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[synchronized]

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[toebeans]

[ The plan is a good one. It's solid. There's no way to account for every single contingency that exists, there's no way for them to make 100% sure that everything will be okay, but he's worked over it in his head a hundred times, and then worked it over with everyone else another dozen times more, at least. There are certain things they can't plan for, but by and large, this is their best shot. It's the closet anyone's ever gotten to defeating the Galra in thousands of years, maybe.

You realize, once we defeat Zarkon, the universe won't need Voltron anymore, he tells them. As long as everything goes according to plan.

Maybe it's unfair of him to say that to them. If the last few years are anything to go by, nothing ever, ever goes according to plan. The best laid plans go to shit and it's up to them to do whatever they can to mitigate it as best as is humanly possible.

One day, Hunk sighs as they're wrapping up dinner, Shiro shooing him away to finish doing cleanup. We just ate and I feel sick.

We'll be fine, Shiro says with all the certainty he can muster, holding his shoulders straight, every inch the leader, the focus that they need him to be. It's only on his way back to his room (and by default, Keith's) that he lets himself breathe. There's nothing more he can do now and he knows himself. He's going to stay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling until he can't think any longer. If he tries to go to the Gladiators and take his frustration out there, it'll be just as little good; he'll just be sore and exhausted in a way that isn't relaxing at all. They need him at 100% - they all need to be there. The only saving grace is that they don't get started until midday tomorrow, which means he has time for a cat nap if Keith's occupied, or he ends up anxious all night anyway.

A quick scan of the hallway reveals it's empty, and gently, he raps on the door, pressing his fingertips to the sensor to get it to open up. He doesn't go in; Keith's space is clearly defined, it's Keith's space, but he's used to checking if he's actually there or not so he's not knocking on an empty door. ]

Hey. Don't suppose you'd mind company? I need to...not think about the plan for a while, after a week straight of doing nothing but thinking about the plan.

[synchronized]

—Hey.

[ keith had left dinner early. small talk has never been his wheelhouse, so to speak, and there's only so much of the stilted, awkward, we're likely going to die tomorrow but let's pretend we're in good spirits mood going on that he could take before he says something terrible to the rest of the table. food goo remained as tasteless as it ever was. the galra from the blade of marmora are as discomfiting to look at as always, their presence a hard reminder of their shared biology.

and even if princess allura's assured him that his galra genetics don't define him, he can't help but feel its weight pressing painfully between his shoulder blades. pinning him down to the proverbial floor of his mind. so keith ends up in room ahead of shiro, where he's flipping his knife back and forth to keep his hands occupied, hoping it'll disengage his mind from ramping up on overthinking. it's not really working, but it's something to do.

that's how shiro finds him, when he arrives - keith sitting on the floor of his room, tossing the knife from one hand to the other, the blade dancing in the low light. keith looks up to shiro, eyes darkening at the insinuation in the older man's words. the knife stops in one hand, keith's grip firm on the handle; he doesn't put it away just yet. he blinks, takes a moment before he answers. ]

Do you want me to work on your back first, or do you want to jump right in and choke me?

Or we could talk.

[toebeans]

[ The best, but also the worst part of it is that when he looks over at Pidge, Hunk and Lance, they're not depressed, they don't seem as anxious. Hunk's always a little anxious, but they're determined, more than anything else. As long as he, Allura and Coran keep up the act that they're all certain of what they're doing, the others will be fine.

Keith is the outlier. Keith knows him too well to think that Shiro's just...fine with all of this. Anxiety thrums under his skin, like an itch too deep to scratch so instead he's left hyper aware of it. Keith knows, more often than not, when he's pretending to be fine and when he actually is. Normally, this is inconvenient when he's trying to pretend but right now in a situation where there's no pretending things are okay, he's fine letting the faux-surety slip away. ]

How much of a hypocrite do I sound like if I say talking won't help?

[ He slides in the door and palms it closed, locks it, before coming over. Time together means he doesn't hesitate about this part; he always asks to come in, but once invited, he's comfortable enough in Keith's space to settle on the bed next to where Keith's sitting on the floor.

A pretty big hypocrite, he figures, since he always stresses the need for talking about what troubles them, but he also knows: there's no talking about this, now. ]

The plan's...solid. All the pieces are in place. We have all the contingency plans we can think of. By all rights, it should work. There's nothing else to talk about.

[ But.

There's always a but.

At the mention of his back - and Keith's throat, Shiro shifts over until his knees are on either side of Keith's shoulders and he can wind broad, thick arms around his chest, sliding a hand up to rest gently, thumb and index finger on either side of Keith's throat. It's an offer, his lips pressing against Keith's ear. ]

I can, if that's what you want.

[ What goes unsaid is that it's not necessarily what he wants. ]

[synchronized]

I wouldn't call you a hypocrite, Shiro. That sounds honest to me.

