[ the worst thing about going from two legs to four was the altered balance, and also the constant stress of forgetting that he was so much taller now. taller, stronger, faster, bulkier; it had taken the better part of a year to get back to fighting trim and another to start winning in the arena. for all that he was a favorite of the druids, the prototype they had used when they began their mass alterations on the enslaved human populations, he was only one of many gladiators fighting in the emperor's arenas.
in his stall between fights he was kept harnessed and chained, a constant stream of stable slaves attending him for every need. they trimmed his hooves, brushed his coat and hair, fed him, watered him, washed him, massaged him, even pleasured him while he remained under bit and bridle, champing restlessly at the flexible roll of leather between his teeth and stamping his hooves. there were so many places on his body he could no longer reach himself, even if he weren't harnessed. the straps itch and chafe and all he can do is rub against the stall walls, trying to shift them, while the stable attendants are alternately frightened of his rumored ferocity or too bold with their touches, fascinated by the sight of his penis sliding free from its black sheath. most of the other earth slaves had been changed into more submissive forms, half-cats and dogs and fauns, some only with the additions of fluffy ears and tails. nothing as large and potentially dangerous as a half-horse like shiro.
of course, something like shiro wouldn't be wasted as a stable attendant. they would be gladiators or soldiers, making their way like shiro, capitalizing on combat ability.
he switches his tail restlessly as another unwanted roil of heat slides through his belly. before the thought of getting sexually aroused after a gladiator match would have been appalling but now it's simply life as usual, lifting and replacing his hobbled hooves in the same locations. he can hardly move for how he's been tied today, can't touch himself or rub on anything, all he can do is flex his muscles and bounce his cock against his belly, grunting behind his bit as he pleasures himself humiliatingly. ]
["Don't be STUPID." That had been the extent of Matt's training as stableboy -- sweep the hallway, keep his mouth shut and his eyes down and don't make a nuisance of himself. And never ever go into any of the stalls. There were things in there, the grim-faced Galra stablemaster had grit out, that would be more than happy to chew Matt up and spit him out.
And it wasn't like he didn't know how vulnerable he was. He wasn't a nimble cat or a sturdy dog like most other stablehands were -- he was more...experimental. The Galra were more amused by him than anything else, finding it fun to pull at his tufted tail and his patchy ears, enjoying how easily Matt got upset these days, big brown eyes so quick to well up with tears. Even when he got mad, kicked out with little cloven hooves, they just laughed.
Not that the other humans were any better -- especially the ones who were half-dog now, wagging tails and lolling tongues. They teased him almost as bad as their masters did, chasing him into corners, snickering and blaming their "herding instincts", reaching out boldly to grope and grab and wonder aloud why such a cute calf wasn't better endowed, whether they should offer to help with that. "Maybe he'll be better use as a milker if we knock him up first," one particularly bold stablehand had leered, pinching hard at Matt's flat chest and making him let out an embarrassing sort of lowing sound.
He'd bolted after that, stomping on feet and wrenching away, breaking all sorts of rules by running through the halls and -- in desperation, that was the only thing that'd drive him to disobey this badly -- flinging open the nearest occupied stall and bolting inside. The door slammed shut behind him, rattling with the force, and Matt stumbled backwards, breathing heavily, flushed and teary and shivering all over.
The stall was small and dark, and the warmth of a sleek, velvet-furred side startled him, but there was nowhere to dart away to. Just the wall to press back against, the shape of powerful flanks and muscular legs, the sound of frustrated, heated panting and the scent of lust and sweat heavy in the cramped quarters. And Matt should be afraid, should try to escape, but the animal part of him can smell sex in the air, warm and liquid, and he's shivering, aching sweet and sore with sudden want.
It's so dangerous, so wrong, but he reaches out in the low light, hands small and soft and warm, stroking over the equine shape closest to him, murmuring something gentle and nonsensical.]
[ he spooks when his door slams open, a helpless prey instinct that
even his human intelligence can't overcome, but fortunately or
unfortunately he's chained so neatly in his cross-ties today that he can't
spin or buck or do anything more than jerk in place, tossing his head.
he'd heard the sound of running feet-- hooves, on the cement walkway of
the stable, and he's had his stall door rattle before with bodies being
pressed up against it, but usually he drives off that kind of activity with
a snort of fury and steelshod hooves slammed against the heavy boards.
he's never had someone actually try to get inside the box stall with him
when they weren't on orders to be there, and armed with the galra version
of a cattle prod.
the straps running between his harness and the great steel rings in
the walls won't permit him to turn around in the stall, so he can't see the
person in with him even if he strains and tries to look over his shoulder,
but he can smell them-- young, male, and an unfamiliar animal overtone that
must be the species of their alteration. he's used to snarling predators
with their claws and quick, aggressive movements. the bit in his mouth
muffles anything he might say, so all he can do is prance anxiously and
switch his tail as gentle hands slide over his scarred and branded flanks.
his skin shivers at the touch. ]
[Matt squeaks a little at the sound -- it's nothing like the soft, gentle involuntary sounds he makes now, all variations on mild farm animal lowing and (humiliatingly) mooing. Despite the obvious correlation (there's a word he'd almost forgotten, keen scientific mind almost thoroughly overshadowed by bovine docility) between horse and prey, the rumbles and grunts are closer to predatory growls. They rumble in the cramped space, overwhelmingly anxious, fretful, and Matt acts without thinking.
Matt isn't quite sure what his purpose is yet -- he's not a fighter, he's not particularly graceful or alluring, just gentle and empathetic and soft in every possible way -- or why he was altered the way he was. He's tried to ignore it, tried to curl up and sleep every night ignoring the urges threatening to overwhelm him, has studiously kept his hands above the covers and far away from between his legs. He's tried to ignore how easily he went from lanky and lean to soft and rounded, how quickly he submits to any sort of show of dominance, how every teasing word from Galra or human hybrid alike centers around sweet innocent little milkcow just waiting for the right stud. He isn't sure if he'll be able to go back once he accepts what he is now.
But when he moves, it's with a knowledge he didn't know he possessed, pressing forward, warm and soft and soothing, pressing his cheek fearlessly to one rounded side, broad and barrel-shaped, stroking his palms over the sweat-dampened softly furred skin.]
It's okay, it's okay. [He's cooing it, stretching up on his tiny cloven feet to reach over the stallion's back, so high he can barely see over it. He knows he's small and fragile and the centaur could easily crush him, but he also knows that there's fear and unease in every restrained movement, and it makes his heart ache to know this magnificent creature is afraid.
He just wants to help. He wants to help so badly it hurts. So he cuddles closer, tail twitching, ears flopping as he tries to interpret the huffs and nickers coming from the stallion.] I'm not going to hurt you. You're okay. You're okay. It's okay.
[ shiro's also never had someone try to hug him before, or
stroke him to soothe him and murmur words of comfort. having something
unknown in the stall with him that he can't see is enough to kill any
lingering arousal, but the actual spike of fear is quick to fade as well.
he thinks sometimes that must be why the druids did this to him-- to make
a small, fragile human strong, but also give them the instincts of a prey
animal to watch them struggle constantly with implanted instincts. shiro
was never a coward before and he's not a coward now, he's actually better
equipped to defend himself with his size and strength, but he's easier to
startle, easier to work up into an unthinking panic and aggression in
unfamiliar situations. his sides heave under the stranger's small, warm
hands, not at all unpleasant, but he can't see anything except the space
directly in front of him with the blinders affixed to the sides of his
bridle. his nostrils flare helplessly as if bigger lungfuls of scent will
identify the intruder, and his fine black ears are tipped back sharply to
catch any noises. not pinned, but not relaxed.
he huffs sharply when the stranger says he's not going to hurt him.
disbelief, perhaps. ]
Well, I'm not. [Matt huffs it out, the sound coming out nowhere near the stallion's majestic rumble -- more a soft "gmoo" sound. Very embarrassing, and he twitches his tail again, absently scritching his short nails through the rougher hair along the horse-half spine. The concern hasn't abated at all, even as his eyes adjust and he can see the ripple of a heavily muscled bare human back, silhouetted in the dim light. There isn't any way this beautiful centaur needs his protection or comfort.
But there's the thud of footsteps -- the bored stablehands, still searching for their escaped prey -- and Matt's shivering and pressing closer, fitting easily into the curve between flank and side, towards the stallion's hindquarters. He doesn't speak, closing his eyes and trying to be silent, not wanting to draw any undue attention.
Still, his hands never stop their gentle, reassuring stroking, learning the shape of the centaur's back, his side, the scars marring his warm dark skin. Despite his anxiety, Matt nuzzles closer, one ear flicking against the stallion's side.]
Shhhh, don't get their attention. They'll go soon.
