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Unforgettable

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Lance looks over at Keith, eyes still wild from his light tête-à-tête. His cheeks are red, and he has that frown on. The one that says ‘I fucked up when I shouldn't've but those guys deserved it.’ It's rather charming...

And Keith was right, and sometimes violence is the answer.

And right now it's doing it for Lance.

He doesn't know where it comes from. If it's from the way Keith's muscles bunched and flexed as he threw punches, or the way his face fell into that frown that Lance used to hate but now thinks is the cutest shit, but he bites his lip and tries to reign in his wayward imagination.

He glances at Keith and sees him already looking, and Lance nearly runs off the road with how intense his gaze is. 

Lance clears his throat, puts his eyes back on the road, every cell tingling and attuned to Keith's presence, nearly vibrating out of his skin in anticipation. There’s a Christmas song on the radio, one of the same tracks they play every year. It’s familiar, something for Lance to focus on. Something to take his mind off Keith.

He nearly shouts when a hot hand comes to rest on his thigh, grip tight and burning, and he chances another glance to Keith—eyes glazed over, cheeks pink, his mouth cherry red and panting. Lance knows that Look. He’s been on the receiving end of it many times. It’s Keith’s keyed-up-I-need-to-fuck Look.

He takes Keith’s hand in his, grips at his fingers hard. Presses Keith’s hand flat to his thigh to keep it from going anywhere and christ, the heat just from this alone—

Lance flicks on the turn signal at the upcoming exit, and, next to him, the energy radiating off of Keith saturates the air. It coats the back of Lance’s throat, fattens his tongue, flushes his blood to the surface of his skin. He passes the bright lights of gas stations, and Keith whines.

“We’re not fucking in some dirty bathroom,” Lance murmurs, and Keith settles, his fingers gripping at Lance’s thigh harder. They drive a little further and Keith is back to squirming.

“I know, just hold on,” and he lifts Keith’s groping hand, kisses the back of his knuckles. He lets go in favor of turning the wheel, turning down a darkened road, and Keith’s hand immediately clings to the back of his neck, massaging at his nape. Blunt nails scratch at his scalp, and Lance keens low in his throat. 

He drives down a long stretch of pavement surrounded by trees and tall grass, the halos of light cast by the lamp posts spread far enough for a tiny car to park between them without being noticed. Lance sees an inlet between that darkened space and eases the car onto grass, bouncing a little in the seat as the wheels roll over uneven ground. 

Keith’s on him as soon as he kills the engine, the hand behind his head forcing his face around. Keith kisses him, hard, teeth and lips and spit and sighs into their mouths. 

“Lance, Lance,” he moans, unclipping his belt. It hits the plastic of the passenger door with a clatter and soon, Keith is kicking off his boots, shimming out of his jeans, out of his underwear, his cock already hard and wet at the tip. Lance stares, hungry for it, wanting to put his mouth all over him, but Keith is crawling over the center console, his knee slotting up against Lance’s crotch tight, his cock bobbing and swaying as he moves.

“Wait,” Lance grunts out between them, and he leans forward, as much as he can with Keith half in his lap. He pulls at the lever under the seat, and his chair shoots back a scant foot and a half, giving him some space to stretch out. His hand scrambles to the side, pulls that lever as well, and he’s falling back, and Keith is suddenly all over him.

He straddles Lance’s thighs, gets his hands on Lance’s buckle, on his button and fly, gets his fingers under the waistband of Lance’s boxers to pull out his cock. Keith spits into his palm and rubs his saliva all over the head and shaft, spitting and rubbing again for good measure. Lance grips onto Keith’s hips, slots his thumbs into the give of his waist. Rides Keith’s fist. 

Their cocks brush every so often.

Outside, over Keith’s shoulder, it starts to snow. The windows immediately start to fog and cold creeps into Lance’s fingers, but Keith is a furnace and Lance gladly soaks up that heat.

