows the way well enough that he barely has to stop kissing Keith, something he never wants to do again. His lips are getting sore, but he doesn’t care; all that matters is the heat of Keith against him and the way he’s chasing each and every touch, like he’s been longing for it just as much as Shiro has. 

The thought is almost too much to consider, that maybe Keith has been nursing a flame in his chest for Shiro all this time, too. He’s so glad it hasn’t gone out. 

Inside the barn, Shiro locates a plush mound of piled-up hay and lowers Keith down onto it, going with him so their bodies never part, pulling back just enough so that he can see the blown-out shine of Keith’s eyes when he settles on top of him, a heavy but careful weight pressing him down.

Keith swallows, a little hiccuping sound caught in his throat. His eyes are searching Shiro’s face, and a hand comes up, curved fingers tracing along his jaw, feather-light. Shiro holds stock still, like a statue, like he’s just gotten a wild creature to trust him and is afraid to startle it away, now that its gentle curiosity has shyly appeared. He lets Keith cup his cheek, run a finger over his lips, follow the scar across the bridge of his nose with fingertips so soft he can hardly feel them. 

Letting his hand fall back to Shiro’s shoulder, where his fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt absently, Keith’s forehead crinkles into a thoughtful frown, almost a pout. He fixes his gaze somewhere around Shiro’s chin, and his fingers begin to pick at a loose thread on Shiro’s shirt. 

“I never thought...that you would—” he huffs a little sigh, eyes darting away. 

“Oh, Keith.” Shiro shakes his head. His heart aches that Keith didn’t realize—that he didn’t make it clear...but there’s one thing he can do about that now. 

Propping himself on his elbow by Keith’s shoulder, he takes Keith’s chin in a firm but gentle hold and turns his head. 

“Keith. Look at me.” 

Keith blinks, and obeys the command in Shiro’s voice, almost surprised that he has, from the look of it, the faint blush on his cheeks.

“I’ve wanted you in every way a man can want since the day I met you,” he tells him, and he presses the truth of it into his lips, kissing him hard and deep and taking him sweetly, thoroughly apart, leaving no doubt as to how he feels. 

Shiro’s love for Keith has been a constant, persistent thing, starting from that first moment and  carving grooves into his heart bit by bit like a river into a canyon, leaving him beautifully and immutably changed. He hopes now that he can show Keith that love, warm him with it when times are cold and help him untangle whatever knots inside of him tell him he has to always keep chasing something far away. 

For now, at least, Keith isn’t going anywhere; Shiro is confident of that. He arches beneath him, pushing up into the kiss and the feeling of Shiro’s weight on top of him. His hands are anchored to Shiro’s shoulders, gripping tight and almost kneading the muscle there, like he can’t help it, just like the small noises escaping his throat and the gasps when Shiro plays with his tongue. 

Shiro’s hand has slid down from its grasp on Keith’s chin to settle on his neck, fitted perfectly to the soft underside of his jaw, thumb just resting across his throat. He strokes there every so often, when Keith bucks against him or whines an especially needy sound into his mouth. It works, calming him for a moment afterwards, and Shiro feels a warm swell of pride and something else in the pit of his stomach that he already has the ability to soothe Keith with just a touch. 

They’ve hardly done more than kissing, but Shiro can already feel Keith hard against his thigh, and his own pants are growing tight. It occurs to him that this isn’t slowing down, and that Keith deserves more than the floor of a dusty barn, so as much as it pains him to stop, he pulls himself away from Keith’s lips, unable to help dipping back in for another taste.

“I should probably take you in the house…”

“No,” Keith blurts, grabbing Shiro’s arm in a vice grip to keep him from moving off of him. “Here.” 

It’s a clear demand, and Shiro can tell he won’t be able to convince Keith to take the time to be moved to a soft bed instead of a pile of hay.

“Mmm, alright,” he chuckles darkly, ducking down to nuzzle the corner of Keith’s jaw, nipping at his throat. “Can’t wait, huh?”

There’s a hand in the tufted forelock of his hair now, gripping tight and yanking his head up to see Keith staring up at him, fire and steel in his eyes, glinting in a way that makes Shiro’s breath catch and heat spark in his belly. 

