[ it's a good tone, fixed and firm with resolve. for all that he doesn't know keith, not really, it's still the kind of determination that he can admire -- that he can trust.
but trusting this boy has always come easy from the very beginning. so he nods, spine straightening with his better stance, his rearranged seat. ]
a hand lashes out, knuckles along his collar as keith lifts his head -- and his brows have snapped together, his mouth turned knife-sharp. hell if he knows what he's doing, hell if the idea's got anything behind it but pounding adrenaline, an unfamiliar taste, and spark after glancing, remembered spark at every point they've touched -- ]
Just hold still.
[ as he braces onto a knee, hauls him down into a kiss. ]
not that he does more than lean in with the yank, when he's owl-eyed and thoroughly confused (and thinking hastily in the spurred moment, a little dreamily in that split second before collision, that keith's eyes are really a lovely color).
and as far as kisses go, he's never really been kissed so angrily before, hard enough to jar a breath into turning sharply out of turn. or rather, maybe it's not angry -- just fueled by inexperience, and by the same token, too much teeth.
it doesn't spark more than the same memory -- the bike underneath them, how he's winding his arms around keith's belly, and the dry desert air's whipping warm all around them -- but it shocks his heartbeat into thunder inside of his rib cage. he's not sure about this test. he's not sure about anything anymore.
but maybe he's not exactly thinking about the test than he is about the actual kiss, when he's leaning in and tilting his head at a better angle, just to avoid the edge of keith's teeth. ]
in the blackened-early morning, shiro tastes like nothing but mint and the bitter edge of badly brewed coffee -- leans into him with puzzled, reflexive trust. like trust comes easy, like he doesn't need to think twice to be sure -- and proximity's churning static in the pit of his stomach as he grinds out a harsher breath through his teeth, as imagined memory saturates nerve and vein: the soft line of his shirt, how it'd feel to palm his shoulder and pull him closer. static's twisting hollow in the pit of his stomach, bright and stinging -- and a harsh, dizzy drop.
he doesn't remember this at all.
he can't. he won't. he could forget his first ride (a stingy customer's keyring snapped off the holder, a mechanic's shouts throttling their little garage as he'd cranked the engine to roar), lose the first dull fit of wire strippers gleaming red against his palm. but this -- the gentling shape of shiro's mouth beneath his, coaxing and yielding until he jerks, trembles with something a little worse than impact. no one would forget a kiss like this.
maybe he'd had an excuse to draw shiro down. he doesn't, now, for lingering, for tilting, shuddering, into a breathless kiss, and not pulling away. ]
[ to be fair, he doesn't try to think of what it means at first. it'd been that way from the start, rocky and too quick to really consider the logic, to do more than take second seat to some rough-and-tumble, street-smart killjoy who thinks he knows better, who probably doesn't, but knows he's fast enough to pick things up on the fly given the opportunity. keith stole his car at first, looked stiff and small at first when he laid a hand on his shoulder in the alleyway. it's different than all of the dreams and daydreams, but because of them, nothing seems all that sudden when they should be: the stalking, and the fixating, and every unfortunate sign that there's something just as wrong with his head if he's humoring everything that this dumb kid's trying to do.
but it's hard to deny the effect it has on him.
nothing really explains the blind trust, how they went from that missed beat on the streets with his hand on keith's shoulder to this, all racing heartbeats and searing relief, something that feels like what he felt in a dream last night, clutching keith to his chest and hoping beyond all unexplainable hope that he'd stay safe. it still knots in his throat.
he doesn't remember this, but nothing about the feeling changes at all. not the adrenaline rushing hot in his blood, and not the zero gravity of the giddy moment, the way keith yields, breath shuttering, and he'd like nothing more than to surge into the kiss, to hold on tightly and never let keith give him that lost-eyed look again.
don't go.
but that was a dream.
the reality is this: keith is a young boy he's met some few weeks ago. he broke his window and rummaged through his things, and now he's in his bed, wearing his clothes, and any moment now, he's going to spill hot cocoa on his sheets.
he knows all of this, clear-headed as ever, and he's still slow to pull back. ]
. . . that was -
[ nice, is on the tip of his tongue. but it's probably not the joke he wants it to mean. half-lidded and bleary-eyed, he doesn't really mean the breathlessness of the murmur when he eventually finds the words.
especially when they're still only an inch away. ]
. . . kind of. I thought I remembered -- something.
[ something like wanting, crackling beneath his ribs like coals -- like the twist of a body between his thighs, curling close enough to press his mouth to the juncture just above his collarbone. a laugh clinging to teeth and tongue: come on, shiro.
he pulls back, settles against the wall with a stolid stormcloud frown. ]
But -- whatever we were doing, I guess that wasn't part of it.
[ but he pulls back, too, in the end. he's a little warm, but the draft's taking care of that, and he's rubbing the back of his neck until the hairs there stop standing on end.
it takes a while, takes built metal nerves and military-bred composure, but he exhales and his breathing's even again. his smile's passable when he goes for a laugh. ]
I was starting to think after all of the attention, that you just developed an unhealthy crush.
