#prekerb

"You saved me first"

i don’t know why all the trees change in the fall /// now i know why all the trees change in the fall

Happy New Lunar Year from prekerb sheiths! 🐅🏮

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron) Characters: Shiro (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) Additional Tags: Pre-Kerberos Mission, PreKerb sheith, Keith doesn't have an age so he can be as "legal" as you like, breaking rules, Crossing the line, Smut, Grinding, Rimming, Mutual Masturbation, Dirty Talk, thigh fucking, Very - it's not breaking the rules if we grind with our underwear on, oops where did our underwear go? Summary:

Shiro and Keith have been getting a little too close after hours at the Garrison. They try and behave, to keep a lid on things. But it's so hard to deny yourself something that would be so good. And they slowly lose willpower.

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“Keith,” Shiro says, low and serious. It’s a warning.

“What?” Keith’s voice is faux-innocence. He tilts his head back against the pillow to get a look at Shiro. “I’m not doing anything,” he argues even as his hips move again. “Sir,” he adds, like that will help his case.

“We shouldn’t.”

You can read the whole fic on AO3.

Shiro pads across the room, grabs a T-shirt on the way, and tries to pour into it, but in his rush, he miscalculates, and his head gets stuck in the sleeve hole just as he opens to let Keith in. He can’t see his face but hears a familiar burst of laughter.

Keith closes the door behind him and steps around Shiro.

“I’d never guess a T-shirt would be the downfall of the great officer Shirogane. The breaker of records, savior of orphans, the golden boy of the Garrison, defeated by a scrap of cotton.”

“Hilarious,” Shiro huffs out through the fabric stretched to rupturing. “A little help, cadet?” 

“Alright, alright. Shame you don’t run our drills anymore because this should get me special treatment.” 

Keith moves closer, and his fingers steal underneath the treacherous piece of clothing to liberate Shiro from its confines. 

This was a horrible idea, Shiro realizes. Keith’s hands are warm and gentle, at odds with his jibes. He inches the tee upward, and Shiro experiences a surge of gratitude that the rustle of fabric masks the way his breath hitches when Keith’s fingers skim his sides. Once he pulls free, he quickly shrugs the T-shirt on, the right way this time, and staggers back from Keith despite every drop of blood in his body urging him to draw closer. 

Keith folds his hands behind his back and measures Shiro with an amused grin. Does Shiro imagine the bright red spots on the younger man’s face? No. That must have been a trick of the light. Keith doesn’t seem to be affected by the encounter in any way. Definitely not as much as Shiro, who feels off-kilter and jittery with restless energy.

“What’s going on, Keith? Are you breaking curfew again? If Iverson catches you—”

“That’d be the day. I can sneak circles around him. Don’t worry, old-timer.”