“No,” Keith answers, and he’s barely gotten it out before Shiro is on him, taking his lips in a searing kiss. He thinks he might growl, not really aware of the sounds coming out of him because all that matters is Keith. He’s all that’s ever mattered very much, really. 

Once Keith’s lips are kiss-swollen and glistening red, Shiro moves to his neck, leaving messy kisses and red marks blooming in his wake. At the hollow of Keith’s throat, after licking up the taste of the gathered sweat there, Shiro looks up at Keith with intent and heated promise in his gaze. 

“I’m gonna show you…show you just how precious you are.” 

Keith gulps and nods, eyes blown wide and cheeks flushed petal-pink. Shiro sits up, kneeling in the space between Keith’s legs, and runs a splayed hand up his stomach, just because he can, stopping when he’s cupping Keith’s chest, thumbing over his nipple through his shirt to see if he’ll gasp. He does, and bites his lips to stop it, until Shiro pulls it out of his mouth, shaking his head. 

“None of that, sweetheart. I want to hear you. No holding yourself back.” 

Keith makes a plaintive noise that Shiro shushes, fixated now on the skin disappearing beneath the collar of his buttoned shirt. Suddenly, he needs more. 

Quickly, a little clumsily with their enthusiasm, Shiro’s fingers unbutton Keith’s shirt, all the way down, spurred on by each new inch of skin revealed to him. He needs to become familiar with all of that skin, every part of Keith, to put his mark on him and press his love into him, until he can forget all the years he spent wanting and waiting.

He moves slowly down Keith’s body, taking his time, laying worship to his skin with tongue and lips and fingers, grabbing at his ribs and then his hip, holding him in place as he kisses the flat of his lower stomach. Above him, Keith is watching, rapt, eyes blowing even wider when Shiro starts to tug down his trousers. As soon as Keith’s cock is revealed to him, Shiro groans and hurries to get Keith’s legs free, fumbling to pull the trousers the rest of the way down, pausing to take off his boots and then yanking them off completely. 

Keith lets him, even though it takes him a bit longer with only one hand to work with. But Shiro wants to do this himself, and Keith seems to know that, lying there pliant, watching and chewing his lower lip. 

When he’s done, Shiro nudges Keith’s legs apart, and they fall open beautifully, welcoming him between them. He lays himself back down there in the warm splay of Keith’s thighs, and Keith makes a confused sound when he settles down at his hips, not crawling back up to Keith’s lips like he expects. 

Shiro doesn’t let the confusion last long. Taking Keith’s cock in a loose grip, Shiro strokes it once, smirking at the sound of Keith’s startled moan and the jump of his hips. 

“All worked up, huh sweetheart?” he coos. He isn’t surprised; Keith feels painfully hard in his grasp, flushed hot pink and leaking precum already. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of that,” he promises, and with that, he takes Keith into his mouth. 

Keith shouts, his legs kicking out and a hand flying down to grab at the back of Shiro’s head, searching desperately for purchase in the short hair there. Shiro chuckles, shocking another sound out of Keith at the vibration around him. He sinks down, taking as much of Keith into his mouth as he comfortably can, working his tongue over him and seeing how many different sounds he can coax out. 

He could spend forever here, letting Keith take up all the space in his mouth, but there’s so much to explore, and to be honest, he’s in a hurry to get to the next destination. 

Shiro pulls off of Keith’s cock with a slurp, leaving Keith gasping like he was holding his breath, maybe even trying not to come already if the tightness in the flexing tendon of his thighs is any indicator. Shiro doesn’t give him long to recover, though, because he’s hungry, a man on a singular mission, and after hardly a moment he’s grabbing Keith by the soft meat of the back of his thigh and lifting it up, pushing his leg back so that it’s propped up and out, making room for him to bury his face between Keith’s ass cheeks. 

“Wha—ah!”

Keith’s legs snap closed around Shiro’s head reflexively, jolted by the sharp sensation, but that doesn’t stop Shiro. He doubles down, licking a wet stripe wide over Keith’s hole, moaning for it, prying Keith’s thigh back open so he can push closer and lick deeper, holding on tight so Keith can’t wriggle away from the pleasure. 

“ Shiro ,” Keith gasps, breaking into a moan, hands flitting between Shiro’s hair and his own like he can’t decide what to do with them. 