Keith shoves Lance’s shirt up, rubs his hand over his abdominals, tracing the valley of his muscles. Down the coarse trail of hair under his navel. Keith’s eyes burn through him and Lance swallows the heavy wave of desire that floods his mouth. “Right here? Where anyone can see?”

The way Keith’s cock drools onto his stomach is his answer.

“Fuck,” and Lance throws his head back, his hips jerking without his consent and Keith’s head bumps into the ceiling.

Keith grunts, pushing Lance’s hip back into the seat. “Stay still,” he growls. “Let me…” but his voice tapers off before finishing. Keith licks his lips, groans, bites at it, and Lance sees the cut in his lip start bleeding anew.

Lance’s eyes dart over Keith’s torso. He shoves his hand under Keith’s shirt, exposing his stomach, and he sees the telltale sign of a bruise at his flank. He presses his hand there, and Keith’s voice slips out from between his lips in a sweet cry. Another blurt of pre-come puddles on Lance’s stomach and he does it again, this time with his thumb, exerting pressure, tuning the pain to a sharp point. 

Keith moans, rubs against Lance’s cock with his own.

“Please, please, hurts,” he whines, leaking like crazy all over him. 

“I know,” Lance croons. “Come here,” and he’s urging Keith down, kissing him, running his tongue against the split in Keith’s lip from his fight. Salt, bright and tangy, washes over his tongue. It’s not his favorite, but he knows Keith gets off on the sting of it, the jagged burn. Keith moans into his mouth, squirms on top of him, seeks out Lance’s probing tongue. 

“Lance, I,” Keith grunts, lifting his ass, slotting Lance’s cock against his crease. 

Lance brushes Keith’s bangs back from his face, strokes down his cheek. “Open,” he says and Keith complies, licking Lance’s fingers into his mouth. “Make them wet,” he tells him, and Keith swirls his tongue around the digits in his mouth, slithers it in-between. The web of his fingers rub against the cut in Keith’s lip, the salt causing him to moan. When Lance pulls his hand free, his fingers are shiny with spit. 

He trails his hand down and presses the pads of his fingers to Keith’s hole, hot and fluttering, and dips inside, wetting the rim. Keith pants into his neck, kisses at his throat, nips at his shoulder. One stroke down his own cock and Lance rings the base, bracing it. “Sit up, sweetheart, come on,” and Lance nudges his nose against Keith’s cheek. 

Keith gathers onto his knees and looks down at Lance with dazed eyes. 

“Ready?” he asks, the head lined up and insistent. 

Keith nods vigorously, arms coming up to brace against the ceiling. Lance uses his other hand to lift Keith’s shirt, to shove it into his mouth. Keith’s white skin, mottled with fresh bruises, glows in the low light. Lance is captivated in how he’s breathing, the way his gut clenches as Lance breaches him, how his cock bobs between them. His nipples are peaked and pink, and Lance thumbs at one of them, scrapes his nail over the nub.

Keith keens, the fabric between his teeth muffling the sound. His cock stands straight up against his belly, the space under his navel shiny with pre-come. 

“Look at you,” Lance whispers. “Taking my cock almost dry,” and he presses his hand against another bruise, higher, on Keith’s sternum. “Getting off on this pain.”

Keith’s eyes roll back, and he grinds his hips, taking Lance the rest of the way. His arms drop, brace against Lance’s chest. 

“Gonna ride me?” Lance asks, licking his lips, the taste of copper lingering. 

The edge of Keith’s shirt falls from his mouth, covers up his cock, as he nods. The new angle forces Keith lower, and his hips start to rise and fall with the help of his flexing thighs. Lance’s hands run up Keith’s back under his clothes, fingers trailing against his spine. Keith bows, ducks his head, and Lance pulls the fabric over his head, and now Keith’s naked, in Lance’s lap, in the driver’s seat of his small tiny cramped car, getting fucked on the side of some unknown road. 

It shouldn’t make him harder, the thought of anyone happening to drive by, of them stopping to check if they’re okay. To see the fogged up windows of their car, blurred figures moving beyond that. It shouldn’t cause his hips to jerk wildly, throwing Keith off balance, the thought of someone tapping on the window, seeing them like this. To imagine the car rocking on its shocks as Lance fucks into him harder, faster. Shouldn’t make his cock ooze pre-come into Keith to ease the way. 

