Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Every blade’s suit has built-in scent blockers. Both for stealth on missions and because without them, it would be madness. Too many clashing scents, too much worry about the wounded, too much invasion of privacy. 

Of course, it is still strongly encouraged to disable the blockers when off-duty. Blades are certainly allowed to keep them activated, but free scent invites closeness and shows the need for pack. Ever important, during downtime. The closer the pack bond, the stronger the pack.

It makes every death harder, but it enables them to mourn the losses. To not think of each other as disposable, even with the mission. To not become a smaller version of the Empire.

Kolivan notices at once that Keith does not disable his blockers, and it worries him. The kit does not invite closeness, but it is not because he does not wish to. His body language screams for it, even with his scent dulled by the suit. But when touch is offered, he shies away.

It is… concerning.

Keith has proved himself fierce and strong. But he is not tireless, and he is not without need. His human pack is not here to scent him or keep him warm. And even the strongest alpha requires occasional comfort. 

Kolivan tries to reason with himself though. Keith is only half-galra. He might not even have presented yet. Or perhaps he has different needs. Kolivan reminds himself how, even at their first meeting, Keith had not worn the scents of his human pack.

Keith isn’t stupid; he wouldn’t knowingly put himself at risk. He wouldn’t put the mission at risk.

So Kolivan lets Keith continue on as he wishes. Not accepting pack scent. Not accepting pack warmth. Even as it pains Kolivan to do so, to let his newest, smallest pack member walk around smelling sterile and cold. He allows it.

Until Keith stumbles into the mess hall, clearly in the throes of solo pre-rut.

And Kolivan realizes his mistake. 

When one does not provide for the body, the body tends to rebel. An alpha forced into a solo rut without touch and scent to ground them risks spending it feral, lashing out desperately in order to experience the touch and scent of another, even if it’s through violence.

Kolivan frowns and approaches Keith cautiously. The suit’s scent blockers are still doing their job, so the anger-fight-need stench of an untreated pre-rut doesn’t permeate the mess hall, but everyone still takes notice. It’s hard not to, with Keith shaking with what is clearly barely-contained rage as he makes his way towards the serving tables.

Kolivan steps in front of him, blocking his path, and it’s only then that Keith notices him, which makes Kolivan frown harder. Keith came here looking for a fight and he’s so out of it he’s made himself an easy target. If Keith had gone into pre-rut on a mission–

He can’t stop the growl that emanates from him at the thought. Foolish, reckless kit.  

“L-Leader,” Keith manages, straightening his spine through what seems to be sheer force of will. Good. He isn’t so unaware that he won’t understand that Kolivan is furious. That this has become unacceptable.

Kolivan will drive his point home, making sure Keith understands why Kolivan will no longer allow him to hurt himself. He will not have a packmate compromise himself, in the field or on the base. Keith does not get to refuse the touches and scenting he needs and then try to recoup the losses by picking battles he will not win.

“What are you doing here?” Kolivan grits out. 

Keith’s eyes widen and he wobbles back a step, darting an uncertain glance at the serving tables. “I-I’m sorry? I was just–”

“You what?” Kolivan growls. Part of him is pleased that Keith knows to apologize, but the rest of him is uninterested in the excuse. “You decided to come here and provoke the pack? Unable to defend yourself?

“What?” Keith backs up again as Kolivan steps forward. “No, I–”

“This was not a good decision.” Kolivan puts some of his alpha tone into it to drive the point home. “You are vulnerable like this.” Keith stumbles and falls, only just catching himself on his elbows. The fight has drained out of him at hearing the pack alpha chastise his poor choices, which is at least a start, but it infuriates Kolivan more to see Keith this uncoordinated. If he had been on a mission–

Kolivan mourns every loss. 

“If you wish to remain a blade, you are going to let every pack member here touch you,” Kolivan says, voice going flat as he struggles to maintain control. All he can see in his mind’s eye is Keith going into battle like this and getting cut down. “You will accept our warmth and you will wear our scents proudly. Or you will leave.”

It cuts something inside him to say it. He’s accepted Keith into his pack, and it is a searing pain to think of sending him away. But if Keith will not accept scent and warmth from the blades, there’s no choice but to return him to his human pack so that he can get what he needs from them. Kolivan will not chance this happening again.

“Everyone?” Keith whispers, and his voice cracks as he says it.

Unease trickles down Kolivan’s spine. Keith is not baring his neck to be scented, a properly cowed galra offering up apology and requesting forgiveness and assurance from his pack leader. Instead he’s splayed out where he’s fallen and staring up at Kolivan with wide, stricken eyes as he trembles, breath coming in little, hitched gasps.

“Leader–” someone says tentatively, and it’s loud in the stark quiet of the room as Kolivan–as all of them–stare down at their smallest packmate.

Keith’s jolts at the new voice, and he turns his head, sucking in a horrible, wet breath as he seems to see the full mess hall for the first time. “Pl-please–” and his gaze snaps to Kolivan again. “Please, Leader, pl-please–”

He sounds terrified.

Kolivan moves without thinking, dropping to his knees, blood rushing in his ears as Keith flinches and emits a choked-off whimper when Kolivan reaches for his suit.

He disables Keith’s scent blockers with his override print in one swift movement, and the sudden burst of scent–

The scent is–

Pain-pain-heat-alone-threat-terror-heat-pain-unsafe-alone

“Please, don't,” Keith whispers as tears start to trail down his cheeks.

Kolivan keeps himself from rearing back as Keith’s scent slams into him. It near batters Kolivan down as horror and revulsion blooms in his throat, but Kolivan is not wearing a scent blocker either. His own scent has already done enough harm. 

Omegas are more sensitive to scent than an alpha or a beta, an expert tool they used to mediate and negotiate. Omegas are the heart of a pack, with the unique ability to unify the divided and calm even the worst of tempers or panics.

They are rarer, the gene near bred out of full-blooded galra. Weakness, Zarkon proclaimed, hiding the secret of his own fear, for properly trained omegas can wield their nature like weapons stronger than any druid. They are powerful, for what proper galra wouldn’t bow to care for or protect a pack’s heart, even one who wasn’t their own–and they are precious.

Keith is not in pre-rut. He had not been shaking with rage. He had been trembling with heat-sickness. A heat not brought on because he was feeling content and safe and he was gifting his pack with the chance to scent him and be close, but because Keith thought he was packless and his body was desperate for care

Keith is an omega. 

And he is crying on the floor, surrounded by a cloud of fear so strong that Kolivan wants to retch.

Kolivan takes a shallow breath through his mouth and slowly shuffles backwards, not rising from his crouch, not wanting to loom, telegraphing every movement as he puts space between them. Keith still lets out a high, thin sound, an omega in true distress calling out for pack. 

Pack that is all around, but that he does not feel he belongs with. That he expects to hurt him. 

It is as if he stabbed Kolivan in the gut.

The metaphorical knife twists as Keith scrabbles to his knees and tries to crawl forward. Towards Kolivan, even as his scent broadcasts threat unsafe threat pain “Leader please–” He has to stop, gasping for breath, and chokes on a sob. “N-not them all, please, please–”

“Everyone out.” Kolivan says quietly, only just managing to keep his own voice from shaking. 

A booming command with full alpha inflection could not have been more effective. His frozen, stricken pack snaps to action, rushing for the exits as quickly, efficiently, and as silently as possible.

