Sheith week, day 5! Prompt for the day is, 'Training/Playful.' (Fair warning, I totally bailed out of this one. I wasn't feeling it. It's not an abrupt ending, but it's a lead up with no pay off. Soorrryyyy?) Enjoy!

Warnings for: Established BDSM relationship, collars, and cuffs.

The knock on his door isn't unexpected. The rooms have like, actual doorbell-type panels next to them that chime when you tap them, but Keith prefers to knock. Old habits die hard, and they die especially hard when you get catapulted halfway across the universe to a strange world, and right into a war where the stakes are the freedom of the whole universe. There are bigger things to focus on then the practicality of using the 'doorbell' instead of knocking on the metal doors.

He gets up from the bed recessed into the wall, nerves curling in his stomach a little bit as he heads over to open the door. Keith is standing at his door, as expected. There aren't any words exchanged as Keith steps inside, and he locks the door shut after it slides closed again before turning around. Then the silence breaks as Keith gives a small smile — on the edge of a smirk — and reaches up to pull him down into a kiss. He yields easily enough to the hand at the back of his neck, leaning down so that Keith doesn't have to rise up onto his toes to reach him.

He eases into the touch, feeling himself settle, feeling the butterflies in his stomach calm down to just a faint nervousness.

This is the first time since the Castle was attacked, and Sendak took it for a long couple hours, that they've had time to get together again. Almost a week, but honestly he's almost grateful for that. It took him about that long, even with Keith's steady presence next to him as often as they could get away with it, for him to come to terms with all of it. Especially after the whole ghost-evil-crystal follow up to that mess, and… He needed time after that too, to get Sendak's words out of his head.

Keith draws back, letting him straighten. "I have something," he says, and he perks up a bit.

Stuck out here, they really haven't had access to all the toys and equipment they'd both amassed back on Earth. There, things were easy to find, relatively. Out here, they've had to get pretty creative, because there's no way that either of them are bringing up the lack of toys to Allura or Coran, no matter how 'encouraging' Coran might be about it. Theoretically. What do Alteans think about BDSM, anyway?

Then Keith raises his other hand, the one that was slightly behind his back, and he stills. "Are those…?"

"The cuffs that Sendak put you in," Keith confirms, watching him. "They disabled your arm, didn't they?"

He swallows, really not sure if the twist of his stomach is fear, or desire, or both. "Yes," he chooses to answer, making himself look back to Keith's face, instead of staring at the cuffs. "You kept them?"

Keith nods, looking just a touch uncomfortable. "I don't like where they're from," he says plainly, "but we haven't found anything that can keep you really restrained. These can." That twist is definitely arousal. "If you don't want to use them, I'll get rid of them. Or, you know, if you don't want to use them right now, I can save them for some other time. I just thought you might be interested."

Interested in Keith being able to put him in restraints that won't snap the second he loses control? Interested in the idea of being actually contained, instead of faking it like they have been since he came back bigger and stronger and with a hand capable of burning through just about anything?

Back on Earth, Keith was a better fighter than he was. The submission there, the play-fights, were never faked. Here, usually they are. Keith is still very good, but he has skills and training he doesn't even remember getting, and the biggest time it kicks in is when his adrenaline's up and he's running on instinct. He just knows how to fight, now. If Keith uses those cuffs it won't exactly make him helpless, but it will put him at one hell of a disadvantage. And that's kind of a nice thought.

"Shiro?"

He pulls his gaze back to Keith, from where it's strayed to the shape of those cuffs again. "I'm interested," he manages, through a sort of suddenly dry throat. "Were you thinking now?"

"If you want," Keith answers, reaching up with his free hand and rubbing a thumb over the side of his jaw, fingers coming to cradle it. "That's your choice. Do you want now?"

His gaze slips to the cuffs for another moment, and then he gives a small nod. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

Keith smiles again, though it doesn't reach as high as his eyes. He's not expecting it to. Since this entire mess started, Keith has always been so infinitely careful with him. Not in a bad way, but always watching, always studying, so very attuned to his needs, and desires, and fears. He appreciates it, actually. It might be smothering, if Keith was obvious about it, but he never is. He keeps all of it to himself and at a distance, and never interferes unless he actually needs help. It's like having his own personal guardian angel.

"Alright," Keith murmurs, fingers stroking the side of his jaw again. "You know the drill, babe."

That he does. Ritual's always helped settle him, and it's only sort-of Keith's thing, but it's good for him, so Keith's always done it. Ever since he worked up the courage to ask an eighteen-year-old boyfriend if he might be alright with maybe, possibly, tying him up? Or beating him? And Keith took to it so much more intensely than any other partner he's ever had. He'd had a suggestion of intuition that Keith might have a bit of dom hidden in him, but he never really dared to hope that he might get really into it.

He nuzzles Keith's hand for a moment, breathing in the faint scent of the glove covering part of it, before he sinks down to his knees. He pulls the zipper down on his vest, shrugging it off his shoulders and discarding it off to the side. After that comes his undershirt, the lopsided arms pulling off easily enough, and then finally the fingerless glove covering his still human hand, and the ring of obvious scars around his wrist. He's considered, lots of times, that he's probably better off not knowing exactly what the Galra did to him. By the pattern of that ring of scars… Maybe he couldn't enjoy restraints anymore, if he knew.

So far, playing with Keith has never triggered any of his memories.

He kneels, hands resting on his thighs, back straight and head held high, and waits. Keith sheds his jacket with very little ceremony, leaving him in just his gloves and the black undershirt, and then crosses over to the high-tech chest next to the door. That's one of the only things in his room, which drives home how very militaristic the Castle was meant to be. He's got a recessed bed, a medium-sized chest built up against the wall next to his door, and a very rudimentary desk and chair at the back. These are definitely not luxury rooms; it almost feels like being back at Garrison.

Keith comes back over to him, reaching down and curling fingers underneath his jaw to tilt his head up. Then he's let go, but only so that leather can curl around his throat, metal buckling at the back. Easy enough to get off by himself, but that doesn't mean he will unless it's an emergency. (It's not technically leather, exactly, but the material seems close enough so really, he doesn't want to know what it's actually made of.)

He tilts his head into Keith's hand when it cups his jaw, easing into the touch and the familiar, comforting weight of that collar around his throat. A physical reminder of his surrender. A chance to not be in command.

"There we go," Keith murmurs, as his eyes flicker closed. "You really need this, don't you, babe?"

He shifts his head in a small nod, before parting his mouth enough to breathe, "Yes, sir."

Keith's fingers stroke his cheek. "Remember, this is new. If you need to stop, you safeword. No pushing through it, no hiding things from me, no enduring. If anything is wrong, you tell me. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Alright then, let's see if these cuffs can do the job." He opens his eyes, looking up, and Keith pets through his hair, eyes intense and focused. "Give me your hands, babe."

Trust makes it easy.