[ that tiny noise sounds vaguely familiar, although shiro hasn't had
occasion to think of it in years... a cow, maybe? the galra have used
almost every species under the sun, although he doesn't think he's ever met
a half cow before that wasn't a bull-type, big and musclebound. whatever
kind of creature is in the stall with him, he's small and light, two hooves
instead of four, and slowly shiro relaxes into the steady petting. his
skin stops twitching under the exploring fingers and his black and white
tail goes still, and more tellingly he lets the cross-tie chains go slack,
no longer pulling against them. the cross-ties and harness aren't designed
to be actively uncomfortable if he stands quietly and doesn't fight against
their hold.
of course then there's the sound of footsteps and jeering voices,
and shiro pins his ears back reflexively. the half-cow is on the wrong
side of him, easily visible to anyone that opens the door, but shiro can't
exactly tell him that it's okay to move closer and use him a shield, not
while bridled. all he can do as the latch is tested is make angry horse
noises and let fly with his hooves, the chains giving him enough slack to
slam against the wall. the kicking might not deter experienced stablehands
but the sudden creaking and groaning of the chains is more worrisome as he
throws his full weight against them, indicating that anyone trying to open
that door might just find themselves in the stall with an angry, loose
stallion. ]
[Despite their motivation to follow their noses and chase down their reluctant prey, none of the canine stablehands wants to risk the wrath of a pissed-off stallion -- especially not the prize jewel of the competitive circuit. So they back off, speculating loudly that "cute little thing couldn't be in there anyway, have you seen the size of that monster? I heard the last stableboy who got caught in there couldn't walk right for days."
Typical dirty back-hallway talk, and Matt rolls his eyes dismissively. The one thing all Galra hybrids seemed to have in common was a voracious sexual appetite, and speculation ran wild between various species about size, shape and stamina. Embarrassingly that was just one more thing that was confusing about this new form -- Matt was clearly meant to be receptive in some fashion, but nothing from bulls to tomcats particularly...thrilled him. It was never enough.
Huffing another of those soft, mellow sounds, Matt absently let one hand stroke down the sleek side of the stallion, palm warm and flat against his belly. It just figured that in this new world order he'd end up a chubby cow-twink size queen.]
You wouldn't do that, though, would you? [He murmurs sweetly, fingers straying further and further back under the stallion's stomach, gentler on the softer, more sensitive skin.] You wouldn't hurt me.
[ shiro wouldn't, but it's slightly concerning that the little half-cow believes that with so little evidence. shiro can barely move, can't speak, has his hands bound together tightly in front of him, but he could pin a handler to the side of the stall with his weight and crush them. he could trample someone that got underneath his hooves. the little cow should be afraid of him. he should be afraid of everything in the gladiator stable.
but he's not. apparently. there's something strangely familiar about his voice, too, that shiro can't quite place, his ears pricked and swiveling to follow the sound. even bridled and wearing blinders he keeps his head turned as far as the straps allow him, trying to see.
he doesn't startle when soft fingers start to edge back under his belly, the shining black coat giving way to satin-soft skin nearer his sheath and the high insides of his thighs. shiro twitches his tail and stamps once, warning, but there's not much of anything he can actually do to stop the other. his stomach muscles ripple under the questing fingers. ]
Mmmph. Right. Well, um...thank you for...for scaring them away, and um...
[In another life, Matt would simply speak his thanks and leave. He would let it be. He wouldn't be tucked back near tense, quivering hindquarters with knife-sharp hooves that could trample him without any effort. He wouldn't be nosing, soft and seeking and affectionate, at the stallion's soft flank, while his hands slip curiously over the delicately twitching skin. He wouldn't be wondering if all the rumors are true, if a well-placed touch could coax this magnificent creature's magnificent organ free of it's protective sheath, if his hands would be big enough to reach around it's girth --
-- what it would feel like in his mouth.
His knees are trembling, and he wants to be down on them, wants to bend over against the stall wall and set his hooves wide, lift his tail and offer his gratitude for the centaur saving him in the best way he knows how. He wants, and the tight quarters are abruptly frustrating, getting a small huffy snort of irritation. If there were only a bit more room he could do this better.
So instead he lets his hands -- not trembling, not tentative, knowing, like they've done this a million times before -- massage gently at the shape of the centaur's sheath, squeezing and coaxing, accompanied by Matt's soft warm body cuddled up to the broad side of the stallion, and a gentle, sweet:] Can I? Please? Please?
[ well. shit. this is the part where he should be protesting that
he doesn't need anyone to thank him like that, he hadn't done it to
get some kind of reward. but he can't explain that, can't grab the boy's
hands or move out of their range. truth be told part of him doesn't want
to. he's milked twice a day unless he's being punished or if they want him
particularly aggressive for an upcoming fight, so his body is well trained
by now to expect this. the gentle massaging of his sheath has him shifting
restlessly, tail flicking this way and that as heat begins to curl in his
belly, and he can't stop himself from parking out, spreading his back legs
wider, as far as the hobbles allow, and stretching forward.
the boy's hands are so soft and warm on him, and without a trace of
hesitation as they press and rub. he feels like he knows what he's doing,
and it's not worth throwing a tantrum to get him to stop, so shiro
surrenders, dipping his head to give permission.
it doesn't take long at all to get him worked up. his balls are hot
and swollen, full after a long day of going unmilked, and he grunts softly
as his mottled cock slides free into the boy's warm hands. ]
[ Keith isn't surprised that the others have trouble accepting that he's Galra and still himself. After all, he'd had enough trouble coming to terms with the idea himself, unable to speak the awful suspicion dwelling in his thoughts until he was forced to confront it at the Marmora base. He'd been forced to confront a lot of things that day, left shaken and bruised and with more questions left unanswered, but he'd made his choice. He'd chosen Voltron and the fate of the universe over finding out more about himself, his past, his parents, and it seemed like giving up had been the right thing to do, for once, because it meant choosing a different fight.
He'd left the Marmora base with Shiro, and Red, and his awakened blade, and a suit that they said would help him to master awakening the blade and connect with his Galra nature, and eventually unlock the very answers he'd been about to give up on finding. It fit snugly under his Paladin armor, looking a little strange but not interfering with anything.
And then he'd gotten back to the Castle, and seen the looks on all their faces when they heard the truth. Allura was the most obviously affected, and he'd been expecting it - he'd been afraid of it, but there was nothing he could do. She deserved to hate him, after everything the Galra had done to her, taken from her, even if some Galra really weren't like that. It was the way the others reacted to him that really stung, the way Hunk started calling him Galra Keith like he was a different person, the look in their eyes even when they were saying that it didn't matter betraying their uncertainty about him now.
It was how Shiro's gaze faltered when he looked at him that hurt. But the Galra took his arm from him, tortured him, so it wasn't as if Keith deserved more, was it? He could still play his part in the team, prove to them all that he was still the same person, that he was still Keith, that they could trust him.
Then Red growled at him.
He was having trouble syncing up and forming Voltron, and then Red growled at him, and on top of the looks and the whispers and the way he felt frozen out of things, it was too much. He turned to the only people he thought he could - the people he didn't necessarily like or trust, but who might know how he felt in this moment, might have the answers he needed. The Marmora. They'd told him that they didn't know everything about the Lions, but that it was possible that his internal conflict over who he really was could be disrupting the bond, and that he should come back to their base and learn more about Galra culture until he understood himself. He was pretty reluctant, at first, but he needed to do whatever he could to re-establish his bond with Red. The others tried to caution him, but... well, of course they would. They didn't trust the Marmora fully, because they were Galra.
Just like him.
That's how he ended up back with the Marmora, flying there in a pod with supplies this time, determined to learn more about himself and all Galra this time. But it was tough - they were still secretive, even if they welcomed him as one of their own this time, and he had to fight to prove himself even here. Had to spend long hours training and fighting and studying, in his suit. Slowly, he opened up to them about how the rest of his team had lost their trust in him, with self-deprecatingly grumbled comments at first. They'd shared knowing looks and told him that that... probably affected his ability to pilot Red, too. It definitely affected his ability to form Voltron, so there was no point in rushing back until he was sure he'd fixed things, no matter how often they might try to call him back.
It didn't seem like they called that often, though.
One day, Kolivan had come to him, done something with the suit to let him see Shiro - or a projection of him, anyway. He'd talked lowly about how they knew what he wanted, even if he didn't know it himself; how this was the only way he could have that, because he'd seen it himself, how his true nature had driven a wedge between himself and his friends. He hadn't wanted to listen at first, had yelled and pushed Kolivan away.
But the longer he stays here, the more desperate he becomes to see that gentle, trusting look that used to be in Shiro's eyes when he saw him, and the more powerful the illusion the suit creates. Until he finally breaks down in Shiro's - in Kolivan's arms, and he knows it's wrong but it feels right. Maybe this is the only place he belongs, even if he has to wear a mask to hide his freaky face, even if they're hard on him and keep their secrets closely. At least they're giving him a chance to prove himself, while it feels like he's already lost his chance with the Paladins. ]
[ the decision for keith to stay with the blades hadn't sat well with shiro and still doesn't, but it was keith's decision. shiro doesn't feel differently towards him, knowing he's galra, but apparently the others do, and they can't stay synchronized long enough to form voltron. in that sense, tactically, it doesn't matter if keith is at the castle or with the blades.
he still doesn't like it. he doesn't like the way allura can't quite hide her own feelings on the subject. he doesn't like the others saying "galra keith," like keith had become someone else.
and he doesn't like how the blades act like keith had gone to permanently join them. shiro tries to contact their base and is told that keith isn't available, that he's asleep, that he's training and can't be interrupted. there isn't a good time for shiro to come in person, or for keith to leave. kolivan tells him that keith is working on becoming more in tune with his true nature, and his tone sets shiro's teeth on edge.
but maybe that's shiro's jealousy talking. maybe being away from them is what keith needs and maybe shiro doesn't have the right to decide for him, or try to influence him.
after a week and a half without contact, shiro decides that he needs to try to see keith anyway. he takes black and he flies that stupid tricky route and he bangs on the damn door, trying to raise keith on his personal communicator. ]
Keith, it's Shiro! I'm here, please respond. I'm at the Marmora base with Black. Can you hear me?
