Archive of Our Own

Here’s the thing: Keith didn’t mean to kill her.

It was an accident.

Accidents, as far as Keith is concerned, fall solidly into the same category Keith himself falls into, the gray area. But wolves don’t see gray areas. Wolves see black and white; as far as they’re concerned, vampires are the villains, and they’re the heroes.

Which is why a fucking pack of them has wormed their way into Keith’s feeding ground barely a week after that unfortunate sophomore girl was proclaimed legally deceased due to blood loss by the paramedics behind the auditorium at half past midnight.

Keith will give them props for quick response, but only for that. The rest of the situation is infuriating. This is Keith’s turf, Keith’s school, Keith’s blood, and now these wolves have waltzed in as if it hasn’t been Keith’s for over a decade, now. Eleven years, to be exact. This place was the only damn thing in this world that belonged to Keith, and he’s going to take it back no matter what it costs him.

He doesn’t have a real plan. Plans aren’t Keith’s forte. All he knows is this – he’s going to find the arrogant alpha wolf who thought he could claim Keith’s school as his territory, and he’s going to rip his throat out. He’ll use his damn thrall if he has to, even though Keith hates that dirty trick.

But then he rounds the corner of the bleachers, sees the alpha, and reconsiders his approach.

Gamara University is a small private college, but their football team is the school’s pride and joy. Despite their tiny size and location roughly in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, they’re Division II, which is a feat even Keith, who could care less about football, can appreciate. He can also appreciate the team’s newest player, and does, quite a bit. From afar, of course, shrouded in the shadows of the bleachers, arms folded and finger lifted approvingly to pursed lips.

The first word that comes to mind is broad. Broad shoulders that stretch the blue and gold jersey tight across his broad, obscenely muscled chest, broad hands that clap down gently but firmly on a smaller teammate’s shoulder, broad back that shifts and arches in a mouthwatering way when he bends down to retrieve the fallen football, betraying the equally tantalizing flex of his thick thighs and the curve of his ass, pert and plump through thin black pants.

Keith covers his mouth, a little mortified at himself. This is a wolf he’s ogling, the very wolf that trespassed and had the audacity to – oh, his face is beautiful, too. Keith’s fangs threaten to unsheathe just from the sight of the alpha smiling, tan skin glowing with exertion and gray eyes crinkling up at the corners as he throws back his head and laughs, his white forelock spraying sweat with the movement.

Keith clenches his jaw. He bets the alpha’s blood tastes delicious.

He can’t be thinking such things right now. Keith takes a deep breath, and braces himself – he’s learned a few tricks in his time, and as a relatively young vampire, it’s easy to pass as a mere mortal. So he steps out from the shadows, and goes to sit on the bleachers and observe quietly among the small throng of students already gathered there, half of whom seem to be ogling the alpha, too. Keith tamps down the jealousy that flares in his gut, and tells himself it’s not worth it as he takes a seat.

But as the practice continues, Keith’s finds himself unable to tear his gaze away from the alpha, and eventually, the alpha notices. Keith doesn’t know why the alpha looks at him out of everyone else in the crowd – he’s masking his scent, he’s covered in sunscreen, and he thought he blended in. But he meets Keith’s eyes and stares openly once, twice, three times, and Keith hates the way it makes blood rush to his face, among other places. Why is the wolf staring at him? Does he see something Keith doesn’t? Does he know what Keith is? Is Keith’s cover blown already?

By the time practice is over, Keith is ready for a fight, tense and anxious and sweating through his black T-shirt. He’s expecting it when he tries to hurry away from the bleachers and is stopped by six and a half feet of muscle and scent, overwhelming and musky and not as off-putting as it really should be.

No doubt about it, this here’s an alpha wolf. Keith slowly lifts his head and looks up at him.

“Can I help you?” he asks, quiet and clipped.

The wolf smiles. It looks genuine. Keith squints at him suspiciously. “Hi,” the wolf says. “I’m Shiro. Er, well, Takashi, Takashi Shirogane, but all my friends just call me Shiro…” He trails off and scratches his head, face flushed. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Keith echoes, all at once taken off-guard and confused beyond belief. The wolf, Shiro, is…is he nervous? He’s blushing. He’s stammering. Keith can hear his heartbeat hammering away inside his unfairly broad chest.

