[ His knees brace a little more firmly against the bed, toes digging into the material of it to give himself something to push against, shoving into Lance a little harder on the next thrust, bottoming out with a slap of flesh on flesh that rips a groan out of him. And then - fuck, and then Lance starts babbling again, sounding like he's drunk, a long, filthy slur of words that makes Shiro's breath catch, his eyes squeezing shut a moment as he tries to keep himself from falling apart. ]

You thought about it? [ Shiro's own voice is gravel-rough, his hand sliding up the sweat slicked line of Lance's back. His hand flattens, spreading over the center of Lance's back and he shoves him down, holding him there with one hand while the other hitches his hips up higher and grinds into him with a slow, easy roll of his hips. ] Thought about me scenting you, fucking you open on my knot, bending you over the desk or on the, mnh, training mats?

[ The hand at his back shifts, cupping the nape of his neck, pushing Lance's face into the pillows while Shiro draws out and sinks back in again, the knot at the base of his dick starting to swell, pushed on by the whine that results from that move. There, then. He's past the point of no return, especially when Lance starts begging for it, and distantly he recognizes that there's something important there, that he needs to be able to sort out what Lance just said but the alpha part of him overrides everything else. Two more sharp thrusts and then Shiro bottoms out again, flattening himself against Lance's back as his knot swells, coming in hot pulses inside of him while he smears open-mouthed kisses over the line of Lance's shoulder, toes curled. ]