[Matt's fingers linger, still amazed at the weight and size of the stallion's cock, even relaxed and limp. He's still aching, throbbing between his own drenched thighs, and he feels like he could easily go again, could stroke the massive beast back to full arousal and take him properly this time. But the soft sounds draw his attention, and, knees wobbling, come cooling and drying, sealing his thin clothes to his shivering body, he crawls to one side, stands.
Fingers dragging through the mess across his face, Matt absently sucks the digits clean, standing as tall as he can on little hooves, reaching to untie the rope around the stallion's human wrists. He can't reach the gag, but if the centaur bends down, perhaps he --
-- and then the smell, the sound, the shape all comes together in a moment of gut-clenching clarity, and Matt forgets about everything else because he knows. He knows. His voice is very very hoarse, eyes wide, tracing the familiar features in the half-lit stall.]
[ he hasn't heard anyone say his name in so long it's almost like a foreign word now, something that he has to stop and take a moment to recognize.
then he jolts against the chains in shock as matt moves forward enough for him to see, looking down at the familiar face distorted by galra influence. the hair color hasn't changed, but there are tiny horns curling through it. ]
Matt?
[ his voice is muffled by the bit in his mouth, the name almost unrecognizable. ]
[Matt falters back, hands coming up to cover his face, like that'll somehow undo what he just did. What they just did. He backs up, into a corner, shoulders hunched, eyes squeezed closed.]
[ he tries to reach out as matt backs away, not understanding-- what the hell is matt apologizing for? but he's brought up short by his chains, and jerks his head reflexively, pulling hard at the restraints. whatever matt's sorry for, they're not going to be able to talk about it with a gag in shiro's mouth. ]
Get this-- get this out, Matt, please.
[ except it's more a string of garbled syllables while shiro paws angrily at the ground like a real horse. ]
[Matt startles at the sounds, the pawing, suddenly aware that Shiro (who's always been bigger than him) outweighs him by a few hundred pounds of pure muscle now. But he still hurries to obey, shivering now, because realistically he's soaking wet and while it was warm and perfect a few minutes ago, now it's cooling and making him cold all over.
Still, he stands up as tall as he can, shakily pulls out the bit, long velvety ears down and back in something between submission and fear, tail twitching anxiously. He unties Shiro's wrists too, leaving just the chained-in-place harness still on, the padlocks too much for his trembling hands. Then he takes a step back, hunches inside his clinging, sopping wet clothes and looks down at his hooves.]
[ shiro doesn't let him go far. he reaches out as soon as his hands are free to try and pull matt into him, desperate to hold him and offer comfort. the stiffness of his muscles and his jaw can wait, all he wants is wrap his arms around matt's small, vulnerable frame and protect him.
even if he is absolutely covered in shiro's own fluids. the stallion part of him doesn't mind that at all, maybe even finding a tiny thread of satisfaction in scent-marking a partner. ]
You're alive, [ he whispers. ]
I can't believe-- are you okay? Are you hurt?
[ he sinks down helplessly to his knees in the front, trying to get a better view, his legs folding awkwardly. ]
[Matt lets out a soft, startled sound, still expecting -- what? Anger? Violence? Something, he's been so primed by every interaction over the past several months, always expecting a kick or a shove or, worse, hands where he doesn't want them, where he can't escape them.
In contrast, being in Shiro's arms again is bliss, shivery and soaked as he is. Matt can only hold back a moment before wrapping both arms around Shiro's warm, solid frame and clinging as tightly as he can. He's conscious of their changes -- Shiro is more muscled, bigger, shoulders rippling under shaky fingers, while Matt is all softness, plush hips and curved thighs, nothing sharp or angled about him. It makes him blush, even more than the fact that he's literally covered in Shiro's come oh my god.]
I-I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm not hurt. Are-- are you? Did I--
[The idea that he might've, that he'd caused Shiro any pain, any distress, makes Matt shudder, ears back and down, hooves shuffling anxiously.]