Oh. Oh . Does the wolf like him? And to think, Keith hadn’t used his thrall for even a second.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro sighs, and actually looks sorry. “I just, I saw you watching the practice, and you’re really cute, and…sorry. If you don’t want – I’m just gonna…go…”

But as he turns to leave, face now entirely red, Keith grabs his arm with what he hopes isn’t too much speed and strength, and says, “I’m Keith.”

He immediately curses himself for not coming up with an alias. Off to a great start.

He forgets all about his folly when Shiro’s face lights up again. “Keith,” he repeats. His lips quirk. “I’m new here. Guessing you’re not.”

“No,” Keith says. “No, I’m a junior.” A lie; he’ll technically be a freshman for eternity, but considering he’s existed for a grand total of thirty years now, he thinks he’s entitled to a little age inflation.

“Ah,” Shiro says. “I’m a senior. Astrophysics major.”

“Astrophysics?” Keith repeats dumbly. Shiro nods. “But…you…uh.” He coughs. “How do you have time for a major that demanding and the football team?”

“Huh?” Shiro shakes his head and chuckles. “Oh, no, sorry to disappoint; I’m not on the team, just filling in for a missing player. My friends Lance and Hunk are on it, you might’ve seen them during practice? The new running back and center, 41 and 54.”

Yeah, Keith saw them. More wolves; the alpha’s pack. He folds his arms. “You’re not on the football team but you’re built like a brick shithouse? Okay.”

Shiro blinks. “Flattering,” he says dryly.

“And you’re an astrophysics major.” Keith shakes his head.

“Well, what’s your major?”

“Uh,” Keith says, fumbling, “art?”

Shiro’s lips part like he actually cares. “Art? Studio Art, or –”

“Yes. Yes, Studio Art,” Keith says. He does art. He can probably pretend he studies it, too.

He really should have thought this through better.

Shiro grins, huge and bright. “That’s awesome, Keith! What medium?”

“Oh, y’know,” Keith mumbles, not expecting the interest at all, “charcoal, watercolors, acrylic…little bit of everything.”

“And what do you draw?”

“People,” Keith answers honestly. “Mostly.”

Shiro opens his mouth. He looks like he’s going to keep talking about art and Keith likes art, he really does; but he’s not here to discuss color theory with the wolf, that’s for sure.

“Listen,” Keith snaps, “do you want my number, or not?”

Shiro freezes. “You,” he says, and stops. “You want to give me your number?”

“Either that, or a blowjob, whichever is faster.”

Shiro sways slightly. This huge alpha wolf is a little pathetic. It’s kind of endearing. This is going to be too easy. “Um,” he squeaks. “How about both?”

“Cool,” Keith says, although he feels anything but. “Blowjob first, then number. Your place, let’s go.”

“I need to shower –”

“No, you don’t,” Keith mutters, stepping as close as he dares, close enough that he can see the sweat glistening on Shiro’s soft throat, beads sliding down slow and disappearing under the darkening fabric of his damp jersey. He reaches out, slow and teasing, and drags his fingertip through the sweat. He can feel the heat of the wolf’s veins, just below the surface.

Shiro watches, pupils blown, as Keith sucks his wet fingertip into his mouth, and smirks. Shiro doesn’t seem to know what’s happening. Honestly, neither does Keith. He just knows that he wants to get this wolf’s dick in his mouth before making him pay. Keith doesn’t make a habit of sucking random wolf dicks. In fact, he’s never done this before. He thinks Shiro is a damn good place to start, though.

“God,” Shiro whispers, and Keith has to force himself not to flinch away when the wolf cups his cheek with one large, warm hand. “Are you for real?”

“Why don’t you find out?” Keith retorts, brushing his hand off and tipping up his chin in challenge.

“Okay,” Shiro agrees easily, and leads the way to his apartment.

*

Keith’s on him as soon as their shoes are off, before the door even shuts behind them, up on his tiptoes to grab Shiro’s face and drag him down into a bruising kiss; a kiss so dizzyingly hot and better than any kisses Keith can remember that his fangs once again itch and threaten to slide free. He settles for nipping at Shiro’s lower lip as the kiss breaks, a move which makes the wolf’s eyes darken, his hands settling heavy on Keith’s waist.

