Chapter Text
Shiro is still getting used to his new normal. Matt would laugh so hard if he could see Shiro now, with not just one alien boyfriend, but two. Add on Regris as a member of their particular subcaste and his very real fondness for both Antok and Kolivan, and some people might say he has five. And in human terms he guesses he’s friends-with-benefits with the entire Blade of Marmora, including the ones he hasn’t met yet, which is still a really weird feeling, but no one has ever made him do anything he didn’t want to, and people have gotten less pushy after realizing that humans are more sensitive to these things. He’s already weird, the only Blade who doesn’t have a real blade, the only member of his strange and exotic species anyone has ever seen, so people are willing to work with his foibles.
And, to be perfectly honest, Shiro is getting back in touch with his inner slut, always only poorly plastered over with responsibilities and the need to be a role model, anyway. Right now his face is buried between Thace’s legs, slick smeared from his chin to his eyebrows as he buries his tongue in Thace’s sheath and grips his knot in his organic hand, squeezing tightly as Thace whimpers and howls, struggling in Ulaz’s arms.
Ulaz just chuckles, and tightens his grip. “Hold still, beloved. Let Shiro work.”
It’s still funny, being with people where fingering is so kinky, but it does make sense with the claws. When Shiro pushes two into Thace, he freezes, eyes huge. He says he likes it when Shiro moves quickly, that the little rush of terror just adds to everything. Now Shiro verges on rough, and Thace falls apart in Ulaz’s arms, shaking and mewling, that whole big, powerful body so helpless between them. Shiro loves watching the way they nuzzle each other, and how Thace clutches at Ulaz, afraid of what his claws will do to Shiro’s thin, human skin.
By the time Shiro is fucking Thace on four fingers, he’s biting onto Ulaz’s shoulder to keep back some wild and titanic noise, and a moment later he’s coming, shooting over Shiro’s shoulder and hitting his upper back. It goes on for a while, the way it seems to, for Galra. Ulaz growls, biting Thace’s neck and holding him through it, while Shiro keeps a merciless grip on his knot, fingers pumping in and out of him until he whines and starts trying to squirm away. Shiro chuckles, and lets him go, sliding his fingers out and slowly licking them clean. His hips are rolling against the bed, lazy and automatic as he looks up as his partners, and he knows the smile on his face is obscene.
Before Shiro can ask Ulaz if he sees anything he likes, all of their comms light up. “Guu’ralk,” Shiro mutters, a nice, flexible Galra curse that covers most of same situations that ‘fuck’ does.
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Sendak never would have thought he would be doing this. Never. He knows he has to, his hands are steady as he enters all the codes to requisition a shuttle, something that won’t even raise an eyebrow. Nothing is going to alert Sendak’s emperor to his desertion until the thing is done, and it makes his liver cringe inside him.
He still loves Zarkon. There’s no way he cannot, Zarkon trained him, Zarkon’s scent is home, but… but Haxus and Hepta are everything. And he has already gone through the entire appeal process to keep them with him, and Zarkon doesn’t care. He doesn’t just want to separate Sendak from his subcaste, but to separate them from each other. Sendak could endure the loss, he could put one foot in front of the other if he just knew that Hepta had Haxus to protect him. But he would be alone, and Sendak does his best not to shake at the thought.
Haxus is tough, and craft where toughness fails. Even on a new ship, Haxus would be all right. He’d find the right people to cozy up to, win a few flashy victories, and pretty soon he’d be back to where he was, not sharing anyone’s bed he didn’t want to. Sendak would miss him so much it would be a physical pain, but he wouldn’t actually have to worry about him. But Hepta…
Sendak had only met Hepta because a couple of his fellow officers had been late to a meeting, and going to track them down, he had found them just finishing up with Hepta. That alone would have just been irritating, but the scent… There’s a very distinctive smell to someone who’s genuinely enjoying themselves, and learning to fake it something infiltrators spend years on. Hepta does not know how to do it, and while Sendak is not particularly soft-hearted, he does hold certain standards. It’s contemptible to force yourself on someone too low-ranked to say no, and doubly so if they’re tiny, delicate, and clearly already exhausted and bruised from others doing the same thing. He hadn’t even known Hepta’s name at that point, just told him to finish whatever duties he had been assigned, then get to Sendak’s quarters and wait. Hepta hadn’t been able to stop the way his ears flattened or the little puff of fear in his scent, but had just said ‘vrepit sa’ and taken his leave.
Remembering the look in Hepta’s eyes, putting himself at Sendak’s mercy with no other choice, Sendak growls. It doesn’t matter how much it hurts or what happens. He has to desert. He can’t look into those eyes and tell Hepta that this is it, that he’s just going to let him go, that he’ll just have to hope someone else will decide to protect him.
The order for the shuttle goes through. There’s no reason for it to be flagged, Sendak is an officer in good standing and has many legitimate uses for one. He takes a deep breath, and tries to modulate his scent, even if there’s no one else around. Of course, even with transport, he’s still not sure where in all the Abyss they’ll be going. Some outer world where the locals can be paid or threatened to keep their mouths shut, ideally. Anywhere to get a minute to think, because there’s probably nothing in the universe more dangerous to be than a deserter from the Galra Empire.