[ aside from being a blood-sport gladiator and having been turned into a centaur, anyway. he's fine physically. matt feels small in his arms, shivering and fragile, and he can't help holding him tightly, petting matt's hair, a deep rumbling whicker coming out of his throat.
it takes a real effort to pull back so he can grip matt by the shoulders and really look at him, checking him for injuries. ]
[It shouldn't, it really and truly shouldn't, but the soft rumbling feels good, it comforts and soothes Matt on a deep, instinctive level. He cuddles closer, ears flicking against Shiro's warm hands, hooves tapping on the floor of the stall. Cold as he is, he's content again, reaching up and slowly tracing his hands down Shiro's bare back.
He blinks a couple times at the question, shakes his head, then shrugs, managing to look somehow demure even debauched and filthy as he is.] N-Not a very good one. I'm uh. I'm not really sure what my, uh...role here is. Yet.
[That's only partially a lie -- he's heard rumors, stories about the stallions and bulls that go into the gladiator ring, come out pent-up and furious and needing an outlet. He hasn't seen anyone else like him, just the machines, but he's heard talk of the Galra deciding to try something more...realistic to soothe and reward the warriors. He hadn't wanted to think about it before.
He's sort of thinking about it now, and it shows on his face, blushing vivid red under the mess.]
[ shiro's ears pin back unhappily as the thought occurs to him as well. most of the stable-hands and other handlers he's seen have been a variety of species, but none of them so... delicate, perhaps. everything about matt's altered form seems softer, vulnerable, right down to the way the galra have dressed him in such skimpy clothes.
which. are literally clinging to every curve of his body, because they're still soaking wet with shiro's own jizz. he can't believe they did that, either of them, he can't believe matt encouraged him, he could smell how aroused matt had been and that he'd climaxed as well, but he also can't believe that he could have literally just drenched a random stranger in semen without ever seeing their face first, just because they'd touched his dick. just because it's what shiro's used to.
he shudders to think of what matt might be used to. he's heard of horses and other stock animals bonding with cats or dogs or goats for companionship, sharing their stalls, but somehow he doesn't think the galra are worried about their gladiators' delicate feelings.
apologizing over the situation means they'll have to talk about it, and shiro doesn't know if he has the courage for that right now, so he just focuses in on other details. small solvable problems. matt's shivering in his arms. he's wet and chilled. ]
You're cold. There's-- there's a grooming station in the wall panel behind you, it'll have a hose with warm water, and towels, dry clothes.
[ the larger box stall he's usually put in for the night has an even more extensive grooming station with a much wider variety of supplies, not to mention a comfortable carpet of woodchips and hay for shiro to lay down on, but this one has a drain in the concrete floor. the cramped quarters and restraints make it easier for shiro's handlers to hose him down without a fight.
of course, the spacious breeding stalls with their custom furniture are also supplied with hot water and a host of useful accessories, and might be less likely to be disturbed, but he doesn't know how well that suggestion might go over right now. ]
-- oh! [Matt beams upwards, ears flopping happily, tail twitching, suddenly nothing but delighted and pleased, even though he's cold and shivery. He finds things are simpler these days, that any emotions or desires tend to be complete and overwhelming, take over his thoughts and drown out anything else. So the idea of warm water and fluffy towels completely removes any other anxious thoughts he might've had about what he'd just done to, with Shiro.
He wiggles free, immediately peeling off the completely-transparent silky tunic, letting out a soft sigh of relief once the uncomfortable clingy fabric is gone. He's still damp, but almost pleasantly, moisture beaded over his soft stomach, his slightly plumper chest, his rounder hips. Shiro gets a pleased, mildly bashful look, then Matt's wiggling out of the too-tight shorts as well and -- yeah. Yeah, he's definitely been altered for breeding. Receptive breeding. He's even blushing, mostly because the cool air feels good, makes him break out with goosebumps and shivers.]
Is. Um. I'm going to. Clean up. [He says it lamely, turning red again and quickly turning around and bending over which. Is not helpful at all, likely.]
