Voltron Legendary Defender - Learning Curve [Shklance]

[scriveyner]

Title: Learning Curve
Fandom: Voltron Legendary Defender
Characters/Pairing: Keith/Shiro/Lance
Rating: NSFW/E
Length: 2877
Summary: Turns out, Lance had a lot more to learn.

The list of things that Lance had learned in the last month aboard the castle-ship had grown exponentially long. There were a few more obvious things on that list, admittedly: such as don't take mysterious food offerings from Coran, don't leave your dirty dishes where Allura could find them, don't piss off the mice (as they might do unmentionable things into your open mouth as you slept), and don't prank your neighborhood gremlin, as she might steal all your clothes while you're in the shower and leave you to streak naked down the hall toward your room with only your hands to cover your shame.

There were some less obvious ones on that list, too. Lance discovered that he could communicate with Blue from anywhere in the castle-ship. Although she didn't usually have much to say, the sentient AI in the Blue Lion was more than happy to translate the occasional alien term for him, although he suspected she fed him not exactly what he asked for when he attempted to flirt with Allura in Altean and instead of blushing demurely and giggling she turned the color of a cherry tomato and her cheek markings started to glow, almost sparking, as murder formed in her eyes.

"What did you say?" Hunk asked in awe when he came to collect Lance, hiding in one of the launch bays.

"I don't know," Lance moaned, and swore he heard Blue mrr in amusement.

Other things, like accidentally kicking the wall as he slept and activating a heretofore unknown communications display (which granted Hunk a lovely image of a sleeping Lance scratching his junk), discovering the hot tub ("It's not on the ceiling!" "Thank god."), and finding that there was a dedicated shooting range in the ship rounded out a list that wasn't entirely embarrassing. There was also that little footnote about Keith pushing him angrily into the wall and then kissing him aggressively, but Lance wasn't quite certain if he wanted to check that in under any of the categories yet. After all, he had his suspicions.

None of those were the best thing, though, because Lance hardly thought it necessary to even write that one down. No, the best thing he'd learned in the past month was that Shiro – the Black Paladin, leader of Voltron, Champion of the people, et al. – loved to be pushed down against a table and fucked.

Lance had discovered this fantastic fact completely by accident, not long after the Communication Display Incident ("dude, you were scratching your balls"). It was the middle of the night cycle on the ship, a time when even the mice had retired, sleeping in the lap of luxury on Princess Allura's finest pillows – not that he was jealous – and he had to take a leak. So out into the cold, spooky, teal-lit hallways of the castle-ship he had ventured, trudging sleepily toward the head.

Mid-stream, he heard a Noise that came from somewhere in the depth of the showers. Now, usually, Lance had a brain about him and would go the opposite direction at the first indication of Hinky Shit, but he was tired and somewhat impaired in his usual judgment. So he tucked himself away, flushed, and made his way into the brightly lit shower room to see if they were being invaded by the ghost of Alteans Past. Or maybe it was just old pipes.

Altean bathing rituals weren't all that different from human ones, thankfully. The showers had a universal setup – two rows of shower heads, set against each wall, and stalls all the way down with a path cut through the center. At the far end there was another door, which led into a heated changing room with cubbies for clothes, and the other entrance so that one didn't have to walk through the showers to get to the changing room, or to the head.

It was from one of those cubbies that Pidge had stolen Lance's clothes, robe, and pajamas, the little shitheel. He wasn't fuming on that at the moment though, casting a glance down the long aisle between the shower stalls. Any weird noises in the sterile white and teal room would echo instantly, so whatever had caused that suspicious noise could not be coming from within. Then he heard it again, a muffled noise, and it must have come from the changing room.

Footsteps muffled on the tile by his fuzzy blue lion slippers (seriously, they were the best thing, he loved them. So comfy) Lance came up to the open door between the shower and the changing rooms and stepped inside.

It took a full minute for him to comprehend what he was seeing, which was less time than it took for his body to respond, so ... points for his body, then. What had captivated his attention, and stuttered his brain to full BSOD mode, was Shiro. Shiro, half-naked and straddling one of the benches that split the aisle between the cubbies, and riding ...

... was that Keith?

There was a hand settled on Shiro's naked hip, slender fingers curled into his skin, the pale skin broken by the dark material of a fingerless glove. Shiro arched his back and rolled his hips, panting shallowly through his open mouth. He let out a low groan and canted his hips forward as Keith shifted under him and Lance realized that had been the noise he heard, carried by the echoing tile walls of the shower itself.

