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catch-all

WHO: Keith + "friends"
WHERE: The Netherworld...? LISTEN. All over.
WHEN: December
WHAT: Event shenanigans + other
WARNINGS: Language??

( ooc: if you'd like to do something with keith ( doesn't have to be event-related! ), feel free to PM, msg/add

sevenhelpings or wildcard your own! )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

⟪ keith shot for the moon, landed among the stars, passed go and collected death. bringing back tangible souvenirs in the midst of war is the kind of sinister desire shiro never entertained, so no, he never did get him that space rock he asked for. his thoughts were otherwise occupied—as were keith’s when voltron rose again—but now… now, in spite of everything, he can… breathe. somewhat. it’s a different type of struggle, but he’s no stranger to survival; with keith by his side, he’s managed to find a modicum of reprieve, and in moments like this, he remembers all the what ifs he once believed in, and all the promises he made.

the smile keith cracks goes straight to shiro’s chest, blooming there, a fiery little thing. he doesn’t bother trying to evade that kick; instead he basks in keith’s obvious pleasure, grinning in kind as he wriggles his nose and feigns a nonchalant shrug. ⟫

Yeah, without you. Ever heard of surprises? ⟪ his foot finds his, gently kicking back as his grin widens just so. ⟫ Besides… you were busy scolding Lance. ⟪ after finding his meal half-eaten, which of course he blamed on lance. the fluffiest. the forsaken. his namesake is a thorn in keith’s side, though this is just an excuse; he would have gone without him regardless. ⟫

I know I’m a few years late, but… ⟪ two, three? shiro shrugs again, a little more self-conscious this time, bashful in the way his gaze wavers away and back again. ⟫ I was hoping to find something a little on the rarer side. ⟪ precious. which isn’t why it took him years—he died, war waged, and now he’s joke-deflecting—but a star fragment would have been impossible to collect before, so maybe it isn’t so bad that he… well. ran into obstacles. but here it is now. an actual space rock that should have been unattainable, and shiro’s gaze drastically softens as he fixes his gaze on keith, not the star, unblinking. ⟫ I think I found it.

[ yeah about that. can keith eat lance yet? kidding. maybe? keith once lived off of jackrabbits, y’know ( and coyotes and rattlesnakes and scorpions and all the critters of the desert ). though, it’d be harder to live with shiro’s sad, sorrowful eyes, than it would be to exist with lance the fucking rabbit who, funnily enough, doesn’t understand the concept of personal space, just as his namesake.

he huffs at the mention, but otherwise makes no comment. carefully now, he sets the box down on the table, both hands still framing each side of it, like he’s reluctant to let go to the thing. he’s yet to touch the star fragment itself, still a little too caught up in the awe of it to do something so simple and so obvious. it’s such a pretty thing; the room they’re in is dazzling, with it’s many, many hung lights that shine and glisten, catching on every reflective surface. they make the star fragment sparkle. or, is it better said – twinkle? he huffs again, softer, kinder, face still soft in his delight. ]

Overachiever. [ seems they’re going to be ~~playing footsie~~ doing this all night, because keith gives shiro another knock of his boot. ] Just had to set the bar so high.

[ shiro’s just doing this so keith gets him something really exceptional for christmas, huh? the thought is playful, stabilizing even; it’s easier in a way, for him to make light of the gesture. otherwise, when he thinks of shiro specifically hunting down an item of such value to give to him for a pretend birthday, slash years-old, throwaway promise…

well. it makes him too warm. too happy. too everything that threatens to turn him into an awkward, shy mess. he does feel good though, the spike of alcohol in the eggnog already absorbing into his blood. his galran blood. he’s, unfortunately, a bit of a lightweight; he gets it from his mother. so the filter is down a touch and the carefulness of his expression is gone, his expressiveness too open in the way he looks at shiro. ]

You did good, Shiro. [ gentle eyes, gentle smile. ] You didn’t need to… but thanks. It means a lot that you remembered.