[ try 'mind-breaking' as shiro wrestles with the shock of what's been done to matt's body-- those are new parts, those are lady parts --and also the awful flood of helpless arousal that suddenly washes over him at the sight. he twitches his tail, agitated, disgusted at himself. matt's probably had to deal with aggressive males this entire time, galra or altered humans who didn't even try to fight their bestial sides.
at the same time, he's not looking away. matt's skin looks so soft, he can't help imagining himself burying his face against it, nuzzling and licking. the floppy ears look soft and silky, and the tender pink buds on his chest are begging to be touched, enough that shiro's momentarily glad that he's still more or less chained in place. if he were loose, he's not sure that he could control himself.
aaaaand then matt turns around and bends over, almost like he's presenting, and shiro makes a noise like he's been punched in the gut and has to haul himself back to his feet, concentrating on fiddling with his blinders and other restraints as a distraction. ]
S-sure. Take your time.
[ 'let me know if you need any help' almost leaves his mouth, and for a second he's tempted to put his own gag back in. ]
[It isn't quiiiite presenting, but it's something damnclose. The stall is cramped and it still smells like sex, like virile stallion and the sounds Shiro can make now, rumblings and whufflings, all seem to be tangible as well as audible. Still, Matt seems shameless about being naked, bending and turning on the warm water and letting out a soft groan as it trickles out over his shivering skin, dappling his stomach and thighs and hips with water.
He shakes his head, hair wet and curling, then glances over his shoulder, blinking innocently at Shiro.]
[ shiro jerks his gaze away, not even sure when he'd stopped working and started staring at the way the water beads on matt's skin. he wants to lick away every drop and help matt with his grooming, which is certainly a thought he's never had before. ]
Fine! I'm fine.
[ a lot of his restraints are insultingly easy to do, just carabiners and simple locking mechanisms that anything with fingers could undo, as if the galra were pretending that he really was a stock animal. the only ones he'd have difficulties with are the hobbles around his hooves that matt already unlocked; shiro would have to lay down or contort himself to try and reach those.
he braces all four hooves and shakes himself violently, chains jingling as bits of harness come loose. the body harness wrapped around his barrel isn't going anywhere, but it won't hamper his movement while there are no tethers attached to it, and it would look infinitely more suspicious if shiro wasn't wearing any harness at all. someone would know that he'd had help getting out of his. ]
[Matt isn't blushing at all. The water's just warm -- wonderfully so, and he may or may not be letting out tiny pleased groaning sounds as it runs over his skin, leaving him deliciously clean and sleek feeling. He tries to make quick work of it, but he can't help lingering a little, hands stroking over his chest, low on his stomach, ghosting between his legs -- just a tiny bit, just enough to make himself shiver at how wildly sensitive he still is.
Then he's quickly turning off the water and tugging one of the enormous fluffy towels to wrap around himself, letting out a soft sigh. Turning around, he gives a little bit of a start at how...big Shiro is. Rationally he knows he knew, he had to have known to...do what he did. But it's different now. It's Shiro.
So, clearing his throat, looking down at his hooves, ears down against his head, Matt tries and fails to make his voice louder than a hesitant mumble.] Are...did you...need help cleaning up?
[ keeping his gaze firmly averted is almost a torture itself, because he has to listen to the soft splashing noises and the little sounds and wonder, and his imagination has no moral objections to fantasizing about where matt's touching himself.
he jerks a bit when matt addresses him directly, guiltily yanked out of his inappropriate thoughts. ]
I-- you don't have to. You don't have to do anything that you don't want to, Matt, I'm not going to treat you like a-- a personal servant.
[ even if it would feel nice to get his harness all the way off and his coat rinsed of all the sweat and accumulated dust. ]
If... if you want, you could lead me over to one of the breeding stalls. Those have a showerhead that I can work on my own.
I want to. [Matt says it very firmly, toweling off his hair until it sticks up everywhere, then trying in vain to smooth it.] I couldn't just. Leave you here.