[ Keith is in his room, recovering from the first training session of the day, and the first... visit from Kolivan to help him burn off the adrenaline afterwards. It's become part of his routine here, now, for Kolivan to come and let the illusion of Shiro bleed over him, and give Keith encouragement in Shiro's voice and words, touch him with Shiro's hands, as a kind of reward for doing well in his training. And he is doing well, in the combat aspects at least - other things are taking more time to master, but one thing he's good at is fighting.
He's been encouraged to put away everything from his other life - other lives, really - to wear the Blades suit and leave his clothes in his closet out of view, put anything important into storage for later, when he feels more comfortable with himself. But some part of him is still suspicious and rebellious enough to keep his personal communicator somewhere close at hand at all times, to wear it when it won't be visible to anyone else, or at least hide it under his pillow when he can't wear it without being noticed. So he hears Shiro's message, although it's slightly muffled until he startles up and grabs the communicator from under the pillow, shoving it into its proper place behind his ear. ]
Shiro...? What are you doing here?
[ He's really confused, okay.
Meanwhile, the Blades aren't happy that they have the Black lion parked right outside their base and her Paladin knocking at their door. The base is a quiet storm of activity as Kolivan and the others try to decide how to handle this - opening the door isn't the first thing they want to do. Instead they try hailing Shiro to tell him to leave. ]
the wound in his side is on fire, and he can feel the shakiness through his connection with black-- he doesn't know how zarkon did what he did, why the lion would let him, but he can feel that things have changed. alarms blare in his ears and the controls are unresponsive in his hands, and he can see the red lion being tossed around like a feather in a hurricane. he wants to get black to grab her, to hold onto her so shiro can hold onto keith, but they're both being pummeled in the maelstrom.
he's yelling keith's name when everything goes black.
re-entry wakes him up. the cockpit is dark, running on emergency power, everything faintly lit by a hellish red glow as they fall through the sky. he gets the impression of clouds, of blue and black sky, and the lights of some kind of civilization below. this time it's not a desert. this time it's an expanse of black water rushing up at him. he tries to fire thrusters, to get black pointed in the right direction to absorb the brunt of the impact, but she's tired and hurt and exhausted and so is he, and the impact shakes him back into the dark. ]
[ the cadets, both human and dragon alike, stare and whisper quietly whenever they think he isn't paying attention, some of them overt enough that they gossip even when he looks directly at them. it would be irritating or even disheartening if he wasn't already used to it; he's been back with the garrison and the corps for over six months now, and has had every opportunity to endure being stared at and poked and prodded and interrogated and tested, until the commanders couldn't think what else to do with him but let him lecture the cadets.
it's a waste, of course. he'd been a combat dragon before the mission to kerberos, under nine tons but a solid middleweight fighter, and now, after the galra experiments, he is impossibly over ten tons, his shoulders broader, his entire conformation subtly altered. adult dragons stop growing like all species and shiro had already reached his full growth long before kerberos, but whatever the druids had done to him had turned him into a heavyweight. they had, horribly, amputated his wings and given him impossible metal ones, white and red, with glowing blue points almost like feathers. They should have been too heavy for him to fly with, and for his shoulders to support, but they were so light he could almost forget they were there, and the metal itself nearly impossible to break. they didn't function like regular dragon wings; shiro had been forced to learn to use them in the galra gladiator arena. there were other changes, too, ones that he'd been too anxious about testing, but he thought he healed faster, needed a little less food, a little less rest than other dragons his size. he felt strange in his own skin, as if it didn't quite belong to him anymore.
but he understands the commanders' caution; he was a pow, when dragons almost never escape galra captivity, and he'd come back without his captain or his crew, which is even more unheard of, and horribly mutilated to boot. dragons that lost their captains sometimes ran wild and got themselves killed in suicide attacks, and were considered unreliable even if they managed to take on a new captain. putting him out on the battlefield with a new crew would be risky at best. shiro hadn't been able to bring himself to consent to a new captain, even though he could certainly carry bombs or a gunnery crew, but garrison didn't like to believe that dragons were intelligent enough to give orders themselves, and preferred to have a human captain aboard. the corps knew a little better, enough to argue that shiro could certainly be useful as a teacher.
so he can't complain, even when he hears the reports coming in of galra attacks on their outposts and the other bases established here on altea. the galra are slavers, and prefer to attack on the ground with infantry and their great war beasts, half animal and half metal, rather than shell planets from orbit with their fleets, which is the only thing that's allowed humanity to defend their scattered colonies. shiro's limited understanding from his captivity is that this was on the very edges of the galra expansion, which was why they weren't being bombarded daily by new cruisers dropping off thousands of troops.
all he can do for now is be obedient, and teach his classes, and hope that there are no disasters until he's cleared for the field again. he's been shunted into what the corps refer to as irregulars, made up of the handful of older dragons that had lost their crews or had never taken captains in the first place, and displaced crewmembers waiting to be assigned to new dragons. the cadets are a little shy of them, knowing that this could be their fate if they didn't bond with a hatchling by the time they graduated. there was nothing wrong with being on a ground or gunnery crew, of course, there were a million other jobs that needed to be done around dragons that weren't being a captain, but cadets usually had inflated ideas of fame and fortune around becoming a dragonrider.
almost worse than the cadets that whisper behind his back are the ones that try to make up to him, seeking him out for extra advice, extra training, usually transparent with their intentions when they ask him tentatively if he'd thought of taking on another captain. they ask if he wants to talk about it, they ask about his wings, and he puts them off with tactful excuses, or finds something else that he needs to do. the hatchlings are more respectful due to his size, for the most part, although there are one or two that don't have anything resembling common sense because shiro refuses to snarl at them like an animal and use his teeth. he knows exactly what garrison command would think about reports that he had "attacked" anyone, even an obnoxious hatchling that was well used to being nipped and chased and playfully clawed by their own yearmates.
keith doesn't ask. keith is the only one that lets him sit in silence, and doesn't try to fix him. he can't say that keith hasn't changed at all, in the year he's been gone, but keith doesn't act like shiro has changed beyond recognition, and it helps to have someone that actually knew matt, and was friends with him. matt hadn't been present at shiro's hatching, and they'd met when shiro was resigning himself to never having a captain at all and living without that special, intimate bond he'd heard about. shiro and matt had been friends, and they worked well together, even if their connection wasn't the deep visceral emotion he'd been led to expect. it still hurt, to think of matt and the rest of his small crew being swarmed by snarling creatures and torn away from him, calling his name in terror like he thought shiro could still rescue him. ]
Uh, professor? [ one of the cadets calls, even though shiro isn't really a professor, and he realizes he'd paused in the middle of his lesson, wings drooping, staring in silence at the wall of the huge bunker he was projecting his visuals on. he shakes himself and meets keith's eyes, dark and concerned, for just a moment before he forces himself to continue. ]
[ Keith knows that he's changed since the mission to Kerberos. Maybe it's not as obvious as the changes in Shiro, but he's sure that the dragon can tell that he's not quite the same, either. He'd let the grief over the loss of the Kerberos mission, the loss of Shiro and Matt, change him, harden up his edges and raise up his walls, and even Shiro coming back couldn't undo that, not all at once. Not after so much time. But it's not Shiro's fault, and even though he continues to push away everyone else, it's all too easy to slip back into being friends with Shiro - he doesn't really have to try to treat him the same as always, it just kind of happens, once he's over the initial shock of seeing how much bigger he is, how different his wings are now. But it's really just physical changes - deep down, he's the same caring, gentle Shiro that he's always been, even after having to go through so much.
He's still going through a lot, and it makes Keith angry and frustrated to watch it happening. Things should have been better when Shiro came back, they should have taken care of him, listened to his reports, tried to use what he knows to rescue Matt and any other survivors. Instead, the Garrison and almost everyone there are treating him... badly. It's not like they're hurting him, but Keith knows that they had done their own poking and prodding at the Galra's alterations, and it took them way too long to let him become a teacher - to let him do anything. Even now, they're treating Shiro with distrust, as though he might snap at any moment. He's heard the stories about other dragons losing their captains and going mad, the prisoners of war who became unstable and dangerous due to trauma, but Shiro isn't like that. He can see it in the way that the dragon has acted since he returned, in the way that he doesn't so much as lift a claw to reprimand unruly hatchlings where other dragons would be nipping at them until they learned how to behave. Shiro has never been harsh with hatchlings or humans, but this is something extra, a new level of caution that puts Keith's teeth on edge. He shouldn't have to walk on eggshells to keep his freedom after managing to escape something horrible. This is supposed to be somewhere that he can feel safe and appreciated.
Keith has gotten into more than a few fights over the stupid rumours being circulated, scuffles that he inevitably wins, if they don't get quickly broken up by disapproving officers. The other cadets still haven't learned to watch their mouths, though, and they're not the only ones whispering about how strange it is for a dragon to be captured, to escape, to not go into a suicidal frenzy over the loss of their captain. He's treading a thin line towards disciplinary action, and he's pretty sure that if he punches the wrong person for saying something unpleasant, he's going to get himself kicked out of the Garrison, excellent test scores or not.