Keith keens again, shrinking into himself as blades move around him, but everyone knows to give him a wide berth, even as some stumble as they go, clutching at each for support as they force themselves to leave an omega in distress. 

His eyes are wild as the mess hall empties, as his gaze once again settles on Kolivan, kneeling across from him on the floor.

“Just you?” he asks, voice quivering.

“Yes, kit,” Kolivan says, keeping his own voice soft. He works to calm his own pounding heart, to project safe warmth comfort with his scent. “It’s just me.”

Keith takes a great heaving breath and collapses. “Thank you, Leader,” he sobs. “Th-thank you.”

Kolivan does not deserve to be thanked. Perhaps ever again. But there is only one way to begin to fix this, even if it’s only temporary, until he can send Keith back to his human pack. He already knows a missive will have been sent out, because he knows his team.

“May I come closer?”

“Yes, Leader,” Keith chokes out.

Slowly, slowly, Kolivan moves forward, until he is right in front of Keith. There are so many things that need to be done. Keith needs assurance–a promise of safety, but to understand that he needs calm, to be lifted out of heat-fever, and the fastest way to do that–

“May I touch you?”

Keith goes horribly still as more tears fall. “Yes, Leader,” he whispers.

Still telegraphing his movements, Kolivan removes his vambraces and sets them on the floor, then pushes the sleeves of his suit up to bare his wrists before reaching forward. Keith doesn’t move but for the fine tremors running through him as Kolivan carefully takes his hand.

The panicked whimper Keith emits when Kolivan bares his slim wrist cuts Kolivan to the quick, but he uses it, uses his own pain to rumble back as soothingly as he knows how as he gently rubs at Keith’s scent gland, the flesh angry and inflamed from being untreated for so long.

“Shh,” Kolivan murmurs. “Shh, it’s alright. No harm will come to you. You’re safe, I give you my word.”

The note of hurt in Keith’s scent lessons minutely as Kolivan continues to exchange their scents, but what they’re doing now is almost a mockery of touch, just the barest taste of what Keith needs. But his eyes are glassy, and Kolivan doesn’t know how much he’s able to understand, so he tries to reassure Keith with what he knows will work the best-- the promise of pack.

“Don’t worry, kit. We’ll send you back as soon as possible.”

The low noise of pain blindsides him, as does the new, horrible spike of fear. “No,” Keith gasps, and this time he’s the one moving, throwing himself forward. “Please no, please don’t, Leader please–”

His hands fist in Kolivan’s jacket and Kolivan automatically brings his arms up to encircle him. It feels good and right, to hold him, to give him more touch and surround him with Kolivan’s scent. 

But Keith, so very small in his arms, only seems to be getting more frantic, temperature and scent spiking. “Please d-don’t send me away. Please, Leader, I-I’ll be good. Wh-whatever you want, I–”

Keith squeezes his eyes shut. “Whatever e-everyone w-wants,” he chokes out, sounding awful and broken. “Th-they can–a-anything, please–please d-don’t s-send me away.”

Too many horrible pieces slide into place. Keith is an omega in the midst of a heat borne of touch-starvation, and when told he would be returned to his human pack, instead of being happy, instead of his panic and fear draining at the assurance…

He would rather offer himself up for… for the unthinkable– 

Whatever everyone wants.

I’ll be good.

Please don’t send me away.

Something inside Kolivan snaps. 

But there is time for righteous anger at Keith’s p–at the people who should have been  Keith’s pack later. Now it is his job to fix this.

He pulls Keith in even closer, one arm curling around his back while he brings his other hand up to cup the back of Keith’s head. “I won’t send you away, kit. Shh, I won’t send you away. I promise.”

And if they want Keith back, they’ll have to pry him from Kolivan’s cold, dead hands.

“Th-thank you,” Keith hiccups, shaking in Kolivan’s arms. “Thank y-you, L-Leader.” His head is tucked right up underneath Kolivan’s chin, which Kolivan takes advantage of, nuzzling into his hair.

“Nothing is going to happen to you,” Kolivan promises in his most soothing rumble. “You’re safe here. We won’t send you away if you do not desire to go.”

He holds Keith like that for many doboshes, projecting as much / calm safe pack/ into his own scent as he can as he continues to nuzzle into Keith’s hair.

Eventually, tick by tick, Keith’s sobs quiet. His breathing gets easier. His fear scent stays, but the undercurrent of terror and pain lessons some. He takes one last shuddering breath and exhales it shakily before speaking again, voice soft and dulled. “Okay. I-I’m ready.” 

Ready for what?  Kolivan stops himself from asking, because he already knows even as he wishes he didn’t. 

The alpha in him, the one that is a leader, the one that works so very hard to protect his pack in the small ways that he can, wants to bare his throat for the first of many, many apologies. 

“Keith,” Kolivan says, carefully picking his words in the way he wishes he’d done before, before he’d sent Keith into full-blown panic. “You are safe with us. No one here wishes to harm you or cause you distress. I–” 

He manages to keep his voice steady. “I did not mean to cause you distress. I made… I made many mistakes that lead to this. I wish to fix them.” And he will. “But first I need you to understand me when I say that nothing, nothing  will be done that you do not desire.”

Keith’s posture stays tense, his hands stay fisted in Kolivan’s suit, but he huddles closer in Kolivan’s embrace, seeking comfort and warmth that Kolivan is all too happy to continue to provide. 

“You said… you said I had to let everyone–” Keith swallows. “–touch me or I had to leave.”

“I did,” Kolivan says. “Because I was being foolish and temperamental and I couldn’t see what was right in front of my nose. I’m sorry.”

Keith stills and pulls back just enough to search Kolivan’s face. “What?” He looks so small. Small, but fierce and stubborn and brave and it hurts to know that Kolivan is responsible for the tremor in his voice.  “I don’t–I don’t understand.”

“How were you feeling when you woke this morning?”

Keith looks confused by the non-sequitur, which is leagues better than ‘terrified’. “Not, um, not great?” Kolivan makes an encouraging noise and Keith hunches forward, pressing his cheek back into Kolivan’s chest. “Like I was crawling out of my skin.” 

Kolivan starts rubbing Keith’s back with one hand. “How are you feeling now?”

“Better,” Keith mumbles. “Kind of.”

“When I said ‘touch,’ I meant like this,” Kolivan says quietly. “Or petting your hair, or easing the stress in your shoulders, or massaging the scent glands in your wrists so that they don’t ache.”

Keith’s scent flares with alone want desire need  and Kolivan continues. “The blades train together, learn together, eat together, and fight together. We are a pack. And you’re a part of that now.”

“Being without a pack is painful but it is… bearable, when you’re on your own.” 

Keith’s breath hitches again, but he doesn’t say anything so Kolivan continues. “But for a galra, especially an omega like yourself, to be surrounded by others and yet still feel isolated, to have the touch and scent you need just out of reach…”

Keith didn’t want to be returned to Voltron. When he was out of his mind with pain and fear, he had begged not to be sent away from the blades. The blades who had failed to provide for him, and still—

“It’s torturous,” Kolivan says around the lump in his throat.

Keith presses closer and stays quiet.

“We can help you,” Kolivan says, still soft. “If you let us. Nothing you don’t want. Nothing you’re uncomfortable with. Choose who you trust most, who you will accept touch from, and we can ease your pain.”

