I am full of Ron/Kei pairing thoughts that I have started to write a fan fiction about them to relieve the itch.
I am not stuck in a way I am lost for words. I cannot decide which way to go because I want every party to be happy. Ron. Toto. Kei. Even Kawasemi-san.
Also, I have discovered a part of my fanfic writing self. Jealousy and cheating kinks. I abhor them in real life, that would be the end of an affair for me. Betrayal is a big no no. But to explore these tropes/themes, the pairsâ dynamics, in fiction is very engaging. You write about these things and you free yourself from the shackles of tradition. Of course, as long as they stay in your head as a fantasy.
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borrow @sephtisthanâs keiron đ soft keiron hours when
Itâs nearly four, and youâre scraping a spoon around the inside of your bowl. Last bits of ice cream, and you can see Tilly staring at you from over the counter.Â
âNo! Donât be greedy!â Wave her off, and watch how she drops her ears. âTilly, no. Go bother Trixie.â
One last look, and she drops off. Deep whine, tail between her legs. Dramatic. Donât know where she picked up on that habit. Canât stop the smile when Tilly gives you one last look over her shoulder. Dip in her brows, even. âUh uh, stop that, young lady.â
âTalking to yourself again?â
Huh, you hadnât heard him. Soft click of the door behind him, and Keiron stands at the edge of the counter. Fingers tapping on the stone, eye flicking up to you. Hadnât expected him to drop past, and you turn to wash your bowl out at the sink.
But thereâs click of nails on the floor, and you see the way Keiron freezes out the corner of your eye. Turn then, hand raised, âGeh ins bett.â Watch how Tilly, now accompanied by Teddy, stop in their tracks. Look at you, at Keiron, and you repeat the phrase. âTeddy, Tilly, geh ins bett.â
Slowly they walk out, and their minds are loud. Want to meet your friend, smells nice, seems good, food in the other room. Until their tails are completely gone through the bedroom door, Keiron doesnât let go. âItâs fine. Theyâre lying down now.â Can feel it.Â
âOkay. Thanks.â Voice tight, and you pat his hand.Â
Small smile on your face now. âItâs fine, theyâre gone.â Youâre safe. Let that thought wrap around him, blanket, tucked in at the edges. âHungry?â
Blink, looks at you. Grimace on his face, as youâre fishing out glasses. Drink. Cleaned out ashtray stuck between curled fingers. âNo, thanks.â Doesnât meet your eye.
No pushing. Lead him out to the balcony, Keiron sinking into one of the chairs while you fiddle with the heater. âGetting a bit cool in the evenings now.â Settle down opposite him once they were on, lighting your cigarette.Â
And you can feel the questions, how they bounce off the front door, as you offer the lighter. Why werenât you asking? Pushing? Keiron fiddles with the lit cigarette hanging from his fingers, thumb flicking the end. Did he want you to push. Turn your head to the side, blow out the smoke.
âBeen busy?â Keironâs voice gives him away. Distraction.Â
So you prod his thigh with your big toe, scooting closer to rest your legs on his lap. Tilt your head towards him, flick the ash into the tray. âNot in the slightest. Missed you, though. Where have you been hiding?â
Of course youâd read the papers, watched the news. But Keiron drags on his cigarette, eyes lost in the skyline. Mind is too sharp, hard to walk through. Leaving feather light drags on your skin, beading at the surface. Youâre proud of him for getting up, at least. That wouldâve taken sheer willpower alone. Stub out your cigarette, drinking deep.Â
You canât do much. Itâs up to him to try to glue the pieces back together. But him being here, at least, meant something. Slow and steady. Reach for his hand, threading your fingers through. Keiron looks at you, as you press your lips to his knuckles. Blank, smile. Let him hear you.Â
âAre you trying to seduce me?â The tease isnât completely there, dancing at the edges.
But you snort, not letting go. âNot tonight, cowboy. Want to stay for⌠a while?â Careful with the words, how his face seems to pinch. âYou donât have to⌠yâknow.â Hand wave.Â
Deep sigh, as Keiron shifts. Stubs out his own cigarette now. âAre they going toââ
âThey will stay in the other room, donât worry.â
âOkay. Okay. Yeah.â The smile is bigger now. Mind still sharp, painful to wade through. Your turn to stare out over the edge, as the sun gets lower. Squeeze his hand, just for good measure.Â
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@sephtisthan Happy birthday to Keiron! Hope I got him right.
