Tony guarda per l'ennesima volta il telefono e per un secondo la sua mano si muove in avanti, quasi come se volesse prenderla.
Un riflesso involontario, nato da un disperato bisogno di fare qualsiasi cosa. Non ci sono notizie da mesi, e se da un lato questo dovrebbe farlo sentire meglio - dopotutto vuole solo dire che Ross non li ha ancora trovati - dall'altro, Tony sente l'ansia crescere dentro di lui.
Da mesi non si hanno notizie di nessuno dei supereroi ricercati per aver violato i trattati di Sokovia, e Tony non può fare a meno di pensare che sia successo qualcosa.
Da settimane vive nell'eterna indecisione se chiamare o meno. Steve ha detto che avrebbe risposto, qualsiasi cosa Tony avesse bisogno, ed è un pensiero che lo tenta.
Dall'altro lato, Tony non ha alcuna intenzione di chiamare. Di dimostrarsi così debole da essere il primo a rompere questa specie di guerra fredda che hanno.
Non è più arrabbiato. O almeno, lo è, ma la rabbia infernale di quel giorno in Siberia si è andata affievolendo fino a diventare una fiamma così piccola, che a volte Tony non ne sente il calore.
Eppure è il senso di tradimento che non lo abbandona. La sensazione che Steve gli abbia voltato le spalle preferendo il suo vecchio amico Barnes e gettando all'aria tutta la loro sudata amicizia.
Tony ha lavorato sodo per andare d'accordo con Steve. Ha fatto lunghe riflessioni con se stesso, internalizzato problemi che suo padre gli ha lasciato in eredità. Tutto perché i suoi sforzi fossero gettati al vento da Steve Rogers e il suo migliore amico Bucky Barnes.
Questo brucia ora di più della rabbia per la fine dei suoi genitori. Dopotutto ha letto i files, sa cosa hanno fatto a Barnes, e ritenerlo responsabile per qualcosa del genere, vorrebbe dire buttare al vento tutti i suoi tentativi di ripulire il nome di Stark Industries.
Sia lui che Barnes sono stati usati, senza potere reagire.
Tony vuole chiamare, ora, sapere se Rogers sta bene, sentire la sua voce. Ma non lo farà, almeno non oggi.
Domani l'indecisione tornerà.
Master of Love; Voltron; 555w; COWT8 Superbia
If Lance knows one thing, is that he's the absolute expert on love. He knows love, he breathes love, he eats love for breakfast, lunch and dinner. He's the wingman to literally all his friends, and if there is someone who even has a crush on someone else, Lance can pinpoint that in a second. He's sure, completely sure, that he's the upmost expert at anything regarding love that he almost walks into the wall when Keith says: "I need to buy a gift for valentine day."
Lance's head turns so fast he has to catch himself before he falls face down.
"What?" he asks, absolutely shocked, and Keith looks at him like he's crazy.
"A gift. For Valentines. Every year he buys me something and I don't." And apparently this relationship Lance knew nothing about has going on for years?
In what alternative universe has he just found himself?
"That's rough," Hunk says, patting Keith's shoulder. "His last year's present was so good too."
Hunk knows? Since when? Why has he never told Lance anything? How is this happening?
"He cheats. Because I always forget what time of the year it is," Keith mumbles, irritated. "This time I want to buy him something good. So I need help."
That is Lance's occasion. If he helps Keith and asks very specific questions then he can pretend he knew all along and avoid losing face. "I'll help! I'm the best at love, we all know this. So, give me some basic information and let Lancey Lance work his magic."
Both Hunk and Keith look at him strangely and Lance panics for a second. "You already know everything," Keith tells him, shrugging. "What else do you need?"
A name! Lance thinks desperately. He needs a name!
"Also I'm not sure you're the best person to ask for advice," Hunk says with a grimace and Keith nods.
"What? But I'm the best at love!" Lance repeats, whining a little. It usually works with Hunk, but this time his friends doesn't seem to be moved.
"Yes, but he hated your last gift, Lance," Hunk says, long suffering, and Lance blinks. It's someone he knows well enough to have made him a gift? What?
"Also I don't understand why you got my boyfriend a massage coupon telling him to get lucky," Keith growl and Lance stops. The entire world stops. The entire universe stops.
He forgets he was playing it cool, he forgets everything.
"Shiro is you boyfriend?" he screams, because that's not possible!