Keith mumbles something so low that even Kolivan can’t catch it. Or perhaps he wishes he’d heard wrong. “Could you repeat that, kit?”

“I don’t…” Keith takes a breath. “I don’t want to be cold again.” He says it like he’s afraid of the admission. “It went away once and then it came back and it was worse and it hurt even more, and I—I can’t…”

“We’ll keep you warm,” Kolivan promises. “You’re a blade now. You’re one of us.” You’re ours. “We won’t let you be cold again.”

“I…” Keith hesitates, as though he still doesn’t dare to believe it. But Kolivan can hear the desperate hope.

“We won’t let you be cold again,” Kolivan repeats, arms tightening minutely. “Let us prove this to you.”

And Keith nods against him, finally relaxing fully in his arms. “Okay.”

Chapter Text

Keith grits his teeth as he’s marched through the halls of the ship. 

His head hurts, and the cut on his temple is still dripping blood down the side of his face. He has to squeeze one eye shut to protect it from the steady red trickle, and it’s throwing off his depth perception and making him stumble more than he’d like.

He hates that he’s showing weakness here, hates that he’s been caught at all, and hates hates hates the smell of the two large guards flanking him. 

They’re alphas, not bothering to wear scent blockers because their jobs aren’t stealth, but aggression. They don’t hide their scent, they use it against their enemies, trying to choke them and trip them up with their domination fury intent.

Keith’s been training fiercely with the blades –more so after it was revealed that he was an omega– so he was able to ignore the scents during his fight, but now that he’s captured and weakened (and… scared but it’s not something he’d ever admit–)

He doesn’t think he’ll be killed, at least not right away, because he might be worth more as a hostage, but hostages don’t exactly get treated well. He’ll probably be tortured for information, at the very least.

The scent blockers in his suit are still active, but Keith knows very well how long that will last. And the moment that it’s revealed he’s an omega…

Kolivan was horribly clear about the danger Keith was in. More so than alphas might be. He hadn’t tried to get Keith to stop going on missions, and for that Keith is ever grateful even with his current situation, but Keith…

Keith knows what might be in store for him.

He tries to tell himself he’s ready.

It’s futile though, to ignore the fact that he’s all too close to a stress-induced heat. He’s already sweating, not from the come-down adrenaline from the fight, but from his body furiously pumping out panic pain fear pheromones designed to repulse enemies and reel in allies.

Being a battle-trained omega is a little like being some sort of weird angler fish. Instead of a light, they use their scent to coax people close, then cut them down or ally with them as the situation warrants.

But Keith’s still in training, so he doesn’t have that control yet. He’s supposed to be on solely stealth missions until he does. This run-in and capture was a total fluke, and that just makes Keith madder.

He’s too hot as it is, blood and body on fire. It’s a struggle to keep walking and not collapse on the floor, exposing his scent and baring his neck. Entice the alphas into letting their guards down, so Keith can get away.

Except he’s on an enemy ship, no idea where he is, and these alphas aren’t the only ones Keith would have to fight through for escape. He’s hurt. He’s tired. He’s not safe. He wants to curl up in someone’s lap and have them play with his hair, his nose buried in their neck.

He wants Shiro. Like he’s wanted Shiro every single time this has happened before. He wants Shiro to hold him and let Keith scent him and–

He bites down the whimper. His heat is starting, he’s at the mercy of enemy alphas,  and there’s nothing he can do.

It won’t be over quickly. Keith knows this. But he’s survived everything else life’s thrown at him. He’ll survive this too.

He tries to dangle a carrot. If he survives, he’ll go to Shiro. He’ll push aside all his mixed-up feelings and self-hatred and ask Shiro to hold him. It wouldn’t have to be very long, Keith’ll assure him. Just for a little while. 

And then he’ll go back to the blades and they’ll hold him too. Properly, for as long as Keith needs, and Keith will tell himself it’s enough.

If he survives.

A door slides open with a hiss and Keith is pushed through it. His eyes pop open–when had he closed them?–and he tries to take in the room.

“Here he is,” one of the guards says, clapping a huge hand on Keith’s shoulder. It almost makes him buckle, but he locks his knees and stays upright.

“Very good,” a silken voice replies, and Keith startles, straightening up further.

“Lotor,” he spits. His voice doesn’t even wobble, and it’s a stupid thing to be proud of, but he’ll take what he can get.

“Mm,” Lotor says, stepping closer. “Hello, Keith.” He looks almost the same as when Keith saw him last, but now he’s not trying to hide the fact that he’s a threat. 

It hurts to look at him, to remember the betrayal. Keith had wanted so badly to make a friend who understood. Who knew what it was like to be part of two worlds but not quite belong to either.

Lotor had almost seemed apologetic when they’d had their last interaction. Something wafting off of him that hadn’t been solely power-hunger. But Keith knows now better than anyone how scent can be trained to say one thing and mean another.

He’d cross his arms, but his hands are secured behind his back. He settles for a glare, the dried blood on his face pulling sticky on his skin.

“Not going to say hello after all this time?” Lotor asks, walking forward. Closer, until he’s right in front of Keith. He cups one hand under Keith’s chin to tilt his head up, and it’s all Keith can do not to nuzzle into the touch and its farce of familiarity.  

He doesn’t want Lotor. The thought makes bile rise in his throat. But Lotor is warm and Keith’s cold.

Keith sets his jaw and doesn’t say anything. No accusations, no declarations of hatred. Lotor’s just trying to goad him into giving something up.

“You look a mess,” Lotor murmurs, thumb rubbing at the blood streaked over Keith’s face.

Keith stares at him, impassive, and Lotor sighs and steps away, over to one side of the room.

He’s back a moment later with a cloth, damp with the oil Galra use to clean skin and fur. He wipes at Keith’s face, playing at intimacy, and Keith can do nothing but glower and let him, ever aware of the guards at his back.

“There now,” Lotor says softly, and in one lighting-fast move, before Keith can react, his fingers dart in and press the sequence to disable Keith’s scent blockers. “Let’s see what we can get out of you, shall we?”

Of course. Lotor probably knows Keith hasn’t yet fully trained his scent, so in interrogation, Keith’s scent would tell Lotor all too much. It would spike and dip, betraying Keith’s pain and fear, and when Lotor was getting too close to truths Keith didn’t want to let spill out.

If Keith were an alpha.

It’s the one good thing about the situation Keith tries to tell himself, swallowing as Lotor’s eyes widen just a little and his body stiffens slightly, minute ways that betray his shock. If he were an alpha, his scent would be easier to read, reacting to aggression. 

But his untrained omega scent is simply help please pain fear help unsafe help help no.

This close, he can see Lotor swallow. “You’re…”

Keith can feel the guards behind him shift where they stand, can smell the change of their scent in the air, and it chokes him. “Get it over with,” he grits out. The first thing he’s said since his capture, aside from Lotor’s name.

The sooner they start… it’s not that it’ll be over quicker, but at least Keith won’t have to be sick with anticipation.

Lotor blinks at him, again looking momentarily unsteady, a contrast to his usual perfect, poised performance, before his eyes narrow.

Keith pretends his breath doesn’t hitch. That he doesn’t flinch back. That his heat scent isn’t soaked in terror of what’s about to happen.

