Disclaimer: Voltron belongs to WEP. Inspired (yeah, definitely inspired!) by Amarin’s lovely artwork.
Incentive and Inspiration
Keith looked at the box on his desk with no small amount of distrust. “What’s this?”
Lance grinned insouciantly from where he lounged against the doorframe—one of his favourite positions. “Oh, I don't want to spoil the surprise. Why don't you open it up and see?”
He raised one dark brow at Lance. The other’s eagerness was plain to see. He was practically jittering with nervous energy even while he pretended to be casual.
That did not bode entirely well for him, Keith knew. And clearly, it all had to do with this box. Or rather, with what was inside the box.
The box itself was long and wide and fairly deep; it could contain nearly anything. It was plain white, without any embossing or marking. He could not gain any clues about what it might contain from its exterior. Double checking for obvious booby-traps, he opened it carefully, then rustled aside the tissue paper that lined it until he was able to touch fabric.
Puzzled, he pulled the garment partly out of the box, then dropped it quickly, as if it had burnt his hands. Eyes narrow, he turned back to Lance, who was grinning in Cheshire Cat proportions. “What. Is. That?”
"What does it look like?” Lance did, indeed, feel jittery, nervous, and just a tad excited. It lit his eyes, and was making it hard not to grin too widely. He really didn't know why the idea turned him on so much, but ever since he'd seen ... this ... well! He had to at least try! “Go on, let me see it,” he encouraged.
When Keith didn't move, just stared at him in disbelief, he pushed himself away from the door. “Please?” he wheedled.
Sighing deeply, Keith reached into the box again. He was unable to resist that tone, and Lance knew it well. Filled with some unnamed dread, he pulled the clothing out of the box and held it up at arms’ length.
Actually, it was in two pieces, but the top and the bottom were grouped together on nested hangers, so that it flowed and showed very well what it would look like when worn.
The top was a light cream colour, with blue stripes around the hems of the short sleeves. It was a simple pull-over, with the scarf knotted fetchingly at the neck. It swept squarely back over the shoulders, the same blue as the stripes, but striped along its edge with cream.
The skirt was the same shade of blue, without any decoration. It was quite short, perhaps two handspans long beneath the hem of the top.
Clearly, Lance had lost his mind.
Keith leveled a glare at Lance, who continued to grin in response, and said, “Don’t forget the stockings.”
Carefully, as if a poisonous creature with a short temper lived in the tissue paper, he reached back into the box, and pulled out the complementing knee-high silky thin socks with little blue bows at the very top.
Keith briefly studied the . . . things he held, then looked at Lance again. “What kind of a joke is this?” he asked flatly.
Stepping away from the doorway and escape, Lance sauntered towards Keith, circling him with a certain deliberation that was making Keith feel very, very uneasy.
Knowing full well what he was doing to Keith, Lance laid a hand on his lover’s shoulder while leaning close to his other side. “Do the words ‘can I make it up to you’ mean anything to you, Keith?” he murmured.
Keith shivered as Lance’s warm breath washed over the nerves in his ear and neck, and the heat of him so close started to make parts of him stand up and take notice.
Then the words Lance had just whispered to him registered, and he turned his head so quickly to look at Lance that the muscles in his neck burned in protest. “What?”
Amusement made Lance chuckle, low and husky as he bent his head to murmur against the warm skin of Keith’s neck. “How creative can you get, babe?” He gave in to the urge and pressed a kiss where his breath had already warmed. “If it'd make you feel better, we could always add a little ... incentive.”
“Incentive.” He couldn't control the quaver in his voice, nor could he stop himself from tilting his head to the side, to allow Lance to continue if he wished. “What . . . what kind of incentive?”
Pulling away briefly, Lance waited until he had Keith's somewhat annoyed attention, then meaningfully flicked his eyes towards the far corner of their shared robe, and back again. An entirely unwholesome grin twinkled in his eyes.
Those parts of him that had started to take notice at Lance’s closeness and the feel of his breath against his neck suddenly leapt to attention as he understood what Lance was referring to. He could both hear and feel his breathing grow slightly ragged, and had to swallow heavily. When he looked at Lance again, he simply devoured him with his eyes, imagining . . .
Lance allowed his grin to widen. Keith was weakening ... and he had quite a weakness for Keith. Especially the Keith that taunted him in his mind.