Shiro eats him out like a starving man—and he has been starving, starving for Keith for all these years, and now that he has him, he knows he’ll never get enough. He works his tongue inside the tight furl of Keith hole, pushing past the barrier to stroke the silky insides of him until he’s shuddering and whining barely-pronounced strings of profanity. Shiro’s messy about it, no concern for manners, too happy to hold back and too dedicated to taking Keith apart. He’ll prove himself, here on this pile of hay in a dim barn, prove that Keith wasn’t mistaken to give him this soft part of himself, that he’ll be worthy. 

Shiro’s thinking idly about how many times he’s going to make Keith come today when Keith groans and squirms against Shiro’s firm hold on his thigh, momentarily dislodging his mouth, much to his displeasure. 

“You gonna fuck me anytime soon?” Keith grits out, tough words for someone currently grinding his hips down to ride Shiro’s face.

Shiro chuckles and shakes his head, coming up for air reluctantly and sitting back up, shuffling to brace himself over Keith and kiss the taste of him into his mouth. 

“You’re trouble.” 

Shifting back onto his knees, Shiro takes the opportunity to finally unfasten his trousers and pull out his swollen cock, letting it spring out of its uncomfortable confines. 

“You’re gonna need a lot more prep than that to take this cock, baby.”

Keith gapes, and Shiro smirks, a little too pleased, maybe, but who could blame him. 

“Now, lie back and let me take my time with you.”

There’s no more protest as Shiro pulls the shirt off his head and wrangles his pants and underwear off. He lowers himself back down, laying his body on top of Keith’s and finally feeling skin to skin, touching everywhere. They both gasp at the sensation, eyes meeting and sharing a moment of surprised bliss. Shiro could happily stay here, get off just by rubbing together, make them both come in a mess between their bellies. 

He indulges for a minute, kissing Keith lazily, open mouthed and wet while he slowly rocks their hips together, hissing when he feels the sweet slide of Keith’s cock against his own for the first time. 

Before they can build up a rhythm and get carried away, Shiro reluctantly stills and sits up. Keith whines at the loss, reaching out a hand that Shiro captures and brings up to his mouth for a kiss. 

“Shhh, don’t you wanna come with my cock in you, baby?”

Keith flushes the prettiest pink, still unused to hearing things like that. It only makes Shiro want to ruin him more. He nods, biting his lip, and Shiro settles to kneel between Keith’s thighs, splayed out so easily to make room for his bulk. He takes a moment to run his hand over one of them, hooks it over his arm to kiss the soft inside of his knee, the untouched skin of his inner thigh. 

“We’ll need some type of oil,” Shiro muses, looking around the barn and searching his brain for what they might use without having to go into the house. 

“Why?” Keith grumbles, squirming impatiently below him. “You’ve already gotten me plenty wet.”

Shiro pinches Keith’s inner thigh, gets him to yelp. 

“It’ll hurt, Keith.” He pauses for a moment, shrugs. “We can try it sometime, if you want, but not this time.”

His eyes fall on the spare saddle propped in the corner, and his mind jumps to the bottle of neatsfoot oil he keeps in here to condition the leather. He instructs Keith to hold still and gets to his feet, dashing over to the wooden tote where he keeps his leather care materials and grabbing the oil before hurrying back to his place between Keith’s thighs. Keith tightens them around him as soon as he’s settled, as if to keep him from running off again. 

“I’m going to open you up on my fingers now,” Shiro tells him, holding the bottle upside down so a pool of oil dribbles out into his hand, then setting it aside. 

Keith watches him, rapt, as Shiro brings his slick hand between his legs and spreads the oil over him, just rubbing at first. He gasps at the cold, but warmth comes quickly from Shiro’s fingers. As soon as he feels the furl of Keith’s hole relaxing under his massaging touch, he presses one inside, pushing past the slight resistance as Keith clenches down involuntarily on the intrusion. Shiro keeps going until the finger is buried, watching every expression that flits across Keith’s face as he’s filled. 

“There you go, sweetheart,” he murmurs mindlessly as he begins to thrust his finger, working Keith looser until he can coax another finger in beside it. “That’s what you needed, isn’t it?”

A moan rattles out of Keith’s throat in answer, and his thighs spread open further, as wide as they can get. Shiro rewards that by plunging his fingers deeper, twisting and curling and stroking his hot, silky walls until Keith is coming suddenly, completely untouched, spurting onto his stomach with a sharp cry.

