[ 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.]
[ he strokes his fingers helplessly through matt's hair, guilty and aching. truth be told, there are perks to being a gladiator. shiro never has to worry about not being fed, or being chased by a pack of predators, or being beaten for fighting back. the galra enjoy his temper and his disobedience as exemplary qualities for a gladiator. ]
It's-- [ okay, but it's not okay, nothing about any of this is okay, so he cups matt's face in both hands and looks at him helplessly. ]
It doesn't matter. Not compared to what they've done to you.
[His ears twitch absently every time Shiro's fingers brush against them, flicking back and forth like tiny velvety wings. His horns are somewhere under that mess of hair too, little bitty nubs that aren't anything impressive like the other bulls. He probably doesn't even count as a bull. Too tiny, too soft, too helpless.
But then Shiro's looking down at him with grief and concern and guilt, and Matt's forehead furrows in confusion.] Me? I'm fine. I'm okay.
[He stretches up, bumps his nose to Shiro's in a quick, instinctive gesture of comfort.] I found you. I'm wonderful.
[ he can't help the way his voice goes soft. maybe matt's right. maybe more important than all the shit happening around them and to them is the fact that they're here together, for the first time. ]
...yeah. I'm glad you found me, too.
Come on. Let's head over to the other stalls. Filling out the reservation schedule should buy us some privacy and some time, and maybe your pack of friends will forget about you.
-- oh. [Right, they're going to -- the breeding stall. That's right. So Shiro can clean up. That's the reason. The only reason. Matt is repeating this to himself again and again, clearing his throat and turning red again, grabbing at the lead with fumbling hands and trying to look confident as he steps into the hall.
It's mercifully quiet and almost deserted, only a couple stable hands hurrying one way or the other. Some of them linger, either at the sight of Shiro or at Matt's scent (it's still heavy, alluring, willing, and he seems thoroughly unaware), but the sight of the stud chain seems to explain everything, and they continue on. Still, by the time they reach the roomy, comfortable breeding stall, Matt's trembling with anxiety, hands shaking as they open the door, grab at the schedule and try to keep his handwriting steady.]
I-I, um. Is. An hour? Two? I haven't ever. Actually been in. One of these.
[ that waft of scent is driving him crazy. as much as he doesn't want to draw any unnecessary attention to them he can't help arching his tail and prancing a bit as they walk, equine instincts excited. maybe it's a pavlovian response at this point, honestly, heading into this section of the barn with the stud chain on and the smell of a breeder's slick heavy in his nostrils. it's humiliating, but his cock is already halfway unsheathed just while they're walking, dangling beneath him.
maybe it sells the deceit, though, because nobody stops them. shiro stamps and snorts at a couple lingering gazes, but nobody demands to know their destination, or follows them, or seems to care that shiro's restraints look a little haphazard.
a little surge of guilt moves through him when matt admits he's never been to the breeding stalls before. shiro has been here a lot, for a gladiator. ]
...put twelve hours. We can reserve it for the whole night. Y-you don't have to stay, of course, they'll just think I was brought in for a fuck and then my handler was too lazy to move me back to my own stall.
[Matt would be lying if he said he didn't notice Shiro's recovered arousal -- there's a part of him that's only ever focused on that, on the close proximity of virile, strong, powerful, majestic stallion, a part that has his chest throbbing with wanting, has the apex of his thighs aching and dripping wet, until he presses his knees together and forces himself to take short deep breaths. But there's another part that's still the underclassman at the Garrison, awkward and helplessly smitten from the second he laid eyes on his new lab partner. That part is trying to keep him reminded that this is still Shiro, that it's Shiro who might not be interested in what Matt is now. Altered, changed, reformed into something base and primal and animalistic.
Still, it's a reaction of both these parts -- lovestruck schoolboy and lust-ridden breeder -- when Matt looks up through long eyelashes and frowns, almost pouts.]
[ nope there is definitely no problem with shiro's interest. matt had always been short and cute and maybe a little bit delicate, even if shiro would be the first to deny that that meant anything. it was always just a physical fact, that shiro knew he could pick matt up and carry him if he had to. that shiro's hands would naturally span his waist and fit his hips just so. that matt would have to tilt his head up and shiro would have to lean down.
that shiro could lift matt against the wall and hold him there.
alright, maybe shiro did have a little bit of a thing about their size difference, even though matt's more curves than skinny teenager now. but that doesn't mean he has a right to anything, and it doesn't mean he wants to join what has to be a long line of bigger, stronger tormentors trying to take advantage of matt. and shiro literally has an extra body grafted onto his body, between the two of them he's the one most removed from being human. at least matt has recognizable human anatomy.
the tryst they'd had in the stall earlier isn't an indicator of preference, either, matt had been trying to do a favor to thank him. so he'd wanted to give him an exit strategy, a gentle one, just in case, except he fucked up because matt's giving him the eyes and he actually flinches a little bit, his coat shivering. ]
No! No, of course not-- I mean, of course I want you to stay, as long as you want, but you don't have to.
