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We meet after our mission in the Green Lion’s hangar. There’s not much to say before pieces of armor start falling away, hands swift on clasps and zippers, shedding each section like a cumbersome second skin. Their hands, small, deft and soft, brush the skin at my hip and it’s like they set my skin on fire. I burn for them and there’s a part of me that knows it’s taboo, but that only fans the flames.
“Shiro…Quick,” they breathe, shifting their body suit down past their hips, wide, thick and very much adult. Seven years gone is the small tomboy who thought she’d fooled us by wearing cargo shorts and baggy shirts. This is Pidge now, all feminine shapes and looks that don’t just kill – they mass murder – coming together to frame their famously sharp intellect. And “They”, which became rather important over time. Not “She”, not “Him”. “They” dwell perfectly in between all those little boxes people like my father loved so much.
“C’mon,” They urge and I comply, shiffing my own suit down and slipping my erection free. They take it in one perfect hand and stroke me slowly, my taller frame slumping over theirs a little more with each stroke. My knees get a little wobbly, so I lift them up and slide them onto the nearest work bench. I see the skin of their thighs raise in goosebumps from the cold, but there’s no accompanying complaint, just heavy breaths and hands weaving into my hair.
“Do you want me to…?”
“Duh, Shiro.”
“Okay,” I say with a chuckle and a lust-filled grin shot at them, my Galra-tech fingertips slowly starting to vibrate. They return the smirk and lick their lips in anticipation as I pull their suit off of their legs and ease both hands up their thighs. I kiss them and take a minor detour up to their chest, ghosting my buzzing fingers over a not-quite flat chest, pert nipples pressing against the body-suit’s fabric. They moan into my mouth and I swallow it while my tongue traces theirs.
Down, my robotic hand runs a line to their core, my human hand gripping their buttocks and giving one cheek a squeeze. Pidge’s hips shift forward as I slip my fingers between their folds and trace the lips of their sex, those moans turning to soft sighs and sweet breathy keening. I could listen to them all day, their breath hot on my cheek when they pull away from my lips, the sensations overcoming them.
With my free hand, I slide my own suit down further and slip on a condom, pressing in close when it’s secure. Distracting them with a swap to a pulsating rhythm, I draw them near and press my length against their entrance. “Ready?”
“Shiro, please, just – Oohh, sweet Jesus.”
“Jesus has nothing to do with it, Pidge,” I joke, running another circle around their clit with my thumb while I let them adjust to my girth, now fully-seated inside them. They laugh, breathless and starting to sweat. “Smartass…”
“Calling people names isn’t nice.”
“Ew, no dad-talk while you’re fucking me.”
“…Right. Ugh…Sorry.”
“It’s fine just – do that again…!”
And I do, moving at a decent pace and keeping a steady, quick oscillation on their clit until –
“Oh ffffffffffffffffffffuck...” Their inner walls clench around me and have to still myself or else I’ll lose it myself. Their nails dig into my neck, but it’s not too hard, just shocking, and I resume my thrusts when their insides have slowed from rapid contractions to gentle pulses.
“Again,” They say after a moment and I look up to make sure I heard right, “Yeah, again. And fuck me like you mean it this time.”
“Alrighty then…” I say, lifting their hips off the table and thrusting hard, giving them what they asked for and then some, “Better?”
“Muh-much…” Their legs wrap around me to support their weight better and I drag my vibrating fingers over their clit again. This time, it’s quick, my thrusts and the vibrations in perfect synchronism and they come quickly, pulling me over the edge with their orgasm. I don’t make noise, not that I notice, but I hold Pidge close and breathe them in with one, two, three last thrusts and spend myself in a huff. We catch our breath and lean back on the work bench, tired, but better than we were before. We re-dress and part with a sweet kiss, heading to our rooms alone, keeping up the guise that we weren’t ever going to make more of what happened in the hangar after each mission. We never had before and it worked better that way. It was just stress relief. Passionate, loving, incredibly intimate stress relief.
…Right?