Thread by @_zzs_top

#sheith reverse alignment, role swap au

🌌

Keith's never been liked. He's been respected, feared even, but never liked. Nobody likes a kid who is too quiet, or a teen that spends his time alone. They don't like when you look poor but do well in school, or when you're the only

one to get accepted to the prestigious flight academy that the rich families tend to buy their way into. Your peers don't like it when you do better than them in everything, including sparring, and your instructors don't like it when you don't cow to their intimidation.

They don't like it when you turn out to be top of the class with a sizable gap between you and the next person below you. They don't like /you/ because you work for yourself and only yourself and though you get in nobody's way, you're always despised.

Keith's never been liked.

So when he gets picked as pilot for the Kerberos mission he knows it's not just because he's the best around. He knows because his name is just an addendum to the press release announcing the Holt's for this mission. He knows, because they even spell his name wrong.

He's being sent away, off world, away from everyone else, with the hope that he'll come back forgotten, nothing more than a footnote in the shadow of Sam Holt's discoveries.

That's fine with him.

He wasn't doing this for them anyways.

The Holt's are at least kind enough to be discrete with their dislike of him. 'Unapproachable' Sam describes him as in one of his video logs. 'Stick in the mud' is what Matt says instead.

Never to his face, though, which is more than Keith is expecting.

He does his job and stays out of their way, makes sure he lands them cleanly and protects their base while the Holt's are out collecting samples.

Unfortunately, there's nothing he can do to stop the laughably colossal alien cruiser that descends on them six months into their

mission and steals them all away.

He fights, even if only for himself, but in the end they're taken. They're beaten, they're shackled, they're separated, and Keith never sees the Holt's after that.

Instead he's dragged somewhere else, to his own cell, alone yet again.

It's quiet for a very long time. Days, he thinks, though he quickly loses track of time. The only interaction he gets is when a small slat in his door opens to shove something amounting to food through. It's a flavorless paste and the first few times it makes him sick, enough

that he thinks they're trying to poison him. But it changes, like they're just trying to figure out what he can and cannot eat until he's able to keep it down and some of his strength returns.

He starts to figure out who his guards are, during all this.

There are three that work in shifts, big cat-lizard-people that look almost human but mostly not. They aren't kind to him, by a long shot, and he thinks if there weren't a door between them then they'd treat him worse, but as it is they shove his food through, complain

about him in a language he doesn't understand, and ultimately leave him be.

Until they don't.

All three come to him, in what he thinks is the middle of the night. There's some sort of revelry happening floors and floors above him, a celebration he cannot fathom, a celebration that is creating a perfect cover for the three of them to slip into his cell with ill intentions.

(cw: dark violence)

The first thing he thinks is 'they shouldn't have kept feeding me'.

The next thing is 'this is bad'.

Because just as he's pushing himself up to standing all three of them lunge.

His only saving grace is that they're idiots because they all grab for him at the same time, slamming shoulders and dislodging each other in their frenzy.

It's a short lived reprieve but it does mean Keith's able to pull his arms and legs in before they get a hold of him

and drag him from the bed. He hits the cold ground hard and starts kicking out, trying to force some space around him. One of them wraps a hand around his ankle and yanks his foot while another starts grabbing at his arms trying to pin him down.

The last starts pulling at his clothes.

Keith's heart seizes and his eyes go wide and every shred of self preservation that he's ever felt comes to the forefront of his mind. He starts yelling, big noisy lungfuls of screams because if they're focused on shutting him up, they'll

be less focused on dressing him down. He screams and yells and curses and kicks and twists his body until an arm is under him and he's facing his attackers.

It hurts. He knows his shoulder is being injured, but it also means one of the guards is pinned under him because he

tried to hang on. It also throws one of the others off balance enough that he cocks his hip sideways and reveals the one thing Keith is hoping they were too stupid to leave outside.

Keith lunges and grabs the blaster off the guard's hip.

The sound it makes unholstering is a symphony but it's nothing compared to the beat of deadly silence that follows Keith shoving the barrel of it in the guards mouth and pulling the trigger.

Keith doesn't even have time to register the wet heat that splashes on his face. His attackers don't stay quiet for long and before he can even push the body off him, the remaining two are grabbing at him with a new violence in mind.

They yell something in a language he doesn't know and then throw him into the wall so hard his vision whites. Their strength is unimaginable for him at the moment. The only earth creatures he can picture being as strong are silverbacks.

He tastes blood in his mouth but knows he has to get up, move now or else they're going to kill him. But his body isn't cooperating. The lack of food and sleep and nutrients have exhausted him and he's barely up on his knees before he's grabbed again and tossed across the room.

Fists and feet and tails beat down on him, breaking ribs and bruising skin. He knows he cries out from the pain but there's little else he can do except curl up and protect the most vulnerable parts of himself.

As he does, he notices something important.

He's still got the gun.

His fingers are locked around the pistol grip and the goons above him have been too lost in their frenzy to notice.

He has no idea how many rounds are left in this thing, but he's willing to find out.

The moment he gets a chance he takes it, rolling to his back and blindly shooting upwards. He gets one in the foot and then knee, chest, chest, shoulder. The other takes two to the face and three to the chest.

It's not his best but it'll do.

They fall away like timbers and it allows Keith to drag himself back from them, cradling his ribs and trying to get to his feet. He doesn't even care if he properly killed these guys, he just knows he needs to move before he loses his chance.

He uses the bed to push himself up to standing, crying out from pain the entire time. But he gets to his feet and uses two precious seconds to assess the situation.

He definitely has some broken ribs, and his knee is properly fucked. He won't get anywhere fast but he thinks he

can still walk. Two of the three guards who came for him are motionless on the ground but he can see the last one still alive, struggling to get air into his bullet riddled chest.