Slowly shifting to the other side, he pressed a second kiss to base of Keith's throat, immersing himself in the salty taste and the intoxicating shudder that accompanied Keith's soft moan. "Do I take that as a yes?" he asked softly
The lips on his throat and the image of Lance in his head . . . caught between them, desire arcing through him, Keith could only nod, a brief bob of his head. His fingers loosened, the stockings slipped to the floor, and he reached out for Lance, just wanting to touch him.
Too late, as his hands caught on nothing more than the edge of Lance's coat as Lance bent to rescue the stockings.
Straightening, Lance had to make sure he kept just a little distance between himself and Keith as he pressed the silky scraps into Keith's slightly shaking hands. It was either that, or forget the whole thing and drag Keith to the nearest wall for a quick session of fast and furious.
He couldn't stop himself from giving Keith a brief, careful kiss, however. He nibbled slightly as he pulled back, whispering to Keith, "You take the bathroom, I'll get changed in here."
He handed Keith the box, then gave him a careful shove in the direction of the bath, and Keith stumbled into motion, still looking quite dazed.
It wasn't until the bathroom door had closed behind him that he realized that he'd been very neatly trapped.
For one angry moment, he debated not changing into the sailor fuku. But then he recalled the heat of Lance’s touch, the fire in his eyes, and the promise of incentive. Slowly, consideringly, he pulled down the zip of his flight suit, staring at the soft fabric of the schoolgirl’s uniform.
Then suddenly, he grinned, and began to disrobe in earnest.
Before long, he had donned all of the clothing in the box, including the tiny blue thong—which had probably been curled up in the stockings—and the Mary Janes. The skirt was even shorter on than it had looked off. It was barely long enough in the back to cover his ass, and in the front, it floated over the tops of his thighs. He felt . . . foolish, but at the same time, seeing the way his cock made the skirt tent out, strangely aroused and very kinky.
He wondered if Lance had felt the same way.
He darted a quick look in the mirror, and ran his fingers through his hair, combing out some of the inevitable tangles. An idea struck, and he rummaged through the box once more, smirking when he came up with a pair of blue and white barrettes. Taming his hair quickly, he clipped it into place, so that one side of his neck was bare, the hair swept up and out of the way.
He nodded in approval, took a deep breath, and stepped back out into the bedroom.
"Hot... damn!" Lance's husky exclamation caught his attention, and he looked over to his lover. He fidgeted with the hem of his skirts nervously as Lance raked his eyes over him so thoroughly, he may as well have not been wearing the thing. He was certain his face held the same admiring, sensual look as Lance's, however, as he peeked almost coyly beneath his lashes.
While he'd been out shopping for the Fukuda, apparently Lance had made a purchase for himself as well. In addition to the maid outfit as he remembered it, Keith noticed that Lance was wearing gloves—opera length gloves that went up well past the elbow and almost met the frills adorning the end of his sleeves.
He wondered what they would feel like against his flesh, and shivered, heat uncurling in his stomach.
Before, Lance had been . . . shocking in the maid’s outfit. This time, because he'd had no time to prepare it wasn't quite the same. His hair was not styled; it was just pulled back away from his face. The cap was pinned rather lopsidedly to the top of his head. He still held the feather duster, but the feathers were flattened by their time hidden in the closet.
But the fishnets . . . the heels . . . that short, frilly, starched little skirt that he could remember was so easy to reach under . . . oh, yes. The package was quite something.
He could pretend to himself that the quickening in his breathing was not because of Lance in that outfit . . . but that’s all it would be, pretending.
He was ready to give in to almost anything Lance asked of him; anything to relieve the ache in him that seeing Lance like this had aroused.
Lance, himself, was left with a hard lump to swallow around - and an even harder one further down – at the sight Keith made before him.
Sure, he'd had his imagination to keep him company since he'd spotted the stupid sailor suit in a shop window, and had immediately replaced the store mannequin's shapely curves with Keith's straight, muscular lines – and had promptly short circuited his brain in the process – but reality … man! That was something else entirely!
Then he spotted Keith's almost shy glances, and grinned wickedly. "So! Still holding up?" he asked coyly, turning in a small pirouette for Keith to see. From Keith's slack-jawed, slightly dazed expression, he assumed it was 'yes'.