Lotor and the two guards–that’s three already. They’re all huge, easily enough to break him, and who’s to say, besides, that Lotor won’t call in others. He knew from the moment he’d been captured that he’d be tortured. 

It’s just… worse, somehow. That it’s Lotor. Who could have almost been a friend.

But for some reason, Lotor’s narrowed eyes focus over Keith’s shoulder. “Get out,” he says. His doesn’t waver–it’s too much of a command, but it seems somehow off as it echoes in Keith’s ears.

The guards might reply, but Keith barely hears them. Instead it’s their scents he notices, shifting into upset and unease, before they’re gone, vanished behind the door as it slides shut.

Leaving Keith with Lotor, otherwise alone.

Maybe Lotor wants privacy, Keith thinks, sweat sliding down the back of his neck. Him first, then the guards. Dragging things out, to really put Keith in his place.

“Stop it,” Lotor says with force, covering his nose with one hand.

Keith glowers at him, as if his scent isn’t screaming confusion unsafe panic fear.

“Stop it,” Lotor hisses again. There’s a bead of sweat at his temple, and he makes to move forward, freezing where he stands when Keith is unable to keep from flinching away.

For a long moment, there’s just the sound of them both breathing. Keith’s own breath comes in harsh pants as he tries to keep from succumbing to heat sickness. Lotor is quieter but open mouthed, anger roiling off of him like steam.

“You would think–” Lotor snarls after a moment. He sounds like he’s choking on disgust. “You would think me capable of–”

“Give me a reason why I shouldn’t,” Keith spits back.

Now it’s Lotor who flinches, as if Keith struck him. Keith wishes he had, that he wasn’t standing here helpless, arms manacled behind him, with just his words as offense.

Time oozes by, thick and cloying, as they watch each other. 

Lotor is the one who looks away first. “There’s a moon a few dobashes from our current location that is safe enough one could send out a distress signal.” He glances back at Keith. “You will stay in my quarters until we arrive.”

Keith doesn’t say anything, but he knows his scent speaks for him. It radiates his confusion and unease.

“I’ll give the command to divert our course,” Lotor says coolly. He licks his lips, then turns, giving Keith his back. “No one will touch you.”

And he stalks away.

Chapter Text

Shiro is always relieved when Keith returns from his Blade work. He misses Keith fiercely whenever Keith is gone, and the constant gnawing worry about Keith’s safety and health and well-being doesn’t help.

Is Keith okay? Does he have the help and support he needs? Is someone making sure he’s eating? Is he hurt? Will someone be there to help him if–

The thoughts twist around in Shiro’s mind near constantly, just hoping that Keith is being taken care of, that he’s safe, that he’s thriving not surviving.

When he receives the transmission that Keith is soon to arrive, Shiro is the first to the hangar. He’s both eager and antsy as Keith’s ship docks, itching to welcome Keith back and to look him over. Ready to reach out.

But two figures emerge from the ship, not just one. Keith is obviously the smaller one, even with his hood still down. The other person has a larger, bulkier frame and a good foot of height on him, as well as a purple tail–clearly another Blade.

Shiro has a split second to wonder why Keith is being accompanied by someone else as they both jump down from the ship, when Keith stumbles on the landing. Shiro rushes forward on instinct, but the other Blade has already wrapped a thick arm around Keith’s slender waist.

Keith nods and touches the fingers cupping his hip with his own hand. A clear gesture of gratitude, and a familiar one, and something leaden drops into Shiro’s stomach.

Keith has never been one to accept touch. He’s always held himself apart, unwilling to let his walls down enough for tactility. Shiro had understood, had worked so hard to be allowed in, and had been so happy with every touch that Keith allowed.

Keith had… mentioned that the Blades were tactile. That it was a galra thing. That he was trying to get used to it, but that it was hard to accept.

Shiro should be happy for Keith, that he’s gotten more comfortable. That this Blade’s touch isn’t something to shrink away from. That Keith does  have support.

But Shiro doesn’t–

Keith lowers his hood, which manages to snap Shiro back to reality. He hurries forward. “Keith, it-it’s so good to see you. But are you okay? Do you need medical attention?”

Keith gives him a tired smile. “I’m fine. Just riding something out.”

Shiro frowns. “Are you sick?”

“Keith isn’t ill,” the other Blade rumbles, sounding deeply displeased. He’s still got his hand wrapped around Keith’s waist, and Shiro doesn’t like the way his fingers twitch minutely, as if wanting to pull Keith closer.

“It’s okay,” Keith says to the Blade, patting his hand again. “He doesn't know.” To Shiro he says, “It’s a galra thing, that’s all. You don’t have to worry about it.”

I want to worry about you  Shiro doesn’t say. He’s a little stung by the fact that Keith doesn’t want to explain. Keith’s always been willing to talk about his ‘galra things’ with Shiro. “Okay,” he says instead. “But still, is there something I can do?” 

“Oh, uh–” Keith shifts then, turning to the other Blade. “This is Trenit. He’s going to help me get through the rest of it.”

“Which is an honor,” Trenit growls, somehow leveling a glare at Shiro even through his Blade hood. The anger doesn’t seem to be directed at Keith, but it still makes Shiro bristle.

Keith huffs. “You say that, but I could have made it on my own. I told Leader–”

“Leader was right to insist you travel with pack,” Trenit tells Keith, much softer now. “None of us intended to send you here to suffer in silence.”

“Suffer?” Shiro grits out. “What–”

Keith clears his throat. “Trenit, this is Shiro. Black Paladin and Captain of the Atlas.” He gives Shiro another smile. “And my best friend.”

If anything, this seems to make Trenit angier, his tail lashing behind him, and he actually does pull Keith closer to him, nearly lifting Keith off his feet. The only thing keeping Shiro from taking it as an attack is the fact that Keith’s body language is still relaxed. Almost open to the man-handling.

That doesn’t make it an easier pill to swallow. 

“Do I get my own hug?” Shiro asks, trying to sound mild as he holds out his arms.

Keith chuckles, smile brightening. “Yeah, of course.” Trenit lets him go without being prompted, but it’s clearly done begrudgingly. “See?” Keith murmurs to Trenit. “I told you, it’s fine.”

Shiro tables asking what the hell is going on in favor of finally enveloping Keith in the warmest hug he knows how to give. Keith melts into it like he always has, and that alone makes relief drip down Shiro’s spine. They’re okay.

“Missed you,” Shiro tells him, giving him an extra-tight squeeze just the way he knows Keith likes.

“Missed you too,” Keith says, taking a deep breath in before they part, Shiro careful to pull back so as not to overwhelm by being too much. Wanting too much.

Several things happen in quick succession.

Keith lets out a horrible little whimper, listing forward for the scantest of moments before he straightens his spine, and Trenit snarls, low and threatening, immediately stepping closer and reaching out again to curl an arm back around Keith’s waist.

Shiro watches it all as if in slow motion, vision narrowing as Keith releases a quiet breath and sags into Trenit’s hold.

“Sorry,” he tells Shiro. “Just tired from the trip.”

Shiro swallows, throat dry. “Y-yeah, of course. Here, I’ll walk you to your quarters so you can get some rest. And I can arrange something for Trenit–”

“No need,” Trenit says. His hand slides up Keith’s body, coming to rest over his back and shoulders, one massive thumb pressing into the spot behind Keith’s ear, and Keith shudders as another small sound escapes him. “I will be staying with Keith.”