Keith's lip curls and he limps over to that guard, standing above him, looking down. The guard chokes something out but between the language barrier and the mouthful of blood he's aspirating Keith doesn't understand it.

He also doesn't care.

With one tired sigh he lifts him hand and sinks two bullets into the guy's face, effectively shutting him up.

That leaves him to better assess what he wants to do next.

The entire fight would have drawn attention. He certainly hadn't tried to be quiet and though the revelry

overhead is loud, it isn't THAT loud. Someone will have noticed.

So if Keith intends to get out, he needs to start on that now.

First he checks the bodies, finding one more pistol and some sort of electrified baton, both of which be takes. He also looks for a key card but

comes up empty. It's frustratingly time consuming to do all this and yet he needs a key if he wants to have any hope of escape.

He looks for something else, something an advanced race of space cat lizards might use to enter and exit rooms. The only thing Keith can find is a data

pad attached with some cuff on their arms. It's the best guess he can make so he starts on one of those trying to pull it off.

It doesn't budge, and he's wasting both energy and time fussing with it. With an angry huff he throws the arm to the ground and then stands

with the pistol again. He takes a breath, steels his nerves and then fires round after round into the elbow joint of the guard. The shots echo loudly around his now quiet room and Keith's ears ring but when he looks back down, the limb is now perforated enough for

him to pull and twist it off easily. It's messy, like everything has been in the last ten minutes but her gets what he needs, dragging the arm over to his door to figure out how to open it.

The data pad comes to life as Keith taps on the screen. The writen language

is gibberish to him, but he knows something must correspond to an open command. The guards never entered his cell so Keith doesn't know exactly what to do but he's used technology enough to know he can figure this out.

Unfortunately his exhaustion is rapidly catching up to him. His chest is tight from pain and there's blood in his eyes making it hard to see. As he continues fighting with the device he has to lean against the wall just to take the pressure off his knee and ribs.

It's agonizing how much time it takes but then finally, /finally/, he taps the right button and the door unlocks. The pneumatic hiss of the door as it slides open is music to his ears but as he goes to rush out, he's stopped by a body taking up the entirety of the frame.

He looks up (and up and up) into the storm grey eyes of yet another alien behemoth before sighing out heavily. "Fucking fantastic." He growls, and though he knows it's useless, he lifts his gun to fire.

A metal hand shoots out and grabs the gun, crushing the barrel and the blast

before it can do any damage. Then it twists the gun sharply from his grip and tosses it aside. "Stop." The alien commands, in... English? of all languages, but Keith doesn't listen.

"Fuck you, you fucking alien fuck." He yells as he pulls out the other gun, staggering back

and popping off two shots. The man's metal arm raises again and a purple holographic shield erupts out of it, easily blocking Keith's attacks. He knocks them aside then rushes forward and slams it into Keith's hand, knocking that gun away as well. "Calm down."

"Calm down?! Are you fucking kidding me?" Keith feels delirious as he stumbles back further, trying not to trip over the bodies in his fairly small cell.

Down two guns, he pulls out the only weapon he has left but even he can see that the baton will be no match for this

man, not with his broad shoulders or his mechanical arm.

Keith fights anyways, closing the distance between them with a hard swing. He gets him in the shoulder and across the jaw before the metal hand grabs his weapon and a flesh hand grabs his throat.

"Stop fighting." The voice commands again. "You'll only hurt yourself more." It insists but Keith's having trouble listening. The hand around his throat is tight enough to cut off his oxygen, so as he's held, and as he continues to fight, he starts losing consciousness.

His resistance grows weaker, his body feeling heavier the more it does. He's so tired, so exhausted, that for a moment he welcomes the death he knows is coming.

But just as he's slipping under and he gets one last look at his captor, he thinks no, he's gonna fucking fight.

---

Keith dreams of the ocean. He dreams of water, vast and endless and blue. He dreams of the only time he was truly free, when he was beholden to nobody but himself, in that sliver of time between aging out of the system and starting his new life at the academy.

He'd driven to the coast in a car he'd stolen and swam in the ocean under the stars. As he'd floated there, the water gently lapping at his skin, he'd come to the realization that that was the first time in as long as he could remember that he didn't feel alone.

His body and mind couldn't fathom the endless darkness around him but he'd felt, to his very core, like he was a part of something bigger than himself. That the heavens looked down upon him with their twinkling starlit eyes and whispered 'i see you' and 'you are not alone.'

He'd wept in the backseat of his stolen vehicle, cried for all the hurts he knew he hadn't deserved, and then cleaned himself up and drove back.

He started the pilots program the next day.

He dreams of water now, of floating, of sinking into something bigger than himself, and as he blinks open his eyes he realizes he's not too far off.

Except this isn't the ocean.

It's a tank and he's not sinking, he's drowning, or at least it feels that way.

Something down his throat is blocking his airway and as he swallows he chokes. He starts thrashing immediately, kicking and punching as hard as he can in all directions, though his limbs feel sluggish and weak from the viscous liquid in which he's suspended.

His elbows and knees hit glass and he uses it as a focal point for his terror, punching and kicking in the same area to try and break out. Alarms start blaring in the room outside the tank but he can barely register them for the panic he's feeling.

Just when he's starting to feel sure that this is how he's going to die, he hears the latch release on the tank door and then he and the liquid come spilling out on the cold, hard floor.

He's disoriented when he lands, still gagging around the tube down his throat. He can feel

hands trying to grab at him but he slaps them away while desperately trying to pull the device from his body. It's like tearing out sandpaper, and it goes on forever but finally he's able to pull it out and suck in a painful lungful of air.

