[ there's an answer to that -- i didn't mean i thought they were messing with us, his tongue half-curled for the correction already. but shiro's still touching him, a current of living warmth, and beneath the black cold morning, it's something to lean into, reflexive beneath the storm, his eyes all clear studying. ]
. . . when'd you get demoted?
[ with another question tensing beneath it: the company isn't, after all, known for its kindness to dissatisfactory workers. ]
[ and maybe it doesn't deserve the embarrassed smile, or the way he's still holding onto keith like there's more to test than this: the press of his thumb along his pulse point, or the way he's smoothing his thumb along his jaw. ]
I was charged to fly some inmates to a holding facility in Westerley. I guess I didn't think they deserved that, so I took them out of bounds until the Company blew out my engine remotely.
absurdly, it coaxes a smile out of him -- mouth crooking, helplessly skewed with the grazing touch, the way shiro's still looking at him, the weight of memory and new warmth lazy between them. ]
[ a laugh, simply because keith has a smile that he's coming to find is pretty infectious.
none of their little touches spark any memories. but he's still sick on his fluttering heartbeat, compensating for the reality of waking up by keeping them connected, at least in the smaller ways. ]
Most people just do the work. Even at the RAC. They wanna rank up, get paid, go home, and that's it. No one thinks about the warrants they get. Even the ones who want to make a difference figure that what we do's better than anything the Company does, because at least we get to choose our warrants.
[ it isn't a thought that he's chased much, and it shows. the matter of moral superiority's an ingrained thing: better a job as a rac agent, however disagreeable the intragency politics, than as one in a herd of companymen, choosing deliberate blindness, nothing better to do but to bow their heads and yield to the nine's heavy hand and driving politics. but the sourness of that remark must be a little undercut by the way he isn't shifting away at all, chin still tipped up with the idle press of shiro's fingertips on his skin, his eyes clear and fixed, the leap of his pulse palpable beneath his skin. ]
[ the thing is, he has no real excuse to keep up this proximity.
nothing but the fact that keith lets it happen -- anything to keep them anchored in the moment, in this strange state of suspension that doesn't quite feel like the reunion that he dreamt about last night.
and yet. ]
I've done a lot of things under the name of the Company, some things I can never forgive myself for. Back then, I thought I was doing all of it to keep as many people safe . . . but they're not kidding when they talk about good intentions.
[ it's almost jarring, like the kiss, or the break-in -- tamer, maybe, but no less abrupt.
how like keith, he thinks, even if it's a thought based on nothing more than a few meetings, an inkling, a half-remembered dream. but it does what it needs to do, and he's lifting his other hand to squeeze the backs of keith's knuckles in kind. ]
. . . I still don't know how all of this adds up, but somehow the feeling's mutual.
[ it's entirely possible that nobody before's ever told keith that they've wanted to kiss him again. it's likely that nobody before's ever so much as implied to keith that they wanted to kiss him at all.
he should be conscious of his position: in shiro's bed under the lamp-thinned dark, fingers still knotted around his wrist -- but it's a close moment, and all that parses is the shadowy shape of shiro's mouth and heat's new, slow surge, a coil in the pit of his belly and faintly scorching along his ears. ]
but it's a close distance, close enough to feel keith's hair prickling along his skin, and close enough to feel every breath of his response brushing against his chin. he's not nearly as abrupt about it, half-lidded and fixed on keith's mouth, but it doesn't take more than a second to tilt his head, to gauge for the hesitant moment that keith might tug away.
but the pause ticks on by and he closes the last bit of distance, pressing their mouths together in a softer sort of kiss. ]
[ it's a chain reaction: his head jerking to meet the angle, a name that melts on his tongue, his fist grinding tight in shiro's shirt as the first faint breath cracks between them, swayed into a kiss.
it's easy, is the thing -- a kiss warm and reeling headlong, certainty banded through him, ironclad. more than the icy rains or oldtown's crumbling backstreets, he knows this man -- knows the body tilting against him and the pulse gleaming beneath his knuckles. it should be no surprise at all that he's leaning into it after no more than a lost beat and a faint, displeased sound, all demand and immediate intent, chasing the only sure thing left in the world. ]
[ they could be all wrong about it. if he were a better man, maybe he'd find all the ways he could talk keith down from wasting his time.
he shouldn't, but there's no mistaking the silly, punch-drunk surge of a feeling rattling around inside of his skull, the racing of his heartbeat, or the familiar memory of keith's crooked smile.
but it's real now, and he doesn't have the benefit of hindsight, no hypotheticals to really base the feeling on -- nothing but the look keith gave him, perfectly content with his face in shiro's hand, smiling with the sun behind it, a planet settling into orbit. he shouldn't, but he leans in and kisses keith properly this time, slow and thorough and careful, long enough to taste the next breath curling along his tongue.