Then he grinned wider, and gestured for Keith to spin likewise. "C'mon, babe. Show me what you're made of."
Keith swallowed. The twirl that Lance had just performed had made the short frilly skirt flip up, and he was given an tantalizingly brief view of Lance’s buttocks as he spun by.
He was certain that his eyes were spinning in their sockets. He had thought about Lance in the maid’s outfit - who wouldn't have! - but it was nothing to this.
This . . . it nearly made him forget that he was wearing a schoolgirl’s outfit. It made him weak with need, made his cock throb and twitch. He took a step forward, wanting nothing more than to feel the satin and lace of the dress beneath his fingers again . . .
But Lance grinned and deftly avoided him. “Ah, ah! Give us a spin, first.”
Reluctantly, Keith lowered his hand, then ducked his head to hide his own grin.
Two could play this little game.
Casting a look at Lance from beneath his thick lashes and the fall of his bangs, he twirled, just fast enough to let the skirt fly up in back, exposing his rear, not at all covered by the thong he wore. Quite distinctly, he heard Lance’s breath catch as he did, so he spun again, a bit faster this time, and the skirt flipped and ruffled around his groin.
The thong was starting to get uncomfortably tight.
He stopped just past the full turn. Behind him, Lance swore softly, and Keith peeked over his shoulder just in time to see Lance lick his lips slowly, eyes most definitely fixed at the slight curve of Keith's ass.
That playful naughtiness kicked into full gear; Keith batted his lashes flirtatiously and purred, "I take it you approve."
"Approve?" Lance's gaze meandered up Keith's body until he could look Keith straight in the eye. He grinned a decidedly wolfish grin. "Oh yeah! I approve all right. So…" here, he paused and licked his lips again, "Why don't you just come over here, and tell me all about school today, hmm?"
“A-about . . . school?” That was . . . well, unexpected, to say the least.
Lance just continued to - well, yes, to leer at him. “Yes. Tell me what happened at school today.” His eyes ran down the entire length of Keith’s body and back up again. Mary Janes, knee high socks, long expanse of bare leg, short skirt, the long straight lines of his torso, outlined by the fabric of the top, to the flirty barrettes in his hair.
Keith flushed slightly, and took a step closer. “Why do you want to know?” he asked, and was surprised at himself. He even sounded like a petulant teenager, someone eager to keep a secret from an adult - any adult, not just his - her - parents.
“I just want to know about your day.” Lance beckoned, and Keith took another step, feigning reluctance.
“It was nothing out of the ordinary, really . . .” Closer now, and closer, and he was sure that Lance could feel the heat coming off him. He couldn't take his eyes from his lover, from the starched collar, from the long gloves encasing his arms.
“Really? Nothing . . . unusual happened today?” He was close enough now for Lance to reach out, and the glove slid against his waist, bunching the cloth. Keith shivered, and ducked his head, wondering at the role he'd agreed to play.
“Well . . . Mr. Stevens . . . he said that I was . . . very bad.”
“Bad . . .how?” Lance sounded like his breath was stolen away.
“That I wore the skirt so short it was a crime . . . and that I would have to have detention for a week.” He leaned in closer, until his lips were against Lance’s ear. “And he touched me.”
Lance's eyes went impossibly wide. He hadn't really expected Keith to play along, so this … this was more than a little unexpected. And incredibly arousing. He licked his lips again.
"He touched you?"
"Mm hmm," Keith murmured, and breathed in Lance's ear again, making him shiver right down his spine.
"Well now…" His mind danced with a hundred different answers. Carefully, he slid his arm right around Keith's waist, tucking him in close. "That was a bit naughty of Mr. Stevens, wasn't it?"
Keith's lips curved into a smile against Lance's neck as he nodded. "Mm hmm," he murmured again, and looked up at Lance through those impossibly long lashes of his.
Lance gulped. "So … why don't you show me how Mr. Stevens touched you?"
“He . . . he did this . . .” And Keith reached behind himself, to take Lance’s hand where it rested on his back, and slid it slowly down over the back of his skirt. “And then this . . .” Pushing on Lance’s hand, he ground himself against Lance, pressing himself so close against him that he could feel Lance’s heartbeat.