He's never been so thankful to breathe, nor to throw up, which he promptly does, emptying his stomach of whatever they had pumped into him. It doesn't even smell like anything but it feels awful coming up.

It's a relief, when the heaving subsides. But that's when the hands start grabbing at him again.

He kicks out instinctively and connects with a body which staggers back with a shout. He's still got too much stuff in his eyes to see what's going on but he knows enough to get distance between him and his assailant.

His back collides with a rolling tray while he's scrambling

away, sending metal instruments tumbling all around him. He feels something sharp cut his skin and he wastes no time grabbing for it. He can feel it cutting up his palms and the tips of his fingers as he fumbles to get ahold of the handle but the relief at having a weapon in his

hand, even a makeshift one, is worth it. "Stay back!" He snarls as he tries to wipe the goo and tears from his eyes.

The people have stopped trying to grab for him and they're now speaking to him in that language he doesn't understand, the language of the guards.

Unlike the guards, however, their voices are gentle, like they're trying to calm him down. They aren't spitting insults or grumbled complaints his direction, which makes him wonder just where he is.

A med bay perhaps?

Or maybe a laboratory.

Is he being experimented on?

His vision is starting to clear enough that he can see blurry shapes around him, purple like the guards, but with different colored clothing on. One approaches again and he swipes at them with the... scalpel? It feels like a scalpel.

He catches the person across the arm and knows he draws blood. They stumble back and away into the arms of the other one in the room while shouting at him angrily.

He doesn't care. He's still trying to clear his vision, blinking rapidly in the hopes that the blobs of color will

soon resolve into clear shapes. He just needs to get a sense of his surroundings so he can figure out how to get out of here.

The voices pick up again but this time they're not talking to him. It looks like they might be talking into a receiver?

It's hard to tell but that doesn't bode well for him. That means they're calling someone else in and Keith barely survived a fight with three people when he had a gun. There's no way he can handle more people with just a scalpel.

He needs to move.

With one last swipe at his face to try and clear the rest of the mess away, he launches up and rushes for the door. It doesn't look like the one in his cell so he's fairly certain he's just in some lab somewhere.

Which means, with any luck, the door should just open for him.

By some miracle it does, whooshing open at his approach. Those voices shout again from behind him but he doesn't slow down, barreling out of the door and into the hallway.

The bright lights are blinding as he sprints down the hall. He doesn't know where he's going, he just knows

he can't stop. Which means he's going full speed when he slams into the hulking figure of the man from before, sending them both crashing hard to the ground.

He slams his head against the ground and then rolls, arms and legs tangling up with the wall of a man he'd run into. The scalpel falls from his hand as well and skitters across the ground too far away for him to scoop up easily.

Especially not when the body above him grabs at

him and starts pinning him down.

"Stop fighting." It urges, winded from their collision.

But Keith will not be easy prey. He twists his body and tucks his arms under him so he's harder to grab, pushing with his legs to try and lever the guy off.

He's /huge/ though so all Keith really manages to do is knee him in the gut which knocks the wind out of him. He wheezes and then does something altogether unexpected.

He goes limp.

The dead weight of the man crushes Keith immediately, pinning him to the ground despite how much he thrashes. Keith is just not a match for the size difference between them and quickly finds himself being held in place by the sheer size of his captor.

"Are you done?" The man asks around another grunt when Keith tries to punch him in the ribs.

"Fuck you." He growls though it's getting harder to breathe with the pressure on his chest. "Fuck you all, get off me!"

"I will once you stop trying to kill my people."

Keith gets his hand up to push the guy's face away but then that metal hand grips his wrist and pushes it to the ground once more.

"They fucking deserved it for what they tried to do to me."

A rumble rattles over him from the other person's chest. "You're right. They did."

Keith swallows, his already murky vision starting to tunnel from the lack of oxygen.

"But the ones trying to help you don't. I can't let up until I know you're going to stop fighting. If you don't, the next time you wake will be shackled to a chair."

Keith sucks in short unsatisfying breaths, still pushing against the body, until his strength finally leaves him.

He doesn't want to go unconscious again, he doesn't want to lose more time. He's terrified and furious and knows that the more he fights the less he'll know.

So he stops, lets his fist go loose in the other man's hand and relaxes against the ground. With the last of the air in his lungs he complains "why are you so fucking heavy" then swallows and closes his eyes.

What he doesn't expect is for the body on top of him to laugh.

It also lets up, allowing him to suck in a deep breath of air. It makes his head spin but he doesn't care, turning on his side a little to draw in more.

His wrists are held tight but the man above him gives him a moment, speaking instead to someone over his shoulder.

No doubt people had come to help with the escaped feral prisoner but Keith can't understand what they're saying enough to understand the nuance of the conversation.

Instead he just focuses on breathing, on rubbing the last of the blurriness from his eyes and finally looking up.

The man above him is huge, with silver hair and silver eyes but he looks different from the other aliens that Keith's seen. There's a familiarity to the almond shaping of his eyes, even if the coloration of his skin (fur?) is distinctly alien.

He has a scar across the bridge of his nose and many other smaller ones scattered about his face, but overall, despite being pinned underneath him, Keith can't deny he's handsome.

Unfortunately Keith wants nothing more than to grab the scalpel and shove it in his eye.

"Why do you speak English?" Keith demands, when he's sick of looking at the other's profile.

The man looks back to him, raising a brow. "It's useful to know the language of the people you are fighting against. Plus... I was born on earth."

His smile is toothy and sharp. "I also know six of Earth's other top spoken languages."

Keith swallows. This man suddenly feels much more dangerous for all the ways he knows more than Keith. "But we aren't fighting a war with you... With your kind."

"Not yet you aren't."