. . . I'm paying attention because I remember you, even though none of the things we're remembering feel possible. In that race in the desert, or with the books -- I just remember looking at you and thinking --
[ but he bites down the words before they've formed -- in part because there's no shape to them, no real sound.
at least his eyes are clear, holding steady. ]
It's not just some crush. At some point, you mattered to me. You still do. I just want to figure out where it came from.
[ keith's honesty is more potent after a kiss it seems.
or maybe it's the anger. maybe keith's a stray and would follow anyone as doggedly as he'd done him if they'd only shown him any care, any ounce of attention at all. but that doesn't explain the dreams or the memories -- a bike's purring vibration, or the feeling like he'd been lost in space, like they should be together, and now he's back, and keith won't have to wait anymore.
the logical reply would be: does it matter?
instead, he's reaching out, his hand landing comfortably on keith's shoulder. ]
[ which is still -- strange. groundless as far as he knows. but for all that every picture could be a hallucination, there's not much that can force this feeling out of nowhere. ]
Even if it does sound crazy. I don't know why or how, but the feeling is mutual.
. . . I don't know what it's gonna take to get to the bottom of this. But I'll find out. And --
[ word after word, ticking at the back of his throat like rust. shiro's fingers are a warm weight; his shoulder eases beneath the touch as his brows unravel from their knot. ]
but keith's close enough to warrant little warning: there's just his arm that he drapes across his back, the slower pull that brings him closer. all movements that are easily shrugged off or avoided, if keith doesn't let them happen.
as far as hugs go, this one's pretty slow-going. ]
[ zero to sixty. it takes a little time to reel him in at first, and he leans into it stiff and slow, unsure of his ground -- but the idea twinges some muscle memory in him, and then he's pressing into it after all, hands flattening against a shoulderblade as his forehead bows against a shoulder. ]
. . . what're you doing.
[ on the other hand: that's not quite sentiment. ]
[ the hesitance is different, not the same headlong trust that pushed keith's smile against the shape of his shoulder, or the careless way keith slid close enough to fall asleep inside of his arms, mindless and unworried if only for a night.
but within seconds, it's like they're in the desert again, and keith folds into him easy. he tethers to the points of contact, feels the reorientation until they're the centers of his gravity: keith's head pressed against him, and his hand braced along his back. it isn't quite the same feeling as the kiss, not at the point of breaking the earth's atmosphere, not the startling rush of being pinned after a good spar, but this is - ]
Remembering, I think.
Sorry. [ it's offered a little wryly, his smile crooking and obvious in his tone. but he's still keeping keith close. his next breath stirs along a damp curl of his hair. ] I lied about forgetting my dream last night.
[ it says something terrible that even i lied doesn't get keith to move away in full: his head comes up a little, his exhale all gusty frustration -- but he doesn't shift. ]
[ it's a little guilty because it rings a bit more like an excuse than a clear-cut reason: it was a dream, it wasn't worth sharing or it was a dream, and nothing more. but more importantly. ]
You told me that you saw me studying to go to space. Whatever happened last night was just a dream, but . . . it would've happened after I went on that mission.
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but trusting this boy has always come easy from the very beginning. so he nods, spine straightening with his better stance, his rearranged seat. ]
Go right ahead.
What would you like me to do?
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a hand lashes out, knuckles along his collar as keith lifts his head -- and his brows have snapped together, his mouth turned knife-sharp. hell if he knows what he's doing, hell if the idea's got anything behind it but pounding adrenaline, an unfamiliar taste, and spark after glancing, remembered spark at every point they've touched -- ]
Just hold still.
[ as he braces onto a knee, hauls him down into a kiss. ]
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not that he does more than lean in with the yank, when he's owl-eyed and thoroughly confused (and thinking hastily in the spurred moment, a little dreamily in that split second before collision, that keith's eyes are really a lovely color).
and as far as kisses go, he's never really been kissed so angrily before, hard enough to jar a breath into turning sharply out of turn. or rather, maybe it's not angry -- just fueled by inexperience, and by the same token, too much teeth.
it doesn't spark more than the same memory -- the bike underneath them, how he's winding his arms around keith's belly, and the dry desert air's whipping warm all around them -- but it shocks his heartbeat into thunder inside of his rib cage. he's not sure about this test. he's not sure about anything anymore.
but maybe he's not exactly thinking about the test than he is about the actual kiss, when he's leaning in and tilting his head at a better angle, just to avoid the edge of keith's teeth. ]
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in the blackened-early morning, shiro tastes like nothing but mint and the bitter edge of badly brewed coffee -- leans into him with puzzled, reflexive trust. like trust comes easy, like he doesn't need to think twice to be sure -- and proximity's churning static in the pit of his stomach as he grinds out a harsher breath through his teeth, as imagined memory saturates nerve and vein: the soft line of his shirt, how it'd feel to palm his shoulder and pull him closer. static's twisting hollow in the pit of his stomach, bright and stinging -- and a harsh, dizzy drop.
he doesn't remember this at all.
