shining like the stars

4

 There was no true 'day' or 'night' in space. The Castleship ran on the equivalent of a twenty-two hour cycle since Altean days were slightly shorter than a full rotation of the Earth. This was only a tiny bit jarring for the crew, and led to far too many, far too early wake-up calls for everyone's liking. The only one who seemed unaffected by the time shift was Shiro, and Keith suspected that was because Shiro was barely sleeping as it was. Eventually, though, Pidge and Hunk got into the ship's internal systems and did something to the chronometer that got everyone more-or-less synchronized ... although the days were still short.

Keith didn't have a phone, so he'd commandeered one of the Altean datapads in its stead. He used it mostly to help control the shipboard systems he had access too ... as well as a clock, because it was really inconvenient to not have some form of chrono or another. Fortunately the Altean datapads weren't all that much larger than Lance's oh-so-obnoxious phone, so it was easy enough to keep on him as he roamed the halls of the Castleship, restless in the worst way.

He had slunk off to the showers after Lance left, bolting after Hunk once he'd made certain Keith was all right to be left alone. He hadn't lingered long - which was a really good thing, because Keith had spent far too much hot water trying to bring himself down off the high he'd gotten sucking Lance's goddamned cock, fucking hell. Lance was an omega, as he'd said too many times in the last ship cycle; he wasn't supposed to be doing anything for Keith, let alone be stuck in his head like a splinter lodged under his skin. Keith rubbed a hand over his face and tried to pretend for a moment that he'd successfully dismissed the flush that seemed to permanently paint his face. How much longer was this heat nonsense going to last?

He could ask Lance, the reasonable portion of his brain offered up in a tone that could only be described as sly. He could go knock on Lance's door in the middle of the night and certainly nothing else would come of it. Nothing at all, just a perfectly innocent rendezvous where he made sure that Lance convinced Hunk to not blab to the ... four remaining people on this ship that didn't know that Keith was in heat. He groaned and made a concentrated effort to not rub his hand over the front of his already too-tight pants, because despite the war between logic and need he was waging, the thought of seeing Lance right now was really nice.

The pants were really distracting, if he was being honest. It was the first time he'd put some on since this afternoon, in the showers ... and he was already itching to rip them off again. He only had to wear them long enough to take his used dishes to the kitchen and maybe grab something to drink, praying the entire time that stretching his legs and getting out of his room would dismiss the crawling feeling under his skin of wanting to be touched again.

It was very quiet in the ship at 'night.' Keith's footsteps seemed to echo more, the constant hum of a ship in motion all around him more muted that during the day. He hesitated a moment at the end of the corridor that bisected the pilot's quarters and realized he was lingering in front of Shiro's room. Like ... he was supposed to be there. Keith swallowed hard and thought about how easy it would be to knock on the door, slide into the room, climb on top of Shiro, and....

The crawling feeling got worse, and Keith rubbed his arms and shivered as he hurried away toward the common area, food tray and plates tucked tight against his side. He was not thinking about that. This entire thing was just the heat talking, a human, biological imperative that was something he knew he was stronger than.

A biological imperative.

Something about that turn of phrase bothered him, the worse spoken too fast, rushed together. It rattled around in his head as he put the tray on the counter in the kitchen area and dumped the dishes in the empty sink area for the mice, or Coran and Hunk to find in the morning. He was too distracted to feel guilty about leaving his mess, something tingling at the edge of his perception and Keith rubbed his hand over his nose and scowled.

He could smell ... something.

It wasn't the food, and it wasn't the strange, musky aroma he'd gotten used to permeating his room ... it was something familiar and warm and intimate, in a good way. When he lifted his palm from his nose Keith realized he recognized the scent with a little start, it was Shiro. He could smell that Shiro had been in here earlier in the day, that he had been awash with a strong, potent emotion ... and that there was another scent twined around it, something faintly less familiar but softer, and calming. He couldn't deal with the way that the scents pricked along his shoulders and down his back, and fuck he was not going to get hard before he got back to his room, this entire omega thing was goddamned bullshit.

Instead of going to his room though, Keith stormed in the opposite direction, toward the training deck. He wondered if activating it at the equivalent of one in the morning would wake anyone but the Castleship was large and really, he didn't even care if it did. There were plenty of other ways to work out the frustration in his veins, and an entire Castleship worth of combat-ready gladiator bots to keep him busy.

To his surprise though when the door to the training deck parted all the lights were on and the room was already active. Keith hesitated in the doorway but then continued through, stepping into the large, open area that served as a combat ring when no other training protocols were engaged.

The scent hit him before he even registered what he was looking at. Sweat and musk and more besides, it took his blood from hot to boiling in a heartbeat. It was Shiro using the training deck, of course it was; in the middle of some of the combat drones and working out his frustration in the same way that Keith had been planning to. Sweat was dripping from his hair and down his neck, he had clearly been at this for a while - and he looked tired, and almost overwhelmed by the number of them.

Keith didn't think twice. He always kept his bayard with him, even on the ship; and without even a moment of hesitation he jumped into the fray, the Red Lion's bayard shifting into its familiar form as his sword in a twinkling. The arc of his swing caught the blade in the shoulder of one of the gladiator bots and didn't stop there, continuing down through its torso until the drone was nearly bisected. Shiro glanced back at Keith at met his eyes and they nodded at the same time, squaring off, each facing half the gladiator bots that had been circling Shiro alone.