⟪ him!! overachiever!! never. but listen. the bar is keith, so yeah, it’s way up there. which also means that keith’s the only one to blame, however oblivious he may be. it’s a good thing he doesn’t catch on. shiro doesn’t necessarily mean to let his affection transpire—the portion of it that’s still a secret anyway—but it’s not an easy task when keith looks the way he does, gold-spun by flamelight and open. even his eyes, often dark with the faint markers of all things wild and feral, shine gentle, and shiro swallows through the thickness in his throat, touched by keith’s impromptu sentimentality and drowning in his own.

he blushes. he can feel it, exposed under keith’s innocent scrutiny. he plays off the awkwardness as smoothly as she can, snorting and then huffing on a small chuckle, fingertips lightly drumming against the tabletop. his foot doesn’t move away. ⟫

Eh, this old timer’s still got a sharp memory. ⟪ which is one of the very few things still working in his favor. it’s a half-truth, of course—the main reason being that keith means a lot to him, but. ⟫ You know, if— ⟪ it starts with a tickle. ⟫ If… ⟪ his voice trails off. he coughs. once. twice. clears his throat and coughs again, and just like that, he wheezes, leaning back and masking his face with the crook of his elbow until a pretty decent-sized tuft of green and red dislodges itself from his lungs and gushes out of his mouth.

he stills. wipes his chin and blinks up as the plant just magically floats towards the ceiling, just above the table. he frowns, teeth gritted; that dull gleam in his eyes, that’s casual spite. ⟫ Oh, come on.

[ it’s been close to a month now. whereas keith’s affliction (or cold, he’s still mostly convinced he’d had a case of the netherworld cold) cleared up in the span of a few days, shiro’s has dragged on and on. living in such close quarters, there isn’t all that much space for shiro to hide it, especially at night, when they’re both tucked into their futons up there in the loft. but every time is the same: shiro starts choking on breath – no, flowers – and keith is right there, yet useless, wanting to help but incapable of doing anything to end the hacking.

he forgets about the star fragment just like that. he’s up on his feet actually; hands having found the edge of the table to push, the sound of his chair’s legs strapping drowned out by shiro’s wheezing. he has no plan. he’s completely out of his element, despite all the practice he has with this. all he manages is a step closer (just the tiniest bit unsteady in the way he pitches heavier to one side, like he doesn’t grasp the concept of balance), hand reaching, ready to rub shiro’s back in what he hopes is conveyed as a soothing gesture.

but shiro’s coughing doesn’t subside as it has before. instead of a few petals, an entire bush comes out. and then… floats…?

oh.
oh no.
oh fuck.

and of course, keith is standing right next to shiro, hand still held out, hovering but not actually touching. he tips his head a little too far and pitch, his balance offsets again, the boy briefly scuttling back a step, that hovering hand finally landing to grab shiro’s shoulder. it keeps him on his feet, but not upright; he bows forward in his recover, burying his face into his free hand. ]

Not this again. We barely survived the last time. [ huff, sigh – ] Shiro.

⟪ he can’t decide whether keith’s begging for his help or accusing him. maybe both. it’s not his fault… but then again, it kind of is. shiro, he huffs, and shiro would apologize, honest! he’s just too busy twisting around as keith’s hand lands on his shoulder, his own finding the small of his back as he quickly rises to his feet. it’s unlike him to lose his balance. the extra crutch seems necessary, instinctively offered—he’s a little tipsy, isn’t he. exasperated, too, and a tad dramatic.

peeking out from behind two doorjambs, eyes. four, to be precise, glistening and staring with clear intent as a couple of flowery-haired heads form in the shadows. the sprites. calculating. waiting. judging. ⟫ Come on, guys. ⟪ eyebrows raised in frustration, shiro sighs and rakes metal fingers through his hair, a fistful of black strands. ⟫ Give us some slack. Please.

⟪ 24 hours of them, again, is probably enough to ruin the christmas vibe. unfortunately, slack is a bit of a foreign notion, if the way they look at each other and then shrug is any indication. honor the gods, they insist in unison, fully visible now as they cautiously approach, and shiro swiftly lets go of his hair, palm open towards them. stop. ⟫ We don’t mean any disrespect. Our customs are just different.

honor the gods!

…The gods I’ve just coughed up. Hellooo!

blasphemy! disgrace! deny us and pay the price!

⟪ nostrils flare, the bridge of his nose now pinched between two fingers. his free hand is essentially trying to choke the bottom of keith’s shirt at this point, maybe wishing it could wrap itself around a sprite’s neck. he sighs again, shoulders slightly slumped as he tips his head towards keith, looking just short of miserable. ⟫ So much for the magic of Christmas huh.