(Lovelle sends her sincere apologies for making a mess of his kitchen. She forgot to close the blender before switching it on. She will clean it up! Somehow).
Keiron's walking along the streets. Around him, the roaming thrum of human minds surround him. Reminding him of who he isn't.Â
Reminding him of what he doesn't have.
He sighs, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He doesn't want to feel. He doesn't want to see. For it's his birthday and yet he's alone, as he has always been. He shouldn't be bothered by this.
(So why does it still hurt so much?)
He shakes his head. Home - if he could call it that - was just a few blocks away, and perhaps only then can he be numb once more.
(...)
The rusty door creaks as he pushes it open. Sighing, he lets his eyes sweep the perimeter - and freezes.
Someone's in his home.
Instincts kick in. He silently shuts the door, reaching out with his mind to find the intruder. How dare someone trespass his home? He'll show them. He'll take them out, and he will-
Wait.
The mind he finds is a familiar presence. It's humming a simple tune, the barest hint of joy bubbling beneath the surface.
It's then he catches a whiff of butter and chocolate, drifting from his kitchen. Carefully, he paces forth and peers into the kitchen-
"Oh! You're back!" Surprise colours her tone, and she moves smoothly to the side, petite form just able to make the object behind her.He regards her for a brief moment. Raising an eyebrow at the flour scattered across his floor in a carpet of white, and was that egg batter on the ceiling?
"Uh, sorry for the mess," she smiles sheepishly. Dots of icing smear her cheeks."I'll clean it up later?"
"Lovelle? What are you doing here?" he says dubiously "How did you get in?"
He doesn't quite trust her. Trust this. Sure, they might have talked at length once before - and he might call her a friend. But this? This was new. How did she even know where he stayed anyway?
"I followed you," she admits with a guilty smile. "The last time we met. I knew your birthday was coming, so... I wanted to do something nice."
He blinks, nodding slowly. "And what's that behind you?"
Her eyes lit up at that. She vibrates no with excitement as she whirls around to grasp the mysterious lump behind her. "I made this! For you!"
In a few quick bounds, she's by your side.
"Happy birthday," she smiles, eyes soft and fond all about once. And he can only stare. There's a cake in her hands; words scrawled carefully across its surface:
"for the one who smiles no matter the pain - happy birthday."
It's lumpy and the icing is off. Pastry chefs would have an aneurysm at the disaster that lies before him.
But for Keiron? It just might be the loveliest thing he's ever seen.
His breath can't quite find it in him to speak, but familiar tendrils brush his mind, the touch as gentle and scarred as he. She smiles, and he knows she understands.
And what of Lovelle?
She isn't telling him about the burnt crisp that was tossed into the dumpster. Nor is she telling him how she had to make it five times beforehand to get the consistency right.
It might have been hard and she might have taken more time than usual - but it's worth it.
Keith should have known that something was off, but finding Shiro again, safe and alive, had blinded all of them.
âSo, what happened to your undercut? Didnât like it anymore?â Keith asked, gently running his fingers through the hair on the side of Shiroâs head. It was a little weird. Since he had known Shiro, the man had always kept his hair at a sharp, clean, regulation cut. He missed the feel of the short tiny hairs that gave the nearly shaved area of Shiroâs head a nice, fuzzy feel but, he couldnât really bring himself to give a damn as long as Shiro was back.
Shiro hummed and his arms tightened around Keithâs waist, relaxing further into the hold. It felt nice to just be able to relax and cuddle, though Keith would always deny that that was what they were doing. The younger would always say that the word was too sappy for his tastes, he much preferred the word âsnugglingâ. As if that was better. But it was nice to lay intertwined with one another on a mess of blankets and pillows that they had both horded in an unused room, a secret place just for them when being around that others was just a little too much or when they just wanted to be alone.
âNo, itâs just-⌠the Castleâs air-conditioning is super strong.â Shiro muttered, looking down a bit as his face started to redden a bit in embarrassment, âGot a bit too cold sometimesâ. It was adorable.