[ breathe shiro come on. his hooves lift and replace anxiously, quick-stepping in place, giving him away more than any human fidgeting ever would. ]
I don't want you to feel obligated, or uncomfortable. That's all.
[It definitely isn't a remnant of his human experiences that prompts Matt to step forward, to loosen his grip on the lead and smooth his soft, water-warmed hands over the shivers rippling through Shiro's still-dirtied coat. He was a suburban child, he never even saw a horse, except on TV. Whatever's guiding him right now isn't something he had before -- before everything.
It's that longing, that insatiable drive to comfort, to be of use, to be warm and soft and close, to give an outlet to all that nervous, pent-up energy. He's never felt more serene in his life, even though he knows logically having those big hooves coming down so close to him is dangerous. He reaches up, grabs Shiro's hands, tugs him down so they're somewhat close to face-to-face.]
I don't. Feel obligated. I want to. [A placid flick of his ears, a scrunched-nose smile.] I wanted to before, but because it's you...I want to more.
[ of course shiro lets himself be pulled down, giving to the slightest pressure. it feels natural to give way to matt, actually, there's none of the knee-jerk resistance he feels around other handlers and the galra.
also, he's getting the feeling that maybe matt is talking about more than just hiding out together in the breeding stall. he leans in cautiously, resting their foreheads together.
[Clever boy. There's a strange heady feeling that comes with this newfound power, the idea that his smell, his expression, the way he shies away or squares his shoulders can invite or deny or otherwise taunt and tease the numerous bundles of raging hormones still one that Matt's getting used to.
But if it's this particular bundle, still sweet and somehow guileless after everything he's been through, Matt thinks he could find this power appealing. He smiles, far from innocent, far from demure, nudges their noses together and without looking, swings the stall door wide.]
[ there's nothing subtle about that. shiro's nostrils blow wide, stallion instincts all at attention for the confirmation of a breeding partner and that door swinging open. his penis drops free completely of his sheath and bobs with every movement of his hindquarters, even bouncing up against his belly.
roughly, ]
I missed you, too.
[ he doesn't crowd matt forward into the stall, but it's kind of a near thing. his ears are pricked, tail arched, and he's definitely bringing his knees up higher than he needs to for each step, nearly prancing. part of him wants to ask matt to take up his lead again and treat him like a stud, tie him into position, get him ready for a mating, but he wants to let matt decide. ]
[The circumstances couldn't be stranger, but somehow despite that Matt is almost laughing, grinning up at Shiro and obligingly taking the lead rope again and tugging gently. It's endearing, the pricked ears, the prancing. Even if Shiro is conditioned and only reacting because of that, his body at least is ready and willing.
Matt is decidedly less than experienced, however -- the breeding stall is unfamiliar, much larger than the one they'd just left, and while he can sort of assume the function of the rings set in the walls and the bench in the center, he wants to do it right. So, once the stall door is shut, he leads Shiro over to the breeding bench, practically squirming with anticipation, then climbs onto it so they're eye-to-eye again.
It's easier to nuzzle his nose against Shiro's, play with his ears, stroke through his hair, easier to kiss him. Matt does, aware that his mouth probably still tastes like come, but not caring, just wanting that human gesture of intimacy, of wanting.]
[ the breeding stalls have all kinds of extra accommodations, from places to tie restraints at various heights to swing-out bars and padded benches to bring all sizes of partners together comfortably. there's even a corner with tiles and a drain and shower accessories, spray nozzles and sponges and brushes, a whole wall rack of various toys and floggers and ointments, and another corner with soft sawdust bedding for large hybrids and an actual bed, circular, with soft cushions and real blankets.
he comes willingly over to the bench and wraps his arms around matt, delighting in the opportunity to have him at his own height, kissing him as softly as he can, holding back, but shiro is hungry for it, touch-starved and needy. the taste in matt's mouth is a spur to his flanks, arousing him even further by thinking about it-- matt had been so greedy for him, not even hesitating.
he strokes up and down the line of matt's spine, learning his new shape, helplessly roughing up his soft hair. shiro's own velvety ears are extremely sensitive and he leans into matt's hands shamelessly, embarrassing himself with the soft whickering sounds he's making. he's breathing hard before long, more aroused than he can remember being with any of his other partners, but he doesn't want to rush. he doesn't want to just turn matt around and bend him over the bench.
a little shyly, ]
Will you wash me first? I can't. I can't really do it for myself, anymore.