[ oh dear, sweet shiro, don’t waste your breath. keith thinks of his bayard then. it’s a method that he hasn’t actually tried yet; with him currently a little too warm in the blood, keith finds that fact rather surprising. why hasn’t he tried scaring them off? he supposes the answer is found in the man next to him. cradling him. the last time keith tried to solve a problem involving flippant, annoying creatures, shiro had dissolved into a panic. unproductive in return as it so often is, reasoning and bargaining are shiro’s go to’s, and keith holds no real desire to step on shiro’s toes to draw disbelieving, shocked eyes his way. again.

he keeps his position, even though there’s really no need for it anymore. his legs have found their balance and while a touch floaty in perception, he’s fine. still, he feels the deathgrip shiro has on his shirt and delays in taking that away from him, instead swaying the tiniest fraction closer into the bend of shiro’s elbow.

now, keith is still very much of the mind that christmas, for all its perceived merriment and wonder, is a slew of festivities that keith has no real fondness for. but he’s fond of shiro. and if this holiday is ruined in any way for his best friend because of these blasted sprites… ]

We could just… [ somewhere in the span of him looking at shiro – shoulders slumped, head bowed, hat slightly askew from all his hair tugging – keith has reached up to fix that dumb hat, tugging it by those big, doopey ears to set it right. three words in and he seems to come to, realizing what he’s doing. he pulls his hands back, briefly locking closed fists to his own chest.

ooooooh.

the cooing of their audience draws keith’s gaze, hands dropping down. they’re lounging on the petals of the poinsettia, eyes bright and approving at their proximity. their approval rubs keith the wrong way; it feels like losing to give into them. but in the same vein, it also feels like losing to pull away…? before he can rethink it, he rushes through what he’d started to say before. ]

We’ve done it before and it wasn’t so bad. [ in fact, if keith were bolder, he’s say it wasn’t bad at all, except for the fact that it hadn’t worked as a cure to shiro’s shrinking. even with the alcohol working through him, he isn’t quite there yet in his inhibitions. ] Uhm… better than having them tail us for the next however long?

⟪ it wasn’t so bad…………..ouch. and it wasn’t even a kiss on the lips! color shiro vaguely hurt, though he’s too busy watching keith withdraw like he’s been burnt to feel the barely-there sting of his casual remark. it’s funny how he doesn’t always notice their proximity, physical or otherwise. like his space is keith’s space, and vice versa. it’s nothing that ever was discussed, either, just another facet of the natural order of them.

there’s a bit of a disturbance in said order. shiro blinks, faintly agape, gaze going from keith to the sprites—creepily expectant—and back again. arguing or reasoning with them is clearly pointless, though keith’s suggestion is not. the way he mentally acquiesces without a second thought is a light shade of red dusting his cheeks, the scar across his nose seemingly brighter… but in his defense, he doesn’t quite picture them lip-locked. not yet, anyway. keith went for his forehead, the first time around—which was still enough to ruin him, mind you—and technically… well. a kiss is a kiss.

shiro’s grip loosens, annoyance forgotten. he shoots keith a glance he hopes doesn’t look as awkward as he feels, agreeing with a slow nod and a tiny chuckle, his breath silently rushing out of his lungs. ⟫ Definitely better. ⟪ he’d rather not wake up with eyes on his arm again, or feel like his skin’s reached its melting point. truth be told, he’d really just rather kiss keith, period, but keith doesn’t need to know that.

it’s a luxury he’ll allow himself only because keith offered, and because he doesn’t mean to kiss him on the lips. instead he takes a small step back, fingertips grazing keith’s waist as they seek his hand. there’s no point making a show of it, though his pulse does quicken as he slowly grabs and pulls, using his metal hand to very gently remove keith's glove. it's just as gently discarded, lying useless on the table as shiro returns his attention to keith, thumb lightly brushing against his knucles—as if to ask permission. shiro’s a gentleman! ⟫

On three. ⟪ one. two. he brings his hand higher up, closer to his face as he peeks through lowered lashes and closes his eyes. three. delicately he presses his lips to the top of keith’s hand, back bent. maybe he’ll ask him for a dance next. ⟫