Shiro freezes for a moment, at first because he’s taken by surprise, and then because that was unbearably hot and he doesn’t know how to process it. A second later, he settles on bending over Keith and kissing him hungrily, fingers still buried deep inside of him, making him twitch with oversensitivity when they shift. Keith breaks the kiss to breathe, still panting from his orgasm, and Shiro takes his mouth down to Keith’s belly instead, licking the stripes of come spilled across his skin that’s jumping irregularly with his breath. 

“Fuck,” Keith pants. 

Shiro nips at his hip and makes a low, pleased noise that comes from somewhere deep that doesn’t know words. His fingers haven’t moved, and Keith starts to shift around them, minute movements of his hips.

Shiro raises his eyebrows. “Ready to go again already?”

“Well, yeah,” Keith huffs, pushing down on Shiro’s fingers in earnest now in one pointed jerk. “I haven’t gotten you inside me yet.” 

“Mmm,” Shiro hums, and kisses his belly, lips curling in a smile. He can’t believe he gets to have this. He can’t believe he gets to shower Keith with love and make him come and stroke his hair in bed on sunny mornings, instead of always waiting and longing with his eyes on the horizon. 

“Not until I open you up more,” he mumbles into Keith’s skin, lost for a moment in the warmth and softness of him. Keith makes a disgruntled sound and squirms beneath him, hips hitching. 

“I– Shiro, ” he whines, grabbing at Shiro’s hair, like he could pull him up out of his home between his legs and make Shiro fuck him. It’s not an unpleasant prospect, Shiro realizes when his cock twitches at the thought, but this isn’t the time for that. 

He doesn’t really need it, probably, but Shiro’s not done. He wants to indulge, just a little, for as long as he has Keith here, pliant and soft and laid out before him. So he pulls his fingers out slowly, letting Keith feel the drag of them until his fingertips are teasing at his rim, just barely holding him spread open. Then he plunges them back in until they’re fully buried in one smooth motion, watching as they disappear and stretch Keith’s hole around them. A moan rattles from Keith’s throat, but Shiro hardly notices, too mesmerized by the sight. 

He pulls his fingers back slightly, spreads them apart, and then dives in to press his face between Keith’s thighs and fill the space between his fingers with his tongue. It gets messy, licking into Keith as enthusiastically as he is while his fingers continue to pump in and out, twisting and spreading and pushing deeper. His mouth is red, his cheeks are wet, and his jaw is aching, but he doesn’t care, too hungry for more.

“Oh, Shiro,” Keith moans, squirming and writhing on Shiro’s tongue, “Shiro, please.” 

Shiro can see Keith’s cock twitch and leak onto his stomach when he blinks his eyes open, fully hard again and clearly aching. He’s aching too, having had nearly no relief, and he bucks against the ground beneath him before he can help it, grunting and doubling down with one last sloppy kiss to Keith’s hole. 

“There you go, baby,” he says, breathless, as he finally pulls his fingers free, earning an unhappy whine from Keith when he’s left empty, fluttering around nothing. “You’ll be full soon,” he promises, “don’t worry. I know that’s what you need.” 

He’s just rambling at this point, spewing whatever the primal part of his mind wants to say as he gets up onto his knees and nudges up between Keith’s legs, wedging them open around him until his cock bumps and slips over Keith’s hole. Keith gasps and hitches his hips, and Shiro groans from deep in his chest, grabbing Keith by the hip and doing it again. 

They both shudder at the feeling, the way Shiro’s head catches on his rim and pulls it a little, slick and open enough that it feels like he could almost just slip in. He repeats the motion a couple more times, watching, rapt, until Keith bucks against him and looks as if he just might flip Shiro over and sit down on his cock himself. 

“Shhh, okay,” he soothes, and gives Keith’s hip a pat before letting go to take hold of his own cock, wrapping his hand around the base and using the grip to guide it until the head is kissing Keith’s hole, which flinches at the touch. “Ready, sweetheart?”

Keith has the cheek to roll his eyes and huff before he nods, but the look gets knocked off his face when Shiro immediately rolls his hips and sinks all the way home in one long thrust. 

He’s still careful, doesn’t want to hurt Keith, but he knows he’s stretched enough, so he fills him quickly, unyielding, until he feels his hips flush against Keith’s ass. 

