I don't wanna sail tonight

[bde]

[ It was supposed to be simple. In the aftermath of the war, there were handfuls of planets which had access to outside information so thoroughly suppressed that they were unaware they were now free. Rarer still, planets in distant corners of the universe that had been unaware of the war at all. It’s a big decision, to reach out to those planets, unsure if a visit will constitute first contact, but weighed against the possibility that should invasion ever happen again they may have no allies to call upon, it’s the lesser evil. It’s one of these trips that Shiro volunteers for. One of the diplomats who was supposed to be involved is needed elsewhere, and the visit is set to be delayed, and Shiro – bored while Keith is away working with the Blades and something of an ambassador-by-default due to his work with Voltron – offers to step in.

It’s not until they’re close to landing and all the communications on their ship cut out that they realize their mistake. This isn’t a planet that has escaped the war at all – it’s the first kind, still in the grips of it, mining their own resources to be sent offworld to make weapons and ships for a now-defunct empire. Shiro is surprised to find almost no Galra presence at all – most of the guards are natives of the planet itself, as is the woman he’s taken to when he asks to speak to whoever is in charge. He explains, carefully, that the war is over. That the Galra Empire has fallen. That they’re free.

There’s pure, undisguised hate in her eyes when she responds. This is a test, she spits. I know who you are, Champion. I won’t give your masters a reason to slaughter the people I’ve sacrificed everything for the way you slaughtered my brother.

Pain, then, a bright flare of it as one of the guards hits the side of his head, and just enough time to see the rest of the delegation restrained before consciousness slips away from him.

~

It sounds almost like they’re underwater. He hears the whoosh of his pulse in his ears but the words – the questions he’s being asked, things he couldn’t answer even if he wanted about some conspiracy that doesn’t exist – are all far away, blurred. It takes long moments to realize he’s stripped down and restrained, but the information comes to him less in a flash of horror and more like remembering a nightmare – it’s distant, fuzzy, like it’s not really happening. One of the guards produces an implement that looks like a cross between a pitchfork and a cattle prod, the end lit up and sparking, and nothing changes but for sudden arrival of a high-pitched whine in his ears, and Shiro watches quietly. He’s quiet, too, when the door is torn from its hinges and people in tight black uniforms pour through, moving like water. One of them – the shortest – moves to him, rips off a hood that reveals yellow, slit-pupilled eyes and eye teeth like fangs, tips his chin up with a hand that ends in pointed claws and says his name, urgent and insistent.

Oh, Shiro says, Keith, before it’s all dark again.

~

He is uninjured. He knows this both from the feeling in his own body – a little tender where his head was hit and chafed at wrist and ankle where he was restrained – and from the checks that Keith insists on, more than once, to reassure himself. It’s better now, quiet in the room they’ve been given as he’s shuttled back to Earth, and he realizes that it wasn’t injury but overload that shut him down the second time.

He has a small army of therapists, back home. He hopes they’re not busy, and that they’re well-paid.

There’s been a debrief, though it was nothing that he couldn’t have guessed. The poor woman was insane, acting as slavemaster to her own people in the belief that it would keep them safe, and if it hadn’t been for the extremely timely arrival of the Blades, Shiro and the rest of the delegation would likely be dead by now. The remains of the last batch of offworlders to touch down on the planet were testament to that.

This information comes to Shiro via pad, while Keith paces the length of the room they’re in. Honestly, that’s more of a concern to Shiro than anything that happened. It’s not as if he hasn’t seen this reaction in Keith before, but it’s always been temporary. Fleeting, even – something that appears briefly with a loss of control or extraordinary stress, and then is gone just as quickly. Shiro’s never seen it cling to him this way. And it would be interesting, even beautiful, if it weren’t accompanied by the pacing and snarling and the need to make someone pay that Shiro can feel pouring off of Keith. Eventually, he sighs. ]

Keith. Would you come and sit down? I’m fine.

Comments

[bde]

[ Oh, fuck. He loves it when Keith's like this - needy, demanding. The pull to Shiro's hair and that tiny press up hit him like a reward for a job well done, like a drug, and he can feel his cock pulse with the want in him, the slick of precome it provokes. So when Keith demands more? He can't even think of disobeying. He presses in a second finger, and when that goes just as easily as the first he adds another without hesitation, moaning again at the feel of it.

Another time he might feel a little guilty about pulling his mouth off Keith's dick to tell him how good he feels, but the need is pulsing through him now, thumping along with his heartbeat, and he gasps as the head of Keith's dick leaves his greedy mouth with a wet pop. ]

Baby. Keith, you feel so good. I want you so bad.

[feralistic]

[ even with three of shiro's fingers stuffed inside him and shiro's mouth around his cock, it still isn't enough. so it's almost like shiro is echoing his thoughts out loud to him when he pulls off keith's dick long enough to say that, and honestly?

keith's only real complaint is that he's wasting time talking. ]

So do something about it. [ rolling his hips down onto shiro's fingers, the low noise that comes out of him only half for show. ] Weren't you gonna fuck me like I need?