Keith couldnât help the small smile on his face at Shiroâs shy confession and just pulled the larger man closer to him, continuing to run his fingers through the newly cut and slightly longer hair. He started at the top, gently brushing the white flock from Shiroâs face, and combed his fingers back, pausing every now and then to gently massage the scalp in certain areas and softly laughing when Shiro made low, happy groans and buried his face further into Keithâs chest. Eventually, Shiroâs breathing evened out into a soft and slow, even pattern and Keith smiled down at the sleeping man, moving his hand to the base of Shiroâs neck, gently petting the soft baby hairs he found there. His fingers ran over a small series of scars right at the edge of the hair line, though he didnât really give too much thought to them. They were small and smooth, thin and slightly curved, except when they werenâtâŚ
Keithâs brow frowned a little as he continued to rub his thumb over the slightly raised scars. Something was off about them. They were small and broken up, some were straight and some were curved, but they were all the same size. They were all evenly spaced. Curiosity peaked, Keith shifted just slightly so that he could take a look at the back of Shiroâs neck. He wished he hadnât. The scars were tiny and slightly raised, they werenât any lighter or darker than Shiroâs natural skin color. If you hadnât been looking for them, you probably would have never noticed them. Which is probably what the Galra had been hoping for because the tiny little âK-301â scared into the back of Shiroâs neck was not a prison number. Shiroâs prison number had been tattooed onto the arm heâd lost and later coded into the arm they had given him. This was something else and it made his blood feel like ice in his veins.
Over the next few days, Keith watched him and every minute he did the cold feeling in his chest grew colder. This wasnât Shiro. He knew how he had missed it. He knew how they had all missed it. But now that he had seen it, he couldnât stop seeing it no matter how much he wanted to look away and not see it anymore. Not see how he had once again failed the man he loved. It was amazing how many little things you could see when you stopped looking at the big picture. Not-Shiro never did anything that Shiro wouldnât do but rather he didnât do things that Shiro would. He didnât sneak into the kitchen anymore to steal weird alien cookies. He didnât look to anyone with a silent plea for help whenever Pidge was going off on a science related tangent that he had no hope of following but he didnât want to disappoint her and restrict her quest for all the knowledge in the known universe. He didnât try and smother his laugher around Lance because this Shiro didnât find Lance funny. This Shiro didnât have Shiroâs sense of humor, the sense of humor that had Shiro biting his tongue and looking to heaven for the strength not to add to any of Lanceâs jokes because Lance could never know. They would never hear the end of it if Lance knew that Shiro found him hilarious.
Not-Shiro didnât do any of that. But he touched the back of his neck more than Shiro did, rubbing the pointer finger of his flesh and blood hand over the numbers. He always stood with his body facing Keith, as if he was never fully engaging anyone but him even when he was talking and focusing on the others. He would sometimes stare out the windows of the ship but it would never be the thousand-yard stare that Keith had gotten used to seeing, this one was blank, as if for a few seconds or a minute he just wasnât there, though heâd always snap out of it with a smile that didnât reach his eyes. Just not in the way Shiroâs smile didnât reach his eyes sometimes. The biggest thing that Keith noticed was the thing that he hated himself the most for because Not-Shiro touched him like Shiro wouldnât. Not-Shiro touched him like he wasnât afraid that he would hurt Keith. He wasnât overly hesitant. He wasnât worried about what the others would think because this was still new even though they had been building up to this for years. He wasnât afraid to give Keith everything he wanted. And Keith hated himself because this is what he had always wanted with Shiro. And it wasnât fucking fair.
But he could handle it for now.
He could handle the nights when heâd wake up to see Not-Shiro standing over him, the purple glow of his Galra given hand being nearly blinding in the dark. He could handle the heat of it as Not-Shiro held it at his throat, ready to kill. He could handle late night words and kisses from a parody of the man he loves. He could handle finding out that Not-Shiro was a Galra made clone, Phase 3 of the Kuron Project. He could handle Kuron sneaking quick kisses and touches in the morning when he forgot the night before and became Shiro once again. He could handle all of this if it meant that the others didnât have too because right now, they needed Shiro and right now, Kuron was the closest thing they had.
Keith watched as the other Paladins ran off to their Lions, ready and willing to answer the of a rebel distress beacon that had been going off inside of a Galra prison ship. He reached out, quickly catching Kuronâs hand before he could follow them and gave the clone a barely there smile at the look of confusion on his face before Keith pulled him closer. He raised up onto his toes as he pulled the clone in for a kiss, one hand on his cheek, the other on the back of his neck. Keith ran his fingers over the scared âK-301â, silently happy for it. He was not going to lose Shiro again and while Kuron may not be Shiro he was what Keith was clinging too, so the Galra could throw all the clones that wanted at him, but this one was his now.