and maybe, a moment later, the next exhale along the inside of keith's teeth. ]
[ the kiss is clumsy, but that doesn't dim any of its urgency, its force, the faint shocked sound he makes as his mouth parts and his eyes lid, chasing the faint spark of salt that runs from tongue to tongue. it lasts longer than it should, too -- but then, it's easy to linger, grip tightening in the thin vest, trusting that shiro'll take his weight. no surprise that the second kiss tumbles into the third with the tilt of his head, yielding and yielding, instinct-ridden with only the slightest sigh to betray him. ]
[ funny. here he'd thought it'd been going too slow.
all it takes is for that first, unknowing moment to pass, for keith's tense, grasping hands and his next inhale sucked into his lungs like a fish out of water, and then keith's pressing in without a single mote of resistance, no flailing, no confused flurry. nothing's really made sense in the last handful of weeks and months, but regardless of the lack of some old sparked memory, the lack of ghosts reaching out at him from behind the sidelines, this is the most right he's felt in a while.
three kisses, and then a fourth longer one; his lips are already sore, and their teeth bump before he thinks to avoid it, but he's got his arm circling the small of keith's back, and there's no sign that he's about to let go. it's unfamiliar, of course. he maps keith's mouth and tastes the chocolate, the iron tang of blood where his lip might have split, but he's licking along the ridges of the roof of his mouth, and pressing along the inside of his cheek.
he doesn't remember a thing about being this ridiculously happy -- doesn't remember ever thinking, finally like it ever meant anything more than this. ]
[ instinct's a drug. instinct tells him here, here: clench his fingertips along the rumpling lines of shiro's shirt, smooth knuckles to palm along the caging ribs and the skipping thud beneath, knot his fist tighter, anchoring enough to roughen the next kiss. it aches, dull felt throbs between kisses, but instinct's answering in kind before a single second-guess slides between them -- and so his fingers slide along the nape of shiro's neck as he leans up, up, knee dredging a creak out of old springs as he crowds close enough to brush chest against chest, flushed and heavy-lidded, riled off of a fever whose need he can't quite name. ]
Shiro -
[ a whisper, a hoarse, heady gasp -- there's no telling where that tone came from, all trust and torn-open desperation, like a murmur out of a moment forgotten but not exorcised. still: they're in the dark together, his fingers hooking into the loop of shiro's belt as he braces up against him, an instant from sliding into his lap.
soon, they'll stop; they have to. until then, the warmth alone feels like answer enough for everything. ]
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[ there's an answer to that -- i didn't mean i thought they were messing with us, his tongue half-curled for the correction already. but shiro's still touching him, a current of living warmth, and beneath the black cold morning, it's something to lean into, reflexive beneath the storm, his eyes all clear studying. ]
. . . when'd you get demoted?
[ with another question tensing beneath it: the company isn't, after all, known for its kindness to dissatisfactory workers. ]
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[ and maybe it doesn't deserve the embarrassed smile, or the way he's still holding onto keith like there's more to test than this: the press of his thumb along his pulse point, or the way he's smoothing his thumb along his jaw. ]
I was charged to fly some inmates to a holding facility in Westerley. I guess I didn't think they deserved that, so I took them out of bounds until the Company blew out my engine remotely.
. . . it's been a wild ride since then.
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absurdly, it coaxes a smile out of him -- mouth crooking, helplessly skewed with the grazing touch, the way shiro's still looking at him, the weight of memory and new warmth lazy between them. ]
. . . I thought you were just a driver.
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none of their little touches spark any memories. but he's still sick on his fluttering heartbeat, compensating for the reality of waking up by keeping them connected, at least in the smaller ways. ]
I was.
I just had higher clearance back then.
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Most people just do the work. Even at the RAC. They wanna rank up, get paid, go home, and that's it. No one thinks about the warrants they get. Even the ones who want to make a difference figure that what we do's better than anything the Company does, because at least we get to choose our warrants.
[ it isn't a thought that he's chased much, and it shows. the matter of moral superiority's an ingrained thing: better a job as a rac agent, however disagreeable the intragency politics, than as one in a herd of companymen, choosing deliberate blindness, nothing better to do but to bow their heads and yield to the nine's heavy hand and driving politics. but the sourness of that remark must be a little undercut by the way he isn't shifting away at all, chin still tipped up with the idle press of shiro's fingertips on his skin, his eyes clear and fixed, the leap of his pulse palpable beneath his skin. ]
I guess you're just -- not what I expected.
[ a little lower - ]
You're not like anything I expected.
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[ the thing is, he has no real excuse to keep up this proximity.
nothing but the fact that keith lets it happen -- anything to keep them anchored in the moment, in this strange state of suspension that doesn't quite feel like the reunion that he dreamt about last night.
and yet. ]
I've done a lot of things under the name of the Company, some things I can never forgive myself for. Back then, I thought I was doing all of it to keep as many people safe . . . but they're not kidding when they talk about good intentions.