But it does. Christ, it does. 

“God, baby—” but Keith’s sealing his mouth over Lance’s, and he’s sobbing into Lance’s mouth, and Lance finally realizes why—

He’s holding Keith to him, arms banded around his back, pinning Keith against his chest. His hips slam up into Keith’s body, the wild smack of his thighs against Keith’s, the wet sound of his cock fucking into him—all of it—

“What do you need?” Lance pants, so ready to come. But he wants Keith there, first. “Tell me,” he pants. One of his hands fists into Keith’s hair to pull him back to see his face. 

Keith struggles out of his arms, the long line of his torso glimmering with sweat as he stretches one more time, one arm braced over his head, pressed taut to the ceiling. He takes Lance’s hand, puts it to the blooming bruise on his side. “Please, this. I want,” and he’s bracing his other arm to the ceiling. “I need—Lance!”

And Lance is digging his fingers in; one hand on Keith’s hip, holding him still, the other pressing into the bruise and Keith is thrashing over him, sobbing into his bicep. 

He shoots hot and heavy over Lance’s chest, thick ropes of come, whines as Lance fucks up into him harder, faster, knowing that Keith is there and he wants to join him—and that’s the hottest shit, Keith coming without a hand on him.

Keith sobs, his cock still twitching and sluggishly coming. His eyes swivel down to Lance, cheeks ruddy, lips bitten red. “Fuck it into me,” he says, taking Lance’s hands, wrapping his fingers around his wrists, guiding them over his skin. He wraps Lance’s hands around his throat, leans over and slots Lance’s palms around his jaw. He grips at the headrest behind Lance, circles his hips. “Lance,” he moans, eyes bright and staring straight down at him. 

The head of Keith’s cock ruts through the hair under Lance’s navel, wet and rough all at once. Small, punched out moans slip out from his mouth, words falling from his lips like a song: hurts, god it’s good Lance Lance Lance please—

Lance clutches at his face, squeezes his eyes shut, rides the high of Keith’s orgasm. When he opens his eyes, he catches Keith’s gaze, runs his fingers through his hair. Pulls him close. Keith comes to him easily, tucking his face into his throat. He’s soft and hot and pliant inside, giving whatever he has left to him. “So good, so good for me, all for me,” and Keith sobs, sucks against Lance’s shoulder. “Gonna come, Keith— Keith —”

Keith grabs him and pulls his mouth to him, kisses him messily as Lance comes inside. He grunts, rides Lance’s cock as his body clutches at him. 

Lance nuzzles the side of Keith’s face, kisses at his jaw. Keith hisses a little, ducking away. He sits up, Lance’s cock still inside of him. He’ll slide out soon, but that’s not for a few more minutes. 

Keith touches at his jaw, at the burn scar he’d gotten when he was younger. Gingerly presses down. 

Between them, resting against Lance’s stomach, Keith’s cock twitches. 

Lance chuckles. “Hey, now,” and he’s tapping at Keith’s hip. He pulls a few napkins out from the little pocket on the side of the door, hands them to Keith. They spend a few minutes cleaning up, and when Keith rolls off of him, he’s still poking at his swollen cheek. 

Lance leans over and kisses him under his ear, against the hinge of his jaw. It’s a few more minutes of them trying to get their clothes back on, Keith struggling the most after being completely naked. Lance would laugh, but he’s captivated by the play of light coming in through the snow-covered windows. 

He starts the car, and revs the engine lightly. Warm air blasts out from the vents, and the chill in his fingertips recede. Lance holds his hand in front of one of them, turning them over to get an even thaw. Keith takes his hand, presses his lips to Lance’s knuckles. He holds his hand to his cheek, soft and radiating heat. 

Keith laces their fingers together, and Lance glances over, catching Keith’s eyes, bright and glittering. Beautiful in the snowlight.