[ he turns his head to nuzzle against shiro's arm first, murmuring with his eyes closed as he does. shiro is— warm, runs warmer than he remembers him to be, and maybe that's a side effect of having an alien prosthetic attached firmly to his neural and physical systems. keith doesn't mind, doesn't care; he has him back. the kerberos mission wasn't a mistake, but the garrison giving up on the team was, and keith will always remain resentful for that fact.

but he's back now, he reminds himself, idly biting against shiro's sleeve before turning around. he's on his knees between shiro's legs, and shiro's hands are still wrapped loosely around his neck — a good sign. neither of them are too desperate yet.

we'll get there, keith thinks. i'll get you there.

he sits back on his heels, dragging shiro forward by the shirt collar and kissing him near-chastely on the mouth. the knife's handle presses gently against the back of shiro's neck, while keith mouths his way along shiro's jaw, along his cheek, down to the line of his neck.

if he had galra teeth, keith could break shiro's skin when he bites down on the softness just under the curve of his jaw. ]

I can wait. What do you need?

[toebeans]

The team doesn't need honesty.

[ You do, doesn't need to be uttered, but the long look that Shiro gives him is honestly enough, fills in the blanks between the words he says. Shiro shifts enough to let Keith move, tracing the line of his throat, the steady, soothing beat of his pulse with his thumb. The Galra hand shifts to his shoulder, holding there, steady without being too tight. All things in time. ]

Honesty would make people scared.

[ That part is murmured into Keith's mouth as the kiss breaks, brutal, awful honesty, his hand releasing from his throat to let Keith start that idle trail down from mouth to the line of his neck. It's soft with the threat of more; the edge of blunt teeth, the knife handle cold and unyielding unlike Keith who's a long line of warmth against him.

What do you need? Keith asks, and Shiro shudders out a breath. He's not so far gone, so foolish that he'd breathe what comes to mind instantly -- you. He's not a blushing kid in high school, he's not so needy that he can't handle things like an adult, but then again it's Keith. Keith, who doesn't trust or love easily, and who holds onto things with teeth and nails because too many things have been taken from him. Maybe a little honesty isn't bad, here. ]

You, here. [ There. A buffer, so it's not quite so much like laying his soul bare at Keith's feet. ] I'd say run through the plan again with me, but we've been through it so many times--

[synchronized]

—I've got it memorized, don't worry.

[ it's a little bit of humor, a peppering of assurance to flavor the heady taste of shiro's skin on his tongue. keith doesn't say that he's more likely to run off and do his own plan of attack if things go sideways, because they always do, but that's not what shiro needs to hear right now.

it's not what keith wants to talk about, either. ]

All right, [ he breathes out, dropping one hand to shiro's galra hand— pulling it away, firmly settling it on shiro's own thigh. keith gets up on his feet, graceful in the economy of his movements, presses a kiss to the top of shiro's head. the hand with the knife remains, now shifted so that the flat of the double-edged blade is resting on shiro's nape. keith keeps a thumb on shiro's pulse - digs the nail roughly against the vein. ] I've got you.

[ it's all the warning he offers shiro, as he takes a handful of the man's hair and yanks, titling shiro's head back and making him look up. ]

What's on the table and what isn't?

ok axel

[toebeans]

[ He doesn't need to say so, on the plus side. Shiro knows that Keith's on it - top of his class, besides being hyper competent. He has the plan in his mind and if he deviates from it, Shiro trusts that it's for good reason; everything Keith does is in his mind and Shiro knows he just needs a little more guidance, a little more time before he's good to lead on his own.

He has that in him - all he needs is to see it himself. ]

I know.

[ It's a low, soft sigh against Keith's belly as he leans into him, hand placed where it's instructed. Maybe that's part of why they get along so well; when Shiro'd first come to the Garrison, he'd been a little arrogant, a little mouthy until he'd learned better, until he'd grown into himself and respected people more. All he'd needed was someone to show him how, to have the patience to take time with him and help him grow from that into something good. Raw talent was shit unless it was honed into something useful.

That said, it still edges out once in a while. Keith yanks at his hair and it punches a soft, breathy little groan out of him; he looks up at Keith through his lashes and defiantly slides both hands back to Keith's hips, pushes his shirt up and licks a line over his belly, bites at the line of his hip. ]

Nothing that'll strain my arms too much tomorrow; I need to be able to pilot. [ Which means no restraints; half the time he can't stomach them anyway and they compromise by making him hold something without letting go to deal with it. A pause, and then wryly: ] Need to be able to sit comfortably tomorrow, too, but a little bruising or discomfort isn't so bad. Nothing -- no humiliation.

[ The latter happens even more rarely; sometimes he wants to be degraded, wants to be taken down a notch from the flawless leader into something else, broken down and then built back up into something worthy of Keith's time, but not tonight, not with so important of a mission ahead. ]

wrong franchise!!!

[synchronized]

[ he sighs at the first brush of shiro's mouth against his skin, and keith lets himself sink into the feeling of it - head tilting aside a bit, eyes falling half-lidded as he looks down at shiro. this man, for whom he'd cross universes to find again, if he ever lost him - this man who's become everything he's ever needed in the years since he lost his father. shiro's name on his tongue is like coming home; the solid feel of his weight against keith's body is gravity, keeping him anchored; the sound of shiro's voice in his ears is like a lighthouse, drawing him in to safety.

keith sets the blade aside, finally. he needs his hands, as he nods in acknowledgment, the hand on shiro's hair gentling for a moment only to return with twice the pressure in his grip. ]

Some other time, then.