[ keith doesn’t have any expertise here; no natural affinity to intimacy and no prior experience, either. he’s shooting blind, only held aloft with the buzz in his veins and shiro’s steady, always so encouraging, presence. he decides it’s vastly different, though… being on this side of things. last time, it had been him bending down to find purchase with gently puckered lips. now, he’s the one blinking doe-eyed and disbelieving, faintly thinking he’s caught in some sort of wildly spun dream as his glove is worked off and his hand is pulled close.

even inside a packed room with a lit fire, there is a slight chill to the netherworld that never quite dissipates. lately, everything and everyone seem to run colder. it doesn’t bother keith all that much; he adapts easily in even the most trying of circumstances. but here, when, from one moment to the next, he has a direct comparison, he notices. he’s warmer, instantly. not just in the face – though, the fair skin from cheek to cheek is so badly equipped to hide the rosiness – but throughout: belly, chest, fingers, toes. it’s climbing up his throat and he’s dizzy, again, free hand reaching to grasp shiro’s god awful sweater, there at his shoulder. easy to each, given how deep shiro bends.

soulmates are meant to chase away shadows. are they able to warm their partners, too? maybe it isn’t a side effect of the bond at all. maybe it’s simply shiro. he feels silly for thinking it, though he isn’t quite sure why; shiro is the embodiment of warmth and kindness.

he is, unfortunately, less effective in other ways it seems. kiss sufficiently dispensed, shiro straightens up ( gayly ) and keith, struck-mute, simply tracks him with his eyes, each a touch wider than their normal set. but then shiro hits the limit of his height and with the movement ended, awareness jogs in keith’s brain. abruptly, he blinks the strain from his eyes and shoots a look to the sprites still clogging up their centerpiece. ]

So – there. [ fuck, is that his voice? why does he sound out of breath? he clucks his tongue, lips twisting on a sneer that ends up far closer to a pout. ] We honored the Gods. You can leave now; scram.

[ shiro is, for one reason or another, still holding keith’s ungloved hand. weird? maybe. it doesn’t bother keith enough to pull away.

mocking the gods.
fools, you are.
honor the gods with a true kiss!

… good god, did they rehearse that? one starts, the second chimes in, and then they finish together, voices blending perfectly. it’d be impressive, if it weren’t so upsetting. embarrassed and put on the spot, keith reacts as anyone would expect: exasperatedly and… not fully understanding the nuances, either. ]

What are you even talking about? Shiro’s kiss wasn’t fake!

⟪ mocking the gods… if shiro were hurt before, consider him now thoroughly defeated. what’s with this place and kisses. is he not worthy of a simple smooch?? could be why his love life has always been a disaster, and here it is, mocking him, persisting in death. keith, fortunately, doesn’t get it. of course it wasn’t fake. it just wasn’t… you know. a kiss kiss, which barely crossed his mind, at least until now. it was there. prowling the back of his head. it’s stepped out of the shadows to take its rightful-yet-inappropriate place at the forefront of his thoughts, and shiro sucks his teeth and bites his tongue, a tremor in his arm. the one that’s still connected to keith. ⟫

Uhm, Keith… ⟪ how to put this. honestly, he could just let it go. endure whatever they’ve got in store for them and make a point not to cough up mistletoe again anywhere near him. anywhere at all. but he’s a little miffed. stung still, and pink-cheeked from the way keith looked. gorgeous. he can’t pinpoint what he saw in his eyes—wishful thinking has him half-believing it was awe, or at least a modicum of delight—but he’d give just about anything to catch it again.

it’s not that he wants to kiss him—scratch that, it is. the want is there. the intent, not so much. it feels like taking advantage still, especially when keith is so oblivious to the obvious. so he gives a little shrug, smiling both apologetic and bashful. ⟫ They mean the kind of kiss that’d wake Sleeping Beauty from her slumber. ⟪ which is definitely one of the movies keith caught him watching, once upon a ~~dream~~ time. ⟫ So I guess we’re in for another fun day.