Shiro does not clench his fists. “Keith?”

“Yeah,” Keith mumbles, sounding half-asleep. “S’fine. Trenit’s taking care of me, so.”

“Okay,” Shiro hears himself say. “Sure, that’s… fine. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

***

“You didn’t have to come if you weren’t feeling well,” Shiro says as he walks Keith (and Trenit) to Keith’s rooms. Atlas helpfully rearranges the layout so that it isn’t a very far walk, which Shiro appreciates. Keith really does look like he’s about to fall over.

He didn’t look this bad when Shiro had hugged him just a few moments ago, but with every step now, Keith seems to get more and more haggard. Shiro itches to pull Keith back into his arms, just to feel the shape of him. To map out his body and make sure it’s free from hurts.

But Keith is walking with Trenit. The blade’s large hand rests on Keith’s back, a clear support, helping Keith as he stumbles down the hall. 

Normally Shiro is the one acting as support when Keith is tired or hurt or–vulnerable. But now… Shiro doesn’t know if he’s allowed to get closer. 

The distance is a gaping maw, eating away at Shiro’s core.

It doesn’t help that Trenit is an openly hostile presence. He hasn’t stopped radiating anger and disdain since he’d first told Shiro that Keith wasn’t ill, and it’s making Shiro twitchy. 

He doesn’t, in general, have a good history with actively hostile galra.

But Trenit is here for Keith and… if nothing else, at the very least it’s clear that he does care for Keith a great deal. His hands on Keith are gentle and Trenit’s deep voice softens when addressing him.

“You don’t want Keith here?” Trenit spits the question, and it sounds like an accusation.

“Of course I do,” Shiro says, trying not to growl back. “I just meant that it’s not fun traveling when you’re sick. I could have waited a few extra days.”

“M’not sick,” Keith mumbles. “And I-I wanted to see you. I wanted to see you now.”

Shiro tries to smile at Keith in the face of the utter disgust dripping off of Trenit. “You know I always want to see you. It’s really nice to have you back. It’s been too long.” 

And god, but Keith just lights up, even amid the obvious exhaustion. "I missed you."

“I missed you too,” Shiro says quietly. "I always do, you know."

Keith sighs and opens his mouth, but that's when they reach Keith’s door. Both Shiro and Keith move forward at the same time to open it. 

“Sorry,” Shiro says, stepping back to give Keith space. “I guess I’ll let you open your own door.”

“What a gentleman,” Keith rasps, but the lighthearted reply sounds forced, Keith’s face suddenly ashen. He trembles as he presses his hand to the reader, looking so much worse than he did a moment ago.

Before Shiro can say or do anything else, Trenit is stepping forward, ushering Keith into the room.

“Come,” he murmurs, bending down to nuzzle at Keith’s hair. “Let’s go to your nest. I’m here. You won’t sleep alone.”

“Okay.” Keith’s exhale is a quiet one, almost lost over the sound of the blood pounding in Shiro’s ears. “Shiro?”

“Yeah?” Shiro asks, trying to focus. “What can I do? What do you need?”

Keith raises his hand, before stilling and dropping it back down. “I-I’ll see you soon? I just need to lie down for like a varga or two.” 

“Sure,” Shiro says quickly. “Of course. Get the rest you need.” 

Trenit has cupped Keith’s hand in his own, tail curling protectively in front of Keith’s legs, and appears to be glowering behind his mask.

Shiro knows his smile to Keith must be more of a grimace, but he tries. Tries to imbue it with how much he cares. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Okay,” Keith says again, voice just a whisper now. “Maybe we could spar later.”

Like hell Shiro’s going to let Keith on the mat like this, but he can save that conversation for after Keith gets some rest. “Sure. Looking forward to it.”

Then Shiro stands there stupidly, not wanting to go yet. If it were just the two of them, Shiro would be coaxing Keith out of his shoes and putting him to bed. Drawing the covers up around him and stroking a quick hand through Keith’s hair–

Trenit’s tail lashes once, and then he’s moving, scooping Keith up fully into his arms.

Keith’s breath hitches and he curls into the hold, tucking his face into Trenit’s chest as the other galra’s hand splays over Keith’s back. Trenit wastes no time turning away–shielding Keith from Shiro as he strides toward Keith’s bed. 

Shiro grits his teeth and forces himself to leave the room.

***

Shiro might possibly have Atlas monitor Keith’s vitals for the next two vargas. He tries to rationalize it as just wanting to make sure Keith really is okay and not sick (of course he must be sick though, he’d looked—)

But it does happen to mean that Atlas lets him know when Keith wakes up. 

Keith’s got a routine when he comes home, and a nap is always followed by a shower, which gives Shiro just enough time to go pick up all the food he’d ordered once he’d left Keith’s room. A tray full of Keith’s favorites.

Shiro might think dark thoughts while he makes sure there’s extras of everything, but he knows Keith wouldn’t be happy if Shiro showed up with food for him and not Trenit.

The other, even worse possibility is that Keith wouldn’t notice and would just give most of the food to Trenit.

So Shiro carries a tray for two to Keith’s room. 

The excitement at getting to see Keith again is still there… but Shiro partially dreads the walk over.

Who even is Trenit? Keith’s never mentioned him. Or… Shiro doesn’t think he has. Keith doesn’t talk a whole lot about his blade work over vid, and if he does, he has to keep the privacy of his team, leaving out names when telling anecdotes.

Which means it’s entirely possibly Shiro has  heard of Trenit before, just not by name.

It doesn't sit well with him, for Shiro to consider that Keith might have told him something very important and Shiro missed it somehow.

But still… Shiro doesn’t know where the galra gets off. Not only was he actively hostile to Shiro for no reason, but he adamantly insisted Keith wasn’t sick when it was obvious to anyone that Keith wasn’t feeling good.

Shiro could maybe understand Trenit not trusting him in particular—or even disliking humans in general, but he’s not about to let someone encourage Keith to neglect his health, blade or no.

He’d treated Keith with care though. And that’s where Shiro’s stuck. Trenit had been gentle with Keith. Had been acting as clear support, offering touch and comfort—even protection.

The idea that Trenit thinks Keith needs protection from Shiro leaves an acrid taste in Shiro’s mouth.

He stalls at the door, tray in hand, unsure of what to do. Normally he’d just go right in. Keith’s always welcomed Shiro into his space, and he’s not shy. At least around Shiro. It would be a no brainer to just go inside and wait for Keith to be done with his shower.

Now…

Would Keith want Shiro to barge right in? Would he want Shiro to make himself at home like he has so many times before?

Would Shiro be intruding, now that Trenit is–?

Now that Trenit is what?

The door slides open, Shiro immediately snapping to attention.

It’s not Keith on the other side, fresh from the shower and toweling his hair dry, expression a mix of surprised, pleased, and fond at seeing Shiro ready with food. 

It’s not Keith, who might have hidden hurts that Shiro will coax from him, tending to cuts and bruises and scrapes–or just taking Keith in, to make sure he’s here and whole.

Trenit glowers at him, arms crossed.

Shiro meets his gaze evenly, taking him in. The galra has removed his mask, revealing dark purple fur and a face shape similar to Thace’s, to go with the breadth and bulk of his body. He’s easily as large as Antok.