[The suggestion makes him perk up considerably, tail twitching happily, and he quickly pulls on the clothes -- which are all enormous and don't fit at all, falling off his shoulders and hitting mid-thigh. He decides just the shirt is enough for now.
Then, hesitantly, he reaches out, smooths one hand over Shiro's side -- the horse one, the one rippling with muscle and feeling warm and tickly with that unique silky-coarse horsehair texture.] Okay. Um. Am I convincing enough? [Have an awkward pose and one sleeve flopping over his free hand.]
[ he wants to argue that, matt needs to do whatever it takes to keep himself safe and not worry about shiro at all, but maybe matt's more protected here, with him, if being chased by gangs of aggressive jerks is a common occurrence.
he can't help leaning into matt's hand. no one touches him, here, at least not with any warmth or affection. he's touch-starved in a place where he's literally handled like a stock animal every day. ]
A-- a belt, you need a belt. Maybe tie the sleeves up, too, so you have your hands free. You'll have to put a stud chain on me, maybe carry a crop.
[ fortunately stable-hands are rough on their clothes, so it won't look too out of place for matt to be a bit disheveled and wearing ill-fitting replacements. he can always say that shiro ripped his regular uniform.
quietly, ]
You were being chased earlier. Does that happen a lot?
[A belt, tie up the sleeves, stud chain, right, right. Matt hesitates before taking his hand away, getting ready quickly, rolling up the too-long cuffs, cinching the belt around his waist and rummaging around in the mess of straps and harnesses and bits of leather until he finds the chain. It's bright, heavy in his hands, and he spends longer than he should looking down, thinking about what it means, wondering how many times Shiro's worn it. Had to wear it. Chosen to wear it?
He swallows, tightly, looks up at the question.] Yes.
[It is what it is. It and the teasing and the unwanted attention and what happens when he gets caught. Another shaky exhale, and Matt holds up the chain.] Where does...how do I...here? [He can't do the crop. Not when old wounds from the arena are scarred white-furred all over Shiro's flanks.]
[ he's never chosen to wear it. there's already a place on his halter for a lead to be attached, and if he ever balked in the middle of transit that's what the cattle prods and crops were for, to spook him forward. the stud chain is more of a choke collar with a length of sturdy chain attached to control him, accompanied by a thinner chain attached to both nipple rings. it's considered more artful to use the smaller chain, but shiro doesn't want to give anyone the impression that matt isn't in complete control of him. even the tiniest, most delicate stablehand could handle a gladiator wearing a stud chain.
wordlessly he takes the other end of the chain and winds it around his own neck, threading it through the larger hoop so that matt has the majority of the chain. the delicate nipple leash goes next, although he lets that hang down loose, shivering a little as the slight weight of it pulls at his piercings. ]
There. Hold onto it with both hands.
[ he paws with his front hoof, angrily, helplessly, thinking of matt being hounded and chased through the stables. the supervisors don't care, obviously. they might not even care if matt got seriously injured trying to fight back. there would always be more slaves. ]
I'm sorry, Matt. Are you--
[ he forces it out of his mouth, the words bitter. ]
[Matt obeys automatically, trying and failing to keep from tracing the delicate chains with his eyes, both hands gripping the lead until they're white-knuckled. He wants to reach out, wants to touch, to ghost his fingertips over the piercings, wants to see how Shiro would react to Matt toying with the chains, curling his fingers in them and sliding his tongue over the tiny nipple rings. After all, it's been established that Shiro likes his mouth, right? Every time he swallows, Matt can still taste, still feel the weight of the stallion's cock down his throat, can remember the heavy, thick, slippery feeling of cum in his mouth.
...the fact that "the stallion" is Shiro should make him feel bad about remembering. It should, and it doesn't. It makes the memory better.
Clearing his throat a couple times, Matt shakes his head at the question, eyes still fixed on the bare expanse of Shiro's chest, his stomach, the bunched muscles in his equine legs, the sleek smoothness of his flanks.]