[ a kiss on the lips would have sufficed. keith may be a touch oblivious to social cues and particular wordplay, but he does understand plain english. but that is such a shiro way to explain it that keith lacks the know-how to even take some imagined offense to a dumbed down, super old disney reference. per usual, he tests the rounding of his eyes and stares at shiro, before whipping a glance to the voyeurs themselves. still lounging, still waiting, both flash him wicked grins, their tiny rows of teeth gleaming.

ah, fuck.

another twenty-four hours of – what will it be this time? will something top the ashen food he’d been made to endure with a forked tongue? nevermind him, actually; what will shiro suffer through? the first time they'd been ambushed under mistletoe, keith had been clueless to the nefarious nature of the sprites. naively, he'd thought leaving was the better option. but now…

hesitantly, he lifts his gaze back to shiro, looking at him there, with his messy floof and obnoxious hat, body language so different from the joyous merriment of some minutes ago. how much of shiro’s christmas magic is being spoiled because of this? contemplative on that, keith’s neutral expression keeps for one, two, and then he begins to slide toward a shyness that comes across more awkward than anything. ]

Or we could… [ nonchalance doesn’t suit keith. he tries for it, but the line of his shoulders is off-kilter, like he can’t decide if he wants to play things off with a shrug or if he wants to huddle them in. throughout, his gaze flitters around, never staying in one spot too long. ]

I won’t be any good at it. I’ve never… [ whatever. his twenty-something these days and hasn’t been with anyone, big deal. except, it might be a big deal if shiro finds him too pathetic to endure. he gets snagged on the thought and with it, abruptly, brings his gaze back to shiro. ]

But that’s okay…? [ he can’t be that miserable of a kiss. ] Right?

⟪ shiro probably started shaking his head the moment keith started hinting at them kissing each other. hinting at wanting them to kiss each other. he’s never been kissed before. he’s never been kissed before, and the one thing he’s worried about—in the face of two mischievous sprites threatening to make their unlife a living hell—is messing up and displeasing shiro. it’s surreal. as surreal as the offer sounds, a prickle of panic and something else bubbling in his chest, warm and harsh and airy. ⟫

No! ⟪ the earnestness with which he blurts out an answer immediately causes the sprites to hiss, ready to pounce. shiro’s not having it, abruptly glancing their way with a curt sweep of his free arm. ⟫ Just give us a fuc— ⟪ mouth snaps closed. he screws his eyes shut against what’s probably an oncoming headache, willing his tone to soften. ⟫ Give us a moment. Please. ⟪ he’s just short of begging at this point, lest he allows keith to believe something he doesn’t mean.

pause. rewind. shiro sighs weary, head heavier between his shoulders before he fixes keith with a much gentler stare. ⟫ I mean, yeah. Of course it’d be okay. ⟪ he can’t imagine a world in which it wouldn’t be okay, but now that the possibility is suddenly very real, another reality occurs to him, which essentially prompted his initial refusal. it’s probably what should bother keith, if nothing else, and shiro, eyes wide and somber, offers a sad smile that doesn’t last, replaced instead by a more solemn air, almost grave. ⟫ But… Keith. ⟪ he pulls at his hand, idly, slightly, looking frank and vaguely mortified into his eyes. he blows out his cheeks, and… ⟫ I can’t… steal your first kiss.

[ the shaking of shiro’s head should have tipped him off. he should’ve stopped talking. but the bumbled offer makes it to some sort of conclusion and as awkwardly stated as it is, is it really any surprise that shiro shoots it down so – immediately? so loudly? rejection always stings, but it’s sharper from his best friend because shiro matters. the shame burns hotter and keith doesn’t wilt with it, but he hides with it, head ducking and shoulders doing as they always do: hitch and hug in, making a pseudo wall around himself.

ouch.

keith’s anxiety skyrockets, so fast and so high that he doesn’t allow himself any sort of slack to find shiro’s slip in diplomacy amusing. fuc– what was that, shiro? he gives his hand, still trapped between shiro’s fingers, a gentle, testing tug, wanting to slip away, but almost too hesitant to upset anything here more than he just did.

the berating stops. the frustration lapses. soon, shiro is looking to him and keith fidgets, the only reason his own gaze doesn’t shy away due to sheer stubbornness. and perhaps, some grim curiosity, as well. shiro says it’d be okay. keith doesn’t buy it, not when shiro’s kneejerk reaction was so vehemently no. he tugs though and keith, being a touch hopeless when it comes to his best friend, shifts marginally closer with that pull, not at all understanding, but willing.

– steal? is that what this is about? keith frowns, still not quite understanding this to the point of being able to accept it. ]

You're not stealing anything. [ he’s taking it too literally, the nuances of consent lost on him. ] I offered. [ duh? which is why the frown keeps, as does the suspicion that shiro is offering up niceties to soften the truth. ] But if you don't want to kiss me, it's fine. You can say so.

