Keith stood under the hot spray of the shower head, his eyes closed as he focused inward, trying desperately to regain some sense of composure. He wasn’t quite certain what was wrong with him today; he was the one moving out of sync in their training exercises, he’d run himself into an invisible maze-wall so hard he was dizzy for a quarter hour after it, and he swore he could still feel the static jolt under his skin. When Shiro had touched his shoulder, eyes concerned, his touch was like a fresh electric current and Keith had yanked himself away.

Damn puberty. Lance blames space. Space puberty. Space puberty is making life super difficult for him--especially since now, he can't STOP looking at Shiro and his buff arms and his great thighs and his great actually everything. [Lance, due to the wonders of Space Puberty, is super into Shiro. Only problem is, he's not exactly sure what else to do besides desperately obsess over how hot their leader is.]

Being away from Earth means going without heat suppressants. This proves to be a problem for Lance who has been avoiding his heats since puberty. Lucky for him Shiro and Keith are willing to help. “I thought that was why you were being such a jerk.” Keith’s feet shuffled over over the carpet. “You know. Another omega in your space?” “No, I just really find you annoying.”

Keith thinks he's about to get rickrolled. Keith is mistaken. When he opens the email, all it says is Saw this and thought of you, happy birthday buddy, followed by a link to a video hosted on a Google drive. Keith gives it a long look, weighing suspicion against curiosity, the fact that he knows the sender of the email against the fact that he knows the sender, and then shrugs suspicion aside. He's probably about to get rickrolled, but whatever. He clicks the link. It's not a rickroll.

One might think that after spending six years serving as a Galaxy Garrison senior officer, leading dozens of dangerous missions into enemy territory, personally overseeing the deaths of Zarkon’s highest generals, and getting his arm blown off only to be replaced by a weaponized prosthetic against his will, Shiro would be prepared for anything the Universe threw at him. He was not prepared for Keith and Lance.

Matt has a plan to get Shiro laid; Shiro has a lot of misgivings about this. "Shiro. Buddy. I swear on everything I hold holy—" "You're an atheist," Shiro points out. "—I swear on the grave of Carl Sagan and in the name of Neil deGrasse Tyson," Matt says, not missing a beat, "that if you go home alone tonight, it'll be your own personal decision and not because you won't have other options."

“Actually we’re open,” he explained. He didn’t get it. “Open?” “To having sex with strangers.” Wait— Oh. Oh.

I have a policy. When I am sent hate, I write them porn. Here's to you, Nonny. Lance and Keith like to make bets. Shiro near always benefits, but this time he becomes a player.