Both Hunk and Keith look at him and for a second no one speaks.
"We live together," Keith says, very slowly, but Lance can't even process it.
"Because you're friends," he point out. Keith blinks.
"We go on vacations, just the two of us."
"You're best friends!"
"We kissed at the last party!"
"There was mistletoe!"
He feels like the situation is getting out of hand, which is why he's glad when Hunk steps in. "Lance, Keith and Shiro have been dating for three years now."
Three? So even when Lance had drunkenly hit on Shiro that night at one of Matt's party? Well. Now he understands why Keith hadn't talked to him for a week.
"The best at love, aren't you?" Keith says, with a smirk, and Lance really has nothing to add to that.
A friendship that will define you both; Star Trek; 322w; Cowt 8, Invidia
I didn't want to deprive you both of a friendship that will define you both forever, Old Spock had said when Jim has asked him why he had lied about the whole paradox and universe destroying thing. But it doesn't seem like New Spock has the same idea as his counterpart.
Infact, it seems like New Spock politely hates Jim's guts. He says politely, because Spock doesn't really let it show that much, but it's obvious he despises him.
Every time Jim tries to spend some times with New Spock - a movie, eating dinner together, training at the gym and once, in a desperate attempt, a chess game - the other always refuses. He apologizes for it, says it will be 'for another time' as human say, but the time never actually comes.
And the thing is, Jim has seen what they were together, Old Spock and Old Jim. In the memories he has seen, there was so much. It's obvious Old Spock's feelings run deep for Old Jim, so much so that the impression hasn't left Jim's soul. It's like a mark of something he thinks he should have, but actually doesn't.
Old Spock had loved Old Jim. Friendship, he knows, but it had been love all the same. And Jim yearns for it. Because it has been burning, inmutable. Something solid.
And he wishes for it to be his.
"Give it time, Old fiend," Old Spock tells him, when Jim calls him to whine. He's right, of course he is, Jim just has to give it time, but at the same time he's envious of the connection he can feel, but never experience.
Maybe one say he and New Spock will be friends and a good team, but he thinks they'll never have what their counterpart have. They might be too different, too brash, too young.
But Jim still tries, because he wants it, and he'll fight for it.
Cat-astrophe; Shadowhunters; 408w; Cowt8, Indecisione
When Alec sees his cellphone light up with an incoming call, for a second he thinks of not answering. He's elbow deep in paperwork after Jace's last attempt at getting himself killed while he saved everyone's ass, and he's never going to finish in time to go home at a decent hour.
His sense of responsability reminds him that he can't just avoid his cellphone because he wants to, so he sighs and picks up. He's glad when he sees the caller ID.
Magnus doesn't usually call him during the day. They send each other a couple of texts, of course, and sometimes Magnus sends him some selifies but calls?
Usually they are reserved for emergencies and Alec feels his heart leap in his throat. He answer immediately, panic rising.
"Magnus?" his voice shakes a little, but he's already standing up, ready to run.
"Oh thank heavens, Alexander you need to help me!" Magnus says immediately, and Alec is really scared.
"What happened?" he asks, walking towards the door. He can make it to the weapons in less than five minutes if he run.
"There are too many of them! And I don't know what to do!" Magnus's voice is high. He sounds tired. Has he been fighitng alone?
"Tell me where you are, I'm coming as soon as I can," he promises, feeling the worry cement inside him. What if something happens to Magnus? What if he's not in time.
"Please do. I mean, you're usually not really that useful at this, but at least you help me decide what not to pick," Magnus says with a sigh of relief and Alec stops with a foot out of the door.
"What are we talking about here?"
"What do you mean, Alexander? Cats! Another three have arrived this morning, and I don't know what to call them!" Magnus explains, his voice rising again. "This is an emergency."
"Did you call me because you can't decide what to call some stray cats?"
"They are not strays, Alec! They are ours!"
"Magnus, you always say that," Alec exclaims, shocked, "and then you forgot. You named one cat three different things, because you kept forgetting about him!"
"Lies! Slander! I love them all equally, he just wanted to have multiple names. Don't judge, Alexander."
Honestly, Alec doesn't know how this is his life, arguing over cat names at the phone with his boyfriend, but he think he has it pretty great.