[ he’d rather shiro be honest, honestly. ]

⟪ oh. oh no. keith, in all his literal glory, figures the worst possible rationale and shiro’s panic is back on full blast, matching keith’s discomfiture. it’s never a good sign. he’s a bit like an oyster, snapped shut to protect himself, from shiro, which is probably #1 on the top five list of all the things he hates. how do you even backtrack from here, without spilling forbidden beans. you don’t. you just pull through, leaning in to crowd a space you definitely shouldn’t be crowding, and ruefully squeeze your friend’s shoulder. ⟫

I do want to kiss you. ⟪ uhm. okay. it isn’t exactly what he means—but it is exactly what he means—immediately earning ooooh’s and ahhh’s from their tiny audience. his jaw tightens, rehinged with an audible click as a splash of crimson gradually spreads across his face, momentarily frozen in flustered disgrace. c’mon, shiro. with a desperate groan, he lets go of keith’s shoulder to nervously rub the side of his own face, and then his forehead. ⟫

What I mean is… Keith. ⟪ and he huffs through his nose, a questioning crease between his brows. ⟫ This is going to be your first kiss. Won’t you regret it? ⟪ which is what he’s trying to stress here, because it’s kind of a big deal. shiro’s imposter syndrome is well-established already; he’s not sure there’s much room left to hate himself a little more. ⟫ Somewhere down the line, when you meet a nice girl and think back on this… ⟪ and resent him for taking what should have been shared out of mutual love. ⟫

[ the background commentary of their voyeurs is as annoying as ever. they’re distracting and keith is trying to decipher what the hell is going on here. first, shiro yells no. second he starts tripping over what keith is hesitant to dub anticipatory guilt but is pretty sure that’s what it is. now, he’s saying he does want to but. but. keith used to think an awkwardly fumbling shiro was a rare phenomenon, but as he stands there, watching shiro groan and fiddle at his own face, again, he comes to the realization that, no, it’s not a rarity. it’s becoming a commonality. ever since the shrinking and the coughing, shiro’s been particularly on edge, which, of course, in turn, only fuels that walking on eggshells feeling keith has.

he hates this. truly, he hates this.

so he tries to figure it out as best – and as quickly – as he can. tough luck, really, because now shiro’s asking about regret and keith can only squint, once again stuck on the fact that the suggestion came from himself. and – wait, what? why is he meeting a nice girl…? what does that have to do with mistletoe, creepy sprites, and kissing his best friend?

give him a second; maybe if he talks it through it’ll make some semblance of sense. cue the slowed down speech, voice hesitant in delivery and altogether questioning. ]

So… it’s because it’s my first that you’re acting like this. [ he’s not actually asking. he doesn’t wait for any sort of confirmation; the answer is abundantly clear. the next logical step is to sus out why his first matters in shiro’s opinion, so they can work around that, but keith doesn’t have shiro’s patience. circling around mixed signals doesn’t work for keith; he’s a results kind of boy and so: ] But if it wasn’t going to be my first…

[ in the following beat, the pinch to his assessing expression doesn’t let up but understanding brightens his gaze. he can work with this. ]

Alright. I think I get it.

[ they have to appease the sprites if keith wants to save shiro from a day full of spritely horrors, which it goes without saying that he does want that. appeasing them means kissing shiro, who is apparently wanting but hesitant. because it’s a first kiss. solution? if shiro can’t deal with being first, he can be second. keith turns his head, glancing to the right. he’s on a mission, sure, but he’s not so bold as to just walk up to someone unsolicited for a throwaway kiss. but mistletoe is everywhere and fancy that, there’s a nice girl about to be caught under one. ]

Wait here. I’ll be right back. [ annnnd keith steps away, the sprites hissing in displeasure. you dare walk away from honoring the–. ] I gotta honor the Gods over there and then I’ll honor them over here. Just – wait.