[ it's a promise, as sincere as anything keith has ever promised to shiro. if he's being honest, he's yearning to mess shiro up in the filthiest ways he can muster - but they don't have the time for that. not yet.

keith lets shiro keep his hands on his hips for now; start things easy, and the heavy parts of this engagement can come with ease. he strips his gloves, takes off his jacket - that's as far as keith plans on taking off for now. which isn't to say that he stops there, far from it. with practiced ease he works his belt off its loops with his free hand, lets it fall to the floor with a quiet sound.

he gives a quick pull on shiro's hair, pushes on his lower lip with two fingers. ]

If you want to slow down, tap my left thigh twice. You want to stop, two taps on my right. Otherwise you keep your hands to yourself.

[ keith waits for a sign of acknowledgment, before continuing: ]

Work me open, I want your mouth on me.

[toebeans]

[ The blade leaving the back of his neck feels strange, almost - the cold of it was something jarring, something sharp to focus on, the almost-threat of it enough to get his stomach flipping in a good way. He doesn't push too hard just yet - punishment can be fun, sometimes, but he's not sure if that's what Keith wants here so he'll let him set the pace.

When the hand in his hair vanishes, he tilts his head from head to side just to stretch it out and then waits, not quite obediently, but close enough. Part of him itches to help Keith remove all of that, but he didn't ask for help, so he keeps his hands in place until they're in the way of the belt being loosened. It slithers free, hits the ground with a solid thunk and then he's being jerked up again, dragged where he needs to be.

Shiro's eyelashes flutter with it, breathing out a soft, pleased noise at the pull, the sharpness of it. Nothing Keith does short of breaking limbs or actually breaking skin has ever well and truly hurt him; the Galra made sure that his perception of pain was a little more than just backwards. The instructions are clear, easy to follow and remember which is good; when he gets too deep into this headspace he can remember some things, but the simpler, the better. ]

Yes, sir.

[ Shiro murmurs it against Keith's finger, dares to shift enough that he can drag his tongue over the flat of his fingers and then sucks them into his mouth with a pleased hum, but it's teasing, too. Keith said he had to keep his hands to himself after getting him undone, sure. Didn't say anything about his mouth, yet, so he scrapes his teeth lightly over Keith's fingers and lets out a throaty little moan, playing it up, rolling his eyes up to look at Keith through his lashes again. It buys time for him to work his fingers up, to undo his zipper, flick open his button and work those out of the way so he can get Keith's cock out. ]

[synchronized]

[ it will never stop feeling like a punch to the gut, the way shiro's mouth accommodates him in everything. the way shiro calls him sir - the throaty purr of the word when it comes from shiro, even outside of the context of his bedroom.

keith's mouth falls open just a bit, breath hitching in a way that's hard to read for anyone other than shiro - it's a small sound that escapes from him, something like a sigh that's darkened at the edges, not quite a moan. something sharper. any other time keith wouldn't hesitate to shove his fingers as far as they can go down shiro's throat; from experience, he knows how deep he can go before a gag reflex kicks in. he settles for a slow pace, rolling the pads of his fingers languidly along the length of shiro's tongue, teases the back of his throat in mindful imitation of what he wants to do to the team's ever-steadfast leader.

(sometimes he fantasizes about situations that won't fly in polite conversation - piloting the red lion while shiro's spend dries between his thighs, sending shiro off to a diplomatic meeting while his own come dries on his face, riding roughshod on shiro's ass while he's on the comms line with allura.)

(sometimes he wants to bite down hard on shiro's skin and leave a scar behind, and it terrifies him - shiro's biggest scars are are in the hands of the galra. keith's supposed to be different.)

his hips rock against shiro's fingers, impatient. ]

What did I say about your hands, Shiro?

[toebeans]

[ Much as Keith likes making a ruined mess of Shiro, it goes both ways. He's never, ever thought of Keith as lesser, or weaker, or unable to take whatever he dishes out. There's more caution behind it, when he lets himself go because he's always, always afraid that he'll go too far with him and actually hurt him. His worst nightmare is having a flashback in the middle of something and hurting Keith irreparably, doing something that he can't ever take back or fix.

They haven't come to that point before, though, so Shiro does what he can to stifle his mind's non-stop concerns and focuses everything on Keith: the Keith in front of him, not the one in his head where the worst of his thoughts crawl up, inky and dark and drag him down, too. ]

Did you want me to get you out with my teeth?

[ Cheekily, letting Keith's cock loose from its confines, and while Keith's fingers are in his mouth it really comes out more of a Thid thoo-- but the point gets across. Either way, he slides off of Keith's fingers with a wet kiss to the tip and then settles his hands into his lap obediently, shifting enough that he can press lazy, sweet kisses along the line of his hips, nose into the trail of hair leading down to his cock. He spends a little time just -- well, another person might call it teasing, but he thinks of it as worshiping what he's got, mouthing kisses across the weight of him until finally, finally, he lets his tongue loll out and swipes it across the tip of him, gently working Keith into his mouth.

This part, he loves. He's always loved going down on his partners, whichever kind of equipment they might have. He loves going down on Keith, though - loves that they know how to work with each other so well in everything. Loves that he can part his lips and tilt his head back and start working him to full hardness with soft, wet noises, breathing in and smelling, tasting him, watching Keith through the fringe of his hair. ]

i had to edit my dialogue huffs

[synchronized]

It's an idea.