"C'mon, baby," Keith's voice, quiet and low and sultry in a way Lance couldn't begin to put together, he didn't think Keith was capable of sounding like that, warm and thick and soothing. "You're so tight, riding me so right, you're such a good boy-"

Shiro made a low, keening noise at the praise, and then stifled his own mouth, raising his right hand and shoving it against his open mouth, biting hard. That action may have quieted his moans, but it did nothing to stifle the low whine that Lance didn't realize he had made until he clapped his hand over his own mouth, the other clutching tight at the front of his tunic, pulling the fabric taut. There was something about the tone of Keith's voice that had cut right into his body and oh boy, if he hadn't gotten hard at the sight of Shiro spread out like that, sweat gleaming on his skin under the heat lamp, wanton and wanting; well, Keith's voice alone might have done it. Shit, that was something he would need to unpack later.

His groan had not gone unnoticed. Shiro rocked forward now, the balls of his feet braced on the floor, and pushed up off of Keith. Lance watched in awe as they separated, as Keith's cock – holy shit, that was inside Shiro – slipped slowly out, the head making a small pop as it slid free. Shiro let out a low whine at its loss, but Keith pushed himself up on an elbow and stared down the changing room, directly at Lance, and oh fuck he was caught. Not like Lance had been hiding, or peeping – he was standing in the doorway, it was a public area, it wasn't being a voyeur and besides, what if he'd actually wanted to take a shower at three fucking a.m. -- and Lance flushed, the blush all but invisible due to the soft red glow of the heat lamps.

Shiro glanced back the direction that Keith was looking, but his expression was languid, almost glazed. He didn't seem embarrassed, or even the least bit perturbed by the interruption. Lance wet his dry lips without realizing it, and when his gaze darted back to Keith's he was surprised to see what looked like amusement on the other Paladin's features. There was an awkward, pregnant pause as the three of them stared at each other and Lance made a Very Concerted Effort to not look at Keith's erect, dripping dick.

"Um," Lance said, but words seemed to have failed him completely. Really, what COULD you say when you walked in on two of your teammates doin' the do? You know, there are locks on your bedroom doors, why aren't you busily screwing each others' brains out in the safety and sanctity of your own quarters? Wait, that last one was appropriate, and Lance was beginning to process how to vocalize it when Keith's hands slid over Shiro's hips and his fingertips dug into the meat and muscle of Shiro's backside. After a moment, Lance realized that Keith was spreading his cheeks. The words died in his throat, because Keith was showing him Shiro's hole; pink and gaping, viscous white fluid dripping from its stretched opening.

Oh.

"You want in on this?" Keith said, and Shiro shifted forward a little, blocking Keith's face from view. His tone was the same as before, thick and warm and, god help him, sexy. If Lance hadn't already had his fist in the front of his pajama top he would be clutching it now, because those words, that tone, it settled in his chest like honey. "He's so good, Lance. Nice and tight." Keith's fingers had drifted close to Shiro's hole, spreading through the fluid dripping from it. Shiro shuddered at his words but didn't look at Lance, both of his hands braced on Keith underneath him.

Keith wasn't suggesting ...

"C'mon," Keith said, and lolled his head so that he could see Lance past Shiro's form. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, and there was a devilish smirk on his face that Lance had only seen right about the time Keith was about to do something monumentally stupid. "I can see you're tenting your pants from over here. Shiro's a real bitch to keep satisfied, you know?"

No, he really, really, wouldn't know. But now he apparently did. And while the smart thing to do would be to turn around, march out of here, lock himself in his room and maybe jerk off a few times in a row, Lance wasn't exactly renowned for doing the smart thing. If he was, he wouldn't have pissed off the mice.

He took a few steps mutely forward, mostly on autopilot. Keith's smirk grew into a grin, and he squeezed Shiro's cheeks with both his hands. Shiro shuddered and looked back at Lance, the white forelock of hair brushing over one eye. His mouth was open just a little and his expression was – well, not so much glazed, not as much as Lance had thought. Shiro was actually watching him pretty closely.

His body moved on autopilot, closer still. Keith nudged Shiro with his knee lazily. "Help him out a little," Keith said, and there was a smugness to his tone that set Lance's hackles up. "It's probably his first time."

"It is not," Lance lied through his teeth, tugging at the tie to his pajama pants. He looked up when Shiro rose, his thigh muscles flexing as he pushed off Keith and the bench completely. It was then that Lance could fully see Keith for the first time, sprawled on his back on the bench, his black tee shirt rucked up his chest, pants and underwear hanging off of one leg. They had clearly been in quite a hurry, before being interrupted.

Shiro put his hand on Lance's shoulder, and Lance stopped, his hands on the waistband of his pajama pants. He looked up at Shiro, and even in the warmth of the heat lamp he could tell how flushed his face was. Shiro's other hand drifted lower, down Lance's side until it came upon his waist, then he tucked his fingers in the very waistband that Lance had abandoned. "Shiro," Lance said, as Shiro tugged his pants down.