Shiro is not intimidated. He rarely is, when it comes to opponents these days. But he also knows he shouldn’t be thinking of Trenit as “an opponent” and isn’t sure exactly how to stop.

“Where’s Keith?” Shiro asks. It comes out too much like an accusation.

“I don’t see why it’s your concern,” Trenit growls back, not budging an inch.

There are many, many different responses Shiro bites his tongue on. “He’s my best friend,” Shiro grits out. “And I care about him and was looking forward to seeing him.” 

He came to visit ME  he doesn’t snarl. But he wants to. He wants to bare his teeth at this galra, this stranger, who is keeping Shiro from the person he cares about most, Keith who is also sick and maybe injured and who needs Shiro–

“Shiro?”

Shiro’s eyes snap to the side, where Keith is peeking out from behind Trenit. He’s wearing shorts, and is bare chested, a towel slung around his shoulders to catch the water dripping from his hair. He still looks exhausted, and there’s a pale purple flush to his skin.

“Hey,” Shiro says, voice gentling. He remembers the tray in his arms and presents it, ignoring Trenit and his lashing tail completely. “I brought dinner.”

“Oh,” Keith breathes, the purple flush deepening on his cheeks. “You brought me food.”

“All your favorites,” Shiro assures him with a smile. “Enough for two,” he grudgingly adds, tossing a glance Trenit’s way.

And Trenit looks almost confused, the glower dropping just slightly to betray the puzzlement in his brow. 

Shiro pays him no mind either way, because Keith is beaming at him. “Thanks, Shiro.” It’s said softly, quietly pleased. “Could… could you stay and eat? Do you have time?”

“I’ve always got time for you,” Shiro says, and that is definitely a quiet snort from Trenit, which Shiro refuses to acknowledge as he steps forward, forcing the large galra to step back or take a tray to the stomach.

Keith doesn’t seem to notice the animosity, as he leads Shiro into the room, which Shiro is both glad for and slightly concerned by. Normally Keith can sense an argument a mile away. He really must not be feeling good.

Keith’s quarters on Atlas are a decent size, because Atlas is huge and also because she likes Keith, so he has a little living space aside from his bed and bath, where a small couch and low table sits. It’s plenty of room for Shiro and Keith, but adding Trenit into the mix…

Shiro sets the tray on the table just as Keith takes a seat on the couch. It’s more of a collapse than anything, and Shiro finds himself reaching out to steady him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

Keith lets out a little chirp of a sound and relaxes into Shiro’s side, moving to push his face into Shiro’s shoulder. The water from his hair soaks into Shiro’s shirt at once, a stark contrast to the warmth of Keith’s body pressed all along Shiro’s own. It’s all entirely too endearing, making Shiro’s breath catch at how intimate it feels to have Keith curled into him.

At the sound of movement, Shiro looks up to see Trenit standing in front of the table, arms crossed, looking down at them on the couch. 

His expression is unreadable, and even though it isn’t blatant anger right now, Shiro is annoyed to have him here at all. Keith isn’t feeling well. Shiro should be taking care of him, should be the one caring for him when he’s vulnerable. Not Trenit.

“Keith,” Shiro says quietly, loath to disturb him. “You should eat.”

Keith makes a forlorn little noise, but the next moment he’s taking a deep breath and shifting away, until he’s still pressed all along Shiro’s side but not turned away from the tray. “Okay,” he mumbles. “Cause you brought me food.”

It’s the second time Keith’s mentioned it, still said in a tone of breathless wonder. And while Shiro has noticed before how… happy Keith always is when Shiro provides for him, it’s not usually with this level of–

Keith’s walls are down right now, Shiro reminds himself, as he busies himself with assembling a plate and handing it to Keith.

Keith makes another one of those chirping sounds as he takes the plate. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Shiro says, daring to brush some wayward hair off Keith’s cheek.

Keith beams at him before turning his attention to the plate in his lap.

Shiro finds himself watching Keith while he picks at his food, eating a few bites here and there. It’s an obvious effort, and Shiro can’t help trying to catalog for hidden hurts. Keith’s not wearing very much, which makes it easier. There are bruises painted on his skin, but most of them are yellowed and fading, and nothing else seems awry.

But there’s still no doubt that something isn’t right. The obvious exhaustion for one, but also the way Keith is acting… not to mention Trenit. Trenit’s taking care of me Keith had said.

Shiro burns to know what that means. And is about two seconds away from snarling out a warning at Trenit, who is much closer to a vulnerable Keith than Shiro wants him to be.

“Kitling,” Trenit murmurs, and his voice is once again soft. Gentle. “You need to eat more than that.”

“‘M full,” Keith says, pressing his face into Shiro’s bicep. It gives Shiro the perfect opening to use his free hand to massage Keith’s bared neck. Keith shudders against him, body losing a little more tension, but Trenit suddenly looks murderous. 

“That is enough,” Trenit bites out. “I will not allow you to torment him with false intent.”

Shiro knows his expression is not a pleasant one. He only just manages to hiss, “Excuse me?” instead of what the fuck are you talking about?

Next to him, there’s a tiny, cut-off whine as Keith’s body once again stiffens, losing the relaxation Shiro had managed to coax into him. 

“It’s okay,” Keith rasps, before either Shiro or Trenit can speak further. Shiro opens his mouth to tell Keith that it’s not okay, it’s not okay that Trenit is stomping all over their time together, is stopping Shiro from taking care of Keith like he should be–

“It’s okay,” Keith says again. “It’s just a galra thing.” And as he speaks, he pulls away from Shiro. It leaves Shiro colder, but it does something to Keith, who gasps and pales and–

–and sways toward Trenit, who has hurriedly moved to crouch in front of Keith’s much smaller body, just in time to catch him as Keith collapses in his arms.

“Keith, please–” Shiro shoots out of his seat. “What’s wrong? I can help–” 

Keith whimpers, fingers curling in Trenit’s fur as Trenit gathers him up and steps away, murmuring comfort before he shoots Shiro a look that could kill. “Leave. You’ve done more harm than good.”

Shiro grinds his teeth together, knuckles creaking as his hands clench into fists. Something is wrong with Keith and the one person who seems to know what it is isn’t telling Shiro anything. 

He inhales through his nose and relaxes his jaw. Straightens his shoulders.

“Keith is hurting,” Shiro says, each word measured and heavy. “I want to know why he’s in pain so that I can help. Seems to me, you’re the one who’s doing more harm than good. He seemed to be getting some relief, until you opened your mouth.”

Shiro tears his gaze away from Keith who looks so, so small in Trenit’s arms, and meets Trenit’s eyes. “And if you hurt him, or keep me from easing his pain in whatever way I can, I will kill you.”

Chapter Text

Keith’s last few vargas have been a blur. He vaguely remembers getting ready to fly to the Atlas, so excited and eager to see Shiro again that he’d ignored the shakiness in his limbs and the flush that had begun to bloom on his skin.

He remembers Kolivan coming to see him off, and those eyes narrowing before demanding Keith to disengage the scent blockers in his suit. 

Remembers Kolivan’s expression softening as Keith had swayed on his feet, wanting to obey but feeling sick with dread, knowing that Kolivan would easily sniff out the truth. That he’d probably tell Keith that he wasn’t allowed to travel. 