He's also sure he doesn't care about that.
He does care about Shiro, though, and he can't help frowning in concern when the dragon falls silent during one of his lessons, seemingly spacing out. That's... not good. He waits after the end of class, dawdling with purpose as the other cadets disperse. ]
[ by all rights, keith shouldn't even be in this class. shiro had expected to come back and find him shuffled even closer to graduation, pushed by his scores and the almost embarrassing thirstiness garrison had shown for his piloting skill. shiro had even had to argue, once, that it would be a terrible idea for keith to be jumped a year, thrown in with older cadets that would resent him even worse than his yearmates did. they'd chosen to listen to him, then.
but in his absence it seems like keith's scores had dropped, and the instructors didn't look on him with the same favor they used to. he'd been getting into fights, shiro heard, vaguely, and nobody liked to say why, which meant that keith had been getting into fights about him. more importantly, he hadn't bonded with any hatchlings even after an entire year, nor had any of the older dragonets shown an interest. it shocks shiro down to his bones: keith was born to fly. it had been their private joke, once upon a time, that keith should have been born the dragon and shiro the human, keith with his temper and his fighting spirit and his almost unnatural affinity for piloting, and shiro with his patience and aptitude for teaching.
he'd thought, during the long hours of his captivity, that keith might bond to a dragon in his absence and become part of a rescue mission. it was something he could see keith doing, maybe with a half-grown hatchling as fierce and wild as he was, both of them refusing to stay behind. keith and a fire-breather, maybe. he'd thought when he escaped that he would come back only long enough to insist that garrison mount the rescue he had been waiting for all year, the one they should have done on their own, and shiro could check in on keith, and he had played out the conversation in his head that he would have, if keith had a vulnerable hatchling with him. he had expected to have to be the voice of reason, to tell keith that the hatchling needed him more than shiro did.
but there is no hatchling, and keith's career isn't on the path it should have been, and shiro can't help feeling that this is his fault. at the same time, though, he can't be upset that keith is upset. he can't even tell keith that looking after his own career is more important, when shiro himself has had moments where he'd considered simply leaving, and trying to rescue matt on his own if garrison won't do it. keith would encourage that, probably. keith would probably throw his future away to come with him.
the other cadets and dragonets filter away into the echoing space of the hangar. it's hard to have privacy in such a huge building, and shiro knows that people will have seen keith staying behind to speak to him. for the sake of appearances, he doesn't let himself droop or look as tired as he feels, and occupies himself with putting away the dragon-sized controls and tools until they're alone, and he can sit on his haunches and glance down at keith. ]
Don't tell me you have a question about the lesson, [ he says gently, joking, knowing full well that keith had already learned everything he'd covered today several years ago, and him being here had to have been a punishment, or keith's own insistence on taking shiro's classes when he didn't need to. neither are good things. ]
[ It's not like Keith hasn't tried to bond with a hatchling - he's gone to every hatching over the past year, sat among the other cadets jostling for attention and held out hope. It's just that... that hope has faded, steadily, as he's been ignored time after time, and he can't really blame the hatchlings, either. He has enough trouble making connections with other humans, and he knows that he doesn't exactly look approachable, and, well. After hearing the reports of Matt and Shiro's mission to Kerberos being attacked, he hadn't been able to think of much else, and he knows that he probably looked tired and angry most of the time since then, even at the hatching grounds. He's not surprised that the hatchlings and even the older dragonets would rather choose no-one than choose him. No, it's not surprising... but it does hurt, a little. Even though Shiro and some of the older dragons like him, they're all already taken.
He still thinks of Shiro as being taken, even with Matt gone - he's sure that Matt must be alive, still, no matter what the Garrison says. The Galra like taking captives, taking slaves of various stripes, and Matt is smart enough not to get himself killed if he can avoid it by being captured and biding his time until rescue or escape. The longer he's gone, though, the less likely that becomes, and it makes Keith so angry that the Garrison refuse to even try to mount a rescue mission - so many things make him angry, lately, and he's never been that good at controlling his temper in the first place. He's sure Shiro must be frustrated, too - the dragon hasn't chosen a new captain, has outright avoided putting himself back into any kind of combat role, and teaching suits him, but it must be maddening, not being able to do anything. ]
No, it's not that. [ Keith shakes his head, smiling faintly at Shiro's gently joking tone. Of course he doesn't have a question about the lesson itself, he's learned all of this already, but his performance has dropped sharply enough that no-one questions him taking all of Shiro's lessons. Sometimes he even gets assigned to the class as a punishment, as though taking remedial classes is what he needs - lectures to calm him down.
That's not going to work. ]
I just, uh. [ He pauses - it's hard to get privacy in such a huge space, but at least they're alone now. Still, he's a touch cautious. ] ... I was wondering if you wanted to take a break from working so hard.
[ working so hard. that might almost be funny, although shiro knows keith hadn't meant it as a joke. shiro used to fly patrol routes and combat missions and scientific missions for matt, who had been pulled away from his research with the science division when he and shiro had bonded unexpectedly, and shiro still somehow found time to assist with classes when he could. his schedule now is a bare fraction of that, and mostly consists of endless reports repeating things he'd already said, preparing and teaching his handful of classes, and running the combat obstacle course alone, at night, when there was less chance of gawking spectators. it gives him far too much time to think, and to brood over everything that's happened.
but if he has too much free time now, at least he doesn't have to make excuses to anyone to find time for keith. matt had never minded, believing firmly that dragons should be allowed to have friends like any other sentient being, and he didn't care if keith and shiro spent time together or if shiro felt like going somewhere by himself. other riders had looked sideways at them for that, given the way the garrison deliberately preached about the unbreakable devotion between dragon and captain, but shiro had never felt like he was being disloyal or too independent just because he and matt didn't spend every second of the day together. there was no reason to encourage dragons to believe that they couldn't do anything when their riders were gone, and that all they had to do with their time was sit and wait, like a powered down machine, until their captain was with them again. and shiro liked being around the cadets and hatchlings, while most dragons were happy when their promotions to combat class got them away from the training facilities.
he ought to tell keith that he's fine, that he doesn't need to be fussed over just because he spaced out during a lesson. he's been aggressively fine ever since he got back, and he's practiced at faking it, but he ducks his head a little, unconsciously, rubbing a claw against the side of his head in rueful embarrassment. ]
I'm fine, Keith, I'm just-- a little tired. [ dragons can't smile, of course, but he noses at keith's shoulder gently. ] I don't have another class today, though, and all I was going to do today was practice maneuvers and maybe run the obstacle course. Did you have something in mind?
[ Keith hadn't really meant it as a joke, no - he just didn't know how else to put it without prying too much into things Shiro clearly didn't want to talk about. He's glad when Shiro seems amused, even if he can't smile, and he's relieved that the dragon doesn't deflect him by being aggressively fine like he tends to. He still says that he's fine, of course, but at least he's admitting that he's tired, which is more than Keith has heard him say to anyone else.
He raises a hand to pat Shiro's nose when the dragon bumps his shoulder with it, characteristically gentle in the motion, and he smiles with an eagerness that's been lacking from his life, lately. ]
I'd like to watch you run the obstacle course. [ Watching Shiro fly and navigate obstacles was always exciting - Matt had liked to tease him about how much he liked watching Shiro follow the same course every day, shaking his head and wondering if Keith would ever get bored of it. Matt preferred to spend his time studying while Shiro was busy, catching up on what scientific journals he could get his hands on, going against the Garrison's insistence on riders and dragons spending all their time together. Both Matt and Shiro had been happier when they didn't try to force themselves into that kind of co-dependence, Keith thought. ]
And, uh, after you're done, maybe we could... race to the shack? I've been working on my hover-bike, she goes really fast now.
[ it's probably vaguely seditious, to imply that the garrison isn't the absolute authority on managing dragons. perhaps it comes from shiro's own somewhat lackluster experience as a hatchling, waiting for that special, precious rider that would form some kind of intensely emotional bond with him at first glance, and waiting, and waiting. he'd been told to be patient, to be obedient, and he was sure to meet his match. there were other hatchlings from his clutch that hadn't found their partners immediately, either. it was a long, long time before he let himself consider the idea that just being obedient and learning his maneuvers was not going to automatically ensure him a rider. he would have to make something of himself, alone.
and matt, too, hadn't come from a proper rider background, and hadn't had the same lectures repeated at him that the other cadets did. matt had no illusions that he knew more about aerial combat than shiro himself. both of them were probably bad influences on keith, in hindsight.
it's considered gauche for someone who wasn't a rider to pet a dragon's face and the softer scales of the nose, and a responsible adult dragon wasn't supposed to encourage attachment. shiro deliberately ignores all of that, and hums approvingly under keith's hand, even angling his head to get keith to continue his petting. keith had never been awkward about touching him. ]
You've seen me run the obstacle course a thousand times, by now, [ he rumbles, pretending it's not endearing that keith never gets tired of watching him train. ] You'd rather race.
[ shiro would rather race too. the isolation of the desert highways appeals to him, along with the thought of a blazing hot sun and nice warm thermals, and he secretly, guiltily loved watching keith push his hover-bike into dangerous maneuvers at breakneck speed. ]
Loser has to scrub all the sand off the winner. [ he says, as if it's a given that he'll win, as there isn't much chance of him being able to groom keith in reverse. ]
And-- I should show you something, when we're alone.