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That's -- still a work in progress.
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What do you mean still?
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[ it's an uneasy smile -- but at least he's trying. ]
We boarded Arcturus to avoid getting lost in space on a burning ship. I did everything I could, but in the end, they were recaptured.
But as long as I keep up my end of the arrangement . . . I can only hope that the Company will do the same, and stay any order of execution.
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[ as his fingers slide and snag along the brink of shiro's wrist, tugging, insistent and frowning. ]
They almost got away once. Any time you buy them now's worth it.
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how like keith, he thinks, even if it's a thought based on nothing more than a few meetings, an inkling, a half-remembered dream. but it does what it needs to do, and he's lifting his other hand to squeeze the backs of keith's knuckles in kind. ]
. . . I still don't know how all of this adds up, but somehow the feeling's mutual.
I'm glad you're with me, Keith.
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[ husky, with his eyes brilliant where they've fixed on shiro's face. ]
. . . I'll start looking into it. You can just -- be good, I guess. I'll let you know what I find.
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[ and maybe the grin's a touch more sheepish when he has to endure the full brunt of keith's fixed look.
. . . ]
You really -- got nothing from the kiss, huh.
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Wait -- did it feel familiar to you?
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[ oh my god, keith has a terrifying pout.
... cute. ]
I just -- it was a nice kiss.
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[ it's entirely possible that nobody before's ever told keith that they've wanted to kiss him again. it's likely that nobody before's ever so much as implied to keith that they wanted to kiss him at all.
he should be conscious of his position: in shiro's bed under the lamp-thinned dark, fingers still knotted around his wrist -- but it's a close moment, and all that parses is the shadowy shape of shiro's mouth and heat's new, slow surge, a coil in the pit of his belly and faintly scorching along his ears. ]
Do you -- not get kissed that much?
[
shut up. ]
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I guess not.
Sorry I disappointed you.
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[ blame reflex for the way his fingers tighten to haul shiro in. ]
You know that's not what I meant.
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but it's a close distance, close enough to feel keith's hair prickling along his skin, and close enough to feel every breath of his response brushing against his chin. he's not nearly as abrupt about it, half-lidded and fixed on keith's mouth, but it doesn't take more than a second to tilt his head, to gauge for the hesitant moment that keith might tug away.
but the pause ticks on by and he closes the last bit of distance, pressing their mouths together in a softer sort of kiss. ]
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it's easy, is the thing -- a kiss warm and reeling headlong, certainty banded through him, ironclad. more than the icy rains or oldtown's crumbling backstreets, he knows this man -- knows the body tilting against him and the pulse gleaming beneath his knuckles. it should be no surprise at all that he's leaning into it after no more than a lost beat and a faint, displeased sound, all demand and immediate intent, chasing the only sure thing left in the world. ]
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he shouldn't, but there's no mistaking the silly, punch-drunk surge of a feeling rattling around inside of his skull, the racing of his heartbeat, or the familiar memory of keith's crooked smile.
but it's real now, and he doesn't have the benefit of hindsight, no hypotheticals to really base the feeling on -- nothing but the look keith gave him, perfectly content with his face in shiro's hand, smiling with the sun behind it, a planet settling into orbit. he shouldn't, but he leans in and kisses keith properly this time, slow and thorough and careful, long enough to taste the next breath curling along his tongue.
and maybe, a moment later, the next exhale along the inside of keith's teeth. ]
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all it takes is for that first, unknowing moment to pass, for keith's tense, grasping hands and his next inhale sucked into his lungs like a fish out of water, and then keith's pressing in without a single mote of resistance, no flailing, no confused flurry. nothing's really made sense in the last handful of weeks and months, but regardless of the lack of some old sparked memory, the lack of ghosts reaching out at him from behind the sidelines, this is the most right he's felt in a while.
three kisses, and then a fourth longer one; his lips are already sore, and their teeth bump before he thinks to avoid it, but he's got his arm circling the small of keith's back, and there's no sign that he's about to let go. it's unfamiliar, of course. he maps keith's mouth and tastes the chocolate, the iron tang of blood where his lip might have split, but he's licking along the ridges of the roof of his mouth, and pressing along the inside of his cheek.
he doesn't remember a thing about being this ridiculously happy -- doesn't remember ever thinking, finally like it ever meant anything more than this. ]
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Shiro -
[ a whisper, a hoarse, heady gasp -- there's no telling where that tone came from, all trust and torn-open desperation, like a murmur out of a moment forgotten but not exorcised. still: they're in the dark together, his fingers hooking into the loop of shiro's belt as he braces up against him, an instant from sliding into his lap.
soon, they'll stop; they have to. until then, the warmth alone feels like answer enough for everything. ]
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