No. I'm not -- it's too much work. For any one person to, uh. Stake a claim. It's easier for them to. Share. [He says it matter-of-factly. There's a lot of pent-up tension in the stables, hierarchies establishing themselves, Galra and hybrids and slaves and stablehands. If some of it gets worked out in the lower-ranking slaves chasing and occasionally catching someone smaller and weaker, more's the better for the supervisors. Less problems.
Matt blinks, looks upwards, offers a hesitant half-smile.] It's -- I don't mind, usually. They don't always want to, ah. Hurt me.
[Quite the opposite, usually. Admitting it out loud, to Shiro of all people makes Matt squirm a little, but there's a part of him that likes being useful, that enjoys the attention. Why else would his first instinct upon being faced with a pent-up, tense centaur be to get on his hands and knees and open his mouth?]
[ somehow that's even worse to hear, the way matt tries to soften it, like it's not important. shiro's ears flatten tightly to his head. the thought of matt being chased through the stable like some kind of rabbit harried by dogs, enjoying making him run, enjoying scaring him, and then at the end circling around him in a snapping pack and watching as one of them pins him down to mount--
he doesn't realize he's reared up a few inches off the ground until he feels his front hooves impact the stall floor again, furious, dancing in place with the urge to lash out. that they would dare-- that anyone would dare, when all matt has ever been is kind and loyal and gentle-- and willing, for anyone that would treat him kindly...
it's hormones talking, probably. he wants to trample the perpetrators beneath his hooves, he wants to smash them into red pulp. ]
If-- we see them in the corridor, if you see any of them, [ he manages, the words clumsy in a mouth that wants to bite, ] --don't run. Just hold onto my chain and stay with me.
Hey, hey hey hey, it's okay. It's okay. [Matt doesn't cling onto the lead, lets it glide through his fingers when Shiro rears up, steps back just a little and waits for him to calm a little, not wanting his tiny cloven hooves to get caught under the sharp spade-like equine ones. But as soon as he can, he's stepping forward, gathering up the lead again, free hand going out, smoothing over Shiro's side, stroking the change from flesh to fur, the neat seam of it -- the Druids do good work, that's for certain.
His voice stays soft, gentle. Wanting to soothe, his every movement, body language and tone perfectly designed to comfort, to put at ease. This is what he's been made for, even if he doesn't even realize it himself.] I'm okay, see? All in one piece. [Mostly. Matt presses closer, warm and soft, cuddled to Shiro's stomach, barely reaching the lower loop of the dangling chain over his chest. And he smiles.] I'll stay close, I promise. Don't be worried.
You have so much worse to worry about. [He strokes over one of the many raised scars, ears twitching back in empathy, palm soft and warm against the ridged skin.]
[ it does comfort him, matt pressing close like that and speaking quietly. shiro can't help wrapping his arms around him, bowing down over matt's shoulder, breathing deep of his scent. it soothes the stallion instincts. ]
I was afraid you were dead, [ he confesses, low and soft. ] I was afraid they'd thrown you into the arena.
[ the way they'd thrown shiro, and made him a murderer. his skin shivers under matt's fingers. ]
They use the whip because they can't kill me. The gladiator arena needs its stars.
[Matt melts at the contact, standing up on his tiny hooves, nuzzling against Shiro's chest with a soft, gentle almost-lowing sound, ears flicking velvety and gentle against one of the scars. The mention of it -- the arena, the whip -- makes him shudder, once, then drop the chain so he can wrap both arms around Shiro's human waist.]
I hate them. I hate them for that. [He whispers it ferociously, like something like what he's become -- weak and timid and awkward and helpless -- could possibly do something to stop what's happening to Shiro.]
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Fingers dragging through the mess across his face, Matt absently sucks the digits clean, standing as tall as he can on little hooves, reaching to untie the rope around the stallion's human wrists. He can't reach the gag, but if the centaur bends down, perhaps he --
-- and then the smell, the sound, the shape all comes together in a moment of gut-clenching clarity, and Matt forgets about everything else because he knows. He knows. His voice is very very hoarse, eyes wide, tracing the familiar features in the half-lit stall.]