In the morning light; Avengers; 334w; CoWT Euforia
Steve is the first to wake up, it's not exactly surprising, but he still helds his breath, afraid to wake up Tony. There is something inside of him that fears the moment Tomy will open his eyes. That maybe this thing they have built will crumble upon them, that in the lasting seconds between a breath and another, they wll have ruined this too.
He doesn't want that to happen. He didn't think he could be this happy. It's a feeling that feels alien to him. His life has been a series of sacrifices, things he had to give up, coiches he had to make. But this feels like something he gets to keep, something he wants to have and hold dear.
Unable to resist he touches Tony's face, lax with sleep.
It feels incredible that they have arrived at this point, where before they had been at each other's throat for every stupid thing. Now he's euphoric at the idea of being able to touch Tony, kiss him, hold him.
After so many years, after so many tragedies in their life. It feels like too much and not enough at the same time.
"Someone here needs his beauty sleep," Tony sleepy murmurs, "we can't all be super soldiers and in their twenties."
"I'm ninety," Steve supplies, only to see the adorable way Tony's nose scrunches up.
"Nope, not going there. Not today," the other huffs in the end, and Steve can't help laughing. It feels like a light sound, and sometimes he's scared of how long he can go without laughing.
Tony opens one yes and watches him. "You're happy today."
It's true, so Steve smiles to him in reply.
"I have a very good reason to be," Steve admits, and he enjoyes the way Tony's face relaxes with happynnes.
"Yeah, I guess it's all right," Tony confirms and then he pushes forward, kissing Steve lightly on the mouth.
Euphoric, Steve laughs and deepens the kiss.
This. This makes it all worth it.
Voltron; A villain's ruse; 320w; COWT8 Superbia
Lotor knows he has them. They trust him completely, even the Altean, and it's exactly what he needed.
Voltron in the palm of his hand, his to do as he pleased.
It has been even easier than he expected. Some vargas in prison, but that is nothing he hasn't done before. The important thing, is that they are all ready to do exactly as he says and get him the Quintessence.
After years and years of search, after fruitless travels across the entire galaxy, searching for myths and stories, he thinks he can finally breathe a little easier. Volton and Allura will get him all the Quintessence he can ever dream of, and the only thing he had needed to do was instill some truth in his lies.
It's easy, for a man with his past, to create some sort of pity towards himself. No one will blink an eye at hearing him talk of how cruel of a father Zarkon had been. Or how terrible the witch is.
Lotor has been playing this music all his life, and by now he's a prodigy at the melody, able to use it to enchant anyone he has in front of him.
Voltron included, it seems.
He smiles at himself, sitting in the throne room, looking at his empire. He already has this, and he had only needed to amp up his own interest in the greater good, and let the destructive nature of all Galra do the rest. The Black Paladin had listened to him, caught in his trap like a mouse.
And after all of Voltron had followed him.
He's going to win, he realizes with a clarity. He's going to win because he's the smartest being of this entire galaxy, becaue the quintessence that curses through his veins is as pure and as powerful as the one in the rift.
He will win, because there is no other possibility.
Voltron; Somebody for once; 312w; COWT8 Invidia
Lance knows he shouldn't. That he should try and live his own life without comparing himself to others. His mother had always told him that looking into other people life's and their accomplishment was not a good way to live. You don't know their story, you don't know what they feel.
You don't know what kind of tragedy has happen in their life to make them what they are.
Think about your own life, Lance, and how lucky you are, and everything else will fade in the background.
Those are wise words, they really are, but since he was little Lance had always wanted to fly. It kept him up at night, imagining finally flying to some distant planet no one had ever been before. Cool fights in space with aliens. When he was little, being a fighter pilot for the galaxy garrison had seemed like the only thing that would have given him happiness.
And now, now that he looks at the scoreboard, he can't help but being envious.
Lance is the first of the cargo pilots, not making the cut for the elites. He will never get to go on cool adventures, never get to fly with the big names in territories unknown. Lance is just a cargo pilot.
And there, at the top, surpassing others by miles, there is Keith Kogane and Lance hates him. He hates him because he is what Lance will never be, because he can have what Lance wants and doesn't seem to work particuarly hard to get it. He hates him because Lance wants what he wants.
"Man, but you're the first of the cargo pilots," Hunk reminds him, "that's not something to scoff at."
But it's not enough. He wants more, he wants to be a pilot tat will be remembered in the history books. Someone who will change the world.
