[ 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. ]
[Matt frowns, then steps closer, pressing his warm, damp body against Shiro's side, hands smoothing over his soaked flank, tracing the contour of his body with almost tangible reverence. His voice is very soft.]
You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen. Still. Okay?
[ well now all the blood in his body is divided between his dick and
his awful, betraying flush. matt can't just say things like that,
it shouldn't be allowed, and shiro can't even reach him to kiss him quiet.
]
[Damn right, because Matt is going to have his say. He's going to keep gently rubbing away the grime and dust with one of the soft sponges, free hand stroking over Shiro's flank, over the bunched muscles in his hindquarters, ghosting over the high point at his withers.]
I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be with you.
[ his ears are burning, and he stares hard at the floor and his own
front hooves, shifting restlessly. it's a simple, simple sentiment, and he
can't remember the last time it applied. he's been forced on partners and
had partners forced on him, he's cooperated with rivals in the arena before
having to turn on them, handlers have touched him and cleaned him and even
cared for him and none of it was willing.
he lets his knees fold awkwardly, sinking down to the spongy grid
mats covering the floor's drains. it puts him a little below matt's
height, and more effectively in his power. ]
Ah, there we go. [Matt seems much more satisfied like this, able to sponge at the old grime along Shiro's back, untangle the mats at the base of his tail, even hose off the still-human part of him, broad shoulders and the back of his neck and everything. Any restraint he might've had seems gone, in this warmer, larger space, because he moves his hands fearlessly, strokes through the damp hair at the nape of Shiro's neck, the thick muscles of his forelegs, everywhere in between.
He's quiet as he does it, too, the motions becoming a sort of ritual. Matt wonders, vaguely, how long it had been since someone touched Shiro without ulterior motives, without agenda. So he lingers, he's thorough. It's the better part of an hour before he steps around in front of Shiro, reaches to set wet, soap-smelling hands on either side of his face.]
[ it honestly takes most of that time for shiro to relax under
matt's hands, acclimating himself to being handled so gently without
tensing up or flinching. he wants to apologize every time it
happens.
being taken care of like this is almost indescribably intimate. the
instincts making his heart pound don't go away but become less urgent, a
background haze of constant, low level arousal. if he were still human he
might've spent the time half hard, in this form his penis remains
unsheathed and relaxed, twitching every now and then. the scent of the
soap matt's using is calming, unlike the sharp tang of disinfectant he's
used to, and it feels wonderful to finally, finally get clean, to have all
the blood and sweat and grime scrubbed from the places on his body that he
can't reach himself. the tangled, knotted strands of his tail are
embarrassing but there was no way for him to have brushed them out on his
own, not without contorting himself into a pretzel.
by the time matt's finished shiro feels almost boneless, nosing and
nudging at matt whenever he's in range. he's not trying to grope, just
letting his hands go with the movement of the water and the soap that's
covering both of them by now. matt's soaked clothes are more provocative
than concealing and shiro doesn't try to pull at them, running his fingers
over the top of the wet, clinging fabric to tease both of them. he smiles
up at matt's question, reaching up to stroke his wet bangs out of his eyes.
]
[By the time Shiro is calmer, reaching out to touch him, Matt is more than ready to welcome the hands on the clinging wet fabric, savoring every brush of warm fingers. His hooves sink into the spongy mats on the floor, tail flicking in contentment as he leans in and nuzzles his nose to Shiro's, ears flicking velvety-soft back and forth.]
Good. You're extra-clean now. I didn't braid your tail, even though I wanted to. [He pauses, shifting forward and back for a moment, then slowly forward, so he's pressed warm and soggy against Shiro, the curved length of his body tangible under the clinging fabric.] I think it would've been a very fetching look.
[ at this height he's wrapping his arms around matt's waist, nuzzling against his chest. matt's always been shorter than him, but now their height difference is almost ludicrous. shiro's going to have to stay on the ground if he wants to reach matt properly, or they'll have to use some of the-- well, sex furniture, and sex-inclined features of the stall to put themselves at an even height.
at least like this he doesn't feel so much like a hulking beast towering over matt. shiro knows very well how vulnerable he is when he's laying down, how long it takes him to get back to his feet and how awkward the process is. it's a gesture of trust, that he's letting himself be vulnerable in matt's hands, and it's as much equality as shiro can give him when they both know that matt's been made even more delicate and shiro's been made into even more of a blunt force weapon. ]
Only if you let me put bows on your horns.