[ bye. ]

⟪ oh, for the love of all that is unholy. keith baby. please. there’s only so much shiro can go through before he just dies again. it’s almost funny, the way a potential girlfriend doesn’t even cross his mind. like it’s really, literally just a matter of first and second. shiro might have been utterly charmed under different circumstances, though at the moment, he doesn’t possess the ability to feel exasperated, however fond. he’s stunned speechless, mouth opened on words that won’t come out, empty-handed. is he… is he actually looking for a nice girl to kiss, holy—

the sprites seem oddly appeased. shiro isn’t, because no, keith, you don’t get it, and he’s left reeling on his own jumbled thoughts, a hollow and very unpleasant growth in his chest. it’s more akin to loss than flowers, though it’s not exactly that, either. beyond the initial confusion, shiro’s dismayed senses finally kick in, pushing him to react before he can properly think things through.

he reaches for him. stretches his arm and catches his hand, one foot still firmly rooted to the ground, mistletoe dangling above. and he pulls, motion swift, grip gentle. he pulls and forces him to pivot, back in his space as his chest lightly bumps against his, and for a fraction of a second, when eyes catch and hold, shiro blanches, faint tendrils of uncertainty making him freeze and stare. it’s only just a few seconds, though it feels like a small eternity; his heart isn’t where it should be, beating higher where it’s a little painful to swallow, and slowly, slowly, shiro leans down, fingertips landing airy on keith’s jaw.

his lips briefly hover over keith’s, lashes drifting lower… until they finally touch, lightly pursed as shiro’s limbs instantly mollify, his senses deafened by his heartbeat.

his cheeks burn, and he fully closes his eyes. ⟫

[ odd. the sprites are the ones who have gone quiet and patient, whereas – judging by the firmness of that clasping hand – it’s shiro who has decided to be the roadblock in keith’s very helpful, very ingenious plan. for the love of – shiro! keith’s not upset, not really, but he does feel the tiniest speck of annoyance to be thwarted, again, by someone who, seemingly, can’t make up his mind. he’s redirected right back into shiro’s space and it’s there, in the one, two seconds he has before he looks, that he thinks he ought to start bracing for another lecture about how firsts and affection are meant to be special.

yeah. well. if shiro wants keith to have a special memory of his first kiss, then why wouldn’t shiro be the prime candidate? if not shiro then who? maybe it’s supposed to be weird because shiro is his best friend but all in all, keith doesn’t feel off-put at all due to it being shiro. he’s awkward and uncertain, because he figures it’s shiro who is inwardly wrinkling his nose and thinking no ( or shouting it, too, actually ).

but then he looks up right as fingers brush at his jaw and there, just like that, the inner turmoil goes quiet. oh, no lecture, then. that’s the last of his thoughts. shiro leans down and keith forgets how to do anything: close his eyes, breathe, tilt his face. shiro’s hesitance is legitimate, because wow, with the way keith goes still as a board, he likely isn’t the most pleasant thing to be kissing. or maybe he isn’t so horrible, because rather than a half-tick peck, shiro lingers and keeps gentle pressure, eyes sliding shut.

slowly, moment by moment, the anxiety drains and while keith never relaxes enough to slow that galloping of his heartbeat, he does give himself over completely by, too, drooping his eyes shut. this is – nice. unsurprising. most everything is nice when shiro is worked into the equation. it’s just… keith’s never thought much of kissing. breathing against each other’s faces and swapping spit, ugh, it’s been a concept bordering on gross. granted, lips remain sealed here. and it’s, yeah, nice.

so nice, that keith thinks little of the sprites or how they’ve likely honored the gods long enough now. in fact, that slowed down feeling for the world around them abruptly ramps up. soft and demure one moment and then heat sings in his blood, like addiction forms to make up for long years of abstinence. there’s a shift, whether by him or shiro or maybe even entirely imagined, but keith thinks he feels shiro start to pull away and he panic grabs him by the sweater – both hands having worked their way there. he pushes up on his toes next, increasing the pressure and it’s… probably a terrible kiss. who wants someone mashing their tightly shut lips harder to theirs? keith doesn’t know what he’s doing. he doesn’t know what he’s feeling, either, truthfully. but he likes this. and he’s loathes the thought of it ending just yet. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

catch-all

shhh just accept it

>x

well look at that...

oh... ig they aren't safe afterall

THE FATES HAVE DECIDED!!!!

THEY COULD STILL ESCAPE THIS

LOOOOOOOOOOOOOL no

this is all v platonic

yeah i see zero feelings there

shiro you're like a brother to me...

i'm yeLLING

someone pls inform keith that he needs diff terminology

KEITH PLS

he's got this

......WHAT IS GOING ON LMAO

as if you didn't know