[ it's not a new one, either. they've both had their share of instances where they got as close to the edge as they could possibly get without irreparably hurting one another. keith's certainly nowhere near had his fill of shiro's teeth leaving marks on all of his softest parts. he loves the bites and scratches shiro leaves behind; the aches they leave behind remind him of shiro's presence, that he's alive, that he's within reach, never mind well and and in one piece.

keith takes what he can get. he'll take an inch of gentleness and a mile of bruising if that's what it takes to keep shiro close.

the care with which shiro pays attention to him will never stop driving the air out of keith's lungs. just like now - the soft noises, the light attentions of shiro's tongue on him, the slow lave of his tongue on keith's length. it's almost unbearable, sometimes - it feels like an unraveling, like being pulled apart mask by mask until keith is laid bare in every possible way.

no one else makes keith feel so vulnerable. no one else is allowed to.

he lets shiro have his way for a little more, before his patience starts to fray. keith tests shiro's readiness, carding through the white fringe sweetly as he rolls his hips in tight circles into the heat of shiro's mouth. shiro is good, more than good at giving head - any other time, this would be enough. but this isn't any other time; they have a countdown running in their heads, ever-present even though it's muted in the background for now. ]

Breathe, [ he orders shiro, drawing his knee up to rest on the mattress - it's leverage. one hand comes down on shiro's shoulders, squeezes in warning if the tightening grip on the back of shiro's head isn't enough. keith pulls back, rests the head of his length on the flat of shiro's tongue, thrusts back hard - does it again, and again, and again, watching shiro's face as he does. ]

[toebeans]

Yeah?

[ He manages it only when he's got Keith's cock resting just at the tip of his tongue, looking up at him for a long moment before he sinks down again, buries Keith's cock in his mouth and God, he could cry with how good it is, how good it feels. No one else can undo him so fast, so hard, so easily, but he doesn't want anyone else to undo him. Keith's perfect, even if he doesn't say it enough, even if Keith doesn't let himself hear it enough.

Keith might like taking him apart but Shiro loves it just as much. Loves knowing that he's aware of every single little hot spot on his body, loves knowing which order to touch him in, what little things build him up the fastest. He can't use his hands right now but he also doesn't need to, not for this.

Finally -- God, finally, Keith moves into it, rolls his hips in those testing little circles that means he's ramping up to what he really wants to do and Shiro makes a muffled noise around the length half-buried in his mouth, eager. The bed shifts underneath him and he braces himself more fully on it; one hand to his left, the other to his right, his fingers curling lightly around Keith's boot, the ankle of it to press and hold. They're thick enough he won't worry about pressing bruises into Keith's skin there, so he doesn't worry about squeezing too hard. No hands, he remembers abruptly, but he doesn't care.

The order doesn't go unnoticed, either. He breathes, obediently, relaxes himself to take whatever it is that Keith's going to give him, when he's going to give it. When he finally pulls back and thrusts home, it's good. It always rides the edge of too much, too hard, but he doesn't care; Keith always knows just how far to take it, just how much he can take. Besides, right now, it's not his job to think about what Keith wants. It's his job to open his mouth and take whatever it is that Keith gives him, to breathe through his nose and swallow around the curve of his dick, eagerly trying to give as good as he's getting. The wet noises of Keith's cock sinking home and the little chk-- each time he bottoms out, fills Shiro's mouth and leaves him shuddering is good: it's overwhelming in the best of ways and his eyelashes flutter shut, trying to work his tongue over Keith each time he's able. ]

for toebeans ( au )

[synchronized]

[ a small vessel that had exited from an anomalous wormhole had shot out in a straight line like a plasma shot, and crashed into one of the blade outposts, setting off the headquarters' alarms from the concentration of quintessence signatures resulting from the impact.

keith was on patrol with thace when it had happened, on board a stealth fighter monitoring for cloaked altean spycraft. they watched as the smallcraft penetrated the force fields protecting the outpost, and if keith had to guess from the alert sound of surprise coming from thace, something about it was out of the ordinary. fighting the empire in the name of liberation is part of daily life for any blade; what would make a suicide attack on one of their bases particularly different?

he suits up all the same. they make it to the outpost in record time, thace jumping out of the fighter before it's even started the landing, and keith jumps right after him. it's chaos on the ground level -the north wing is on fire, the smallcraft having crashed right into it. shots are being fired, and the west wing - the clinic, keith realizes with cold dread - is being evacuated onto the tarmac. the fighting is moving towards the control center, and it's all keith could do in the meantime to keep up with thace as they detour over the ledges to cut through and intercept the altean attackers.

only there aren't any attackers. in fact, there's only just one - and for an altean he fights like a galra, taking down entire groups of seasoned fighters with literally anything he can get his hands on— his arm! it's galra tech! keith hears the outpost tech engineer shout over the comms, and the cold dread in keith's belly solidifies into a heavy weight. only galra tech can interface with galra designs; it's a rudimentary but effective security to keep their communications out of the empire's hands.

keith throws himself into the fight, despite thace's warning not to. he draws the fire to him, and only him, as he matches the altean spy the best he can, even if he's slowly being edged out into a defensive stance from the blows he's taking. it's enough distraction for thace to get a clean shot in, though - a stun shot, just as a finishing blow was about to descend on keith's cloaked head.