Voltron; Game over; 308w; COWT8 Ira
Un rumore secco, come di qualcosa che viene lanciato contro il muro raggiunge le sue orecchie e per un secondo Hunk si ferma. Esita un secondo prima di continuare a cucinare quando non sente nuovi rumori provenire dalla sala da pranzo.
Passando altri due minuti prima che qualcuno urli "Cazzo!" E poi un altro rumore questa volta un po' piu' ovattato , come di qualcuno che da un pugno al divano.
"Sicuri che vada tutto bene?" Si ritrova a chiedere Hunk, urlando un po' per farsi sentire dall'altra parte della casa.
Il fatto che non ci siano altri rumori a parte quei rari scatti, è la cosa che preoccupa Hunk più di tutti. Solitamrnte quando Pidge va a trovarli è difficile farli stare zitti per anche solo un secondo. E ora invece non stanno dicendo una parola.
"SI!" lance risponde, anche se il suo tono è tutt'altro che tranquillo.
"No!" Pidge aggiunge solo un secondo dopo e Hunk sospira, posando i guantoni da forno e dirigendosi verso il salotto. Quando arriva li trova esattamente dove li aveva lasciati, davanti alla televisione con i controller davanti in mano.
"Di quanto vi battono?" Chiede, vedendo la squadra contro cui stanno giocando gli altri due.
Keith e Shiro non sono potuti venire a cenare con loro perchè Shiro, stando a quello che dice lui, è sul'orlo di morire per il raffreddore.
Visto di quanto stanno battendo Pidge e Lance, Hunk pensa che potrebbe essrre stato un bollettino esagerato.
"Li dobbiamo battere!' Lance urla, aggrottando le sopracciglia. "È tutta colpa di Keith, sta evidentemente barando!"
"Sta zitto e concentrati a giocare meglio!" Pidge risponde, concitata.
Hunk guarda loro e poi il punteggio e sa già che non hanno speranze.
Non è quindi particolarmente sorpreso quando perdono, un po' di più quando Lance lancia il controller al muro e questo si rompe all'impatto
BOWT; His voice; 331w; COWT8 Passione
If there is one thing the hero of Hyrule is not generous of, it's not his sword or his kindness or his courage, which Link gives around in abundance and with no caring of himself. It's only his voice that he keeps close to himself, like a secret that he doesn't wish to share with the world. The one thing that he keeps hidden, gives only to few selected people.
Many people wonder what it sounds like, and many thinks he maybe has none. Maybe the hero of Hyrule doesn't have a voice, maybe he has lost it in the years he was asleep.
Sidon remembers his sister talking about it. In her foolish daydreaming of a girl in love, she had gushed about Link enough to mention his voice too, strong and yet surprisingly quiet. Not a man of much words, Mypha had said, with a smile, but one that always knew what to say.
When he meets Link, the other doesn't speak much, and Sidon is left wondering, thinking about it enough that it becomes an obsession. Enough that he finds excuses to go and talk with Link, excuses to finally hear his voice.
Link simply doesn't think he has much to say. He speaks only when he knows he has something important to add, but he prefers to let his actions speak for him, and Sidon, who talks big and flashy, doesn't get it.
But he has started to admire Link's way of doing things, even to appreciate it. Now that he's the only one that gets to hear Link's voice, the surprised gasps of someone lost in pleasure, the frantic breaths, the growly moans. Link loses control of his voice when he's coming, screaming and panting under Sidon with an abandonement that makes him lose his mind.
There is something magical in watching him lose his stoic expression. Link is another person, lost in the arms of passion, and Sidon cherishes him more than words can say.
Star Trek; For a moment we have the world in the palm of our hand; 364w; COWT 8 Euforia
Jim Kirk doesn't like to dwell too much on his own life. He doesn't like pity, or the ways his teacher look at him when they think he's not looking. He knows he isn't a fortunate kid, he watches his peers and what they have to complain about. He's big enough to realize that his family is a mess, that the death of his father has broken them in ways that no one will be able to put back. He's old enough to know that Uncle Frank isn't a good adult, that the fact that he has to hide the bruises means they should be taken away from Uncle Frank. BUt he's also old enough to know that they won't be.
So Jim Kirk has never asked for compassion, or pity or anything. But when Sam leaves the house, too angry, too hurt, to still live with them; when Frank tells him he will sell the damn car, the last thing of his father that still exists in this house.
Jim also knows that he's done.