[ In Keith's mind, it just makes sense to listen to a dragon when it comes to something like flying, something they can do naturally. He'd first been attracted to watching dragons flying, to watching Shiro flying, running the obstacle course, but it had been the mutual respect and friendship that he'd seen between Shiro and Matt that had really made him stick with the pair. The Garrison might have their reasons for pushing the ideas that they do, for drilling obedience into the dragons in their care, but Keith always thought it was strangely old-fashioned, and his distaste for the prevailing attitude has only intensified. Which might be something to do with Matt and Shiro's influence, but he's always had a bit of a rebellious streak in him, and it didn't help that he never bonded with a hatchling despite his own attempts at patience and obedience.
If he ever does bond with a dragon, he's determined to treat it the same way he does Shiro, more or less, even if the other riders and dragons at the Garrison look at him askance for it. They do already, anyway, because of how easily he touches Shiro's face despite not being a rider himself yet. Matt had never minded, and it made Shiro happy.
He smiles as Shiro hums in approval, and takes the hint to keep petting his face, stroking a hand over his nose, where the scales were softer. ]
Well, yeah, but that doesn't mean I'm tired of it. [ He'd happily watch Shiro run the obstacle course another thousand times, but he has to admit that the dragon has a point. Racing with him is a little more exciting. ]
Oh, you're on. You'll be licking sand out of my hair in no time. [ His smile turns into a grin - there isn't much chance that he'll beat Shiro, realistically, but he never shies away from the challenge of it, especially when Shiro sounds so confident. ]
[ there, he's said it out loud, and now he can't shrink from the thought any longer. he's supposed to obediently report any changes that he notices, any memories he recovers of what's been done to him, but shiro wasn't hatched yesterday. the garrison is interested in what the galra did to him. eagerly, offensively interested. he knows better than to hand them the revelation that he's capable of changing his form, now.
but keith should know what's happening to him. keith is the one person that he knows, bone deep, won't betray his confidence, and maybe talking to keith about it will calm some of the panic he keeps suppressing. shapechanging is only supposed to happen to a dragon in a bonded pair, and after years of exposure to human DNA, or something along those lines. the human scientists were at a loss to explain its specific mechanics, and the dragons themselves didn't have any answers either. it was just something that happened, they said.
shiro is sure it's not something that just happened to him. the galra must have something to do with it, and that frightens him more than anything. only bonded dragons with long-term partners and deep emotional connections have ever been reported to shapeshift.
he doesn't let any of that anxiety into his voice or his manner, huffing over keith's hair to ruffle it into a mess. ]
I'll take a weight handicap, and ask one of the ground crews to put me in harness.
[ he says it like he's doing keith a favor, but the truth is he's uneasy these days about going anywhere without proper equipment for a battle. he doesn't care if it's unfounded paranoia. if anything, anything should happen, he has to be able to fight or flee and carry keith with him. his crew had been on the ground when they were attacked.
which is why he can't even carry the pretense that the harness is a whim, and after a bare second he puts his head down anxiously despite himself. ]
...and you should bring your flying harness. And a weapon. Just in case.
[ Keith has no idea what Shiro wants to show him, but it must be important if the dragon wants to keep it private between them. Even though he's just an unbonded cadet, he's noticed the way the Garrison officials and scientists look at Shiro sometimes, and it just - it pisses him off. So much about this situation makes him angry, a little ball of tension swirling in his gut that just won't go away.
Except for when he's with Shiro, alone, like this. Somehow, being around the dragon calms him down, lets him relax. He makes a mock-offended noise at having his hair so thoroughly messed up, and attempts to straighten it out.
He'd be offended at Shiro taking a weight handicap, but... then the dragon's anxiety shows itself, and Keith has to pause, voice getting softer. ]
Shiro...
[ He can't blame Shiro for wanting to be careful. They should be safe, the shack is out in the desert but it's not that far from the Garrison, well within safely protected territory. Galra raiding parties never get that deep, even when they manage to breach border defences. But still, if there's a chance that something could go wrong... ]
Nothing's going to happen. But I'll go get my harness - it'll even us up a little. [ Not that Keith's flying harness is anything like a comparable weight to Shiro's. ] And you know I'm always armed.
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Centaur!Shiro
in his stall between fights he was kept harnessed and chained, a constant stream of stable slaves attending him for every need. they trimmed his hooves, brushed his coat and hair, fed him, watered him, washed him, massaged him, even pleasured him while he remained under bit and bridle, champing restlessly at the flexible roll of leather between his teeth and stamping his hooves. there were so many places on his body he could no longer reach himself, even if he weren't harnessed. the straps itch and chafe and all he can do is rub against the stall walls, trying to shift them, while the stable attendants are alternately frightened of his rumored ferocity or too bold with their touches, fascinated by the sight of his penis sliding free from its black sheath. most of the other earth slaves had been changed into more submissive forms, half-cats and dogs and fauns, some only with the additions of fluffy ears and tails. nothing as large and potentially dangerous as a half-horse like shiro.
of course, something like shiro wouldn't be wasted as a stable attendant. they would be gladiators or soldiers, making their way like shiro, capitalizing on combat ability.
he switches his tail restlessly as another unwanted roil of heat slides through his belly. before the thought of getting sexually aroused after a gladiator match would have been appalling but now it's simply life as usual, lifting and replacing his hobbled hooves in the same locations. he can hardly move for how he's been tied today, can't touch himself or rub on anything, all he can do is flex his muscles and bounce his cock against his belly, grunting behind his bit as he pleasures himself humiliatingly. ]
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And it wasn't like he didn't know how vulnerable he was. He wasn't a nimble cat or a sturdy dog like most other stablehands were -- he was more...experimental. The Galra were more amused by him than anything else, finding it fun to pull at his tufted tail and his patchy ears, enjoying how easily Matt got upset these days, big brown eyes so quick to well up with tears. Even when he got mad, kicked out with little cloven hooves, they just laughed.
Not that the other humans were any better -- especially the ones who were half-dog now, wagging tails and lolling tongues. They teased him almost as bad as their masters did, chasing him into corners, snickering and blaming their "herding instincts", reaching out boldly to grope and grab and wonder aloud why such a cute calf wasn't better endowed, whether they should offer to help with that. "Maybe he'll be better use as a milker if we knock him up first," one particularly bold stablehand had leered, pinching hard at Matt's flat chest and making him let out an embarrassing sort of lowing sound.
He'd bolted after that, stomping on feet and wrenching away, breaking all sorts of rules by running through the halls and -- in desperation, that was the only thing that'd drive him to disobey this badly -- flinging open the nearest occupied stall and bolting inside. The door slammed shut behind him, rattling with the force, and Matt stumbled backwards, breathing heavily, flushed and teary and shivering all over.
The stall was small and dark, and the warmth of a sleek, velvet-furred side startled him, but there was nowhere to dart away to. Just the wall to press back against, the shape of powerful flanks and muscular legs, the sound of frustrated, heated panting and the scent of lust and sweat heavy in the cramped quarters. And Matt should be afraid, should try to escape, but the animal part of him can smell sex in the air, warm and liquid, and he's shivering, aching sweet and sore with sudden want.
It's so dangerous, so wrong, but he reaches out in the low light, hands small and soft and warm, stroking over the equine shape closest to him, murmuring something gentle and nonsensical.]
Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to scare you...
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[ he spooks when his door slams open, a helpless prey instinct that even his human intelligence can't overcome, but fortunately or unfortunately he's chained so neatly in his cross-ties today that he can't spin or buck or do anything more than jerk in place, tossing his head. he'd heard the sound of running feet-- hooves, on the cement walkway of the stable, and he's had his stall door rattle before with bodies being pressed up against it, but usually he drives off that kind of activity with a snort of fury and steelshod hooves slammed against the heavy boards. he's never had someone actually try to get inside the box stall with him when they weren't on orders to be there, and armed with the galra version of a cattle prod.
the straps running between his harness and the great steel rings in the walls won't permit him to turn around in the stall, so he can't see the person in with him even if he strains and tries to look over his shoulder, but he can smell them-- young, male, and an unfamiliar animal overtone that must be the species of their alteration. he's used to snarling predators with their claws and quick, aggressive movements. the bit in his mouth muffles anything he might say, so all he can do is prance anxiously and switch his tail as gentle hands slide over his scarred and branded flanks. his skin shivers at the touch. ]
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Matt isn't quite sure what his purpose is yet -- he's not a fighter, he's not particularly graceful or alluring, just gentle and empathetic and soft in every possible way -- or why he was altered the way he was. He's tried to ignore it, tried to curl up and sleep every night ignoring the urges threatening to overwhelm him, has studiously kept his hands above the covers and far away from between his legs. He's tried to ignore how easily he went from lanky and lean to soft and rounded, how quickly he submits to any sort of show of dominance, how every teasing word from Galra or human hybrid alike centers around sweet innocent little milkcow just waiting for the right stud. He isn't sure if he'll be able to go back once he accepts what he is now.
But when he moves, it's with a knowledge he didn't know he possessed, pressing forward, warm and soft and soothing, pressing his cheek fearlessly to one rounded side, broad and barrel-shaped, stroking his palms over the sweat-dampened softly furred skin.]