“That’s it, take it all, I know you can,” he growls, eyes fixed on where he’s splitting Keith open. “Look at you.” He cheeks flush at the things he’s saying, things his more conscious self would never imagine uttering, but the words spill from his mouth unbidden and honest.

Keith makes a punched-out noise, and it draws Shiro’s eyes upwards, up to the sight of Keith, glassy-eyed and flushed, pink lips swollen and parted invitingly around a moan. It’s the prettiest damn thing Shiro’s ever seen. 

Shiro rolls his hips experimentally, and Keith gasps, his eyes widening. His hand flies down between his legs and his fingers find where they’re joined, feeling how stretched he is around Shiro’s girth. 

“Deep, huh baby?” 

Keith nods, mouth open in a silent moan and hands clawing at Shiro’s thighs. 

“God, S-Shiro,” Keith stutters, “that’s so–uhn!” he breaks off with a gasp when Shiro gives a shallow, sharp thrust, testing how deep he is, like he has to check. 

“Good?”

“Mmmm.” Keith nods, arching his head back, exposing his throat. Shiro wants to lick it, so he does, dropping down over Keith and bracing his elbow next to his head, laying claim to Keith’s throat and sucking wet bruises into the tender skin while he begins to rock in a shallow rhythm. 

Keith’s hands clamber to hold him, wrapping as far as they can around his wide back. His fingers dig into the muscle there, clinging to him. Shiro moves to his mouth, taking it in a hot, open-mouthed kiss, thrusting his tongue into Keith’s mouth in the same rhythm as his cock. 

“You feel so good, so good for me. So tight inside, aren’t you? And just for me. You’re all mine.” 

“Uuuhhhn, Shiro!” Keith cries, arching and wriggling down on Shiro’s cock, like he needs him deeper, harder. And Shiro is nothing if not obliging for his boy.

He pushes himself back up, sitting on his knees and pushing up further between Keith’s legs, grabbing one thigh and draping it over his own, encouraging Keith to do the same with the other. The angle has Keith’s hips tilted up, and now when Shiro’s fucks into him, he can put much more power behind it, driving into Keith hard and deep. 

“Ooohhh, fuck!” Keith cries, grabbing at handfuls of hay, thighs clamping reflexively around Shiro’s hips. 

Shiro knows he’s hitting his sweet spot with the way his stomach jumps and tenses, and the chorus of little gasping “uh, uh, uh” sounds he’s making. 

“Oh baby, you’re doing so well for me, fuck,” he grits out. He strokes his hand over Keith’s side in wide paths, cupping his ribs and palming at his belly with a sweetness that betrays the brutal snapping of his hips that has Keith moving up on the hay with each impact. 

Keith’s starting to clamp down on him on every other thrust, and the constant noises he’s making are pitching higher, but Shiro’s not ready for this to be over yet, so he slows down, eventually settling into a steady, deep grind. Keith whines and twists his hips, trying to pick the rhythm back up himself, which gives Shiro an idea. 

Carefully, he pulls out, distracted momentarily by the sight left behind of Keith’s hole wet and puffy pink and clenching desperately around nothing. While Keith catches his breath enough to complain, Shiro flips down onto his back in the hay, hooking his arm around Keith’s waist and scooping him up, getting him to straddle his hips and sit on top of him. 

“Ride me, baby,” he says. “Wanna watch you.” 

Keith swallows, suddenly insecure, a little shy about sitting down on Shiro’s cock and taking what he needs the way Shiro wants him to. But Shiro knows he’ll do it, knows he’ll try for him, so he holds his cock steady and coos encouragingly while Keith lines himself up and tries sinking down on it, forehead twisting in an adorable frown as he struggles with the angle. The head pops in, and Keith hisses, working more in little by little. He’s a little tense now, having a hard time focusing on relaxing while also being on top, so it’s a tighter fit.

“Come on, just relax sweetheart, there you go, yeah, just let yourself sit on it, good boy.” 

A breathy grunt is knocked out of him when he does, dropping down onto Shiro’s hips and taking the rest in one movement.