He takes the keys of the car, puts them in the ignition and he rotates them, letting the machine roar with new life. He won't let Frank ruin this, he won't let him take away the last thing of his family he has. He will destroy it himself, because this is how Jim Kirk is.
Jim pushes down on the accelerator and he watches as the road flyes past him faster and faster. He's breaking all the traffic laws, he knows, but he doesn't care. Speed, he realizes, is something he loves.
The feeling of going too fast for anyone to catch him, the feeling of being on the edge. He could die now, and the mere idea of it electrifies it. A sene od euphoria pervades him and he screams at the top of his lungs, driving straight to a cliff.
Jim Kirk doesn't like pity, he doesn't want comfort. He wants to ride fast and take control of his life. He wants to feel on the edege of life and death, drunk on euphoria and madness.
In years, he thinks this will describe his life perfectly.
Voltron; I'm not myself; 322w; COWT8 Pazzia
'Sometimes I don't feel like myself' he had told Lance, and he means it. He feels like, sometimes, there is something inside of him that makes him do things he would never do otherwise. It's a strenght, a force, that pushes him to change, to get angry, to act where he should think. To stay where he should act.
It's nothing too forceful, it's like a whisper he can't ignore. A pressure he can't shake. An itch he can't scratch. It comes at night, when the shadow fall and he's alone with himself.
And yet sometimes he thinks he's not alone, that there is something with him. In him. He's scared more nights than not, lying awake in fear of what will come once he closes his eyes.
All the doubts, the fears, of what the Galra might have done to him resurface to his mind. Flashes of hands, of purple, of faces and screams and fears.
Have they really changed him so much, that he will never be able to feel normal anymore? Have they destroyed him so much, that he will live his entire life in the wake of their actions? Trembling at the mere memory; waiting for the other shoe to drop?
Or maybe, sometimes he thinks in the privacy of his mind, maybe he's only crazy. Maybe the Galra have done nothing to him, nothing more than what they did before, maybe it's only Shiro losing his mind slowly. His sanity slipping away from him every moment, and he's unable to catch it before it disappears completely.
Lance had said it probably was the loss of oxygen, but what if it's just his mind, failing him. He gets angry quickly, but he also forgets things. Acts without thinking, but maybe there is no one holding his strings, maybe it's just him and his terrible, fragile mind.
Is this what crazyness feels like, he wonders. Because he thinks so.
Voltron; Suits of Marmora; 324w; COWT Lussuria
Shiro has to believe that whoever designed the Blade of Marmora's suits had never actually thought it through carefully. Or maybe he had known perfectly well what to do to make someone completely unable to fight, because the moment Shiro sees Keith enter the room in the Blade's uniform, he feels all the blood rush very quickly to the downstair brain.
His cock twitch in interest, and he begs for it to stay down. This is not the time to think about sex, Shiro knows it very well, but it's difficult to do when Keith looks like sex on legs.
Because there are a lot of legs. All on display. Firm and slender.
And Shiro knows how they feel wrapped around him, while they accompany Shiro's thrusts because Keith wants him to reach deeper. He knows how Keith feels, head thrown back in the mist of passion and lust, and this is not helping the matter at all.
He's glad it doesn't seem like the Galra have a smell that's better than humans, because he's sure someone of them would be able to sniff the arousal coming from Shiro from a while back. Probably from the Castle, if they really focused.
Keith looks towards him then, and he smirks at Shiro, like the little tease that he is. He knows exactly what that is doing to Shiro, especially now that they aren't in any kind of mortal danger ans Shiro's brain isn't focused on anything but Keith.
"Since I get to go with them on missions," Keith explains, with a smile, "they decided I should have a suit too."
He turns, then, and Shiro can't help but look down, at the way Keith's ass is perfectly contained in the suit and he stops, knowing full well that he has lost the fight. Whatever happens now, he's going to have an hard on for the rest of the day, and Keith knows it full well.
Critical Role; Such a poor man; 391w; COWT8 Pazzia
The first time he hears the voice, Percy thinks he's crazy. He has been running for too long, afraid of the light and friend only to shadows. He hasn't talked to someone in weeks, and all he remembers is the burning pain of the wip on his body.
So he knows he's losing his mind when a whisper in the night talks to him, asks him to folllow him. Percy doesn't, because as gone as his mind is, he knows that you never follow the voices in your head.