...Shiro.
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then he jolts against the chains in shock as matt moves forward enough for him to see, looking down at the familiar face distorted by galra influence. the hair color hasn't changed, but there are tiny horns curling through it. ]
Matt?
[ his voice is muffled by the bit in his mouth, the name almost unrecognizable. ]
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I-I'm. I'm so. I'm sorry.
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Get this-- get this out, Matt, please.
[ except it's more a string of garbled syllables while shiro paws angrily at the ground like a real horse. ]
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Still, he stands up as tall as he can, shakily pulls out the bit, long velvety ears down and back in something between submission and fear, tail twitching anxiously. He unties Shiro's wrists too, leaving just the chained-in-place harness still on, the padlocks too much for his trembling hands. Then he takes a step back, hunches inside his clinging, sopping wet clothes and looks down at his hooves.]
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even if he is absolutely covered in shiro's own fluids. the stallion part of him doesn't mind that at all, maybe even finding a tiny thread of satisfaction in scent-marking a partner. ]
You're alive, [ he whispers. ]
I can't believe-- are you okay? Are you hurt?
[ he sinks down helplessly to his knees in the front, trying to get a better view, his legs folding awkwardly. ]
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In contrast, being in Shiro's arms again is bliss, shivery and soaked as he is. Matt can only hold back a moment before wrapping both arms around Shiro's warm, solid frame and clinging as tightly as he can. He's conscious of their changes -- Shiro is more muscled, bigger, shoulders rippling under shaky fingers, while Matt is all softness, plush hips and curved thighs, nothing sharp or angled about him. It makes him blush, even more than the fact that he's literally covered in Shiro's come oh my god.]
I-I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm not hurt. Are-- are you? Did I--
[The idea that he might've, that he'd caused Shiro any pain, any distress, makes Matt shudder, ears back and down, hooves shuffling anxiously.]
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[ aside from being a blood-sport gladiator and having been turned into a centaur, anyway. he's fine physically. matt feels small in his arms, shivering and fragile, and he can't help holding him tightly, petting matt's hair, a deep rumbling whicker coming out of his throat.
it takes a real effort to pull back so he can grip matt by the shoulders and really look at him, checking him for injuries. ]
You're a stable-hand?
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He blinks a couple times at the question, shakes his head, then shrugs, managing to look somehow demure even debauched and filthy as he is.] N-Not a very good one. I'm uh. I'm not really sure what my, uh...role here is. Yet.
[That's only partially a lie -- he's heard rumors, stories about the stallions and bulls that go into the gladiator ring, come out pent-up and furious and needing an outlet. He hasn't seen anyone else like him, just the machines, but he's heard talk of the Galra deciding to try something more...realistic to soothe and reward the warriors. He hadn't wanted to think about it before.
He's sort of thinking about it now, and it shows on his face, blushing vivid red under the mess.]
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which. are literally clinging to every curve of his body, because they're still soaking wet with shiro's own jizz. he can't believe they did that, either of them, he can't believe matt encouraged him, he could smell how aroused matt had been and that he'd climaxed as well, but he also can't believe that he could have literally just drenched a random stranger in semen without ever seeing their face first, just because they'd touched his dick. just because it's what shiro's used to.
he shudders to think of what matt might be used to. he's heard of horses and other stock animals bonding with cats or dogs or goats for companionship, sharing their stalls, but somehow he doesn't think the galra are worried about their gladiators' delicate feelings.
apologizing over the situation means they'll have to talk about it, and shiro doesn't know if he has the courage for that right now, so he just focuses in on other details. small solvable problems. matt's shivering in his arms. he's wet and chilled. ]
You're cold. There's-- there's a grooming station in the wall panel behind you, it'll have a hose with warm water, and towels, dry clothes.