“Aahhh, fuck you’re big,” he mutters, half annoyed, but Shiro only chuckles and smoothes his hand up from his hip to his ribs. “You…you press everywhere inside of me.” He’s looking down, a hand spread over his belly tenderly, and Shiro has the thought that maybe if he pressed down there in a certain position he could even feel himself buried inside, a thought that strikes him  sharp and searing, enough that he has to clench his hand to stop himself from rolling them over again and fucking Keith into the ground.

Instead, he fucks his hips up once, just bouncing Keith enough that he remembers how good it feels, then uses his grip on the curve of Keith’s waist to encourage him to move. Slowly, haltingly at first, then increasingly smoothly, Keith starts to roll his hips, to rock back and forth on Shiro’s cock. Shiro watches his face as he grinds down on it, figuring out how to hit the spots that feel good, finding his rhythm. The feeling that swells up in his chest can only be described as adoration. Admiration and love and friendship and desire all wrapped up into one.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, staring up at Keith like he’s the full moon on a lonely night. “I can’t believe you’re mine.” He catches Keith’s hand and twines their fingers together, breathless at the way they fit, the way they look in the narrow beams of light that spill through the slats of the barn walls. Keith speeds on top of him, lifting himself up now and dropping back down with soft little “ ah, ah, ah ”’s as he rolls his hips with increasing urgency.

Shiro pulls their joined hands to his chest, turns Keith’s hand and presses his palm against his heart. Keith opens his eyes then, searching for Shiro’s and then meeting them, wide and dark.

“I love you,” he whispers, but Shiro hears it clear as a bell, a sound he’ll never forget. For a moment, he feels dizzy, like the earth is turning underneath him, because while he figured Keith wasn’t riding his cock because he didn’t have some feelings for him, he never anticipated how it would feel to actually hear it.

“ Keith ,” he gasps, and then his hips snap up without his permission, just a gut response to the feeling flooding him. It shocks a sharp cry from Keith, and then he’s riding Shiro harder, rolling his hips faster and bouncing himself on Shiro’s cock.

“That’s it, baby, take what you need, yeah, make yourself come on my cock, I’ve got you sweetheart,” Shiro babbles, and his hand is on every inch of skin he can reach–Keith’s thigh, his hip, his ribs, his soft stomach, his peaked nipples. 

Keith begins to clench around him, and his moans turn thin and desperate, and then Shiro watches him come apart, spilling across Shiro’s abdomen and giving a last few halting rolls of his hips before he stills. 

Immediately, Shiro surges upwards, capturing Keith’s mouth in a kiss because he needs to taste him, has to be closer. He stays seated on Shiro’s cock, catching his breath, belly fluttering and jumping as he comes down and shuddering with the aftershocks. 

Shiro sweetens his kiss after a moment, pulling back to give Keith some space to breathe, leaning back on his arm and meeting him in soft, lingering kisses. Keith’s hands come up to his shoulders and cling to him as he accepts the kisses and returns them as much as he can, drained of energy and still recovering.

“Mmm,” Shiro hums, smiling into Keith’s mouth. He’s still hard and verging on painful where he’s buried in Keith’s warmth, but right now it’s only a vague irritant at the back of his mind while he basks in this happy glow. 

After a minute longer of indulging, Shiro moves to take Keith’s hip in his hand and encourage him to gently lift off of him, knowing he must be getting sensitive still being filled after his orgasm, but Keith makes a muffled noise of protest into his mouth and tenses up, sitting back firmly in Shiro’s lap.

“I-I want you to keep going. Finish inside me.”

Shiro’s not sure he heard that correctly. His cock pulses, and he blinks, but when he looks at Keith his eyes are still lidded with desire, flushed and tired and fucked out as he is. 

“You sure?” he asks quietly, hand skating back to press into Keith’s lower back. 

Keith nods with conviction, so after another moment of hesitation where Shiro worries about Keith being too sensitive, about hurting him, about overwhelming him even if it’s what he wants,  he’s wrapping his arm around Keith’s waist and using it to hoist him up and off his cock with a wet sound that makes them both groan. 

He puts him on his belly in the soft hay, moving behind him. Keith’s back is pink and criss-crossed from the hay, and Shiro thinks of how he’ll lay him down later on his bed inside and rub salve all over the irritated skin after this, lavishing him with all the tenderness and care he deserves. 