Keith has nothing to say to that so he bites his tongue and tests the man's grip on his hands, finding it secure. He's frustratingly heavy and annoyingly strong so Keith stops bothering and just relaxes back underneath him. "If you're going to kill me, then just do it."

The man cocks his head, studying Keith's face. "And what makes you think I want you dead?"

"Well, I won't let you study me like some fucking lab rat so."

"I don't intend to do that either."

Keith's danger sense crackles again but he tries to ignore it.

"Then what are you going to do to me?"

"First I'm going to let you up. And then we're going to find you clothes."

Keith glances down and realizes, ah, yep. He's completely naked. Cherry on top of his fucking day, to be honest.

"And then, if you're good for me, we'll talk."

The man picks Keith up like he weighs nothing, holding him by his wrists and then lifting until he can settle him on his feet. Keith takes a brief moment to look towards his discarded scalpel, considering, but then the man's hands tighten painfully around Keith's wrists

and he focuses back on what's more important.

"Don't even think about it." The other one warns and it makes Keith's lip curl.

"How would I even fucking get to it, huh?"

The man smirks. "Don't think for a second I underestimate your capability. You've been nothing but a problem

since we grabbed you and I'm not about to make myself look like a fool for thinking you've been turned into anything but." He still hasn't released Keith's wrists and Keith's once again reminded of how vulnerable he is right now.

The muscles in his jaw tighten as he grits his teeth and they stare at each other in silence before Keith turns his head towards the medics and starts to walk towards them.

The man still holds onto his wrists in one last show of strength but then

Keith yanks and he lets them go with a smirk that burns frustration deeper into Keith's gut. He's not ashamed of his nakedness or the biological differences that make him weaker than the other. But it's annoying that the other one is enjoying it so much.

"Don't touch me." Keith snaps when the medics reaches for him. They yank their hands away and step aside as he skulks back to the med bay of his own volition. He doesn't wait for any assistance, starting to pull open cabinets until he finds one with clothes in it.

He feels instantly more in control when he gets some pants on. He doesn't even bother with a shirt just turning to look for bandages instead. "Do you have antiseptic?" He asks to the medics who have joined him in the room. They look confused and he snaps.

"You know, antiseptic? For my injuries? So they don't get fucking infected and kill me from some fucking alien version of gangrene?!" He's nearly yelling now, brandishing the roll of gauze he'd found like a weapon.

They step away from him when he approaches, fearful,

but then the other man speaks up, reassuring them and translating. They immediately move to find it for him, hugging the walls to keep as much distance between them as they can.

Keith should feel bad that these people are scared of him but he honestly doesn't give a shit.

When they offer him a small pot of some kind of purple paste, he snatches it from their hands and gets to work. The two medics skitter back behind their leader and then disappear entirely when he gives them a nod and dismisses them.

The door slides shut behind them leaving Keith and the man alone in the room.

Keith ignores the prickle of danger he feels on the back of his neck and instead focuses on bandaging up his hands and fingers.

"What do they call you? What's your name?" He asks around a strip of gauze he's trying to rip with his teeth.

The man approaches, picking up a pair of scissors and offering them. "They call me Leader." When Keith looks at the scissors like they personally insulted him,

the man rolls his eyes and drops them back down where he found them. "But my Earth name was Shiro. You can call me that."

"Fine. My name is Keith." He says, tearing the bandage and pulling it tight.

"I know. Your friends told me."

"My friends? What friends?"

Shiro lifts a brow and tilts his head. "Your companions? The ones we picked up when we grabbed you?"

Oh. The Holt's. Keith had forgotten all about them.

And instead of asking about them he just grinds his teeth and says "Those people weren't my friends."

Shiro falls into a contemplative silence and then smirks. "I'll admit, they knew very little about you to indicate any kind of closeness. But they had insisted. Perhaps because they saw I was more interested in you."

Keith doesn't rise to the bait. "What did you do with them?"

Shiro hums, thoughtful, as if he has to remember. It's a game, like all the games they've already been playing, bidding his time and making Keith wait. While he does so, he pulls up a chair and sits down in front of

Keith, close enough that Keith can feel his warmth. "We sent them away. There are work camps a few quadrants over that have more use for them than I do."

Keith pauses in what he's doing, staring at his fingers so he doesn't have to see Shiro's expression when he asks "So why did you keep me?"

Shiro smiles, wicked and sharp. "Because... you were much more interesting."

---

He's given a room, and clothes, and food that is made of something sturdier than goo. He's allowed to shower and brush his teeth and clean himself up without someone watching his every move. He's not allowed to shave - which alright, understandable, he's not sure he'd give him

a razor either - but he is allowed to tidy himself up and feel a little more human again.

When he emerges the Leader - Shiro - is waiting for him. He's changed clothes and looks what can only be described as 'relaxed', gazing out the window of Keith's room to the stars beyond.

"All better?" He asks like his people didn't nearly beat Keith into submission.

"S'Fine." He grouses, tugging and adjusting the tight fit of the outfit he was given.

When Shiro turns to look at him he doesn't hide the way his eyes track down and then back up his body.

"Well you certainly look better. How are your hands?"

Keith scowls. "They're fine." They hurt like hell but he's not going to admit that. "You said we'd talk."

Shiro smiles and motions for Keith to follow him. "Indeed I did. Come with me, I'll show you around."

Keith doesn't budge from his position in the room even as Shiro half steps out of the door. "Show me around?"

"Yes? Is that not an expression they use on Earth anymore?" Shiro asks, lifting a brow.

Keith's cheeks tint and he scowls again. "Yeah of course they do that's not-"

But he stops short. He's not an idiot. He knows not to trust this, trust them. But he also doesn't understand why he's being treated like a guest now instead of a prisoner.