It's okay, it's okay. [He's cooing it, stretching up on his tiny cloven feet to reach over the stallion's back, so high he can barely see over it. He knows he's small and fragile and the centaur could easily crush him, but he also knows that there's fear and unease in every restrained movement, and it makes his heart ache to know this magnificent creature is afraid.
He just wants to help. He wants to help so badly it hurts. So he cuddles closer, tail twitching, ears flopping as he tries to interpret the huffs and nickers coming from the stallion.] I'm not going to hurt you. You're okay. You're okay. It's okay.
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[ shiro's also never had someone try to hug him before, or stroke him to soothe him and murmur words of comfort. having something unknown in the stall with him that he can't see is enough to kill any lingering arousal, but the actual spike of fear is quick to fade as well. he thinks sometimes that must be why the druids did this to him-- to make a small, fragile human strong, but also give them the instincts of a prey animal to watch them struggle constantly with implanted instincts. shiro was never a coward before and he's not a coward now, he's actually better equipped to defend himself with his size and strength, but he's easier to startle, easier to work up into an unthinking panic and aggression in unfamiliar situations. his sides heave under the stranger's small, warm hands, not at all unpleasant, but he can't see anything except the space directly in front of him with the blinders affixed to the sides of his bridle. his nostrils flare helplessly as if bigger lungfuls of scent will identify the intruder, and his fine black ears are tipped back sharply to catch any noises. not pinned, but not relaxed.
he huffs sharply when the stranger says he's not going to hurt him. disbelief, perhaps. ]
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But there's the thud of footsteps -- the bored stablehands, still searching for their escaped prey -- and Matt's shivering and pressing closer, fitting easily into the curve between flank and side, towards the stallion's hindquarters. He doesn't speak, closing his eyes and trying to be silent, not wanting to draw any undue attention.
Still, his hands never stop their gentle, reassuring stroking, learning the shape of the centaur's back, his side, the scars marring his warm dark skin. Despite his anxiety, Matt nuzzles closer, one ear flicking against the stallion's side.]
Shhhh, don't get their attention. They'll go soon.
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[ that tiny noise sounds vaguely familiar, although shiro hasn't had occasion to think of it in years... a cow, maybe? the galra have used almost every species under the sun, although he doesn't think he's ever met a half cow before that wasn't a bull-type, big and musclebound. whatever kind of creature is in the stall with him, he's small and light, two hooves instead of four, and slowly shiro relaxes into the steady petting. his skin stops twitching under the exploring fingers and his black and white tail goes still, and more tellingly he lets the cross-tie chains go slack, no longer pulling against them. the cross-ties and harness aren't designed to be actively uncomfortable if he stands quietly and doesn't fight against their hold.
of course then there's the sound of footsteps and jeering voices, and shiro pins his ears back reflexively. the half-cow is on the wrong side of him, easily visible to anyone that opens the door, but shiro can't exactly tell him that it's okay to move closer and use him a shield, not while bridled. all he can do as the latch is tested is make angry horse noises and let fly with his hooves, the chains giving him enough slack to slam against the wall. the kicking might not deter experienced stablehands but the sudden creaking and groaning of the chains is more worrisome as he throws his full weight against them, indicating that anyone trying to open that door might just find themselves in the stall with an angry, loose stallion. ]
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Typical dirty back-hallway talk, and Matt rolls his eyes dismissively. The one thing all Galra hybrids seemed to have in common was a voracious sexual appetite, and speculation ran wild between various species about size, shape and stamina. Embarrassingly that was just one more thing that was confusing about this new form -- Matt was clearly meant to be receptive in some fashion, but nothing from bulls to tomcats particularly...thrilled him. It was never enough.
Huffing another of those soft, mellow sounds, Matt absently let one hand stroke down the sleek side of the stallion, palm warm and flat against his belly. It just figured that in this new world order he'd end up a chubby cow-twink size queen.]
You wouldn't do that, though, would you? [He murmurs sweetly, fingers straying further and further back under the stallion's stomach, gentler on the softer, more sensitive skin.] You wouldn't hurt me.
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but he's not. apparently. there's something strangely familiar about his voice, too, that shiro can't quite place, his ears pricked and swiveling to follow the sound. even bridled and wearing blinders he keeps his head turned as far as the straps allow him, trying to see.
he doesn't startle when soft fingers start to edge back under his belly, the shining black coat giving way to satin-soft skin nearer his sheath and the high insides of his thighs. shiro twitches his tail and stamps once, warning, but there's not much of anything he can actually do to stop the other. his stomach muscles ripple under the questing fingers. ]
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[In another life, Matt would simply speak his thanks and leave. He would let it be. He wouldn't be tucked back near tense, quivering hindquarters with knife-sharp hooves that could trample him without any effort. He wouldn't be nosing, soft and seeking and affectionate, at the stallion's soft flank, while his hands slip curiously over the delicately twitching skin. He wouldn't be wondering if all the rumors are true, if a well-placed touch could coax this magnificent creature's magnificent organ free of it's protective sheath, if his hands would be big enough to reach around it's girth --
-- what it would feel like in his mouth.
His knees are trembling, and he wants to be down on them, wants to bend over against the stall wall and set his hooves wide, lift his tail and offer his gratitude for the centaur saving him in the best way he knows how. He wants, and the tight quarters are abruptly frustrating, getting a small huffy snort of irritation. If there were only a bit more room he could do this better.
So instead he lets his hands -- not trembling, not tentative, knowing, like they've done this a million times before -- massage gently at the shape of the centaur's sheath, squeezing and coaxing, accompanied by Matt's soft warm body cuddled up to the broad side of the stallion, and a gentle, sweet:] Can I? Please? Please?
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[ well. shit. this is the part where he should be protesting that he doesn't need anyone to thank him like that, he hadn't done it to get some kind of reward. but he can't explain that, can't grab the boy's hands or move out of their range. truth be told part of him doesn't want to. he's milked twice a day unless he's being punished or if they want him particularly aggressive for an upcoming fight, so his body is well trained by now to expect this. the gentle massaging of his sheath has him shifting restlessly, tail flicking this way and that as heat begins to curl in his belly, and he can't stop himself from parking out, spreading his back legs wider, as far as the hobbles allow, and stretching forward.
the boy's hands are so soft and warm on him, and without a trace of hesitation as they press and rub. he feels like he knows what he's doing, and it's not worth throwing a tantrum to get him to stop, so shiro surrenders, dipping his head to give permission.
it doesn't take long at all to get him worked up. his balls are hot and swollen, full after a long day of going unmilked, and he grunts softly as his mottled cock slides free into the boy's warm hands. ]
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Galra Keith
He'd left the Marmora base with Shiro, and Red, and his awakened blade, and a suit that they said would help him to master awakening the blade and connect with his Galra nature, and eventually unlock the very answers he'd been about to give up on finding. It fit snugly under his Paladin armor, looking a little strange but not interfering with anything.
And then he'd gotten back to the Castle, and seen the looks on all their faces when they heard the truth. Allura was the most obviously affected, and he'd been expecting it - he'd been afraid of it, but there was nothing he could do. She deserved to hate him, after everything the Galra had done to her, taken from her, even if some Galra really weren't like that. It was the way the others reacted to him that really stung, the way Hunk started calling him Galra Keith like he was a different person, the look in their eyes even when they were saying that it didn't matter betraying their uncertainty about him now.
It was how Shiro's gaze faltered when he looked at him that hurt. But the Galra took his arm from him, tortured him, so it wasn't as if Keith deserved more, was it? He could still play his part in the team, prove to them all that he was still the same person, that he was still Keith, that they could trust him.
Then Red growled at him.
He was having trouble syncing up and forming Voltron, and then Red growled at him, and on top of the looks and the whispers and the way he felt frozen out of things, it was too much. He turned to the only people he thought he could - the people he didn't necessarily like or trust, but who might know how he felt in this moment, might have the answers he needed. The Marmora. They'd told him that they didn't know everything about the Lions, but that it was possible that his internal conflict over who he really was could be disrupting the bond, and that he should come back to their base and learn more about Galra culture until he understood himself. He was pretty reluctant, at first, but he needed to do whatever he could to re-establish his bond with Red. The others tried to caution him, but... well, of course they would. They didn't trust the Marmora fully, because they were Galra.
Just like him.
That's how he ended up back with the Marmora, flying there in a pod with supplies this time, determined to learn more about himself and all Galra this time. But it was tough - they were still secretive, even if they welcomed him as one of their own this time, and he had to fight to prove himself even here. Had to spend long hours training and fighting and studying, in his suit. Slowly, he opened up to them about how the rest of his team had lost their trust in him, with self-deprecatingly grumbled comments at first. They'd shared knowing looks and told him that that... probably affected his ability to pilot Red, too. It definitely affected his ability to form Voltron, so there was no point in rushing back until he was sure he'd fixed things, no matter how often they might try to call him back.
It didn't seem like they called that often, though.
One day, Kolivan had come to him, done something with the suit to let him see Shiro - or a projection of him, anyway. He'd talked lowly about how they knew what he wanted, even if he didn't know it himself; how this was the only way he could have that, because he'd seen it himself, how his true nature had driven a wedge between himself and his friends. He hadn't wanted to listen at first, had yelled and pushed Kolivan away.