Shiro covers him, lying over his back and kissing his shoulder and the nape of his neck. His cock finds Keith’s ass and slots against it, grinding as he waits, wanting to give Keith at least a little longer to recover. After a minute, though, Keith reaches back and grabs at Shiro’s hip, tugging at it weakly, and he obliges the silent request and shifts, bumping against Keith’s still-open hole. 

He can’t guide himself in when he’s leaning on his arm, so Keith reaches back and strains to wrap his hand around Shiro’s cock, lining him up so Shiro can slide home in one smooth, slow stroke. 

“ Hahh , ooohhhh,” Keith moans, burying his face in the hay and clenching his fists as Shiro fills him again, pressing on his tender sweet spot. Shiro coos, hushing him and kissing his warm cheek. Keith’s clearly overstimulated this soon after coming, so Shiro stills, ready to check in and pull out if need be, but Keith shakes his head. 

“No, keep going,” he insists through grit teeth.

After a moment’s hesitation, Shiro starts moving, thrusting carefully, keeping it soft and sweet. 

“Mmmph,” Keith grunts, and his lower legs bend up into the air, toes curling. 

Shiro lets more of his weight sink onto Keith, pressing him down and pushing into him deep. His breath is hot in the crook of Keith’s shoulder where his face is buried, surrounded by Keith’s scent, Keith’s sounds, Keith’s warmth. 

The little noises Keith makes with each fuck in are muffled and knocked out of him, but after a while they start to pitch higher, to take on a needier note that catches Shiro’s attention. When Keith starts pushing his hips back to meet Shiro’s thrusts, he knows that it must be feeling good again, and it pulls a groan out of him and spurs him to drive in harder.

“Yeah? That feel good, baby?” He barely recognizes the sound of his own voice, too rough and hungry. Keith responds eagerly, nodding his head and letting loose a loud whimper when Shiro snaps his hips, enough force to jolt Keith up the hay. 

“Uh huh, ah, mmmm .” 

“Good. Gonna make you come again, baby. Make sure you never think of anyone but me fucking you.”

“Ah, no, no one else, never.” 

Keith is arching his back now beneath him, pressing back up into him like he wants it deeper, and Shiro is not one to deny Keith what he wants. 

He pounds into him, working up to a brutal pace that has Keith squirming and shouting his moans until they echo in the barn’s dusty rafters. Shiro’s overtaken by it, by the need to be close, to stake his claim, to bury himself inside of Keith until he can’t remember what it was like  to not have him. 

Working his arm under Keith and wrapping it around him, Shiro palms at his belly, pulling him back flush to him with every thrust. He tightens his hold and stills for just a moment so he can roll them over, onto their sides, curled around Keith from behind. He continues to fuck into him, shifting his arm lower to provide a firm bar across Keith’s lower stomach, just above his hips, giving him leverage. 

In this position, Keith can throw his head back against Shiro’s shoulder, exposing his throat for Shiro to lick the sweat off of. His leg raises and hooks back over Shiro’s, giving him room to drive in deeper. 

“Ohhh, Shiro, god, fuck, I’m–” Keith cuts himself off with a moan, panting and craning his head back to bury his face against Shiro’s jaw. 

He’s hard again, leaking precum and bouncing against his stomach and Shiro’s arm with each sharp thrust, and Shiro can tell he’s close. 

Keith cries out when he pulls out suddenly, getting up on his knees.

“Wait–”

“Shhh, I’ve got you.” Shiro knees up to him, keeping Keith lying on his side and grabbing his top thigh, pulling it up vertically and using it to tug Keith closer, flush with his hips so his cock bumps up against Keith’s plush inner thigh. He slings Keith’s lower leg over his shoulder, hand tight around his knee, thumb pressing an imprint into the soft back of it, then manages to catch his cock against Keith’s fucked out hole and slip right inside, picking his punishing pace back up immediately. 

“Oh!” Keith gasps, “Shiro, Shiro, fuck, Shiro, please.”

“God, look at you. So pretty for me, so good baby. Are you gonna come?”

Shiro shifts his hips, angles them slightly sideways so he can fuck straight into Keith’s sweet spot, rubbing against it ruthlessly with each stroke. 

“ Mmmmm! ” Keith keens, nodding his head. He’s so close, but he doesn’t even touch himself, lets Shiro bring him to his finish with his cock alone. Keith’s thigh twitches then tenses in Shiro’s hand, leg squeezing around his shoulder. Their bodies slap together, loud enough now that Shiro’s sure any birds living in the barn’s rafters have long since fled. Shiro’s hand is slipping in its grip on Keith’s thigh, too slick with sweat to hold on to no matter how tight he squeezes.

