Klance + Other smut oneshots

shance 1

The thing is, Lance fully believes that he agreed to this. The weight of Shiro in his mouth? The sound of people eating dinner at the table just above his head? The feel of Shiro's hand petting through his hair every few minutes, holding him down a little, choking him so so lightly so his throat convulses around the head of Shiro's cock? Even the idea that Lance would pass this kind of thing up is absurd.

What does surprise him is that Shiro agreed, let alone brought it up in the first place.

And yeah, Shiro is known to dom the shit out of him on a deeply regular basis. Shiro keeps his hand possessively in Lance's back pocket near constantly like there's a magnet there that just draws him in. But this? This is a whole new level and Lance would be in awe if he wasn't so far gone.

There is drool dripping down Lance's chin, soaking his collar as his mouth is stretched wide around the girth of Shiro. He has no concept of how long he has been under the table, it can't have been long, but all Lance can see or smell or think about is the musk of Shiro's groin filling his nose and the salty taste of skin and come filling his mouth as his lips ache from it all.

After a few moments, the table cloth lifts slightly, light streaming down into the dimness so Shiro can take a look at him. "You're being so good, baby," Shiro praises, petting him and smiling when Lance cats into the touch.

The other people at the table are some of Shiro's colleagues, all bigwig richy rich fucks who get off on using people and the power play. Lance doesn't actually know the relationship of the others here with the people under the table, Shiro would probably say he is being too hasty of a judge. But, he can hear them joking about Shiro caring too much about his pet and it aggravates him a little even here in the hazy space between Shiro's thighs.

And the thing is, if Lance genuinely thought that was what this was for Shiro, he wouldn't be down here bruising his knees up in the first place, tattooing the imprint of some fancy rug into his skin and getting off to the whole thing. Sure, he gets off on the act, on the very pretend idea of Shiro using him so casually, not caring about him at all beyond what pleasure he can give him with his mouth or his ass.

But that's all it is, an idea.

Because Shiro knows Lance loves this kind of thing, that it centers him, makes him remember who he belongs to. And more importantly, Shiro loves Lance, and for Shiro this is all about giving Lance what he wants, taking care of him, soothing and petting and pampering him until Lance cries and comes all over himself like he is two seconds away from now.

There is the slick chocking sound of someone near him in the dark, and the deep groan of a man's voice overhead, unfamiliar enough to almost jolt Lance out of his headspace. But when Shiro pulls the tablecloth up again once more, his wedding ring catches the light and reminds Lance of who he is on his knees for so when Shiro asks him if he is still okay, the only answer he can possibly give is yes.