[ there might have been a class on this. something something, massages are sensual and calming, the prolonged touch a great foundation for future intimacy. that’s the theory anyway. shiro received a massage from another inmate way back when and it, thankfully, didn’t lead to anything else, but here, he finds himself thinking… hoping…? it’s keith’s fault. his boy has great hands and even greater instincts. shiro doesn’t want to fuck per say, or even do anything sexual right now, but he does want to close his eyes and sink into the intoxicating feeling of fingers and thumbs digging in at just the right angle and just the right pressure…
it isn’t just the hours of carrying keith on his back. shiro has knots upon knots from the routine taxation of his body, both from simply working out and from carrying a metal weight on his right. the prosthetic is heavy. it requires upper body strength, as well as a strong core, to keep the weight from continually pitching him to the right. stress is, of course, another factor that keeps him tense, too. so there is no shortage of sore muscle for keith to find with those lovely, glove enhanced hands of his.
it’s such a shame that it ends so soon.
arms slip around and in, wrapping at his torso. a squeeze brings keith’s closer and they’re there again: keith draped against his back. well, perhaps less draping and more hugging. shiro opens his eyes and looks down at the grasping of keith’s hands, soon bringing his left up to cover one of keith’s. his thumb picks up an almost automatic caress, back and forth, back and forth skimming knuckle as he watches for one beat, two, and then carefully turns his head. he doesn’t want to dislodge keith in any way, so he doesn’t crane as much as he can. just enough to manage a slight peek from the corner of his eyes.
he has a good idea of what keith is trying to say. sex. are they done with sex? but he can’t be entirely sure. maybe keith means a more specified abundance of kink. shiro also can’t be sure this doesn’t have to do with their conversation before the sentries showed up. so – ask, he tells himself. ]
i feel like nothing happens in this tag l:
it isn’t just the hours of carrying keith on his back. shiro has knots upon knots from the routine taxation of his body, both from simply working out and from carrying a metal weight on his right. the prosthetic is heavy. it requires upper body strength, as well as a strong core, to keep the weight from continually pitching him to the right. stress is, of course, another factor that keeps him tense, too. so there is no shortage of sore muscle for keith to find with those lovely, glove enhanced hands of his.
it’s such a shame that it ends so soon.
arms slip around and in, wrapping at his torso. a squeeze brings keith’s closer and they’re there again: keith draped against his back. well, perhaps less draping and more hugging. shiro opens his eyes and looks down at the grasping of keith’s hands, soon bringing his left up to cover one of keith’s. his thumb picks up an almost automatic caress, back and forth, back and forth skimming knuckle as he watches for one beat, two, and then carefully turns his head. he doesn’t want to dislodge keith in any way, so he doesn’t crane as much as he can. just enough to manage a slight peek from the corner of his eyes.
he has a good idea of what keith is trying to say. sex. are they done with sex? but he can’t be entirely sure. maybe keith means a more specified abundance of kink. shiro also can’t be sure this doesn’t have to do with their conversation before the sentries showed up. so – ask, he tells himself. ]
That as in… sex?