"Is there a problem?" Shiro asks again. His smile is innocent but there's a knowing, calculating look in

his eyes that cements Keith's distrust of this whole situation.

But having a look around would give him more information and that can only help him in the end. So after a final beat, he squares up his shoulders and shakes his head. "No. No problem."

Shiro grins. "Good."

To Keith's surprise, Shiro really does show him around. Wherever he'd been held before is a world away from the bustling city-ship he now finds himself on. There are aliens everywhere, Galra they're called when Shiro notices him looking around. They come in a range of

characteristics, some trending more towards cat while others feel more like lizards. It's bewildering just to have confirmation of sentient alien life and then to learn that they're not so dissimilar to humans... It makes Keith's head spin a little.

Not only that, but their way of life is uncomfortably familiar. They have a mess hall and lounge spaces. There are sleeping quarters and recreation halls. The ample indication of their sheer normalness makes Keith even more on edge because something in him wants to feel kinship

with them, some human part of himself that yearns for a likeness in others. But then he remembers how they've treated him, how they've abused him, and whatever shred of similarity he felt dissipates like that.

The only thing the humans and Galra have in common is they both know how to be monsters.

Shiro, for his part, plays the genial host. Keith draws many eyes, some curious, some unkind, but Shiro always draws the same reaction - respect. Despite his mixed nature, everyone they pass gives him a deferential head nod. Some even bow, or go to one knee.

"Are you their king or something?" Keith asks, when the fifth person presses their fist to their chest and bows deeply.

"No." Shiro says, dipping his head lightly and then moving them along. "First I was their Champion. And now I am their Leader."

"Champion? Champion of what?"

Shiro looks down at him and then looks away, turning them down a long corridor. The amount of people in these halls dwindles immediately and Keith feels nervous all over again.

"They called it The Arena."

"A fight to the death where the only prize for the winner was their life, and whatever value that may hold. Most contestants were the slaves picked up from that Leader's conquests, pitted against each other like animals set to slaughter."

He leads them through a darkened halfway until they emerge on a catwalk overlooking the wide expanse of a training field. "I enlisted willingly and put forth a formal challenge to the then leader of the Galra, a man named Zarkon who had been leading our people into the ground."

"And you won, I take it?" Keith asks, voice hushed as he looks over the rows and rows and rows of galran soldiers lined up practicing drills.

"And then some. My challenge was not one he could easily ignore. A half-breed trying to claim the ultimate seat of power, not through

blood but through battle? It was a disrespect I knew he would not abide." Shiro looks down at his army and Keith can see the pride in his eyes. "He took my arm and I took his head. No one questioned my capabilities after that."

"And then you got an army."

"And then I got an army, yes." Shiro grins.

"Why are you showing me this?" Keith asks, glancing over his shoulder and then back to the people below. "To remind me how powerful you are?"

A warmth touches his back as Shiro comes to stand behind him. "Does that need reminding?" He asks, voice low.

Keith shivers despite himself and clenches his hands at his side. "You don't scare me." He hisses, his breath fogging up the glass.

A clawed finger comes up and brushes down the side of Keith's throat. "No, I don't imagine I do." Shiro's head dips close to Keith's ear. "What does frighten you, Keith?" A hand rests on Keith's hip and slides around to press to his belly. "What gets your heart racing if not me?"

Keith bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood. "If you're going to hurt me just hurt me and we can be done with it. I'm sick of playing this game of cat and mouse."

Shiro nuzzles his cheek. "What makes you think I want to hurt you?"

"Your guards made that pretty clear. I don't think they were pulling off my clothes just for fun." Keith nearly snarls, voice hushed and low.

Shiro doesn't answer but a growl echoes through him and his hand tightens on Keith's stomach pulling him flush against his chest.

"They had no right to touch you like that. It was a mercy, the bullets you put in their heads for their punishment would not have been so kind for breaking a direct order."

Keith's having trouble keeping steady. "You told them not to touch me?"

Shiro's teeth scrape Keith's throat as he talks. "You are mine and they knew that. If they had been alive when I'd come in, I would have ripped their throats out myself."

Keith swallows and closes his eyes, trying to measure his breathing and steady his rapidly racing heart.

"How does that make you feel Keith? To know I want you only for myself?" Those claws curl on his belly and Keith can barely restrain the whimper that nearly tumbles out.

"What do I care?" He says despite how his heart beats harder at the thought.

This man is a monster. He kidnapped him, studied him, hurt him, and is now toying with him like a mouse caught in a cat's paws.

But still, his heart races.

Shiro rumbles out a chuckle and nudges Keith forward just enough to knock him off balance.

His clenched fists fly up to catch himself on the window and then he does moan when Shiro presses up against his back. He's flush with the glass now, looking down at Shiro's accomplishments made real while the man himself is a hot presence behind him, voice in his ear.

"I read your logbooks Keith Kogane. I know your records. Best pilot Earth has seen in a very long time, relegated to the footnotes of history." He presses a knee between Keith's and nudges them open. "Such a waste, such a disappointment. You are worth so much more than that."

Keith gasps and rocks against the knee when Shiro presses it against him, pinned between the window and Shiro's large body. His breath keeps fogging up the glass near his face but each time Shiro presses against him, his hand swipes it away so his view below remains clear.

A constant reminder that the man talking is a dangerous one, that he holds power over so much, more than Keith can even fathom.

But this is also the first time anyone has mentioned Keith's accomplishments with anything other than scorn.

It's confusing, how mixed up he's feeling. His distrust of these people is still present but each time Shiro whispers some new compliment in his ear Keith can't help but want to hear more.

But it's not right and he knows it.

