Shiro isn't making it any easier, each new and casual touch -- not unfamiliar, not all that different from what normally passes between the two of them, but somehow charged through with something thoroughly electric, something that has Keith stepping in closer and swallowing back the better part of a growl at fifteen minutes.

Don't rush it.

Keith takes a breath and is preparing himself for a slow silent countdown to try to keep hold of his willpower -- he's gripping to it with the very edges of his fingertips, a millimeter from slipping. "Right. The bedframe."

For a moment, Keith almost thinks he can do it. But then those hands are in his hair and those lips are on his and to hell with everything else. Beds can wait. The world can wait.

Keith surges up against him, kissing back, all eagerness and need. Maybe it's not surprising that he comes at this the way he comes at everything, throwing himself fully into it, the same way he dives into a battle, the same way he launches forward in the cockpit. But this is worlds more important. He's wanted this, wanted Shiro, for longer than he's even been able to put it into words in his own mind. His hands run up Shiro's chest, up until his hands are on either side of Shiro's neck, fingers pressing insistently at the nape of his neck.

The bed has slipped his mind entirely.