[ Abruptly, he realizes that out of anyone, they're the only ones who would know there's something -- off. Wrong about him. The other aliens, even the Galra hadn't really cared or known the difference between what human genitalia and another alien's looked like. It hadn't been off-putting for them like it was for Shiro.
It takes Keith's comment to realize that they're going to see what the Galra have done and for a moment an apology lingers on the tip of his tongue, but their response isn't -- it isn't fear, or terror, or anything like what he expects. Keith touches him like he wants to comfort him, a hand in his hair, his mouth sliding wet over the wet curve of Lance's dick, the invitation clear. Between the grinding and the reaction from the two of them, there's a chance they might not run the other direction. They haven't seen anything yet, though, which means they don't really understand it yet.
At least if he reveals it now, they'll have time to finish each other off, to stop this and decide what they want to do. Even Lance's nonchalant, challenging tone isn't enough to convince him fully, but he does allow the kiss, does reach a hand to fist it in Lance's hair and kisses him like he's trying to prove a point, harsh and wet and filthy.
When he pulls back, it's to hook his fingers in the material of his pants, the belt discarded. The thin material that passes for briefs is peeled back too, and his cock just up against his belly. Whatever they did to graft it, or change it - he's not sure how it happened, just that it did - means that it's far from human. It's still clearly a penis, but the color is off, softer purples and pinks, the precome beading at the tip a soft lavender.
One hand drops down and curls around himself, giving it one firm stroke, enough to wring a punched-out noise from himself, because he so rarely touches himself if he can help it, hating it. ]
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It takes Keith's comment to realize that they're going to see what the Galra have done and for a moment an apology lingers on the tip of his tongue, but their response isn't -- it isn't fear, or terror, or anything like what he expects. Keith touches him like he wants to comfort him, a hand in his hair, his mouth sliding wet over the wet curve of Lance's dick, the invitation clear. Between the grinding and the reaction from the two of them, there's a chance they might not run the other direction. They haven't seen anything yet, though, which means they don't really understand it yet.
At least if he reveals it now, they'll have time to finish each other off, to stop this and decide what they want to do. Even Lance's nonchalant, challenging tone isn't enough to convince him fully, but he does allow the kiss, does reach a hand to fist it in Lance's hair and kisses him like he's trying to prove a point, harsh and wet and filthy.
When he pulls back, it's to hook his fingers in the material of his pants, the belt discarded. The thin material that passes for briefs is peeled back too, and his cock just up against his belly. Whatever they did to graft it, or change it - he's not sure how it happened, just that it did - means that it's far from human. It's still clearly a penis, but the color is off, softer purples and pinks, the precome beading at the tip a soft lavender.
One hand drops down and curls around himself, giving it one firm stroke, enough to wring a punched-out noise from himself, because he so rarely touches himself if he can help it, hating it. ]
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