[ he strokes both hands up the length of matt's back, feeling the muscles shift under his thin, soaked shirt, and tries not to think too hard about the soft mounds he's pressing his cheek against. ]
Can I take this off of you? [ he asks softly, wanting to give matt plenty of warning and the chance to say no, still. ]
[Matt makes an indignant sound at the mention of bows, ducking his head to nuzzle into Shiro's dark, damp hair. He smells like soap, like sweat and musk and himself, the way he did once upon a time, back at the Garrison. It's that familiarity that gets to Matt, that makes his knees shiver a little.
That and the fact that Shiro's nuzzling against his chest, which is softer and more tender, almost sore underneath the chilled fabric of his shirt. He can't help imagining having the cloth out of the way, having Shiro's cheek, his lips, his mouth against the budding swell of his chest. The question has him hesitating for all of a couple seconds before nodding, fingers stroking up and down the back of Shiro's neck.]
I'm cold. [It's soft, and a blatant lie -- he's burning under the soaked cloth, he feels almost too hot where Shiro's hands rest, where his cheek touches, everywhere that's almost skin-on-skin.] Help me warm up?
[ that's an invitation to get started if shiro ever heard one. he presses a kiss to the wet fabric in front of him, clingy enough that he's sure matt can feel it even through the barrier, and curls his fingers under the hem to start tugging it up and off matt's torso. his skin doesn't feel chilled underneath but feverish, and shiro can't help taking his time with it, palming matt's exposed belly as its revealed, the curve of his back.
he runs his hand up between matt's pectorals, except they're not so much, anymore. the galra had changed him there. soft pink nipples that look larger than what shiro vaguely remembers, just begging to be teased and sucked, and the unmistakable curves of breasts. with the stablehand uniform matt had looked androgynous enough that shiro could almost fool himself into thinking all the changes were his imagination, but skin to skin it's all laid out before him: matt's hips are shaped differently, his bone structure changed, all the skinny, sharp angles turned to curves. he looks better fleshed than he had before, too, as if the galra had even altered his metabolism where it interfered with their aesthetic.
he has an awful, niggling thought: matt looks good like this. maybe it's an animal hindbrain thing, that rosy cheeks and curves are a sign of good health and a strong breeder. his cock twitches again as he gently thumbs over one of those pert, pink nipples, admiring. ]
[Matt's observant enough, still, to know that his diet is different than most of the other slaves -- richer, more fats, more sugar and butter and things that help keep him in whatever shape the Galra were seeking. He's conscious of that now, standing in front of Shiro, who's always been perfect, but now seems to be chiseled out of marble, like some godly sort of statue.
He's even more conscious of how that gentle, curious touch from roughened fingertips is enough to make his knees buckle a little. Of all the changes -- and there have been many -- the budding tenderness and softness of his chest had been the hardest. Fabric of any kind felt too rough, moving too fast makes him conscious of the weight, the heft of his (breasts, that's what they are) new attributes. Shiro's thumb seems to send a bolt of lightning-hot lust right down his spine, between his legs, his thicker, softer thighs, which are streaked with more than just water.
Grabbing onto Shiro's shoulders for stability, Matt is barely aware of the soft lowing moan bubbling up from his throat, eyes half-lidded, tail flicking in impatience.]