"Get off-" he chokes out the next time Shiro rocks forward and presses him harder into the glass. "Get off."

Shiro stops but he doesn't pull back. "Why?" He asks, knee pressing closer between Keith's legs. He knows Keith's hard, they both can feel it, and that realization

further cements Keith's need for this to stop.

"I don't want this. I don't want you." He hisses, trying to push against the glass now instead of lean against it.

Shiro holds him in place for a moment longer. "I don't believe you." He whispers but then pulls off, stepping

a full foot back and letting Keith stumble away from him. "But if you insist. I'm confident you'll come to me when you're ready."

Keith takes another step away and glares at the man, trying to measure his breathing and will away his flush. "Fuck you." He hisses.

Shiro just chuckles, dark and knowing. Beyond his slightly flushed cheeks, he looks completely unbothered by what just transpired, smirking down at Keith like this is a game. It makes Keith's belly burn with embarrassment, and maybe something else...

A challenge?

"Well, I think we've seen enough of the training grounds for one evening. And you must be exhausted from the day's events. How about I walk you back to your room?" He asks as if he hadn't been a few minutes from getting Keith off just a moment before.

Keith clenches his hands into fists again. He refuses to show any more weakness, to show any more of his body's response to this man so he just turns his face away and follows him out of the hall.

---

"When you kidnapped us..." Keith asks over breakfast a few days later. He takes most of his meals with Shiro now, like some coveted pet. Keith hates it but also knows he wouldn't stand a chance in the open mess hall the regular galra use.

"Acquired." Shiro corrects.

Keith rolls his eyes and grips his fork tighter. "When you /kidnapped/ me," he growls before stuffing food in his mouth so he doesn't rise to Shiro's bait. "Was it intentional?"

Shiro pauses mid sip of his drink and watches Keith. He hasn't tried to make a move since that first

time over the training arena but Keith feels just as exposed every time Shiro studies him like he's doing now.

"Why do you ask?"

Keith pushes food around on his plate. "You didn't know who I was before you took me. You sent the others away when they proved useless to you. It

doesn't feel like you were expecting us when you grabbed us." Keith drops his fork and leans back in his chair to look at Shiro directly now. "So I guess what I'm asking is what were you doing on Kerberos since I'm sure it wasn't to do with us."

Shiro's lips curl in a pleased smile around the rim of his glass and Keith ignores the sense of satisfaction that kicks up on his gut at the sight of it.

"What a perceptive insight." He hums, setting his cup down and relaxing back into his chair, steepling his fingers.

"You're right. We weren't there for you. You were just a happy accident." He licks over his teeth, considering and then leans forward. "We were looking for something, something that was hidden in your galaxy, something that would aid us in our endeavors greatly."

"And you think it's on Kerberos?" Keith asks. His heart rate picks up and he can't tell if it's out of fear or excitement.

"No, I think it's on Earth but I needed to be sure."

Keith swallows and tries to keep his voice steady. "What is it? This thing you're looking for?"

Shiro narrows his eyes, smiling, and Keith gets the district impression that Shiro is pleased with his curiosity. "Maybe one day I'll show you. When you're ready."

And breakfast continues on.

Keith doesn't exist only in the spaces between his room and Shiro's chambers. It's true that his time is mostly spent with the galran general but in the afternoons he's indoctrinated into galran life. He learns about their food, their culture. He learns their habits and some

of their biology. He doesn't really understand why he's being taught all this, why they don't see him as a liability that should be kept in the dark but he doesn't question it, doesn't refuse learning more about the people keeping him captive.

The one thing they don't teach him is the language but that doesn't mean he doesn't learn. You don't get the accomplishments he's gotten by being an idiot and while languages aren't his forte he starts to pick it up.

There's a subharmonic layer to the galran spoken language that he has no hope of recreating but he starts picking up words and phrases, enough to get the gist of what a lot of people say about him.

None of it is flattering.

And it's never in Shiro's presence.

But it's there, nonetheless.

Dog, they call him, which Keith learns first.

Then whore.

Then a variety of other colorful and creative monikers that Keith ignores the best he can. He knows why they treat him this way - jealousy for the alien captive who holds the leader's

attention - but if it were up to him he would rather not have it either.

Unfortunately, it's not up to him.

The one thing they teach him that he doesn't understand... is how to fight.

The first time he'd been escorted to the training facilities he thought they were finally

going to kill him. They'd handed him a staff, paired him up with a galra twice his size and then let her beat the shit out of him.

They did that for a week before Keith realized they weren't trying to kill him. The woman, an agent named Acxa, still continued to kick his ass. But

after a time he started getting hits in of his own.

Soon, training became the highlight of his days.

And time passed on. He'd long lost track of how long he'd been on this ship but he thought he might be nearing his third month.

It was hard to hold onto hours and minutes and days when your orbit around a distant sun was so long and so different than what your biology was used to.

But if he had to guess he'd say close to three months.

Which is when he finally decides to kill Shiro in his sleep.

---

It's laughably easy to sneak out of his room. If he weren't so focused on his singular goal he might wonder that it's too easy, but right now all he can think about is moving as quietly as his human body will allow.

He's learned a lot from his time here.

He's learned where to place his feet and how to carry his weight so his steps are soundless. He's learned how to measure his breathing so his heart doesn't race. He's learned how to hide all the little tells of his nervousness so he's like a ghost.

Or a mouse, sneaking through the home of hungry cats.

His weapon isn't ideal but it's the best he could manage these past few months. They've allowed him to shave but only with supervision and only once every few weeks so he hasn't had access to anything immediately sharp.