“And then he did this . . .” He took Lance’s hand again, drew it down further, until he could feel the warmth of fingers on the backs of his thighs, and then moved it up again, up over his buttocks, underneath the skirt.
Keith breathed out, long and slow, against Lance’s neck. “I think he left bruises . . .”
"Bruises?" Lance whispered, pretending to look down Keith's lithe form with grave concern. "That's not very nice. Would you like me to check for you?"
Keith looked up at him with wide, serious eyes. "Yes, please, if you wouldn't mind," he said mock-solemnly, nodding slowly before extracting himself from Lance's confining arm and walking over to the bed.
Lance's brain almost caved in on itself with the meltdown as Keith oh-so-calmly bent forward and placed his hands on the bed, then turned his wide-eyed gaze over his shoulder at Lance. "Can you see anything yet?"
Could he see anything ….?! He was already breathing rather heavily before he even took a step in Keith's direction. His arousal at the sight of his normally staid lover bent over before him like that was creating quite a disturbance within his own skirts; the stiffened lace of the maid's petticoats surrounding his erection and scratching at it softly only served to make it more potent.
Then Keith fluttered his lashes at him, and pouted quite prettily. "Is there?" he asked, and Lance could have sworn the quiver in his voice was more than just play acting.
"I'm not sure, yet. Let me just have a look," he offered, stepping closer. His hands trembled noticeably as he took the hem of Keith's fuku and slowly raised it up over his lover's back. "Hmm," he paused and pretended to look closer. "I can't see any, just yet."
"Perhaps … down there, on the right?"
Lance would be damned if Keith wasn't as breathless as he right now. Then again, Lance was probably damned anyway for getting them into this.
Oh, what a lovely way to go!
Again, his fingers trembled as they carefully traced the satin curve of Keith's rear. "There might be something … I'm not quite sure." For a moment, he held his breath. Then the words came tumbling out. "Would you like me to kiss it better, just in case?"
“It aches . . .” Keith let his voice take on a slightly whining tone, and he shifted as if in some discomfort. “Please? Make it better?”
His heart was thundering against his ribcage at his own audacity. How could he have gotten into this particular little kink of Lance’s so quickly?
But he was, and more than that, he was enjoying it. Lance’s gloved fingers were feather-light against his ass, fluttering lightly, barely brushing the skin, and that hesitance, no matter if it was pretence, was making him dizzy.
Then he could feel Lance’s breath against him, warm and damp on his flesh, and his brain fizzled. The breath was followed by a light kiss, down low on his buttock, and Keith felt a shiver run through him, felt his cock twitch against the suddenly very uncomfortable confines of the thong.
Lance bit his lip and hauled in another shaky breath. "Maybe?" Again, he carefully stroked Keith's tender skin, his fingers moving ahead of his words. "Over here?" - under the curve of one buttock cheek. "Or here?" - by the hip. "Or down here?" - partway down the other thigh.
His senses were filled with Keith's scent, his quivering skin, his tiny mewls of anticipation, and Lance was now too far gone to even think straight. Carefully, he pressed gentle kisses to the imagined bruises, sighing when Keith gasped, murmuring encouragement when Keith groaned, swallowing his own driving need when Keith rocked back against him slightly.
Keith's scent continued to taunt his nostrils as he kissed each spot in turn. Corded thighs started shaking when Lance impulsively decided to gently lick the line where silky fine white socks reached the knee, then trail his tongue slowly up the inside of Keith's leg.
The tiny thong outlined the shape of Keith's erection, barely contained in the little scrap of material, and from this vantage point, Lance was being treated to a very intoxicating sight indeed. He wanted – no, he needed – oh gods, but how he needed!
His hands slid slowly up Keith's legs, gently urging them a little further apart. His thumbs scraped along the tender, slightly hair roughened skin between as he arranged himself more comfortably, kneeling in such a way as to reduce any damage should he unintentionally get too close to his stilettos. He had other, more urgent things on his mind.
His breath whispered along the backs of Keith's thighs, ghosting between slightly while he murmured something as he moved in closer. He took a deep breath, intending to steady himself for such boldness, and was again assaulted with a scent that was purely Keith.
"Oh baby," he murmured, not even realizing he'd spoken as he moved forward to nuzzle the delicate piece of lingerie stretched tight.