kolivan takes over not even a varga later. the spy is carted away, bounded and gagged and fully restrained; keith thinks it would've been smarter to just end the spy's life then and there, but ulaz insists on the value of information. thace - to keith's irritation - agrees, before shuffling keith to the outpost clinic's salvaged work area to get tended to.

keith doesn't hear much about the spy after that; he's only fighter rank, and even though he has access to thace's sheave he keeps out of it in respect. the spy made two escape attempts, even getting as far as the hangar - keith overhears ulaz and thace argue over the merits of removing the spy's arm entirely when the two senior officers had thought keith had already fallen asleep. he goes out on a few more missions and forgets about the spy until he's called in one day to kolivan's office - his guardians both present with worrying looks on their faces.

the spy, kolivan starts with. keith's imagination starts running away from him - he's done a few immersion missions before, pretending to be an altean half-breed. have they finally gotten information out of the spy? will he be on the mission roster? keith's already starting on a list of things to set up and pack when kolivan stops him right on his tracks with two words: he's human.



that's how keith finds himself crouched in front of the spy with his mask on, in the holding cell, watching the prisoner eat the meal keith had brought him. he's going to get chewed out within an inch of his life when kolivan finds out, keith knows, and vorla won't forgive him for the unnecessary electrocution keith had put him through just to intercept the meal tray, but it's worth it. keith hopes it's worth it, anyway.

he's never met another human before. ]

[toebeans]

[ He doesn't know exactly how long he's been held captive by the Galra, but he supposes it doesn't matter. There's comfort in that, though, he supposes. Haggar keeps him around and alive because she hasn't found a better substitute among the other aliens, and since she hasn't found a better human, that means that everyone else is, as far as he can tell, still safe. So he grits his teeth and bears it. Waits for the battle that eventually will take him down, because no one's luck is this good, even if he wouldn't really call any of this luck. The longest any of the other fighters have lasted is five years, or whatever alien equivalent it is. (He does, of course, know it. He refuses to use it, trying desperately to stick to English, or Japanese if he needs to.)

His defiance amuses her, he thinks. She breaks him into pieces and dumps him back in the empty cell and waits to see just what will make him crack. He's getting close, that much he thinks is certain. He's tired. He doesn't know what she wants from him these days, but he knows that if he finally, finally dies, then this is all over. Matt-- God, Matt's probably not even alive anymore. He wouldn't have been able to fight like this, not for this long.

The Galra they have watching him this time sees...something, because he doesn't take him the normal route this time. Shiro limps his way with him and barely registers the question, head still ringing from Haggar's magic. Aren't you going to fight? the Galra asks, like a leading question, like Shiro's not giving the responses he's supposed to.

At least he's disappointing someone other than himself, right? He bares his teeth and nearly trips, exhausted. Maybe I'm done fighting.

He expects his insolence to be met with a cell. With torture, maybe, though he has another fight to do tomorrow, so maybe not. Instead, the Galra leads him into the infirmary and starts tending to his injures but there's something...wrong about it. Too quick, but still actively trying to patch him up rather than send him on his way. He keeps looking at the timer on his wrist, too, but Shiro's too tired to guess why. Nothing makes sense, not he realizes the second location is the hangar -- from there it's a blur. The Galra dies -- dies protecting him. Shiro's too panicked and tired and worn to understand it but he grabs his dagger, pockets it and stows himself away on the ship. Steals the ship almost as an afterthought -- (he's a pilot, isn't he?) punching in coordinates and thinking anywhere is better than here.

When he wakes up, he's crashed again. Anywhere is not better than there -- there's more Galra and Shiro's tired, God, he's so tired. He keeps the dagger hidden under the pilot's seat and fights with his arm, instead, cutting through them without killing them if he can. The end, when it comes, is a relief. He's in the middle of fighting one of the smallest Galra he's ever seen when he's hit by something and bites nearly through his tongue at the sharp spread of electricity. It sends him to his knees, then leaves him face-planted into the ground, the darkness thankfully swallowing him whole.

Whoever has him now, they're still Galra. They don't talk much, but they want the same thing, always the same thing. Information. Who is he. What's he doing here. How did he get here. Shiro buys time by pretending like the translators don't work, spending his first day near comatose. The second and third, he tries to escape again, but exhaustion, malnourishment do him in each time. He learns, though. There's a way out if he's done it twice and they still haven't removed the arm. They're stupider, here, maybe. He can use that.

His third will be more careful. He'll bide his time. He still hasn't really talked to any of them, giving them big, guileless gray eyes when they ask, if he's not snapping and biting at them for coming too close. One of them - the littlest one, brings him food and he's not so stupid as to not take it. Table manners have long since been lost. Shiro digs his fingers into it and eats as quickly as he can, braced protectively over it, watching the Galra warily. There might not be any other prisoners he has to fight to keep his food his, but that doesn't mean they won't take it away if they want to.

Strangely, though, they don't. He finishes it, licks his fingers clean and just to be petty, tosses the tray at the Galra. Bares his teeth in a threat, straightens himself up to his full height and clenches his fist, waiting. They haven't told him what they want yet. If they want him to fight, at least he's used to that, but this...just...sitting is driving him half as crazy as anything else. ]

What.