[ the larger box stall he's usually put in for the night has an even more extensive grooming station with a much wider variety of supplies, not to mention a comfortable carpet of woodchips and hay for shiro to lay down on, but this one has a drain in the concrete floor. the cramped quarters and restraints make it easier for shiro's handlers to hose him down without a fight.
of course, the spacious breeding stalls with their custom furniture are also supplied with hot water and a host of useful accessories, and might be less likely to be disturbed, but he doesn't know how well that suggestion might go over right now. ]
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He wiggles free, immediately peeling off the completely-transparent silky tunic, letting out a soft sigh of relief once the uncomfortable clingy fabric is gone. He's still damp, but almost pleasantly, moisture beaded over his soft stomach, his slightly plumper chest, his rounder hips. Shiro gets a pleased, mildly bashful look, then Matt's wiggling out of the too-tight shorts as well and -- yeah. Yeah, he's definitely been altered for breeding. Receptive breeding. He's even blushing, mostly because the cool air feels good, makes him break out with goosebumps and shivers.]
Is. Um. I'm going to. Clean up. [He says it lamely, turning red again and quickly turning around and bending over which. Is not helpful at all, likely.]
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at the same time, he's not looking away. matt's skin looks so soft, he can't help imagining himself burying his face against it, nuzzling and licking. the floppy ears look soft and silky, and the tender pink buds on his chest are begging to be touched, enough that shiro's momentarily glad that he's still more or less chained in place. if he were loose, he's not sure that he could control himself.
aaaaand then matt turns around and bends over, almost like he's presenting, and shiro makes a noise like he's been punched in the gut and has to haul himself back to his feet, concentrating on fiddling with his blinders and other restraints as a distraction. ]
S-sure. Take your time.
[ 'let me know if you need any help' almost leaves his mouth, and for a second he's tempted to put his own gag back in. ]
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He shakes his head, hair wet and curling, then glances over his shoulder, blinking innocently at Shiro.]
You okay?
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Fine! I'm fine.
[ a lot of his restraints are insultingly easy to do, just carabiners and simple locking mechanisms that anything with fingers could undo, as if the galra were pretending that he really was a stock animal. the only ones he'd have difficulties with are the hobbles around his hooves that matt already unlocked; shiro would have to lay down or contort himself to try and reach those.
he braces all four hooves and shakes himself violently, chains jingling as bits of harness come loose. the body harness wrapped around his barrel isn't going anywhere, but it won't hamper his movement while there are no tethers attached to it, and it would look infinitely more suspicious if shiro wasn't wearing any harness at all. someone would know that he'd had help getting out of his. ]
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Then he's quickly turning off the water and tugging one of the enormous fluffy towels to wrap around himself, letting out a soft sigh. Turning around, he gives a little bit of a start at how...big Shiro is. Rationally he knows he knew, he had to have known to...do what he did. But it's different now. It's Shiro.
So, clearing his throat, looking down at his hooves, ears down against his head, Matt tries and fails to make his voice louder than a hesitant mumble.] Are...did you...need help cleaning up?
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he jerks a bit when matt addresses him directly, guiltily yanked out of his inappropriate thoughts. ]
I-- you don't have to. You don't have to do anything that you don't want to, Matt, I'm not going to treat you like a-- a personal servant.
[ even if it would feel nice to get his harness all the way off and his coat rinsed of all the sweat and accumulated dust. ]
If... if you want, you could lead me over to one of the breeding stalls. Those have a showerhead that I can work on my own.
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[The suggestion makes him perk up considerably, tail twitching happily, and he quickly pulls on the clothes -- which are all enormous and don't fit at all, falling off his shoulders and hitting mid-thigh. He decides just the shirt is enough for now.
Then, hesitantly, he reaches out, smooths one hand over Shiro's side -- the horse one, the one rippling with muscle and feeling warm and tickly with that unique silky-coarse horsehair texture.] Okay. Um. Am I convincing enough? [Have an awkward pose and one sleeve flopping over his free hand.]
oops html
he can't help leaning into matt's hand. no one touches him, here, at least not with any warmth or affection. he's touch-starved in a place where he's literally handled like a stock animal every day. ]
A-- a belt, you need a belt. Maybe tie the sleeves up, too, so you have your hands free. You'll have to put a stud chain on me, maybe carry a crop.