Now this made Keith feel like himself again. Adrenaline pumping, he slashed and parried and fought back the gladiator bots one and two at a time. He had no idea what level Shiro had set it at and how many the digital system would keep producing, but he didn't bother to stop and keep count. As soon as he felled one it dropped into the floor and out sight, and another would rise to take its place.

The regimen didn't last as long as he had hoped, though; as Shiro slammed his Galra hand through a drone's chest cavity and took it down. The last of the gladiator bots vanished into the floor at Shiro's feet and Keith stood there, chest heaving and watched Shiro's back.

Keith deactivated his bayard, felt the balance shift minutely into its sheathed form. "I didn't think anyone else would be up," he said, breathless in the best way, feeling his shirt sticking to him with the quick sweat he had worked up. Shiro turned and looked at him, his own chest heaving and Keith couldn't describe the change in atmosphere of the room. Shiro's face was weird - like he couldn't quite figure something out, and it was setting off alarm bells that Keith was doing his level best to ignore.

"Keith," Shiro said, and dragged the back of his flesh hand over his mouth, still staring at Keith in that uncomfortable way. His eyes didn't look right, and Keith swallowed.

Deliberately, Shiro turned fully toward him and Keith realized that if he was going to leave he needed to leave now , but for some reason he couldn't will his muscles to cooperate. In fact, it seemed like there was a major disconnect between his brain and his body at the moment, as Shiro stood far too close, the fingers on his right hand touching Keith's jaw softly, tilting his head up to look into Shiro's face properly.

Then Shiro was kissing him and that blew the last of Keith's circuits. He dropped his bayard and wrapped his arms over Shiro's shoulders, which was a good thing because his legs decided to give out and they both went to floor. Somehow, miraculously, Keith didn't hit his head on the way down but maybe that was because Shiro cradled it in his real hand - and they didn't stop kissing at any point during his descent.

There was no discussion, there didn't need to be. Keith groaned into Shiro's mouth, pinned to the floor by his weigh. He arched his back and hooked one leg over Shiro's, the arousal in his belly flaring hot.

He was harder than he'd been even earlier, both the front and back of his pants growing damp with his excitement. Keith scrabbled between them blindly, hand slipping down between their bodies and intent on removing the barriers between them before Shiro caught his hand and pinned it to the floor instead. Keith groaned and struggled underneath Shiro as Shiro nuzzled along his jaw and kissed up toward his hairline. " Shiro ," Keith gasped, and curled the fingers of his free hand into the skin-tight black shirt Shiro wore.

They were going to have sex on the floor in the training deck. Common sense screamed by like a starfighter; Keith barely paid it any mind, his body aching with the need for Shiro's touch. It was the middle of the night, there would be no interruptions here.

Shiro but his hand on the floor beside Keith's head and locked his elbow, pushing his body up just a bit. They stared at each other, wide-eyed and panting, Shiro's face flushed dark and undoubtedly matching Keith's own. He released Keith's hand and Keith hooked it into Shiro's shirt too, both hand hands gripping the fabric tight, keeping him down. "Are you gonna fuck me?" Keith asked, breathless, shameless ... and that question seemed to trigger something as Shiro's eyes widened farther.

"Keith," Shiro said, breathless. "I..."

"Fuck me," Keith pleaded, head flopped back to the floor, legs entwined with Shiro's. "I need it, Shiro, I need you- "

Shiro shook his head slowly once, and then again with conviction. "Not like this," he said heavily, voice tinged with regret. "Not here."

Keith let out a low growl of frustration and yanked. Shiro was off-balance and he fell down again Keith, who tucked his face again Shiro's neck and bit. Shiro gave a startled, pained noise and rolled off Keith, one hand clamped to the side of his neck as Keith shamelessly pressed the flat of his hand over the large and apparent bulge in his pants.

"You're in heat," Shiro said, on his knees and staring at Keith, wide-eyed.

"No shit," Keith snarled, curled up slightly and rubbing his hand furiously over his trapped cock. He let out a shocked yelp as Shiro's hand slammed his shoulder back into the floor, and Shiro's face was too close and not close enough all at once, brows drawn together in scrutiny.

"Is that why Lance smelled like you?"

Keith panted and avoided looking directly into Shiro's face. "Does it matter?"

"Is that why Lance smelled like you?"

"Lance is an omega too, he can't do anything for me," Keith said. "Not like you can."

They stared at each other, chests heaving, the scent in the air heavy and oppressive. It was Shiro who broke the gaze first. Again. "Go back to your room," he said finally, and Keith groaned, disappointed.

"Why won't you-"

"That's an order! "

Shiro's barked voice made Keith freeze in place, the authoritative tone overriding the remainder of his objection. After a moment, Keith snarled loud and rolled to his feet, scooped up his bayard and bolted out the door without looking back. He left Shiro sitting in the middle of the floor, elbow on his knee and hand in his hair as he desperately tried to calm himself down.

What in the hell was going on on this ship?