[ It's spit out in Galran, the single word full of disdain. ]

[synchronized]

[ the tray skitters along the floor noisily - keith wrinkles his nose under the mask. such manners, he thinks disapprovingly. the spy - the human, by the stars if it still doesn't send keith's mind spinning at the thought - draws himself up to his full height, teeth bared and ready to fight, not even bothering to say his thanks.

not that keith had expected it; the human's their captive, after all. he doesn't look half bad, he even allows. he's always wondered if his own small frame was the average for his biological father's race - what kind of planet did they have, that they grew small and lean and gangly? but this human, he was more like the galra, if a deal more hairless. he had a decent crest and some scruff, not unlike ulaz, as well as a respectable breadth at the shoulders, and while he's definitely shorter than most galra, he's certainly a lot taller than keith is. this human looks every inch a fighter. the thought comforts keith, in a way - even if his own body isn't his ideal, at least his father's race aren't as weak as had once thought they'd be.

(if he's being honest, the human's face is appealing, too - even if he's decidedly ugly by galra standards. keith is embarrassed for himself.) ]

So you do understand us, [ keith replies from his perch on the floor. he'd heard that the spy was either brain-damaged or unlearned in galra; the thrill of new information is dampened by the foreseeable reprimands he'll get when he's asked how he came upon the information in the first place. whatever. he'll deal with it when he gets to that point. ] Your accent is horrible.

[ if anything, keith drops himself into a cross-legged position, using the tail of his cloak to keep the floor dirt off the seat of his uniform. his presence clearly puts the human on edge; it's an advantage that he needles by deliberately setting himself at ease. you're not a threat to me, keith communicates with his posture. you don't alarm me. ]

Did you like your meal? [ keith takes some fruit out from a pouch on his belt; to a human, they look like large fat grapes, juicy and purple. ] Maybe you'd like some fruit to wash it down. The gruel is always too salty when Vorla's on mess duty.

[ was he talking too fast? perhaps the human hasn't met a native galra speaker. ]

I just want to talk.

[toebeans]

[ This wouldn't be so infuriating if they'd just tell him what they want. Fight him, or kill him, or experiment on him but this waiting will kill him faster than anything else. He hates it, the anxiety of it. He won't let his guard down, though. Haggar had tried it, once, and only once.

There's still a part of him that thinks this isn't real. Haggar's played tricks on him with his mind before. Keith's rescued him, once. Once, it was his mother and father, coming through the door, faces drawn, pale, before they were taken down in front of him. Once, he'd been home. He'd woken up in his own bed, curled into the covers and cuddled with his dog before it was all dragged away. He's not an idiot. If this is fake, it'll fade eventually. If it's not, they are just waiting for Haggar's ship to come pick him up. She wouldn't want her prize dog getting away. The kindness - if that's what this is, is unnecessary. Unwelcome.

Of course, once he's spat the word out, it's clear he has some sort of understanding of Galra. They never updated his translation unit, but he'd learned enough Galra in the years he's been captive to understand enough. He can piece sentences together. He can understand enough to survive.

Shiro adjusts his hair - tied back with a strip of the purple cloth that he'd worn earlier until he'd repurposed it. Now, it laid on the cot he was given, something to strangle a guard with if he needs to.

What he expects is -- well. He doesn't know what he expects but it's not...this. Not the Galra plopping himself down in front of him, glowing eyes hanging like fat moons in the dim lighting. Maybe he's young. Age never mattered with Galra ferocity - Shiro's long sense stopped trusting in the lack of bloodthirstiness with regards to age, but-- well. He's not attacking.

He's offering food. Shiro can put together enough words to understand what he means by it, but it doesn't make sense. Why offer treats? The Galra have long since given up on getting information from him. That, they couldn't break him for. Maybe they think kindness will do it. Maybe, they think if he grows an attachment to his captor and they use him as bait or a hostage, Shiro will fall for it. He hasn't yet, but these are new Galra. ]

I won't talk.

[ He doesn't know the right words to say I won't give up information, but this works well enough. He stalks forward instead, tries to go for the fruit, swiping at it. ]

[synchronized]

[ well, this is frustrating.

he lets the human take the fruit from his outstretched hand, though he keeps one for himself to chew on; the man isn't illiterate, but keith had dealt with unilu with better attitudes than this guy. maybe it's a human thing? keith certainly remembers being a proper brat when he was younger. perhaps some of the more racist epithets his peers had thrown them back in training had some merit.

perfect, he's even more annoyed now. ]

I'm not here to interrogate you about your attack. [ he can at least be honest on that front; keith's intentions are a lot more selfish. he didn't even arm himself, in spite of what common sense dictates. ] How did you reach the Empire? Terrans - humans - don't have the tech to travel very far from their solar system.

[ keith had always wondered, of course. his mother had left him holovids of earth, as well as photographs of his father. the planet is filled with so many contradictions - snow tundras on some areas, lush greenery in others, flat deserts in others still. it was a thriving ecosystem unlike keith had ever visited or read about, and it disappoints him as equally as it baffles him that such a rich environment hasn't allowed for the humans to flourish and reach intergalactic travel.

it's not like he can't go to earth himself. thace had shown him the route, given him the coordinates, but it was always for the nebulous after - when the war was over, when the universe was at peace, when they're not fighting anymore. even if he wanted to go now, it was still at least a few decaphebes away, even with FTL travel. with the work keith does with the blades, he can't justify the trip to his father's home just to see what it's like.

this human will have to do. ]

How did you make it this far without dying?