Keith’s whole body shudders as he comes, his hole clamping down in irregular spasms, bringing Shiro right with him. Finally, he’s coming, fucking in a few more jolting times as Keith milks it out of him, relishing the feeling of spilling inside of him.

“Keith,” he pants, more a prayer than a name, “Keith…”

“Mmmph,” Keith grunts. His leg flops down when Shiro lets it go, body exhausted and boneless. He’s breathing heavily, chest heaving, and his hole is twitching where Shiro still splits him open, uncomfortable for them both now. Gingerly, Shiro pulls out as he softens, stroking Keith’s hip and cooing soft meaningless words when he hisses. 

As soon as they’re separated, Shiro lies down on his side facing Keith and pulls him against his chest, arm around his back and stroking it in wide sweeps. He can’t bare to have any distance between them now, not after they’ve just shared this, after Shiro’s ensured that Keith is his. 

Keith doesn’t seem to mind, snuggling closer and tucking his nose into the hollow at the base of Shiro’s throat. Shiro can feel him smile. His heart feels light, made of goose feathers. 

“I love you,” he whispers, just to say it again. 

Keith hums, and he can feel it in his chest. “I love you too.” And then, after a quiet moment, “And I really love your cock.” 

“ Keith!” Shiro squawks, both indignant and embarrassed and not just a little pleased, cheeks hot and pink where he hides them against the top of Keith’s head, which is vibrating with his laughter. 

“Seriously. You made me come three times? Not bad.” 

Shiro pinches his ass in retaliation. 

“I don’t know about you, but I’ve had about enough of this barn.”

Before Keith can even stand up and brush the hay off of his sweat-sticky body, Shiro’s getting up and hoisting him with one arm up over his shoulder, much to Keith’s squealing chagrin. 

With no shame or concern for modesty, Shiro marches them out of his barn and across the field towards his little house, Keith’s ass pleasantly close to his face and his thighs firmly grasped under his arm. 

“Oh my god, Shiro!” Keith shrieks through his laughter, “Somebody could see!”

Shiro huffs. “Good. Then they’ll know your mine, and stop looking at you all dirty.” 

“What?! Nobody’s looking at me—Hey! Did you just bite my ass ?!”

***

In the morning, the sun comes up extra slow, just to let the two of them savor waking up together for the first time. Or at least, that’s what Shiro has decided to believe. 

Keith looks especially beautiful first thing in the morning. The soft, golden light is kind to him, to the dark hair spilled out like a wild stormcloud over Shiro’s pillow, the slow blinking of his half-lidded eyes as they stare at each other. They share kisses, lazy and languid, and Shiro draws abstract patterns on the bare skin of Keith’s back, pushing down his white sheets to reach more of it. 

A lock of hair falls down over Keith’s forehead, and Shiro reaches out to push it back while Keith watches him with those dark, inscrutable eyes. His hand lands on Keith’s cheek and stays there, just molding to its shape, feeling the sleep-warm heat of it under his palm. 

“Keith, I meant what I said—that, if you want to keep traveling, I’ll come with you. I don’t want you to feel tied down.”

“Mmmm.” Keith hums and closes his eyes, turns his face into Shiro’s palm. “Thank you. I–I know you would.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and Shiro waits. 

“But I think…I think for now, I want to rest, for a while. And it might be nice to have a place to call home.” 

Shiro pulls him into a kiss with a smile he can’t tamp down. He can see the hint of hesitation in Keith’s eyes, the lingering fears that drew him out into the canyons again and again for all these years. But Shiro’s not afraid of them now. Keith is smiling back, sinking into the kiss with a sigh. 

To the people of this town, Keith may be a mystery, a brave, handsome man with old ghosts behind his eyes, a restlessness that never quite leaves him—and some of what they believe is true. He’s as beautiful as the desert, as dangerous, too. He used to let its winds carry him to where the world couldn’t catch him—a flight that threatened to keep love from catching him either. 

But Shiro knows something they don’t: That if ever on a dusty red morning, a dark silhouette once again appears against a sunrise-painted sky, there will be another silhouette riding along beside him.