Keith gasped and shuddered at the touch, as light and fleeting as all of Lance’s touches had been, and wondered vaguely how much more he could take. He was already about ready to drop the act and beg Lance to just do it . . .
Then he felt one hand skating along the gusset of the thong, and he couldn't help it - the whimpering groan just exploded out of him, it felt so good. Lance knew how to make it better, too, and one finger slipped inside the thong, just in back of his balls, and he pressed firmly on that spot.
Keith saw stars. Pleasure shot through him, setting all his nerves on fire, and he tried to grind down, thinking, wondering, hoping he could climax from that touch alone.
So close . . . Lance, please!
But Lance removed his hand from that sensitive spot, and Keith groaned again at the loss of contact.
The gloved fingers followed the line of the thong again, moving slowly, back, and up the cleft of his ass, where the fabric rested. Lance let his fingers glide lightly up, then back down, and on the downward pass, they danced lightly around the rim of his opening, teasing, stroking.
Keith pressed back again, biting his lip and shaking at the sensations filling him, and again Lance moved his hand away.
Outside the thong again, slowly but not lingering, over the gusset, then up his front, and then the hand was where he really longed for it to be, pressing against the bulge his arousal made. He whined again, his hips pressing forward, into the gently squeezing grip.
Lance’s breath whispered hot against the inside of his thigh, and Keith nearly lost his mind. It was only when the hand stilled on his cock that the knowledge that Lance had spoken penetrated his brain.
“Wh-what?” he managed, and the quaver in his voice was so far from faked that he couldn't imagine. The game they were playing was lost, too, and all he wanted was for the sensations to continue, to build and build until . . .
"Mm hmm." It was as close as Keith could get to an answer, but it was answer enough for Lance.
The sheer naughtiness of it all kept giving Lance more and more wicked ideas. Again, he nuzzled the soft cloth of the thong, suckling gently for a moment where Keith's sac filled it, making Keith cry out with surprise, then trailed his tongue slowly along the thin strap that slid seductively between Keith's cheeks.
It was all Keith could do to draw enough breath. What Lance was doing to him was more than mind-blowing; it felt so good that he never wanted it to stop.
Except he did - he
wanted it to stop so that it could feel even better . . .
Then Lance’s tongue danced up the thin back of the thong, tickling his cheeks, and his knees nearly buckled.
“Lance, please!” he gasped, and realized his hands hurt; he'd fisted them so tight in the bedcovers that his knuckles ached.
"Easy, babe, easy," Lance murmured as comfortingly as he could manage around the strain of controlling his hunger. His hands kneaded the curves of Keith's ass gently as he kissed first one side then the other, making Keith moan and shudder all the more, before sliding one hand into the front of Keith's waistband to cup him protectively and then slowly drawing the tiny scrap of lingerie downwards.
Keith cried out again and bucked hard into the gloved hand that held him oh so briefly, whimpering his distress when it left him to guide the thong away from him. The sounds went to Lance's already pounding groin, and he had to stifle his own moan.
With a little difficulty, he managed to get Keith to lift his feet just enough to toss the thong aside. He had to kneel on the floor to manage it, and again he was reminded of how erotic last time had been as he looked down at the dark silk skirts of his own uniform, rumpled and creased, his own erection rubbing and poking against the hem of the starched petticoats.
'Lube,' he thought desperately. 'Where the hell did I put the lube?'
The obvious answer was, wherever the heck it got tossed after the last time we used it, but that meant he had to remember - to think! - past the arousal consuming him, past the need to bury himself in Keith now.
And that had been nearly impossible from the moment Keith had exited the bathroom. He still tried, caressing Keith’s sac, trying to make his mind work and not react to Keith’s whimpers and pleading.
The logical place was in the bedside table. Running a hand up Keith’s leg, he stretched out with the other, trying to reach the nightstand. He fumbled with the handle for the drawer, yanked it open and found - oh blessed foresight! - lubricant in a variety of luscious flavours.
The next time they did this, he was going to make sure that whatever he was wearing had pockets. Stuffed with little tubes of slick happiness.
He had the cap off before he realized something else: the gloves, they'd have to go.
His fingers fumbled as he pulled at them frantically. The seam in one finger tore slightly, and somehow that little hole in the black fabric took on a whole new, highly suggestive meaning.