He was very hard; and judging by the wet spot on the front of his briefs, far too close to going off. Shiro palmed his right hand over the bulge in Lance's underwear and Lance groaned and shuddered; the strange not-quite-human warmth of the prosthetic making him shiver. He put his hands out, flat on Shiro's chest as if to push him away, but more to brace himself as he watched Shiro tuck his fingers into Lance's underwear and pull that down, as well. Lance's eyes weren't on himself, however – he was staring at Shiro's erection, bobbing in the space between them, thick and full and probably blisteringly hot. He had the sudden, wondrous thought of what it would feel like inside him, but then Shiro's hand closed around him and Lance nearly came from that touch alone.

Lance bit his lip and glanced up at Shiro's face; Shiro was watching him closely. He wanted to look away but couldn't; he couldn't think of the last time that he was so close to Shiro. "It's okay," Shiro said, the first words he'd spoken since Lance had intruded, and his tone was normal, conversational. "Go ahead and come, Lance."

It wasn't an order, but it felt like it and Lance obeyed, his body shuddering under Shiro's careful grip. Shiro kept stroking him slowly through it, spreading much of the fluid back down over the head of his cock as he did so. "Good boy," Shiro murmured, and Lance felt his gut tighten at the words. He was lightheaded.

"Called it," Keith said as Lance tilted forward in Shiro's arms. "First time."

Lance lifted his hand and from around Shiro's thick form, flipped the bird at Keith, who hummed in amusement. Shiro was still stroking him, and the feather-light touch almost hurt. He was too sensitive, but the continued stimulation was pushing him right back toward hard again. "Ahh," Lance said, curling his hands against Shiro's chest, his face pressed to the soft material of his undershirt. "Shiro, stop, stop-"

Shiro didn't seem inclined to listen; at least, not until he had Lance fully roused again. Keith rumbled in amusement as Lance let out breathy, pained whines. "Go easy on him, Shiro," Keith called, but Shiro didn't seem inclined to listen. Lance was getting dizzy again when Shiro's tight, hot grip left his cock aching. His other arm, the one supporting Lance, was removed as well and Lance wobbled in place for a moment as Shiro drew away, back to Keith.

"Hey," Lance said, dazed.

Shiro looked back over his shoulder at Lance, then leaned forward, bracing one hand on the bench between Keith's spread thighs. The other he placed on his own rear, and did his best to spread his cheeks for Lance, and Lance was overwhelmed. Lance was having an out of body experience. Lance was on autopilot.

Lance took two large steps forward, and his hand landed on Shiro's hip. Shiro relaxed a moment, then put his other hand on the bench, spreading his stance a little wider as he did so, presenting himself not unlike a cat in heat.

There was absolutely no saying no to this, Lance thought as he rubbed his cock along the slick that coated Shiro's crack. Then he was pressing in, one hand holding himself steady, the other on Shiro's hip. It was a long, single, slow push in; Shiro's body well acclimated to the intrusion, wet and hot and wanting. Shiro let out a low, satisfied noise as Lance sank in, and he rocked forward on the balls of his feet before slamming himself back against Lance, forcing the issue and sheathing Lance all inside him. Lance let out a shuddering groan, the noise lost under Shiro's vocalizations.

"Good, isn't he?" Keith said, watching Lance's face. "Fuck him slow, it'll drive him wild."

He usually really hated it when Keith was right about things, but he couldn't dredge it up in himself to hate the smug, amused tone emanating from Keith as he did what was instructed. It did drive Shiro wild, the slow, shallow thrusts and the deep pushes in. Lance didn't know how to make it last, though, but that was probably okay because by the time Shiro came his panting was out of control, almost small sobs, and Lance's name on the edge of each breath. He didn't think to pull out and came inside Shiro, buried deep, Shiro's body milking him dry.

By the time he slid free, he was mostly soft. Lance still gripped Shiro's hips though, breathing hard through clenched teeth. Shiro groaned a little, fresh white seed dripping down his thighs and Keith sat up, enough to catch Shiro's arm and pulling him away from Lance. "Let's clean you up," Keith said, laying back on the bench, and after a moment, Shiro swung his leg over the bench, and Keith's head. Lance watched in awe as Shiro practically sat on Keith's face, and Keith began licking up the mess leaking from Shiro's hole.

Lance sank to his knees exhausted, one hand braced on the bench by Keith's leg to keep himself upright but couldn't tear his gaze away, watching in awe as Keith coaxed another, smaller orgasm out of Shiro with fingers and tongue alone; never laying a hand on his cock.

Turned out, he had a lot more to learn.