But the longer he stays here, the more desperate he becomes to see that gentle, trusting look that used to be in Shiro's eyes when he saw him, and the more powerful the illusion the suit creates. Until he finally breaks down in Shiro's - in Kolivan's arms, and he knows it's wrong but it feels right. Maybe this is the only place he belongs, even if he has to wear a mask to hide his freaky face, even if they're hard on him and keep their secrets closely. At least they're giving him a chance to prove himself, while it feels like he's already lost his chance with the Paladins. ]
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he still doesn't like it. he doesn't like the way allura can't quite hide her own feelings on the subject. he doesn't like the others saying "galra keith," like keith had become someone else.
and he doesn't like how the blades act like keith had gone to permanently join them. shiro tries to contact their base and is told that keith isn't available, that he's asleep, that he's training and can't be interrupted. there isn't a good time for shiro to come in person, or for keith to leave. kolivan tells him that keith is working on becoming more in tune with his true nature, and his tone sets shiro's teeth on edge.
but maybe that's shiro's jealousy talking. maybe being away from them is what keith needs and maybe shiro doesn't have the right to decide for him, or try to influence him.
after a week and a half without contact, shiro decides that he needs to try to see keith anyway. he takes black and he flies that stupid tricky route and he bangs on the damn door, trying to raise keith on his personal communicator. ]
Keith, it's Shiro! I'm here, please respond. I'm at the Marmora base with Black. Can you hear me?
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He's been encouraged to put away everything from his other life - other lives, really - to wear the Blades suit and leave his clothes in his closet out of view, put anything important into storage for later, when he feels more comfortable with himself. But some part of him is still suspicious and rebellious enough to keep his personal communicator somewhere close at hand at all times, to wear it when it won't be visible to anyone else, or at least hide it under his pillow when he can't wear it without being noticed. So he hears Shiro's message, although it's slightly muffled until he startles up and grabs the communicator from under the pillow, shoving it into its proper place behind his ear. ]
Shiro...? What are you doing here?
[ He's really confused, okay.
Meanwhile, the Blades aren't happy that they have the Black lion parked right outside their base and her Paladin knocking at their door. The base is a quiet storm of activity as Kolivan and the others try to decide how to handle this - opening the door isn't the first thing they want to do. Instead they try hailing Shiro to tell him to leave. ]
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the wound in his side is on fire, and he can feel the shakiness through his connection with black-- he doesn't know how zarkon did what he did, why the lion would let him, but he can feel that things have changed. alarms blare in his ears and the controls are unresponsive in his hands, and he can see the red lion being tossed around like a feather in a hurricane. he wants to get black to grab her, to hold onto her so shiro can hold onto keith, but they're both being pummeled in the maelstrom.
he's yelling keith's name when everything goes black.
re-entry wakes him up. the cockpit is dark, running on emergency power, everything faintly lit by a hellish red glow as they fall through the sky. he gets the impression of clouds, of blue and black sky, and the lights of some kind of civilization below. this time it's not a desert. this time it's an expanse of black water rushing up at him. he tries to fire thrusters, to get black pointed in the right direction to absorb the brunt of the impact, but she's tired and hurt and exhausted and so is he, and the impact shakes him back into the dark. ]
dragon!shiro
it's a waste, of course. he'd been a combat dragon before the mission to kerberos, under nine tons but a solid middleweight fighter, and now, after the galra experiments, he is impossibly over ten tons, his shoulders broader, his entire conformation subtly altered. adult dragons stop growing like all species and shiro had already reached his full growth long before kerberos, but whatever the druids had done to him had turned him into a heavyweight. they had, horribly, amputated his wings and given him impossible metal ones, white and red, with glowing blue points almost like feathers. They should have been too heavy for him to fly with, and for his shoulders to support, but they were so light he could almost forget they were there, and the metal itself nearly impossible to break. they didn't function like regular dragon wings; shiro had been forced to learn to use them in the galra gladiator arena. there were other changes, too, ones that he'd been too anxious about testing, but he thought he healed faster, needed a little less food, a little less rest than other dragons his size. he felt strange in his own skin, as if it didn't quite belong to him anymore.
but he understands the commanders' caution; he was a pow, when dragons almost never escape galra captivity, and he'd come back without his captain or his crew, which is even more unheard of, and horribly mutilated to boot. dragons that lost their captains sometimes ran wild and got themselves killed in suicide attacks, and were considered unreliable even if they managed to take on a new captain. putting him out on the battlefield with a new crew would be risky at best. shiro hadn't been able to bring himself to consent to a new captain, even though he could certainly carry bombs or a gunnery crew, but garrison didn't like to believe that dragons were intelligent enough to give orders themselves, and preferred to have a human captain aboard. the corps knew a little better, enough to argue that shiro could certainly be useful as a teacher.
so he can't complain, even when he hears the reports coming in of galra attacks on their outposts and the other bases established here on altea. the galra are slavers, and prefer to attack on the ground with infantry and their great war beasts, half animal and half metal, rather than shell planets from orbit with their fleets, which is the only thing that's allowed humanity to defend their scattered colonies. shiro's limited understanding from his captivity is that this was on the very edges of the galra expansion, which was why they weren't being bombarded daily by new cruisers dropping off thousands of troops.
all he can do for now is be obedient, and teach his classes, and hope that there are no disasters until he's cleared for the field again. he's been shunted into what the corps refer to as irregulars, made up of the handful of older dragons that had lost their crews or had never taken captains in the first place, and displaced crewmembers waiting to be assigned to new dragons. the cadets are a little shy of them, knowing that this could be their fate if they didn't bond with a hatchling by the time they graduated. there was nothing wrong with being on a ground or gunnery crew, of course, there were a million other jobs that needed to be done around dragons that weren't being a captain, but cadets usually had inflated ideas of fame and fortune around becoming a dragonrider.
almost worse than the cadets that whisper behind his back are the ones that try to make up to him, seeking him out for extra advice, extra training, usually transparent with their intentions when they ask him tentatively if he'd thought of taking on another captain. they ask if he wants to talk about it, they ask about his wings, and he puts them off with tactful excuses, or finds something else that he needs to do. the hatchlings are more respectful due to his size, for the most part, although there are one or two that don't have anything resembling common sense because shiro refuses to snarl at them like an animal and use his teeth. he knows exactly what garrison command would think about reports that he had "attacked" anyone, even an obnoxious hatchling that was well used to being nipped and chased and playfully clawed by their own yearmates.
keith doesn't ask. keith is the only one that lets him sit in silence, and doesn't try to fix him. he can't say that keith hasn't changed at all, in the year he's been gone, but keith doesn't act like shiro has changed beyond recognition, and it helps to have someone that actually knew matt, and was friends with him. matt hadn't been present at shiro's hatching, and they'd met when shiro was resigning himself to never having a captain at all and living without that special, intimate bond he'd heard about. shiro and matt had been friends, and they worked well together, even if their connection wasn't the deep visceral emotion he'd been led to expect. it still hurt, to think of matt and the rest of his small crew being swarmed by snarling creatures and torn away from him, calling his name in terror like he thought shiro could still rescue him. ]
Uh, professor? [ one of the cadets calls, even though shiro isn't really a professor, and he realizes he'd paused in the middle of his lesson, wings drooping, staring in silence at the wall of the huge bunker he was projecting his visuals on. he shakes himself and meets keith's eyes, dark and concerned, for just a moment before he forces himself to continue. ]
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He's still going through a lot, and it makes Keith angry and frustrated to watch it happening. Things should have been better when Shiro came back, they should have taken care of him, listened to his reports, tried to use what he knows to rescue Matt and any other survivors. Instead, the Garrison and almost everyone there are treating him... badly. It's not like they're hurting him, but Keith knows that they had done their own poking and prodding at the Galra's alterations, and it took them way too long to let him become a teacher - to let him do anything. Even now, they're treating Shiro with distrust, as though he might snap at any moment. He's heard the stories about other dragons losing their captains and going mad, the prisoners of war who became unstable and dangerous due to trauma, but Shiro isn't like that. He can see it in the way that the dragon has acted since he returned, in the way that he doesn't so much as lift a claw to reprimand unruly hatchlings where other dragons would be nipping at them until they learned how to behave. Shiro has never been harsh with hatchlings or humans, but this is something extra, a new level of caution that puts Keith's teeth on edge. He shouldn't have to walk on eggshells to keep his freedom after managing to escape something horrible. This is supposed to be somewhere that he can feel safe and appreciated.
Keith has gotten into more than a few fights over the stupid rumours being circulated, scuffles that he inevitably wins, if they don't get quickly broken up by disapproving officers. The other cadets still haven't learned to watch their mouths, though, and they're not the only ones whispering about how strange it is for a dragon to be captured, to escape, to not go into a suicidal frenzy over the loss of their captain. He's treading a thin line towards disciplinary action, and he's pretty sure that if he punches the wrong person for saying something unpleasant, he's going to get himself kicked out of the Garrison, excellent test scores or not.
He's also sure he doesn't care about that.