The gloves soon went the same direction as Keith's thong, and finally – finally – slicked fingers probed gently at Keith's entrance, sliding in slowly.
As always, there was the instinct to tense up, to not let anything in, but after less than a heartbeat, Keith overrode that and relaxed his muscles, letting Lance’s finger spread the lube inside him.
Every time Lance brushed his prostate, he was rocked by pleasure. He pushed back against Lance’s hand, grinding against it and moaning.
“Now! Lance, please, now!”
The gasping, pleading tone caught his attention, and Lance glanced up from applying more lube to his trembling fingers.
It was a school girl, dressed in her uniform, hair simply styled and held by the barrettes. It flowed dark and curly over her shoulders. Her top revealed nothing but the fact that she had no breasts. Her short skirt revealed long, muscular legs . . .
And this is where Lance’s mind just whited out, because the skirt was rucked up over the girl’s backside, to reveal a perfectly shaped ass . . . and brushed aside in the front a cock so rampant and hard that it was actually red, bobbing slightly in the air.
Frantically, Lance shoved his skirts to and fro, trying to get them to stay out of the way so he could apply the lube to his own erection. He had to get inside Keith now.
And somehow, he had to find a way to get Keith to see what he looked like . . . what they would look like when Lance was inside him.
He could see the image in his head, as clear as day – him, Keith, rocking against each other, hair, fabric, limbs all askew, it was like looking at a reflection.
Then he remembered the mirror.
As deftly as he could, he kicked open the last door of the nearby wardrobe. It swung open slowly to reveal the full length mirror Keith had fixed inside. It was perfect.
His heart racing, breath coming in short, heavy gasps, he dragged himself to his feet and positioned himself as best he could, leaning over Keith's back to whisper in his ear. "Hey, babe? Look this way."
It stopped, the good feelings just stopped, and Keith was near whining at the unfulfilled lust running through him. Moving his hips in the air - with nothing to press back on or into - was not good enough.
Then Lance’s weight was on him, he could feel Lance’s erection pressing against his ass - come on come on come on! Inside! - and then warm breath in his ear as Lance said something.
The words were accompanied by a swirl of hot tongue that made him shudder again.<[>Keith let Lance straighten him up and turn him until he was looking . . .
He was looking into the mirror in the wardrobe.
He was looking at a schoolgirl, in her fuku, but no schoolgirl ever looked like this.
His cheeks were flushed, eyes wide and bright, pupils dilated with lust. His lips were red from where he'd bitten hem to keep quiet. The uniform top showed damp patches from his perspiration, showed a girl who hadn't started to develop just yet.
But then he looked again at the reflection, and groaned, leaning heavily back against Lance.
His cock was poking out from beneath the short skirt.
It was almost too hot to bear.
A maid - Lance - was behind him, looking equally disheveled and needy.
He could see Lance’s arm reaching around him, could see the maid’s hand taking hold of his . . .
Ooooohhhhh! He nearly melted as the mind-numbing pleasure started again. And Lance was rubbing against his ass, too, nuzzling his ear, blowing more warm breath against it to throw him even further past the point of no return . . .
Keith wasn't the only one mesmerized by the intensely sexual image. The sensual curves of Keith's buttocks framed by the skirt were now burned into Lance's memory, and he just knew he had to end it quickly, or be completely consumed by the hungry ache coiling through his veins.
He slid his hand beneath Keith's body to stroke him, once, twice, just enough to keep him as much on edge as Lance was while he positioned himself carefully with the other hand. And then slowly, ever so slowly or else do Keith some serious harm, he sank into Keith's deep, welcoming heat.
Keith gasped as Lance finally, finally entered him. The burn made his head swim, but the pleasure, oh, that was almost enough to make him climax right then.
The mirror captured him, and he could see Lance’s eyes close in the reflection, could see as well as feel him shudder.
Lance’s hand gripped hard at the base of his erection, preventing his release, and he whimpered and strove against it, until Lance bit sharply at his ear, hissing wordlessly.
He quieted somewhat, panting and staring at the mirror, and that’s when Lance started moving. Rocking back and forth, speeding up, and it was more than enough to blow his mind.