It happens every night for days on end, and Percy does his best. He tries to keep his head focused on promises of revenge, on pipe dreams of getting back his own city, of killing the Briarwoods in cold blood and enjoy the smell of their corpses while they burn.
It doesn't help. Percy thinks it might be making it worse.
Still, he doesn't stop. Oh what a terrible thing to be Percival Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo the third, who has more names than family members left.
And then one night the voice comes clearer. Percy is dreaming, he knows, and there is smoke all around him. It shrivels and caresses him, like a lover, like a friend. Percy knows better than to think he has any friends left in this world.
"You want revenge," the voice tells him, "and I can give it to you. I can give you the knowledge you need to create a weapon. A weapon that will destroy all your enemies."
Percy knows he shouldn't listen to the voice, knows what a terrible thing is to make a bargain with a voice. He has read too much in his life not to recognize what is happening here, the terrible path that is opening right in front of his eyes.
But what does it even mean?
If he has to give up his own soul for his revenge, would someone really care? Would someone even notice?
"Tell me," he begs, into the night. The smoke closes even more around him, and he can't do anything but inhale it. His lungs feel with it, burn with it.
The next moment Percy wakes up and he knows things he never knew before. He has knowledge that no book ever taught him.
God, what a crazy man, Percival is.
Voltron; Tell it with food; 343w; COWT8 Passione
There is one thing Hunk loves more than anything else in the world, and that is creating food. Being able to eat it is, of course, a side bonus, but that is not where Hunk's passion lies.
He loves machines, of course he does, he has chosen it as his job for that exact reason, because he likes to see how things ticks, he likes to create and combine and make something even better in the end. And that's exactly the reason why he loves cooking so much. It's not just about eating, it's about creating something more, it's about making something from somewhere where nothing was before.
When he was on earth, his mother had taught him anything she knew, but it had been his father who had taught him to be a good chef. Not because he could cook better than his mother, but because he liked to experiment. He was never afraid of mixing two ingredients and he tried and he tried until he got it right.
Most of his food was a disaster, almost impossible to eat, but he received so much joy out of the process, that he never seemed to care. He loved cooking for the sake of it, for the creativity and liberty it allowed him. And Hunk had been fascinated.
Cooking was a sign of love, was an art in its very essence, and Hunk loved being able to create, to express himself with it.
Once they arrived on the castle, the art only changed tools, but it was still the same as it was on earth. So Hunk lost himself in his passion, creating and mixing, playing with new ingredients he had never seen before.
He wants to show all this to his father, make him taste all of his new creation, but mostly share with him al his failures.
No one, maybe, will be able to understand it, but Hunk doesn't need them to.
His passion for cooking is his own, and he doesn't need to showcase it. He's happy as he is.
Voltron; One more time; NSFW; 323w; COWT-8 Lussuria
The first strike makes Shiro almost jump. Only Keith's hand, firm on his back stops him from moving. The place where the other's hand has just stricken hurts with a delicious pulse, and Shiro feels his cock twitch in appreciation.
"Don't move," the other orders him, and Shiro stills himself. He wants to obey Keith, he wants to do good this time. Another hit and Shiro releases a moan, unable to resist. Keith's hand is firm every time he hits his ass, and it makes him feel incredible.
"Good," Keith says, and his voice is soft, rumbling with pleasure. It makes Shiro feel welcomed, appreciated.
He needs these things, when his head gets too crowded, when all his responsabilities threaten to overwhelm him. Keith has the power to make him focus again, to strip him of all that makes him the leader of Voltron and return him to being just Shiro. it's something he desperately needs, to drown all the worry and the paranoia in lust.
Another hit and Shiro closes his eyes, enjoyng the delicious pulsing of his skin, there where Keith's hand keeps stricking his ass. Spanking is one of their preferred methods, especially when Shiro is too worked up for anything else.
Soon, when Shiro is finally starting to lose himself to the sensation, Keith picks up the pace. The distance between one spank and the other decreases and Shiro is moaning soon, a little desperate. The pain mixes with the pleasure in a delicious cocktail that makes him lose his mind.
He loves it, loves Keith for giving this to him, for always taking care of him. It might be the lust obfuscating his brain, but he thinks he has never felt this good in his entire life.
"You've been good, haven't you?" Keith asks, laying another smack on him, "you get to have whatever you want."
And Shiro wants this, for as long as he can have it.