Wasn’t allowed to see Shiro.

He doesn’t recall what had happened next. Only that he’d swum back to awareness, securely held in Kolivan’s arms, his face tucked into the alpha's neck as Kolivan stroked his back and murmured assurance to calm Keith’s pathetic whimpering.

“Alright, kit. Alright, we won’t keep you from him. But you won’t travel alone. We won’t leave you without comfort and relief.”

Trenit… Trenit had been chosen. That had been Keith’s choice. Big and warm and good at holding, his scent not–not exactly right, no one’s scent was ever exactly right but it was enough.

Trenit had piloted because Keith couldn’t and that was… that was good. Trenit was capable. Worthy. Attentive too, putting autopilot on whenever possible so that Keith could cuddle up in his lap.

Kolivan had probably been right, that Keith wasn’t fit to travel. Shiro would probably be concerned, to see Keith like this. And Keith couldn’t explain to him that–that he had this new, alien thing that made him even more “other.” 

Even less human.

But the need to see Shiro was even greater than the need to curl up into a ball and hide this from him. 

And as much as Keith wanted to be in a nice, soft nest surrounded by the scent of pack, making his pack stronger as they bonded over comforting and caring for their omega, something in him couldn’t be satisfied.

He knows his pack has been noticing his heats getting worse. Coming on more frequently, lasting longer, and hurting in a way they shouldn’t be, now that he’s getting a feast of gentle touches and whispered praise and proper guards protecting him at his most vulnerable.

Kolivan let Keith leave the safety of his pack, on the edge of another full-blown heat, so that Keith could see Shiro. Keith doesn’t know if he can bear to think about what that might mean. 

Right now Keith can’t bear to think at all. He’s being held by someone big and warm, who smells like pack, but it isn’t enough–why isn’t enough? He’s still too cold. He’s always so cold.

He whimpers and tries to get closer, fingers curling in soft fur, but it isn’t enough to fight the shivers that start to wrack his body. He doesn’t know why he’s gotten so bad so fast. He felt okay a few moments ago. Back when…

When…

“–if you hurt him or keep me from easing his pain in whatever way I can, I will kill you.” The growled words sound vicious, promising violence, but the way they make Keith shiver has nothing to do with fear. The thought of his alpha so ready and willing to fight for Keith is–

His alpha…? No, that’s not–

The voice is familiar in a way that makes Keith ache, the man’s scent as comforting as it is overwhelming to Keith’s senses, now that he’s sunk into heat, but–

“Shiro?” Keith whispers, unable to hide the plaintive, hopeful tremble that threads through his own voice. 

“Keith!” The scent gets closer. “Yeah, it’s me. It’s Shiro.” A brief pause, and the person holding Keith–not Shiro, not Shiro–rumbles a warning sound. Keith hears Shiro hiss a warning right back before there comes a gentle, “Hey, can you look at me?”

It’s hard to lift his head from where it’s tucked into the large, warm body cradling him because doing so leaves him colder, but he manages because Shiro is asking. Shiro isn’t the one holding him, Shiro doesn’t want him, but Keith can’t deny him. He never really could.

“Hey there,” Shiro says, still in that gentle tone, when Keith blearily tries to focus. “Sweetheart, can you please tell me what’s wrong?”

Keith shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. Shiro’s always been Keith’s pack, Keith understands that now thanks to the Blades, but he doesn’t feel like Keith does. He isn’t pulled in like Keith is.

Shiro doesn’t want him. Instinctually or otherwise, Shiro doesn’t want to be Keith’s alpha. He doesn’t want to curl up with Keith in a nice, soft nest and keep the cold of heat fever at bay.

Keith just needs to get through this heat like he’s gotten through all the others. Then he can be back to normal, without making things awkward and strange. 

He can be satisfied with the attention Shiro does give him, and bask in the touches Shiro doles out without leaning into them too much. Without Shiro knowing just how much and how desperately Keith craves more.

“There,” Trenit says, tone acidic. His own scent is protective and distressed, actively trying to ward off a hostile intruder threatening the omega in his arms. “That’s your answer. Now leave us.”  

“No,” Shiro snarls. Why does he sound angry? Keith should be soothing him. Even if Shiro doesn't– “I’m not leaving him. He’s mine  to take care of!”

Keith’s nearly delirious with heat fever and his alpha is too far away, isn’t touching him, but just hearing him fiercely declare a verbal claim, his scent promising merciless brutality to any who’d dare challenge him–for Keith–

Keith can’t help the breath of a moan that escapes him, too far gone to register how the two men in the room both freeze. His body is too busy moving without permission, trying to get closer to his alpha.

“Kitling–” Trenit’s voice is colored with concern and a part of Keith dimly understands there’s a reason for it, but none of that is as important as going to Shiro right now .

“Please,” he begs, not exactly sure who he’s talking to or what he’s asking for. “Please, please–”

Trenit exhales and shifts, and then Keith is spilling forward… right into Shiro’s arms. 

Noise flies above Keith’s head–words, maybe, but he can’t pay it any attention. Not when he’s finally, finally where he’s supposed to be.

His alpha is supporting his weight, which Keith appreciates, because it means he can just nuzzle in close and breathe in the scent he's been missing. He's been so tired and so cold for so long. He wants so badly for that to stop.

“Please,” he begs again, and it sounds weak even to his own ears.

“It’s okay,” Shiro’s voice floats in, hushing him. “It’s okay, baby. I’ll take care of you, I promise. Whatever you need, okay?”

Nest–Keith wants to be in his nest. He wants Shiro in his nest with him, and he wants to be held and petted and assured that he… that he really is Shiro’s.

“I’m cold,” is what he ends up whimpering, his words muffled in Shiro’s shirt as he clings. “Shiro, I-I’m cold.”

“Okay,” Shiro says, still achingly gentle. “Let’s get you to bed then, sweetheart.”

Every line of Keith’s body sags with relief as his alpha carries him to his nest–

–replaced with bone deep terror when Shiro tries to pull away, after lowering him to the blankets.

Keith hears himself make a high noise of pain, cheeks suddenly wet as he reaches blindly for his alpha. “Please! Please, I’ll be good, please don’t leave me, please–”

He can’t be cold again, he can’t, he’ll freeze. He knows it—if Shiro leaves, the ice will seep into his veins, the chill settling into his bones, and he’ll never unthaw.

“Please…” and it’s a whisper, the word sticking in his throat, because he shouldn’t be asking. He’s all messed up from his heat, but that’s no excuse for trying to make Shiro stay when he doesn’t want to.

Shiro all but announced his claim on Keith with bloodshed, but he doesn’t know what it means, and Keith can’t–

The arms around him tighten, pulling him close again as a big, warm body joins him in the nest. The hold is strong and firm, but not too tight, the alpha’s scent just right, and when a cheek nuzzles into his damp hair, Keith lets out a chirp at the sudden pleasure.

The constant onslaught of differing emotions are giving him whiplash, making him dizzy with it. It’s too much too much too much, and he just wants to stay like this, warm and safe and held.

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay, sweetheart, I’m not leaving you. I won’t. Don’t worry, I’m right here.” And then, snarled, above his head. “You’re going to tell me what to do to help him, and then you’re going to leave.”