[ fortunately stable-hands are rough on their clothes, so it won't look too out of place for matt to be a bit disheveled and wearing ill-fitting replacements. he can always say that shiro ripped his regular uniform.
quietly, ]
You were being chased earlier. Does that happen a lot?
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He swallows, tightly, looks up at the question.] Yes.
[It is what it is. It and the teasing and the unwanted attention and what happens when he gets caught. Another shaky exhale, and Matt holds up the chain.] Where does...how do I...here? [He can't do the crop. Not when old wounds from the arena are scarred white-furred all over Shiro's flanks.]
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wordlessly he takes the other end of the chain and winds it around his own neck, threading it through the larger hoop so that matt has the majority of the chain. the delicate nipple leash goes next, although he lets that hang down loose, shivering a little as the slight weight of it pulls at his piercings. ]
There. Hold onto it with both hands.
[ he paws with his front hoof, angrily, helplessly, thinking of matt being hounded and chased through the stables. the supervisors don't care, obviously. they might not even care if matt got seriously injured trying to fight back. there would always be more slaves. ]
I'm sorry, Matt. Are you--
[ he forces it out of his mouth, the words bitter. ]
Do you belong to anyone? Do you have protection?
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...the fact that "the stallion" is Shiro should make him feel bad about remembering. It should, and it doesn't. It makes the memory better.
Clearing his throat a couple times, Matt shakes his head at the question, eyes still fixed on the bare expanse of Shiro's chest, his stomach, the bunched muscles in his equine legs, the sleek smoothness of his flanks.]
No. I'm not -- it's too much work. For any one person to, uh. Stake a claim. It's easier for them to. Share. [He says it matter-of-factly. There's a lot of pent-up tension in the stables, hierarchies establishing themselves, Galra and hybrids and slaves and stablehands. If some of it gets worked out in the lower-ranking slaves chasing and occasionally catching someone smaller and weaker, more's the better for the supervisors. Less problems.
Matt blinks, looks upwards, offers a hesitant half-smile.] It's -- I don't mind, usually. They don't always want to, ah. Hurt me.
[Quite the opposite, usually. Admitting it out loud, to Shiro of all people makes Matt squirm a little, but there's a part of him that likes being useful, that enjoys the attention. Why else would his first instinct upon being faced with a pent-up, tense centaur be to get on his hands and knees and open his mouth?]
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he doesn't realize he's reared up a few inches off the ground until he feels his front hooves impact the stall floor again, furious, dancing in place with the urge to lash out. that they would dare-- that anyone would dare, when all matt has ever been is kind and loyal and gentle-- and willing, for anyone that would treat him kindly...
it's hormones talking, probably. he wants to trample the perpetrators beneath his hooves, he wants to smash them into red pulp. ]
If-- we see them in the corridor, if you see any of them, [ he manages, the words clumsy in a mouth that wants to bite, ] --don't run. Just hold onto my chain and stay with me.
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His voice stays soft, gentle. Wanting to soothe, his every movement, body language and tone perfectly designed to comfort, to put at ease. This is what he's been made for, even if he doesn't even realize it himself.] I'm okay, see? All in one piece. [Mostly. Matt presses closer, warm and soft, cuddled to Shiro's stomach, barely reaching the lower loop of the dangling chain over his chest. And he smiles.] I'll stay close, I promise. Don't be worried.
You have so much worse to worry about. [He strokes over one of the many raised scars, ears twitching back in empathy, palm soft and warm against the ridged skin.]
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I was afraid you were dead, [ he confesses, low and soft. ] I was afraid they'd thrown you into the arena.
[ the way they'd thrown shiro, and made him a murderer. his skin shivers under matt's fingers. ]
They use the whip because they can't kill me. The gladiator arena needs its stars.
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I hate them. I hate them for that. [He whispers it ferociously, like something like what he's become -- weak and timid and awkward and helpless -- could possibly do something to stop what's happening to Shiro.]
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