[ if shiro looks like any kind of statue it's because the galra have shaped him this way, made his shoulders broader and his muscles more defined. he knows they had to have altered his bones, too, to take the new weight and stresses of this form. it still feels wrong to him how much stronger he is, how much faster his reflexes are, although it's a scary thought because he doesn't know how much of that is what the druids have done to him and how much is because of what he's done in the arena.
matt's changes might be frightening, too, having been altered for such an obvious, specific purpose, but all shiro can be is grateful that it might keep matt safe just a little longer. that the galra might consider him valuable, however awful the thought is.
or maybe it's that shiro can't help imagining what it would be like if matt was given to him. he could protect him. he could have him nearby, know exactly where he was. there's enough stallion instinct in him to want that desperately and unashamedly. he would like to keep matt for himself.
and the noises matt's making aren't helping, the expression on his face, the scent of him, aroused and waiting. shiro makes a strangled noise of his own and buries his face against matt's chest, his mouth seeking, nuzzling and nipping over the curve of matt's breast. he tells himself that this, at least, is something a human might do, something humans do for each other. ]
T-tell me. What you like, [ he manages, finding it hard to shape words with his animal instincts clamoring at him. ]
[There's a soft gasp, shaky and needy, Matt's nails blunt against the back of Shiro's neck, clutching him closer.] I-I like that.
[Then, arching his back a little, pushing forward into the soft, wet heat of Shiro's mouth, knees buckling, he manages:] I don't...really know what...what else. I. Show me. Show me what you know.
[ jesus. what he knows is the aggressive, dominating practices in the stud boxes, rearing up to mount something soft and yielding and churning his hips like a machine, hearing himself grunting and snorting, unable to see or even really touch his partner. he's been brutal in the past, too, rutting as hard and as fast as any animal. it was what was expected. his memories of Before seem hazy now, like the time before the occupation was just a dream. kissing someone in a dark theater, or asking them in for 'coffee' after a night out, or sneaking into a broom closet for five minutes of privacy all feel as foreign to him now as everything he'd learned under the Galra.
the only thing he can think of is to do the opposite, to deny the stallion instinct to get on with it and draw this out instead. the galra don't kiss. they don't believe in delayed gratification unless it's to be malicious about it, taunting and teasing someone to the point of frantic need. they don't believe in taking care of their partners, only chasing their own please.
so he slows down. he suckles at matt's nipples, rubbing them with calloused fingers until they're swollen and sensitive. he kisses around them, tasting matt's skin, nuzzling up to the column of his throat, and he flattens his palm down matt's soft stomach, slow enough to give him warning, before sliding between his legs to cup him there. ]
[By the time Shiro's hand slips down, warm and roughened and gentle, Matt's head is heavy with blind, instinctive wanting. His heartbeat is throbbing where he's so sensitive it hurts -- sore on his chest, thick and slippery between his legs, pulsing under Shiro's lips against his neck. The fingers curling between his slick thighs makes him wobble forward, knees buckling a little from the urge to drop down, present himself, offer himself up to the stallion.
Shiro. It's Shiro, he's huge and beautiful and dizzying, but he's still Shiro. Matt's hands are trembling, but they find the ridges of muscle, Shiro's abdomen and chest, cross-crossed with scars. He strokes over them, with a sort of reverent awe, arching his back and pressing closer.]
[ he curls an arm around the small of matt's back to support him when he wobbles. he's-- well, he's wet under shiro's hand like a girl, like a furiously aroused girl, and even though shiro's been with plenty of breeders and knows that they've been altered to generously produce lubrication for mating, regardless of anything the stud did, it still feels like this is for shiro, that he'd inspired this level of wanting in matt.
it makes a difference. the way matt touches him in return makes him shiver, muscles bunching and relaxing under his fingers. it's not the way other handlers have touched him, taunting or mechanically moving him to arousal. he can smell matt's eagerness, and how compatible they are. ]
You... you do too.
[ he smells amazing, actually, the more aroused he is. shiro's fingers rub over him carefully, learning the new territory, and he thumbs over matt's clit once or twice before realizing what he's actually touching, glancing down in surprise. ]
[By the time Shiro actually glances down, Matt's mind is hazy, cohesive thought replaced by base, wordless urges, instincts to submit, to offer himself however Shiro wants him, against the wall, on his hands and knees, anywhere, anyway, anytime. He hurts with emptiness, and even the slight hesitation when Shiro realizes where his hands are is unbearable.
Bossier than he means to be, Matt pins his ears back, whines in impatience and, one hand darting down to cover Shiro's, presses his fingers closer through the slick, thighs squeezing around his hand.]
