[ Honestly, part of the problem is that Keith is a little conflicted over just what he wants in the first place, what with being a teenager, and also someone who hates emotions and having to deal with them. He can't deny that he's a trauma victim, and it's probably better to accept that and approach things carefully, but then again, he hates seeing Shiro and the others pull themselves back and take such care to treat him gently. He appreciates it, sometimes, but it hurts, too - he survived, he escaped, he's strong and he's fucked up and broken and holding himself together just fine, all at once. Talking about any of that, with Shiro or with Lance, is complicated and difficult. Sex is comparatively simple, and a lot less stressful than talking about feelings.
He groans again, low and guttural, taking the hint and riding Lance's leg as soon as his thighs are nudged apart. He's so hard, his cock really isn't waiting, squirming its way up over the edge of his waistband and peeking out despite the tightness of his jeans, glistening with sticky pale purple pre-come in response to Lance squeezing him, almost like it's encouraging him to get rougher. His tentacle dick might not mind the constraining tightness of his clothes, but he does, he can feel the uncomfortable pressure and it's - kind of hot, but he's still going to fumble for his zipper, trying to nudge Lance's hand out of the way. ]
Don't call me babe. [ He says it slightly absently, almost reflexively complaining about the nickname for the sake of having something to complain about, but it's difficult to sound like he means it when he's filling up with warmth and arousal. There's something about the way Lance is treating him this time, too, something about the way he's framing things, promising to be rough with him and biting his neck, making him gasp and squirm... he really does want someone to be as rough with him as they can be, a deep hungry pit opening up inside him, making him feel slightly dizzy with need. ]
I want... fuck, I want him to do that. I want him to mark me, bite me and leave bruises all over my skin, just pin me to one of the tables and wreck me, okay, make me come just by rubbing against my ass and, and make me beg to be fucked, that... that's what I want.
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He groans again, low and guttural, taking the hint and riding Lance's leg as soon as his thighs are nudged apart. He's so hard, his cock really isn't waiting, squirming its way up over the edge of his waistband and peeking out despite the tightness of his jeans, glistening with sticky pale purple pre-come in response to Lance squeezing him, almost like it's encouraging him to get rougher. His tentacle dick might not mind the constraining tightness of his clothes, but he does, he can feel the uncomfortable pressure and it's - kind of hot, but he's still going to fumble for his zipper, trying to nudge Lance's hand out of the way. ]
Don't call me babe. [ He says it slightly absently, almost reflexively complaining about the nickname for the sake of having something to complain about, but it's difficult to sound like he means it when he's filling up with warmth and arousal. There's something about the way Lance is treating him this time, too, something about the way he's framing things, promising to be rough with him and biting his neck, making him gasp and squirm... he really does want someone to be as rough with him as they can be, a deep hungry pit opening up inside him, making him feel slightly dizzy with need. ]
I want... fuck, I want him to do that. I want him to mark me, bite me and leave bruises all over my skin, just pin me to one of the tables and wreck me, okay, make me come just by rubbing against my ass and, and make me beg to be fucked, that... that's what I want.