But he's been allowed near cutlery and it's not so hard to grind down a spoon into something that can be used to kill. He hides it in the sleeve of his tunic now, back pressed to a wall as he crouches by a darkened corner and listens for the guards patrolling.

He's been learning their schedules too.

They're smarter than the ones that he'd killed down below but they're still too relaxed around Shiro's quarters. They must not believe anyone would be brave enough to make a move on their leader. Their mistake.

They leave their posts early for shift change and it gives Keith the few minutes he needs to slip down the hall and into Shiro's quarters.

He's been in here so much he almost knows it better than his own room. Shiro's rooms are like a small apartment. The first chamber is a

sitting room with comfortable chairs and books, Shiro's distinct influence. The room on the left is Shiro's office and the one on the right is his dining quarters, which Keith knows well.

It's the room to the back that's Keith's target.

Shiro's bedchamber.

When Keith gets close to the door, he presses his ear against it and listens. Through the wood - a strange luxury in space - he can hear Shiro's low snores. They sound deep enough that on the next pull Keith chances turning the handle. It's quiet as it clicks open and despite

its weight, it swings open soundlessly on its hinges. Keith only opens it enough to slip through, still crouched, waiting to see if he's been heard.

Shiro snores on.

Keith studies his surroundings before deciding on his next move. Shiro's bed is large and Shiro takes up a lot

of it. He's sleeping on his side, his bulk a dark shape under the blankets on his bed. There's a curtained window to the stars that is half open, letting in a little starlight, just enough for Keith to be able to see by.

For an empire leader, Shiro's room is kind of a mess.

There are clothes thrown haphazardly on the ground and a ceremonial helmet tossed carelessly on a bureau. A cape hangs over the back of a chair and three swords of various size are piled under the window. If Keith didn't know better, he'd think this was a college kids dorm.

But he does know better. He knows the man's arm is weapon. He knows this is a killed or be killed situation. He knows if he messes up now, Shiro will end his life.

He's okay with that.

He approaches the bed.

He crab walks over a discarded shirt towards Shiro's side of the bed. He's hoping that the man's asleep enough to not smell him - a skill he knows the galra excel at - but if he's fast enough it might not matter.

He lets his weapon slide out of the sleeve of his shirt and into his waiting hand. He takes a breath and holds it. Then he lunges.

With his free hand he shoves Shiro's chin up and away to expose the soft skin of his throat. When he does he brings his makeshift blade down.

And he's fast, faster than even he's expecting, but not quite fast enough. The sharpened edge misses its mark as Shiro's eyes fly open and he yanks himself to the side just as it's coming down. Instead of cutting down his throat it slices open the side of his face,

a curving wound that runs from cheek to jaw. He lets out a shout of pain and anger before grabbing the front of Keith's tunic and throwing him across the room to slam hard into the window and collapse down.

It knocks the wind out of Keith's lungs and the weapon out of his hand,

but puts him in an advantageous position atop the pile of swords Shiro had tossed over here. Keith, still wheezing to get air into his lungs, scrambles and grabs the first hilt he finds just as Shiro makes it to him and brings his purple glowing hand down.

Keith is blinded immediately as the blade in his hand - once small and compact - erupts into the wicked curve of an alien scimitar, dark metal thrumming with a magic this isn't his own. There's a hail of violet sparks as metal connects with metal but it stops Shiro's

arm in its deadly arc down towards him and shocks them both into momentary silence.

Shiro's eyes light up in satisfaction just as Keith rolls away and launches himself towards the door.

A warm hand grabs his ankle and yanks him back. Keith scrambles, trying to find purchase on something solid on the ground but he can't stop Shiro from dragging him back and then tossing him into the dresser.

This time he holds onto the blade. It feels right in his hands, heavy

and warm and like it was made for him. As it vibrates he feels his own conviction humming and before Shiro gets to him he's rushing forward, blade in hand and determination in his eyes.

Sword play is not something he's trained in, but it feels natural to move around Shiro's

body with the blade in hand. He keeps making for the door but each time he breaks for it Shiro will catch hold of his shirt or hair and yank him back into the fight. There's blood running down Shiro's face and forming from all the little cuts Keith is landing but it's not enough

to slow Shiro down. In fact, it's like he's enjoying this, like the thrill of the fight, the taste of blood, is only making him more excited.

"I told you!" He cries in triumph as Keith gets him across the bare chest. He staggers back then rushes forward to shoulder check Keith

into the wall, quickly following it with a pin. "When you were ready, what did I say?" He pins Keith's throat with his metal arm then punches him twice in the stomach. Keith coughs, spitting up blood but it only draws Shiro closer, his eyes wild.

"I told you you'd come to me."

Keith yells, an angry vicious noise, torn from the depths of his lungs. He kicks out his foot and catches Shiro in the knee which forces the man back a step, enough that Keith can toss the sword from one hand to the other.

Midair it transforms back to the small dagger it was before and without looking, Keith stabs it up and under Shiro's ribs.

He's released immediately as Shiro falls away from him with his own feral roar. When he does, Keith rips the knife out with a spray of gore.

He lands on his feet with the sword extended again but he's not fast enough to avoid Shiro's foot swinging around and slamming into the side of his face. It sends him sprawling to his hands and knees and he's just able to brace himself as that foot kicks back up into his gut.

"You're doing so good for me kitty rose but I need you to stop resisting now!" Shiro yells, kicking him again.

Keith's vision blacks for a moment from the impact of the blows. He drops the sword and falls to his side and just tries to cover his softest places from the worst of

the beating. But it's not the pain from Shiro's abuse that's suddenly sending his heart racing.

He quickly finds he can't breathe, like his chest is constricting, his muscles spasming. He curls up tighter on his side but can't stop the searing pain racing up his spine.