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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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Beautiful.
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[ oh my god matt please. he flushes, swishing his tail. ]
I'm half horse, Matt. And I look like I've been through a meat grinder.
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You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen. Still. Okay?
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[ well now all the blood in his body is divided between his dick and his awful, betraying flush. matt can't just say things like that, it shouldn't be allowed, and shiro can't even reach him to kiss him quiet. ]
If. If you say so.
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I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be with you.
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...thank you, Matt.
[ his ears are burning, and he stares hard at the floor and his own front hooves, shifting restlessly. it's a simple, simple sentiment, and he can't remember the last time it applied. he's been forced on partners and had partners forced on him, he's cooperated with rivals in the arena before having to turn on them, handlers have touched him and cleaned him and even cared for him and none of it was willing.
he lets his knees fold awkwardly, sinking down to the spongy grid mats covering the floor's drains. it puts him a little below matt's height, and more effectively in his power. ]
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He's quiet as he does it, too, the motions becoming a sort of ritual. Matt wonders, vaguely, how long it had been since someone touched Shiro without ulterior motives, without agenda. So he lingers, he's thorough. It's the better part of an hour before he steps around in front of Shiro, reaches to set wet, soap-smelling hands on either side of his face.]
Feel better?
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[ it honestly takes most of that time for shiro to relax under matt's hands, acclimating himself to being handled so gently without tensing up or flinching. he wants to apologize every time it happens.
being taken care of like this is almost indescribably intimate. the instincts making his heart pound don't go away but become less urgent, a background haze of constant, low level arousal. if he were still human he might've spent the time half hard, in this form his penis remains unsheathed and relaxed, twitching every now and then. the scent of the soap matt's using is calming, unlike the sharp tang of disinfectant he's used to, and it feels wonderful to finally, finally get clean, to have all the blood and sweat and grime scrubbed from the places on his body that he can't reach himself. the tangled, knotted strands of his tail are embarrassing but there was no way for him to have brushed them out on his own, not without contorting himself into a pretzel.
by the time matt's finished shiro feels almost boneless, nosing and nudging at matt whenever he's in range. he's not trying to grope, just letting his hands go with the movement of the water and the soap that's covering both of them by now. matt's soaked clothes are more provocative than concealing and shiro doesn't try to pull at them, running his fingers over the top of the wet, clinging fabric to tease both of them. he smiles up at matt's question, reaching up to stroke his wet bangs out of his eyes. ]
I feel like I haven't been clean in years.
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Good. You're extra-clean now. I didn't braid your tail, even though I wanted to. [He pauses, shifting forward and back for a moment, then slowly forward, so he's pressed warm and soggy against Shiro, the curved length of his body tangible under the clinging fabric.] I think it would've been a very fetching look.
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at least like this he doesn't feel so much like a hulking beast towering over matt. shiro knows very well how vulnerable he is when he's laying down, how long it takes him to get back to his feet and how awkward the process is. it's a gesture of trust, that he's letting himself be vulnerable in matt's hands, and it's as much equality as shiro can give him when they both know that matt's been made even more delicate and shiro's been made into even more of a blunt force weapon. ]
Only if you let me put bows on your horns.
[ he strokes both hands up the length of matt's back, feeling the muscles shift under his thin, soaked shirt, and tries not to think too hard about the soft mounds he's pressing his cheek against. ]
Can I take this off of you? [ he asks softly, wanting to give matt plenty of warning and the chance to say no, still. ]
Would that be okay?
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That and the fact that Shiro's nuzzling against his chest, which is softer and more tender, almost sore underneath the chilled fabric of his shirt. He can't help imagining having the cloth out of the way, having Shiro's cheek, his lips, his mouth against the budding swell of his chest. The question has him hesitating for all of a couple seconds before nodding, fingers stroking up and down the back of Shiro's neck.]
I'm cold. [It's soft, and a blatant lie -- he's burning under the soaked cloth, he feels almost too hot where Shiro's hands rest, where his cheek touches, everywhere that's almost skin-on-skin.] Help me warm up?