Mmf? [The muffled sound comes because Matt is far too interested in kissing Shiro to oh proper attention, enjoy the soft rumbling nickering sounds that come when he teases those velvety pointed ears, curls his fingers around them and strokes. But the request is so sweet, so shyly out that he can't refuse.
So he doesn't, scrunching his nose affectionately and turning to loop the lead through a comfortably placed ring in the wall. It's a simple slip tie, easily undone should Shiro wish, but the security of it seems to be comforting to the bigger hybrid. Then Matt's climbing off the bench and attempting to figure out the hoses and various shampoos.
After some mishaps that are a little too convenient to be purely accidental (as in, they all end up making Matt more soaked, the thin tunic starting to cling in interesting places) he finally gets a steady, gentle stream of warm water flowing, breaking it with his palm so it doesn't startle Shiro as it wets his back and drips down his sides.] That okay? Warm enough?
[ he's a little shy of Matt's reaction to all this, to keeping the lead on, to asking Matt to handle him, but somehow it's not that weird. Matt is so gentle with him that it just feels intimate and comforting, and he can feel himself relaxing. He even grins a little at Matt soaking himself down, his tail swishing playfully and gently crowding Matt with his hindquarters just to get him to laugh and push him away.
The water feels fantastic on his dusty coat, and he cups handfuls himself to tip over his head, shaking out his hair. ]
[Matt does laugh, a bright, giggly, careless sound, pushing at the sleek, damp hide of Shiro's hindquarters, then reaching out in the same gesture to stroke his fingers through the black and white tail being flicked in his face. There's a softer look, something wondering and reverent.]
I wish they took better care of you. [He's frowning, gently teasing out the tangles with his fingers, leaning against Shiro's soaked flank.] You're so...you know.
[ he's trying not to sound bitter about it, but it's a simple fact that the galra enjoy letting their gladiators get roughed up. they have the technology to repair major injuries and they choose to let him be carved up like hamburger, just because it entertains the spectators. shiro doesn't think that he's a particularly vain person, but every scar, every laceration that they allow to build up on his skin is turning him into someone that doesn't look like takashi shirogane. he looks like a monster. he looks like a killer. the other stablehands that are afraid of him don't even know him, they just know that he wins in the arena and that he looks horrifying. ]
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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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It's-- [ okay, but it's not okay, nothing about any of this is okay, so he cups matt's face in both hands and looks at him helplessly. ]
It doesn't matter. Not compared to what they've done to you.
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But then Shiro's looking down at him with grief and concern and guilt, and Matt's forehead furrows in confusion.] Me? I'm fine. I'm okay.
[He stretches up, bumps his nose to Shiro's in a quick, instinctive gesture of comfort.] I found you. I'm wonderful.
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...yeah. I'm glad you found me, too.
Come on. Let's head over to the other stalls. Filling out the reservation schedule should buy us some privacy and some time, and maybe your pack of friends will forget about you.
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It's mercifully quiet and almost deserted, only a couple stable hands hurrying one way or the other. Some of them linger, either at the sight of Shiro or at Matt's scent (it's still heavy, alluring, willing, and he seems thoroughly unaware), but the sight of the stud chain seems to explain everything, and they continue on. Still, by the time they reach the roomy, comfortable breeding stall, Matt's trembling with anxiety, hands shaking as they open the door, grab at the schedule and try to keep his handwriting steady.]
I-I, um. Is. An hour? Two? I haven't ever. Actually been in. One of these.
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maybe it sells the deceit, though, because nobody stops them. shiro stamps and snorts at a couple lingering gazes, but nobody demands to know their destination, or follows them, or seems to care that shiro's restraints look a little haphazard.
a little surge of guilt moves through him when matt admits he's never been to the breeding stalls before. shiro has been here a lot, for a gladiator. ]
...put twelve hours. We can reserve it for the whole night. Y-you don't have to stay, of course, they'll just think I was brought in for a fuck and then my handler was too lazy to move me back to my own stall.
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Still, it's a reaction of both these parts -- lovestruck schoolboy and lust-ridden breeder -- when Matt looks up through long eyelashes and frowns, almost pouts.]
Do you...not want me to stay?
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that shiro could lift matt against the wall and hold him there.
alright, maybe shiro did have a little bit of a thing about their size difference, even though matt's more curves than skinny teenager now. but that doesn't mean he has a right to anything, and it doesn't mean he wants to join what has to be a long line of bigger, stronger tormentors trying to take advantage of matt. and shiro literally has an extra body grafted onto his body, between the two of them he's the one most removed from being human. at least matt has recognizable human anatomy.
the tryst they'd had in the stall earlier isn't an indicator of preference, either, matt had been trying to do a favor to thank him. so he'd wanted to give him an exit strategy, a gentle one, just in case, except he fucked up because matt's giving him the eyes and he actually flinches a little bit, his coat shivering. ]
No! No, of course not-- I mean, of course I want you to stay, as long as you want, but you don't have to.