[toebeans]

[ ...That was easier than he expected. Shiro takes the grapes and then retreats to the corner of the room where he has full view of the door and the newcomer. There's no threat in his body language but that can change more quickly than he wants or expects; it's happened before.

He hopes the grapes are edible to humans, but figures if it's not, then that's...that, isn't it? If he's being held for Haggar, though, they'd likely check. These Galra are smarter than the other ones he's been kept by. They'll likely have checked to make sure they don't poison him.

One gets popped into his mouth. The bite and then crush of sweet juice is so foreign that he can't hide his reaction. His eyes go wide and he knows shock is written across his face, chewing, and then swallowing. He eats the next one quickly and then stares between the newcomer and the treats. If he eats them all quickly, there's none left and he hasn't had fresh fruit in...a long time. Too long. He doesn't even remember. But if he doesn't eat it all now, he could change his mind. Take them back. The choice is awful and he thinks this is more cruel than other things they've done lately. He eats all but three of them in a rush, barely listening to what the Galra says, piecing together words here and there.

Only when the last few are left does he work slowly. Bites into one. Licks the juice off his fingers. Lets it rest in his mouth and repeats, watching warily. ]

Takashi Shirogane. Kerberos mission. 1179875.

[ There's no small bit of spite in his tone at the last one. He doesn't give his military number or ID any longer. He gives the one they gifted him, just to be a pain. As to how he got here, though: he eats the other half and then licks his thumb, daring to be smug, daring to talk back. He'll see where the boundaries lie; maybe they're not allowed to hurt him. ]

I killed everyone who tried to kill me.

[synchronized]

[ for his part, keith lifts the lip of his mask and bites a small chunk off the fruit. he's not ready to take the mask off just yet, and there's a weird kind of joy in watching the human eat. keith himself had done similar, when thace first gave him fruit he assured keith he could stomach - most of the galra diet didn't suit his omnivorous digestive tracts (keith has two, ulaz always reminds him with wonder in his voice), and so anything he could actually eat he hoarded.

thace had curbed that habit quickly, of course, but sometimes keith feels the urge to keep a chest of things he can take without problem.

—ah, the human is talking again. ]

That's a prisoner number, [ keith recognizes. 117-98-75. it's easy enough to remember. he mulls over the implications of the information as he savors the tangy sweetness of the fruit; it's not visible to the man, but he's frowning deeply. is this a trick, perhaps? it's easy enough to assume a prisoner code - the alteans aren't careless about their prisoners but they're not the most gentle with them either. keith knows of entire jail transports "disappearing" into open space, or malfunctioning in the middle of warp speed, with the captives never to be heard from again. it's cruel without being violent. keith curses the alteans in the quiet of his mind.

this had better not be a trick, he thinks. ]

Tahkash Shirganeh...? [ the fluid syllables sound weird; it's like rolling pebbles along his teeth, but oddly, they feel comfortable on his tongue. ] You escaped from Altean prison? How did you manage that?

[toebeans]

[ He wants to rip that mask off - it's instinct, these days. He wants to tear it off and see what's underneath, just like he wants to with the Druids. He's never been able to; the only time he'd even gotten close, he'd hooked his fingers under the sharp point of it and then his arm had been broken in three spots. He's not even sure how it happened; one moment, it worked. The next, he'd blacked out from pain. They hadn't fixed it for weeks as punishment and made him fight a single battle. It was only when he'd won that they'd let him get healed.

Maybe he hasn't learned, because he still wants to. His fingers itch for it.

All of the Galra here dress the same, but this one -- the way he acts. The fact that he's here, unarmed as far as Shiro can tell, and that he's brought snacks? Royalty, maybe. A favored nephew or son, a high caste in the Galra society. Come to gawk at the pet the Galra have until it's shipped off. It wouldn't be the first time. He's had patrons before-- that he didn't think of it until now makes him furious at himself. He should have known. Stupid. Stupid. ]

Of course. And your pronunciation is shit. [ The pronunciation isn't terrible but he doesn't have time for rich, Galra brats come to stare at the pets their fathers or uncles keep. He doesn't need another patron. But maybe -- maybe, the kid is important enough to be a hostage. It's worth finding out, especially if he keeps coming here. Shiro's been trapped years; he knows how to wait. He doesn't know the word Altean, but it doesn't matter. There are plenty of races he hasn't met, but from the way the Galra talks about them, it's similar to how others talk about the Galra. Huh.] Altean? The Galra are the only monsters I've run into in the galaxy.

[synchronized]

[ keith hisses.

it's nothing like the sharp whistling sound that antok makes, or the low rumble from thace when keith's gotten himself in serious trouble, but he makes a pretty good version of the galran growl. how dare this man compare them with the alteans. how frakking dare him. ]

The Alteans destroyed our home. They murdered our people when we sought refuge among the empire's allies. And you call US the monsters?!