Shiro stops his kicking in favor of crouching nearby. He grabs Keith's hair and yanks up his head, looking into his eyes. "Fuck, yes, come on baby, I know you're in there. Stop fighting it."

Keith's body spasms again before he screams in pain. "What... What did you do to me?!"

Shiro nuzzles his temple, eyes closed in bliss at the sound of Keith's cries. "I did what nature could not. I did what some could only dream of. You will be strong, you will be beautiful!"

Keith's jaw cracks and his eyes roll back in his head. His bones feel wrong, feel like

they're too big for his body, like his skin can't handle whatever is being done. A shock of adrenaline rolls through his system and he throws Shiro off him but he's having trouble getting his limbs to work enough to get back on his feet. "What did you- what did you do to me?!"

Shiro's like a shadow, slamming up against his back and shoving him into a wall. He grabs his hair, his arm, and pins him in place. Then he pulls back his head and drags him over to a mirror to see exactly what's happening.

"What, did you think it was simple food you were eating? Did you think it was just a healing tank you woke up in? I'm making you better, I've MADE you better. Stop fighting it and you'll see the glory of what you can become!"

Keith stares at himself, stares at the monster looking back. His eyes, yellow and wide with fear, his mouth, full of teeth and fangs that don't belong.

And his skin, purple and striped, like a sickness, crawling up his body in patches of color.

He watches in horror as another wave of pain and nausea ripples through his body and the coloration spreads. Markings bloom under his eyes and glow a faint violet and the longer he stares, the more intense it grows.

His vision is beginning to tunnel as his heart races faster and

faster than it's supposed to. And coupled with Shiro's crooning voice in his ear, he's finding it harder and harder to stay conscious.

"You're going to be so beautiful for me, my little kitten. So much strong, so much better than your birth determined for you. I've made you in

my image and I cannot wait to see what we will be able to do together."

Shiro drags blood soaked kisses up his throat until he reaches his lips and just as Keith slips under, he tastes the copper tang of a dark deal sealed on his tongue.

---

Keith regains consciousness in fits and bursts. His body, wracked with pain, will only allow him small moments of lucidity where he can take in what's happening before being pulled back under.

Being wheeled from Shiro's room.

Shiro waving off the medics.

Shiro barking orders left and right.

The voices around him are muddled and foggy but one sentence makes it through and sticks with Keith through the whole ordeal: "Make sure this one lives."

He doesn't know what that means, doesn't know if it matters, because pain skitters through his body once more and down he goes.

He dreams of summer.

He dreams of heat and the screech of cicadas. He dreams of burned skin and dry lips, of thirst and sweat and exhaustion.

He dreams that he tears off his skin to get some relief.

And then he doesn't dream at all. Then he drifts, weightless, not in an ocean but in space. Tethered only to his own will to live. He drifts and holds on and grips tight to the threads of his survival and then-

He sleeps.

When he wakes, everything is purple.

He can't tell what time of day it is or even where he's at, but whatever room he's in is cast in a soft violet glow, making everything fuzzy and dreamlike. If it weren't for the very real cuffs chaining his wrists to the bed he might even

believe this to be heaven.

But he does know better. As his mind clears and he wakes up further he's able to take proper stock of his surroundings.

He's alive - a fact he's not sure is good just yet.

He's not injured.

He's not in the med bay.

He's not alone.

Sitting at a desk a few paces from the bed is Shiro, shuffling through documents on a few data screens, looking for all the world like a weary boss instead of a manipulative monster. He's in relaxed pants and there are bandages wrapped around his torso and shoulder.

Keith tries to steady his breathing so Shiro doesn't realize he's awake and is surprised to find how easy it is. His focus dives inwards and he calms immediately, shallowing his breathing and steadying his heartbeat.

It would be alarming but there are bigger things to be worried about. Like the teeth currently crowding his mouth. Or the soft downy fur that's covering his skin.

He runs his tongue along his gums and catalogues the new shape of his teeth. They're sharper, longer, more deadly

than the blunted human teeth he used to have. He keeps nicking his tongue on his canines but comes to the conclusion that they all fit, they're just new and uncomfortable. His jaw aches in a telling way so maybe his body adjusted for these too.

It's a disconcerting thought.

The fur on his body is soft and warm and adds to the violet hue that fills his vision. When he glances at his torso he can see stripes running up his belly and down below the blankets covering his waist.

His fingers are tipped in claws.

Just as these realizations start becoming overwhelming again Keith's ears swivel - actually swivel - to the sound of a deep sigh coming from Shiro at the desk.

"If you're going to be discreet you'll have to learn to control your scent as well as your heartbeat. Anyone with half

a nose could smell your anxiety from a mile away." Then he sets his data pad down and turns to face Keith.

He smiles.

"Stars, are you beautiful."

And Keith knows he's telling the truth, can hear it in the subharmonics of his voice, can smell the pleasure in his scent. Its heady and dangerous and does something to Keith.

He feels.. pride? Satisfaction? Both are wrong emotions but when Shiro's scent changes so does Keith's.

"That's good, baby." Shiro encourages, relaxing back in the chair and watching him. "Can you smell how pleased I am with you? Does that make you feel good?"

Keith squirms and finds, to his horror, that his body is incredibly responsive to Shiro's pleasure. He turns to scowl

at Shiro but it must not be that convincing because Shiro just chuckles and approaches the bed.

Keith ignores the excitement he feels at having Shiro closer.

"You're going to have a lot of questions, I know. And it's going to take a bit of time before you're comfortable in this

new body of yours. But I promise you will come to enjoy it and you'll thank me for what I've done."

He sets a hand to Keith's belly and rubs just below his naval until Keith surprises himself once again.

He starts to purr.