[ breathe shiro come on. his hooves lift and replace anxiously, quick-stepping in place, giving him away more than any human fidgeting ever would. ]
I don't want you to feel obligated, or uncomfortable. That's all.
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It's that longing, that insatiable drive to comfort, to be of use, to be warm and soft and close, to give an outlet to all that nervous, pent-up energy. He's never felt more serene in his life, even though he knows logically having those big hooves coming down so close to him is dangerous. He reaches up, grabs Shiro's hands, tugs him down so they're somewhat close to face-to-face.]
I don't. Feel obligated. I want to. [A placid flick of his ears, a scrunched-nose smile.] I wanted to before, but because it's you...I want to more.
Does that make sense?
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also, he's getting the feeling that maybe matt is talking about more than just hiding out together in the breeding stall. he leans in cautiously, resting their foreheads together.
soft, ]
What do you want, Matt?
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But if it's this particular bundle, still sweet and somehow guileless after everything he's been through, Matt thinks he could find this power appealing. He smiles, far from innocent, far from demure, nudges their noses together and without looking, swings the stall door wide.]
I want to show you how much I missed you, Shiro.
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roughly, ]
I missed you, too.
[ he doesn't crowd matt forward into the stall, but it's kind of a near thing. his ears are pricked, tail arched, and he's definitely bringing his knees up higher than he needs to for each step, nearly prancing. part of him wants to ask matt to take up his lead again and treat him like a stud, tie him into position, get him ready for a mating, but he wants to let matt decide. ]
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Matt is decidedly less than experienced, however -- the breeding stall is unfamiliar, much larger than the one they'd just left, and while he can sort of assume the function of the rings set in the walls and the bench in the center, he wants to do it right. So, once the stall door is shut, he leads Shiro over to the breeding bench, practically squirming with anticipation, then climbs onto it so they're eye-to-eye again.
It's easier to nuzzle his nose against Shiro's, play with his ears, stroke through his hair, easier to kiss him. Matt does, aware that his mouth probably still tastes like come, but not caring, just wanting that human gesture of intimacy, of wanting.]
Tell me what to do?
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he comes willingly over to the bench and wraps his arms around matt, delighting in the opportunity to have him at his own height, kissing him as softly as he can, holding back, but shiro is hungry for it, touch-starved and needy. the taste in matt's mouth is a spur to his flanks, arousing him even further by thinking about it-- matt had been so greedy for him, not even hesitating.
he strokes up and down the line of matt's spine, learning his new shape, helplessly roughing up his soft hair. shiro's own velvety ears are extremely sensitive and he leans into matt's hands shamelessly, embarrassing himself with the soft whickering sounds he's making. he's breathing hard before long, more aroused than he can remember being with any of his other partners, but he doesn't want to rush. he doesn't want to just turn matt around and bend him over the bench.
a little shyly, ]
Will you wash me first? I can't. I can't really do it for myself, anymore.
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So he doesn't, scrunching his nose affectionately and turning to loop the lead through a comfortably placed ring in the wall. It's a simple slip tie, easily undone should Shiro wish, but the security of it seems to be comforting to the bigger hybrid. Then Matt's climbing off the bench and attempting to figure out the hoses and various shampoos.
After some mishaps that are a little too convenient to be purely accidental (as in, they all end up making Matt more soaked, the thin tunic starting to cling in interesting places) he finally gets a steady, gentle stream of warm water flowing, breaking it with his palm so it doesn't startle Shiro as it wets his back and drips down his sides.] That okay? Warm enough?
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The water feels fantastic on his dusty coat, and he cups handfuls himself to tip over his head, shaking out his hair. ]
It feels great.
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I wish they took better care of you. [He's frowning, gently teasing out the tangles with his fingers, leaning against Shiro's soaked flank.] You're so...you know.
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[ he's trying not to sound bitter about it, but it's a simple fact that the galra enjoy letting their gladiators get roughed up. they have the technology to repair major injuries and they choose to let him be carved up like hamburger, just because it entertains the spectators. shiro doesn't think that he's a particularly vain person, but every scar, every laceration that they allow to build up on his skin is turning him into someone that doesn't look like takashi shirogane. he looks like a monster. he looks like a killer. the other stablehands that are afraid of him don't even know him, they just know that he wins in the arena and that he looks horrifying. ]
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