Oh My God, Stop It!

Life is short, and third chances are improbable, even with a man like Keith at your side. The war isn’t over, and Shiro doesn’t want to see the end of it without telling him he’s everything. He can’t think of a single reason not to anymore, and he already can’t take it back. There’s a scab on Keith’s knee and his fingernails are bitten short and sweat shines on his throat. Shiro wants to be consumed by him.

“Where does it hurt?”

Keith doesn’t elaborate, and Shiro doesn’t ask him to. Just raises his prosthetic hand in a loose fist and lets it fall sluggishly on his own chest where he guesses his heart is hidden.

Two times. Here. It hurts here.

Keith doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t reach up to wipe the tears from his face. He props himself up on an elbow and leans down to first lay a dry kiss to Shiro’s chest, and then lay his soft, heavy head. His ear pressed over Shiro’s plaintive heart where it slowly beats on through the night.

TL;DR communication is easy, healing is hard

One love. Two mouths.

No shirt. No blouse.

Just us. You find out.

Nothing that we don’t want to tell you about, no.

Even if Aramis hadn’t flagged the whole issue up by telling Porthos that he was going to want him, Porthos would have noticed how much he wants him by now. He’s had quite a few thoughts about things he’d like to do the smug little psychic shit to get the last word in for once. He’s had a lot of thoughts about how much safer Aramis would be and how much less stressed Porthos would be if Aramis didn’t sleep on his own on a night. He’s had a few thoughts about what it would be like to hold his face in his hands and meet his dark-eyed direct gaze head on, just like he knows Aramis wants him to do.

It’s just kind of hard to work out how to let a psychic know about that.