[ Shiro simmers with want as Keith pours himself over him, kisses slow and luxurious so that he misses them when they're gone and only has a moment to do so before his knees are riding up and ah, ah, ah, Shiro's whimpers fill the room. He digs his heels into the blankets and rocks his hips up, finding an old forgotten rhythm that helps him bear down on them as they stretch him out. He knows this; his body remembers. It's with an increasing sense of urgency that he rides all three fingers and lets the burn be known via loud moans, clenching down on knuckles whenever they sink deep enough.
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He's in heaven, this is it. He made it. ]
Keith, oh Keith ...