[ he's gotten up on his feet, keith realizes with irritation. goaded yet again - it didn't even take a lot. keith knows his father had died fighting with the blades, had died by altean hands mere quintants after he'd been born. his mother followed a decaphebe later, before he was even weaned off on milk - galra tradition demanded she avenge her mate, and that's what she had done even if her wounds from the fight had taken her to the stars after her victory.

keith has no memories of his father's true voice, or his mother's touch. the blades are his family, by bond if not by blood, but he can't forgive the alteans that have taken so much from their people — still taking from them, even now.

he takes one step forward, just one towards this human, but he stops. be at peace, he thinks on, thace's voice echoing in his head. open your fists, and be at peace. keith pushes the cloak hood off his head, squares his shoulders even as he unwinds his braid from around his neck. with his small, rounded ears being on the sides of his head instead of high up at the frame of his crest, he's clearly not the typical galra.

doesn't matter. he can take this human down. Keith unlatches his mask and lets it slide back into his collar. ]

Take your insult back, and I won't fight you.

[toebeans]

[ Shiro smiles, and it's all mean edges. He can't remember the last time he smiled just to smile - months ago, maybe, when Ixthlyl had snuck him extra bread rations from her shift doing meals. This isn't a good smile, but it doesn't matter. He struck a nerve.

Young, then. Young, maybe rich. Entitled, but still with a temper. Probably gets in trouble in his courses because he's either smarter than everyone else or thinks he is. Either way, he can work with this. He knows how to work with it; he'd helped Keith when they were back at the Garrison, even if it'd been more mutual help than anything else. Keith helped him loosen up, helped him drop his walls and Shiro helped him open up to other people. They balanced each other.

That's - that's not for her, though. He shuts down that train of thought before she can grasp it, if she is in his head. Instead, he listens. Frowns. Altean, Galra, it doesn't really matter. Maybe there's a translation error, but it doesn't seem like it. Whatever the Galra is upset about, he can hold onto that. Use it as a weakness. Shiro files it away and sinks back into his corner, eating the last of the grapes nonchalantly. It's popped into his mouth withe a little hum, clearly meant to work him up. He'd normally bide his time but if the Galra wants to attack, well. He's not spoiling for a rematch but he would.

Of course. That goes to shit the moment he takes off that helmet. Shiro freezes in places and hates it, hates himself for being so transparent. Keith isn't touched by Haggar's illusions often because he can normally protect those memories from that. He keeps certain things to himself, tries to make sure they're not seen as too valuable. Apparently, his little bit of thinking was enough. The mask gets removed and it's Keith under it, which means his prior thought was right. This is a test. He knows how to pass. No reaction, nothing but fury, calm fury. ]

Get out. You can't convince me you're him; not again.

[synchronized]

Who do you think you're talking to?

[ keith doesn't hesitate in closing the distance between them, this time, gloved hand taking hold of the human's crest as he pushes him flat against the wall. he's used to sparring with galra twice this man's size; keith doesn't have to work too hard to slam him back, but his anger makes him careless. the walls are rough, he knows - they'll abrade the soft porous human skin, just as keith knows it would on his own skin. good, he thinks. it'll sting. the man deserves it for the insult. ]

You crashed into outpost. You killed people with your ship - good people, with families and children. Father wanted you dead, and you should've been - you ungrateful human. We have been good to you. We healed you, fed you, kept you clean.

Whatever the Alteans offered you or your people, it's not worth it. They'll destroy your homes. They'll enslave your people, brainwash them if they can't be coerced to serve.

[ keith wishes he had claws. wishes he had sharper canines, stronger muscles, longer bones. he grips the man by the jaw and matches the man's furious stare with one of his own - it's only kolivan's standing orders of keeping this prisoner alive that keeps keith from truly lashing out with deadly force. ]

You clearly don't need non-cogs to be a slave. You sold yourself to them, didn't you? For what?

[ he's leaking salt again. why is he so angry? is it because this man is human, and so clearly under altean control? are the rest of the humans on the empire's side? this has to be why thace wouldn't let him see this prisoner.

even when keith's a full-fledged blade, he's still being protected. he can't stand it. ]

If you are what humans are like, then I don't want to be human like you.

[toebeans]

[ Normally, when he's discovered the ruse, Haggar ends it. Once he's figured it out, there's no point in drawing it out further because he shuts down. She wants him complacent and broken, but not tot he point of incoherence. The problem is, this doesn't...stop. It doesn't end.

The thing wearing Keith's face stalks forward and slams him to the wall, drags him against it. The pain feels real - more real than it normally does when she does this. He closes his eyes, barely listening and tries to focus against it. There are things that are always...wrong when she does this to him. There's no smell, no taste, no feeling, not really. It's like everything is muted, like a dream.

He can feel this, though. There's pain. There's the taste of grapes in his mouth, unfamiliar. There's the smell of Keith, this close, warm and familiar but different enough he knows that something is off.

Fear crawls through him, something awful he hasn't felt in ages. Whatever she's done, whatever trick this is, it's too real. Does she want him to fight and kill him? He's never done it before, but he doesn't know what she wants. Worse: Keith's eyes well up, tears shining in them. It's too real - it's too real and he hates it. ]

Stop-- [ It's choked out in English this time, the fear evident in his voice, hands trembling. He can't, he won't. He won't kill him, even this illusion of him. ] You have what you want, you don't need me to do this, I won't, I won't--