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he runs his hand up between matt's pectorals, except they're not so much, anymore. the galra had changed him there. soft pink nipples that look larger than what shiro vaguely remembers, just begging to be teased and sucked, and the unmistakable curves of breasts. with the stablehand uniform matt had looked androgynous enough that shiro could almost fool himself into thinking all the changes were his imagination, but skin to skin it's all laid out before him: matt's hips are shaped differently, his bone structure changed, all the skinny, sharp angles turned to curves. he looks better fleshed than he had before, too, as if the galra had even altered his metabolism where it interfered with their aesthetic.
he has an awful, niggling thought: matt looks good like this. maybe it's an animal hindbrain thing, that rosy cheeks and curves are a sign of good health and a strong breeder. his cock twitches again as he gently thumbs over one of those pert, pink nipples, admiring. ]
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He's even more conscious of how that gentle, curious touch from roughened fingertips is enough to make his knees buckle a little. Of all the changes -- and there have been many -- the budding tenderness and softness of his chest had been the hardest. Fabric of any kind felt too rough, moving too fast makes him conscious of the weight, the heft of his (breasts, that's what they are) new attributes. Shiro's thumb seems to send a bolt of lightning-hot lust right down his spine, between his legs, his thicker, softer thighs, which are streaked with more than just water.
Grabbing onto Shiro's shoulders for stability, Matt is barely aware of the soft lowing moan bubbling up from his throat, eyes half-lidded, tail flicking in impatience.]
no subject
matt's changes might be frightening, too, having been altered for such an obvious, specific purpose, but all shiro can be is grateful that it might keep matt safe just a little longer. that the galra might consider him valuable, however awful the thought is.
or maybe it's that shiro can't help imagining what it would be like if matt was given to him. he could protect him. he could have him nearby, know exactly where he was. there's enough stallion instinct in him to want that desperately and unashamedly. he would like to keep matt for himself.
and the noises matt's making aren't helping, the expression on his face, the scent of him, aroused and waiting. shiro makes a strangled noise of his own and buries his face against matt's chest, his mouth seeking, nuzzling and nipping over the curve of matt's breast. he tells himself that this, at least, is something a human might do, something humans do for each other. ]
T-tell me. What you like, [ he manages, finding it hard to shape words with his animal instincts clamoring at him. ]
Don't let me-- rush.
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[Then, arching his back a little, pushing forward into the soft, wet heat of Shiro's mouth, knees buckling, he manages:] I don't...really know what...what else. I. Show me. Show me what you know.
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the only thing he can think of is to do the opposite, to deny the stallion instinct to get on with it and draw this out instead. the galra don't kiss. they don't believe in delayed gratification unless it's to be malicious about it, taunting and teasing someone to the point of frantic need. they don't believe in taking care of their partners, only chasing their own please.
so he slows down. he suckles at matt's nipples, rubbing them with calloused fingers until they're swollen and sensitive. he kisses around them, tasting matt's skin, nuzzling up to the column of his throat, and he flattens his palm down matt's soft stomach, slow enough to give him warning, before sliding between his legs to cup him there. ]
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Shiro. It's Shiro, he's huge and beautiful and dizzying, but he's still Shiro. Matt's hands are trembling, but they find the ridges of muscle, Shiro's abdomen and chest, cross-crossed with scars. He strokes over them, with a sort of reverent awe, arching his back and pressing closer.]
You smell so good...
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it makes a difference. the way matt touches him in return makes him shiver, muscles bunching and relaxing under his fingers. it's not the way other handlers have touched him, taunting or mechanically moving him to arousal. he can smell matt's eagerness, and how compatible they are. ]
You... you do too.
[ he smells amazing, actually, the more aroused he is. shiro's fingers rub over him carefully, learning the new territory, and he thumbs over matt's clit once or twice before realizing what he's actually touching, glancing down in surprise. ]
Oh... oh.
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Bossier than he means to be, Matt pins his ears back, whines in impatience and, one hand darting down to cover Shiro's, presses his fingers closer through the slick, thighs squeezing around his hand.]
Don't stop.