He does care about Shiro, though, and he can't help frowning in concern when the dragon falls silent during one of his lessons, seemingly spacing out. That's... not good. He waits after the end of class, dawdling with purpose as the other cadets disperse. ]
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but in his absence it seems like keith's scores had dropped, and the instructors didn't look on him with the same favor they used to. he'd been getting into fights, shiro heard, vaguely, and nobody liked to say why, which meant that keith had been getting into fights about him. more importantly, he hadn't bonded with any hatchlings even after an entire year, nor had any of the older dragonets shown an interest. it shocks shiro down to his bones: keith was born to fly. it had been their private joke, once upon a time, that keith should have been born the dragon and shiro the human, keith with his temper and his fighting spirit and his almost unnatural affinity for piloting, and shiro with his patience and aptitude for teaching.
he'd thought, during the long hours of his captivity, that keith might bond to a dragon in his absence and become part of a rescue mission. it was something he could see keith doing, maybe with a half-grown hatchling as fierce and wild as he was, both of them refusing to stay behind. keith and a fire-breather, maybe. he'd thought when he escaped that he would come back only long enough to insist that garrison mount the rescue he had been waiting for all year, the one they should have done on their own, and shiro could check in on keith, and he had played out the conversation in his head that he would have, if keith had a vulnerable hatchling with him. he had expected to have to be the voice of reason, to tell keith that the hatchling needed him more than shiro did.
but there is no hatchling, and keith's career isn't on the path it should have been, and shiro can't help feeling that this is his fault. at the same time, though, he can't be upset that keith is upset. he can't even tell keith that looking after his own career is more important, when shiro himself has had moments where he'd considered simply leaving, and trying to rescue matt on his own if garrison won't do it. keith would encourage that, probably. keith would probably throw his future away to come with him.
the other cadets and dragonets filter away into the echoing space of the hangar. it's hard to have privacy in such a huge building, and shiro knows that people will have seen keith staying behind to speak to him. for the sake of appearances, he doesn't let himself droop or look as tired as he feels, and occupies himself with putting away the dragon-sized controls and tools until they're alone, and he can sit on his haunches and glance down at keith. ]
Don't tell me you have a question about the lesson, [ he says gently, joking, knowing full well that keith had already learned everything he'd covered today several years ago, and him being here had to have been a punishment, or keith's own insistence on taking shiro's classes when he didn't need to. neither are good things. ]
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He still thinks of Shiro as being taken, even with Matt gone - he's sure that Matt must be alive, still, no matter what the Garrison says. The Galra like taking captives, taking slaves of various stripes, and Matt is smart enough not to get himself killed if he can avoid it by being captured and biding his time until rescue or escape. The longer he's gone, though, the less likely that becomes, and it makes Keith so angry that the Garrison refuse to even try to mount a rescue mission - so many things make him angry, lately, and he's never been that good at controlling his temper in the first place. He's sure Shiro must be frustrated, too - the dragon hasn't chosen a new captain, has outright avoided putting himself back into any kind of combat role, and teaching suits him, but it must be maddening, not being able to do anything. ]
No, it's not that. [ Keith shakes his head, smiling faintly at Shiro's gently joking tone. Of course he doesn't have a question about the lesson itself, he's learned all of this already, but his performance has dropped sharply enough that no-one questions him taking all of Shiro's lessons. Sometimes he even gets assigned to the class as a punishment, as though taking remedial classes is what he needs - lectures to calm him down.
That's not going to work. ]
I just, uh. [ He pauses - it's hard to get privacy in such a huge space, but at least they're alone now. Still, he's a touch cautious. ] ... I was wondering if you wanted to take a break from working so hard.
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but if he has too much free time now, at least he doesn't have to make excuses to anyone to find time for keith. matt had never minded, believing firmly that dragons should be allowed to have friends like any other sentient being, and he didn't care if keith and shiro spent time together or if shiro felt like going somewhere by himself. other riders had looked sideways at them for that, given the way the garrison deliberately preached about the unbreakable devotion between dragon and captain, but shiro had never felt like he was being disloyal or too independent just because he and matt didn't spend every second of the day together. there was no reason to encourage dragons to believe that they couldn't do anything when their riders were gone, and that all they had to do with their time was sit and wait, like a powered down machine, until their captain was with them again. and shiro liked being around the cadets and hatchlings, while most dragons were happy when their promotions to combat class got them away from the training facilities.
he ought to tell keith that he's fine, that he doesn't need to be fussed over just because he spaced out during a lesson. he's been aggressively fine ever since he got back, and he's practiced at faking it, but he ducks his head a little, unconsciously, rubbing a claw against the side of his head in rueful embarrassment. ]
I'm fine, Keith, I'm just-- a little tired. [ dragons can't smile, of course, but he noses at keith's shoulder gently. ] I don't have another class today, though, and all I was going to do today was practice maneuvers and maybe run the obstacle course. Did you have something in mind?
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He raises a hand to pat Shiro's nose when the dragon bumps his shoulder with it, characteristically gentle in the motion, and he smiles with an eagerness that's been lacking from his life, lately. ]
I'd like to watch you run the obstacle course. [ Watching Shiro fly and navigate obstacles was always exciting - Matt had liked to tease him about how much he liked watching Shiro follow the same course every day, shaking his head and wondering if Keith would ever get bored of it. Matt preferred to spend his time studying while Shiro was busy, catching up on what scientific journals he could get his hands on, going against the Garrison's insistence on riders and dragons spending all their time together. Both Matt and Shiro had been happier when they didn't try to force themselves into that kind of co-dependence, Keith thought. ]
And, uh, after you're done, maybe we could... race to the shack? I've been working on my hover-bike, she goes really fast now.
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and matt, too, hadn't come from a proper rider background, and hadn't had the same lectures repeated at him that the other cadets did. matt had no illusions that he knew more about aerial combat than shiro himself. both of them were probably bad influences on keith, in hindsight.
it's considered gauche for someone who wasn't a rider to pet a dragon's face and the softer scales of the nose, and a responsible adult dragon wasn't supposed to encourage attachment. shiro deliberately ignores all of that, and hums approvingly under keith's hand, even angling his head to get keith to continue his petting. keith had never been awkward about touching him. ]
You've seen me run the obstacle course a thousand times, by now, [ he rumbles, pretending it's not endearing that keith never gets tired of watching him train. ] You'd rather race.
[ shiro would rather race too. the isolation of the desert highways appeals to him, along with the thought of a blazing hot sun and nice warm thermals, and he secretly, guiltily loved watching keith push his hover-bike into dangerous maneuvers at breakneck speed. ]
Loser has to scrub all the sand off the winner. [ he says, as if it's a given that he'll win, as there isn't much chance of him being able to groom keith in reverse. ]
And-- I should show you something, when we're alone.
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If he ever does bond with a dragon, he's determined to treat it the same way he does Shiro, more or less, even if the other riders and dragons at the Garrison look at him askance for it. They do already, anyway, because of how easily he touches Shiro's face despite not being a rider himself yet. Matt had never minded, and it made Shiro happy.
He smiles as Shiro hums in approval, and takes the hint to keep petting his face, stroking a hand over his nose, where the scales were softer. ]
Well, yeah, but that doesn't mean I'm tired of it. [ He'd happily watch Shiro run the obstacle course another thousand times, but he has to admit that the dragon has a point. Racing with him is a little more exciting. ]
Oh, you're on. You'll be licking sand out of my hair in no time. [ His smile turns into a grin - there isn't much chance that he'll beat Shiro, realistically, but he never shies away from the challenge of it, especially when Shiro sounds so confident. ]
... Okay. Show me when we get to the shack.
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but keith should know what's happening to him. keith is the one person that he knows, bone deep, won't betray his confidence, and maybe talking to keith about it will calm some of the panic he keeps suppressing. shapechanging is only supposed to happen to a dragon in a bonded pair, and after years of exposure to human DNA, or something along those lines. the human scientists were at a loss to explain its specific mechanics, and the dragons themselves didn't have any answers either. it was just something that happened, they said.
shiro is sure it's not something that just happened to him. the galra must have something to do with it, and that frightens him more than anything. only bonded dragons with long-term partners and deep emotional connections have ever been reported to shapeshift.
he doesn't let any of that anxiety into his voice or his manner, huffing over keith's hair to ruffle it into a mess. ]
I'll take a weight handicap, and ask one of the ground crews to put me in harness.
[ he says it like he's doing keith a favor, but the truth is he's uneasy these days about going anywhere without proper equipment for a battle. he doesn't care if it's unfounded paranoia. if anything, anything should happen, he has to be able to fight or flee and carry keith with him. his crew had been on the ground when they were attacked.
which is why he can't even carry the pretense that the harness is a whim, and after a bare second he puts his head down anxiously despite himself. ]
...and you should bring your flying harness. And a weapon. Just in case.
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Except for when he's with Shiro, alone, like this. Somehow, being around the dragon calms him down, lets him relax. He makes a mock-offended noise at having his hair so thoroughly messed up, and attempts to straighten it out.
He'd be offended at Shiro taking a weight handicap, but... then the dragon's anxiety shows itself, and Keith has to pause, voice getting softer. ]
Shiro...
[ He can't blame Shiro for wanting to be careful. They should be safe, the shack is out in the desert but it's not that far from the Garrison, well within safely protected territory. Galra raiding parties never get that deep, even when they manage to breach border defences. But still, if there's a chance that something could go wrong... ]
Nothing's going to happen. But I'll go get my harness - it'll even us up a little. [ Not that Keith's flying harness is anything like a comparable weight to Shiro's. ] And you know I'm always armed.
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