he can't. he won't. he could forget his first ride (a stingy customer's keyring snapped off the holder, a mechanic's shouts throttling their little garage as he'd cranked the engine to roar), lose the first dull fit of wire strippers gleaming red against his palm. but this -- the gentling shape of shiro's mouth beneath his, coaxing and yielding until he jerks, trembles with something a little worse than impact. no one would forget a kiss like this.
maybe he'd had an excuse to draw shiro down. he doesn't, now, for lingering, for tilting, shuddering, into a breathless kiss, and not pulling away. ]
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but it's hard to deny the effect it has on him.
nothing really explains the blind trust, how they went from that missed beat on the streets with his hand on keith's shoulder to this, all racing heartbeats and searing relief, something that feels like what he felt in a dream last night, clutching keith to his chest and hoping beyond all unexplainable hope that he'd stay safe. it still knots in his throat.
he doesn't remember this, but nothing about the feeling changes at all. not the adrenaline rushing hot in his blood, and not the zero gravity of the giddy moment, the way keith yields, breath shuttering, and he'd like nothing more than to surge into the kiss, to hold on tightly and never let keith give him that lost-eyed look again.
don't go.
but that was a dream.
the reality is this: keith is a young boy he's met some few weeks ago. he broke his window and rummaged through his things, and now he's in his bed, wearing his clothes, and any moment now, he's going to spill hot cocoa on his sheets.
he knows all of this, clear-headed as ever, and he's still slow to pull back. ]
. . . that was -
[ nice, is on the tip of his tongue. but it's probably not the joke he wants it to mean. half-lidded and bleary-eyed, he doesn't really mean the breathlessness of the murmur when he eventually finds the words.
especially when they're still only an inch away. ]
. . . supposed to be a test?
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[ something like wanting, crackling beneath his ribs like coals -- like the twist of a body between his thighs, curling close enough to press his mouth to the juncture just above his collarbone. a laugh clinging to teeth and tongue: come on, shiro.
he pulls back, settles against the wall with a stolid stormcloud frown. ]
But -- whatever we were doing, I guess that wasn't part of it.
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ice water. he can handle that, he should've expected it even, when keith had prefaced it with, i want to test something.
it'd be a little silly at this point, to ask, are you sure? ]
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it takes a while, takes built metal nerves and military-bred composure, but he exhales and his breathing's even again. his smile's passable when he goes for a laugh. ]
I was starting to think after all of the attention, that you just developed an unhealthy crush.
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[ wait. ]
You?
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[ ??? ]
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[ but he bites down the words before they've formed -- in part because there's no shape to them, no real sound.
at least his eyes are clear, holding steady. ]
It's not just some crush. At some point, you mattered to me. You still do. I just want to figure out where it came from.
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or maybe it's the anger. maybe keith's a stray and would follow anyone as doggedly as he'd done him if they'd only shown him any care, any ounce of attention at all. but that doesn't explain the dreams or the memories -- a bike's purring vibration, or the feeling like he'd been lost in space, like they should be together, and now he's back, and keith won't have to wait anymore.
the logical reply would be: does it matter?
instead, he's reaching out, his hand landing comfortably on keith's shoulder. ]
. . . sorry. I was trying to lighten the mood.
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[ which is still -- strange. groundless as far as he knows. but for all that every picture could be a hallucination, there's not much that can force this feeling out of nowhere. ]
Even if it does sound crazy. I don't know why or how, but the feeling is mutual.
And I'd like to help you, if I can.
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[ word after word, ticking at the back of his throat like rust. shiro's fingers are a warm weight; his shoulder eases beneath the touch as his brows unravel from their knot. ]
I'm glad you're with me, Shiro.
[ how's that for lightening the mood. ]
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damn. ]
Can I . . . try something, too?
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Sure--what?
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I think you should put the cup on the nightstand first.
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Okay?
[ coincidentally, the nightstand's by shiro's shoulder, so that he has to lean forward and past to set it down with a little clink. ]
What?
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but keith's close enough to warrant little warning: there's just his arm that he drapes across his back, the slower pull that brings him closer. all movements that are easily shrugged off or avoided, if keith doesn't let them happen.
as far as hugs go, this one's pretty slow-going. ]
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. . . what're you doing.
[ on the other hand: that's not quite sentiment. ]
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but within seconds, it's like they're in the desert again, and keith folds into him easy. he tethers to the points of contact, feels the reorientation until they're the centers of his gravity: keith's head pressed against him, and his hand braced along his back. it isn't quite the same feeling as the kiss, not at the point of breaking the earth's atmosphere, not the startling rush of being pinned after a good spar, but this is - ]
Remembering, I think.
Sorry. [ it's offered a little wryly, his smile crooking and obvious in his tone. but he's still keeping keith close. his next breath stirs along a damp curl of his hair. ] I lied about forgetting my dream last night.
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Why?
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[ it's a little guilty because it rings a bit more like an excuse than a clear-cut reason: it was a dream, it wasn't worth sharing or it was a dream, and nothing more. but more importantly. ]
You told me that you saw me studying to go to space. Whatever happened last night was just a dream, but . . . it would've happened after I went on that mission.
I don't think it went well.
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