He couldn't watch the mirror anymore - what he was looking at had just taken the top spot of the most erotic thing he'd ever seen. He closed his eyes, reached behind him to pull Lance even closer, even further into him, and bit his lip to keep from screaming at how good it felt.
Lance whimpered a half cry and drove into Keith one last time, senses peaking as he shuddered over and over with his release.
One final thrust, and Keith knew that he couldn't hold himself back anymore, because the unmistakable sounds of Lance’s orgasm pushed him over the edge, as they always did. He arched forward, trying to swallow his own cry and failing, wracked by pleasure.
The harsh rasps of their breaths slowly drew Lance out of that world of total perfection. He could feel the heavy breathing of Keith's body brushing subtly against his own, each intake accentuated sharply as he lay unintentionally against his lover's hunched back. His forehead rested limply against Keith's shoulder, and the scent of their sweat was sharp and almost sweet.
The stiff petticoats were scratching mercilessly at his thighs, making him all the more aware that he was still buried deep in Keith's tight, slick heat. Gently, he ran a soothing hand along Keith's side; for a moment, he was surprised not to feel flesh beneath his fingers, until the enormity of what had just happened began to hit him.
Almost unwillingly, he turned his head and looked in the mirror. And suddenly, he wasn't so sure any more. What the hell have I done?
"You okay?" he ventured to whisper in Keith's ear.
“Ngg.” Keith stirred, felt a warm heavy weight on his back, and shivered in the aftermath of that shattering orgasm. Lance stroked his side through the uniform top. For a heartbeat, he felt a strange disorientation - why was he clothed? What uniform?
Then he, too, looked in the mirror, and remembered.
They were kneeling on the carpet, and Lance still held him. Rapidly drying sweat glistened on his face and Lance’s. Somehow, the pins holding the little cap to Lance’s head had come loose, and it dangled just by his ear.
There were rather a lot of streaky white splotches on the glass.
A thousand things to say - mostly inane or woefully inadequate - ran through his head. It had been just about the hottest sex he'd ever had, and that was actually saying quite a lot, considering how he and Lance had gotten started.
Lance wouldn't meet his gaze in the mirror, kept his eyes averted.
Keith trailed his fingers over Lance’s hand, and smiled, closing his eyes again. “Y’know,” he said, a bit breathlessly, “that was a lot better than what Mr. Stevens usually does . . .”
Eyes snapped open again as Lance stiffened suddenly, then began to try and extricate a little too quickly. He couldn't quite explain the depth of loss he felt. Then he noticed that Lance's hands were shaking as they fumbled with the hem of Keith's skirts, lowering them with a care that was at odds with the shuttered expression on his red-tinged face. "Lance…?"
"It's okay, Keith," Lance assured him as he turned Keith towards him carefully, hands smoothing dark, tussled curls. "You don't have to play the game any more."
Keith blinked at him, then grinned and reached out. He threaded his fingers through the hair at Lance’s nape and drew him close until those uncertain eyes were only an eyelash length from his own. “What if I like the game?”
Lance swallowed heavily against the thudding of his heart. "W-why would you?" he whispered.
“Why wouldn't I?” Keith rested his forehead against Lance’s, and combed through the length of soft brown hair. “It doesn't do either of us any harm to play games, and it can be fun . . . and hot. Right?”
A tiny frown appeared on Lance's brow, at odds with the tiny glimmer of something like hope in his eyes. "Even if this is the most perverted thing you've ever done?"
Keith smiled and stole a brief kiss. "Kinky," he corrected. "Perverted would be if I really was a schoolgirl."
It was good to hear Lance's laugh, no matter how slight or shaky. Keith stole another kiss, just for the hell of it, and smiled against the tender flesh of Lance's lips, fingers still curled in his hair.
"Love you," Lance whispered. The warmth of his breath, the feel of his lips moving with his words, just made it all the sweeter.
“Love you, too.”
Then he pulled back, though he did not leave off brushing Lance’s hair. With a serious air, he said, “However, next time . . .”
Lance swallowed, then mimicked, “Next time?”
And Keith leered at him. “Next time, the schoolgirl gets her revenge on Mr. Stevens.”
Lance's sudden laughter was quickly swallowed in Keith's kiss as Lance pulled him down into his embrace. Silk socks caught against the roughness of fishnets, and hands slowly slipped back beneath indecently short skirts.
(we mean it this time!)