There is a sharp pause, and then Trenit’s voice, dipped in a threat of its own, says, “Give me your word you won’t neglect him once his heat has broken. If you plan to go back to play-acting affection after this, you’ll hurt him beyond repair.”

“Whatever Keith wants,” Shiro snaps, but the fingers carding through Keith’s hair are gentle. Keith tries to push closer, breathing him in, and so he’s able to hear Shiro’s next words, soft as an exhale. “Whatever you want, baby. Whatever you need, it’s yours. I’m here for you forever, okay?”

Forever? Keith thinks muzzily. The longing makes his teeth ache 

A low rumble reverberates through the room.

“Keep him warm,” Trenit instructs, evenly now, as though he’s giving mission parameters. “Stay with him in his nest and hold him, and massage his scent glands to ease their ache. Try to coax him to eat and drink, but don’t leave his sight; have sustenance delivered to his room when you require more, but allow no one to enter except perhaps myself. He will want to stay clean and bathing invites closeness, so that is recommended should his heat continue into the next quintant.” 

“Anything else?” Shiro asks, when Trenit stops speaking. He sounds marginally less hostile.

“He likes it when we stroke his hair,” Trenit says after a moment. Adding with finality, “Don’t leave him.”

“I don’t plan to.” Shiro sounds so sure, as though it’s not even a choice. And then, much calmer, if still a little stilted, “Atlas will arrange a different room for you. I’ll message you should I have additional questions.”

“As expected,” Trenit says before taking a breath. “Be well, kitling. S’altuk Grehtur. May this heat ward off your chill.”

There is the sound of quiet footsteps, and then the soft whoosh of the door sliding open and then shut.

And then it’s just Keith and Shiro.

Chapter Text

Shiro still doesn’t completely understand what’s going on. But he does understand that Keith needs him, and that’s all the information Shiro really has to know, in the end. He’ll coax Keith into talking about this in more detail later, when Keith is feeling better. When he’s more settled, and more in his right mind.

There is a part of Shiro that is worried. Keith obviously isn’t thinking clearly. Whatever is happening to him has broken down many of Keith’s walls. Shiro can’t remember Keith ever seeking touch out like this. Voicing needs like this. 

Wanting Shiro like this.

And though part of him is worried, the rest of him, maybe the darker part of him, is glad for it. Keith wants him. He chose Shiro, for whatever it is he needs. Not Trenit. Not anyone else.

Keith, infinitely precious, wanted to be in Shiro’s arms. Knowing exactly who Shiro is, everything that Shiro’s done, from Shiro’s time in the arena to the brand on Keith’s own cheek, he chose Shiro.  

Nothing else matters. 

“Shiro?” It’s whispered, as though Keith is afraid that Shiro isn’t really with him. That Shiro didn’t care enough, to want to stay. 

“I’m here,” Shiro quickly assures him. “I’m right here, baby. What do you need? I’m here.”

The very idea that Shiro would leave Keith like this makes Shiro furious, that he’s failed Keith so badly. That he failed to make Keith understand that he’s everything.

And the thought strikes him, sudden and sickening, that if Shiro hadn’t fought for it, hadn’t been ready to tear Trenit apart, Keith would be in Trenit’s arms instead.

The base, dark thing inside of him pulses red-hot, rearing up with the urge to bare his teeth. To mark Keith properly, so Keith will see proof of Shiro’s devotion and desire every single day. So everyone else will see Shiro’s mark and know Keith is Shiro’s. That Keith is getting the very best, because nothing and no one else is good enough for him.

Shiro is the Champion. He’s the strongest and fiercest, and he could provide for Keith so well. Take care of him so well–

“Whatever you need,” Shiro tells Keith again, throat dry as his thoughts spin. He doesn’t know where they’re coming from, but he doesn’t know how to make them stop. They feel too right, with Keith vulnerable in his arms like this. He needs to protect Keith. He needs to make sure Keith is safe and happy and provided for. He needs Keith to feel good, feel wanted, feel–

Keith looks up at him from where they’re curled together in Keith’s mess of blankets. His face is flushed, eyes wide, as he offers up his wrist. “Please?”

Massage his scent glands to ease their ache, Trenit had said, and Shiro knows about scent glands, knows that they’re sensitive and places to be protected. He hadn’t known Keith had them–Keith who always wore his gloves and high collars and–Shiro is so stupid–

Shiro catches Keith’s hand, immediately moving to nose and nuzzle at his wrist. It’s instinct and easy to press his lips to the thin skin there, and Keith’s hitched sigh of pleasure lights Shiro on fire.

“Good?” he asks, lips moving against Keith’s skin. Because he needs to know, he needs to know if he’s being good for Keith.

Keith sucks in a breath through pink-bitten lips and offers up his other wrist. “M-more?”

Anything. Everything. It’s so easy. Shiro lets out a rumble of pleasure and moves to Keith’s other wrist, switching off to pay them both attention. He dares to let his tongue dart out for a taste of Keith’s salty-sweet skin, and the noise Keith makes is almost a sob, so Shiro does it again and again.

When he pauses in his ministrations, it’s only because Shiro remembers that Galra normally have scent glands in other places. Keith is breathing heavily underneath him, a vision of tousled hair and a pale-purple blush to his skin, both of his hands held in Shiro’s own, and he looks–

Shiro moves on instinct, pressing Keith down into the blankets to nose at his neck.

Keith keens, head moving to the side at once to bare more skin, and Shiro takes it for the gift it is, paying him attention with lips and tongue, words spilling out helplessly in between.

“God, you’re so good,” he breathes as Keith trembles and moans under him. “So perfect, so good for me, can’t believe you’re mine–”

“Yours,” Keith gasps. “Yours, yours, yours, Shiro, ah–”

Shiro releases the suction and kisses Keith’s blooming bruise. He can’t bite, not yet, hasn’t fully proven himself, but that doesn’t mean he can’t leave other marks. He’ll show everyone Keith is his. Keith let Shiro into his nest, let Shiro be the one to help and please and mark him. 

Shiro kisses his way to the other side of Keith’s neck to pay it the same attention and Keith keens again, writhing on the nest of blankets where Shiro is still holding him down. 

When Shiro pulls back again, this time to admire his work of love-marks scattered across Keith’s skin, Keith’s chest is heaving, his skin starting to sheen with sweat. His expression is dazed, but it shifts to something wary as he licks his lips and looks up at Shiro. He flexes his wrists and Shiro lets him go, watching with laser focus as Keith carefully feels out each pink-purple bruise decorating his neck, shoulders, and collarbone.

When Keith returns his attention to Shiro, he looks so raw and open and hopeful that Shiro holds his breath in anticipation.

“Mine?” Keith asks hesitantly.

“Yours,” Shiro rasps at once. As if there were any other answer. “Always, Keith. Yours always.”

Keith reaches for him, pulling Shiro back down so that he’s blanketing Keith with his body, and Shiro bares his neck immediately. Bone-deep satisfaction runs through him when Keith trills and nuzzles in close, relaxing completely with Shiro’s weight pressing him into their nest. 

It feels like the eye of the storm, but Keith’s content and satisfied for now, because Shiro took care of him properly. Gave Keith what he needed for now, to rest easy.

And for whatever comes next, Shiro will be here. 

For now he settles in, delighting in the rumbling little purr that kicks up in Keith’s chest, and breathes out.