“Fuck,” Shiro breathes, and Keith definitely wants to make him say that again, “you’re really hot, you know that?”

“Looked in a mirror, lately?” Keith shoots back, and kisses him again.

Somehow, Shiro manages to navigate them through the kitchen, down the hall, and into his bedroom in one piece. Distantly, Keith thinks this is a big apartment, but all thoughts fizzle out and away when the backs of his knees hit the mattress and he goes down hard, with Shiro falling heavy and hot and sweating on top of him. The scent of werewolf smothers him and an immediate and instinctive panic sets in. All of Keith’s breath leaves him in a rush, and he shoves at Shiro’s chest; too much too fast.

To his surprise and relief, Shiro backs off, eyes wide with concern and…guilt? “Sorry,” he gasps, “you good?”

Keith takes a second to breathe, during which the wolf’s anxiety is palpable, souring his heady scent. “Fine,” he finally croaks, staring up at the ceiling. There’s a stain vaguely shaped like a moth up there. “Just. Don’t do this often.”

Shiro makes a thoughtful sound, but doesn’t say something like, Wow, really? Sure seemed like a Grade A slut to me, which is nice of him. Instead he says, “Have…have you ever done this before?”

Keith sits up slightly and huffs at him. “Yes,” he says. Eleven years ago. “Wait, have you?”

Shiro chews his lip. “Yes, but not like this…I mean, we just met, you really want to…”

“Suck your dick? Yeah, absolutely,” Keith says.

Shiro gulps. “If you’re sure,” he says, and takes off his shirt.

“Oh, I’m sure,” Keith says, staring at his bare chest with unabashed awe. Broad doesn’t even do him justice. “Holy shit. Can I touch your nipples?”

Shiro splutters. “My – why – yes?”

“Thanks,” Keith says, and sucks one of Shiro’s nipples into his mouth gleefully.

The wolf jerks hard, pawing at Keith’s shoulder and gasping when Keith digs his teeth in. “What?” he just keeps saying, in a shocked kind of voice that implies he’s never had anyone’s mouth on his nipples before, which should be a crime, because Shiro has pretty nipples.

Keith’s particular about those, and it’s part of the reason why he usually goes for girls, but Shiro’s are tight and round and beautifully responsive; the wolf reeks of arousal by the time Keith’s done teasing at both of them, rubbing them between tongue and teeth and thumb and forefinger until Shiro whines at him for mercy.

Keith’s ready to continue the torture, and then Shiro shifts forward and Keith feels the heaviness of his hard cock through his pants and his brain short-circuits entirely. “These, off,” Keith orders, tugging at his waistband, and for an alpha wolf Shiro is quite obedient. Keith likes it, especially when Shiro’s pants are off and his erection is on display, curving up dark and desperate over his belly.

“Keith,” Shiro whispers, grasping at his shirt shakily, “c’mon, c’mon, wanna see you –”

“You first,” Keith says, wriggling away from his wandering hands and smoothly reversing their positions, until Shiro’s on his back and Keith is between his legs, eyeing his cock and wrapping a loose hand around it. Shiro groans and thrusts up into his grip like he’s dying for it already.

“Somebody’s eager,” Keith murmurs, head tilted. Shiro’s head falls back against the pillows, exposing his neck, and Keith thinks he could lunge and bite right now and it would all be over as soon as he got to the wolf’s jugular. He can see it pulse just under the skin, illuminated by sweat and sunlight. It’s tempting.

But Keith isn’t cruel; he’s in the gray area and determined to stay there. So instead he shuffles down and wraps his lips around the wide, pretty head of Shiro’s cock.

Shiro’s cock is thick and long and slightly curved and kind of perfect, and Keith wastes no time in taking advantage of his lack of a gag reflex, sinking down and hollowing his cheeks until his nose meets thick black curls and warm skin. His throat constricts spasmodically around the tip, or maybe the first few inches – Keith doesn’t know; only knows that Shiro’s big and he loves the way it fills his mouth, velvety skin sliding across his tongue, girth stretching his jaw enough to make it ache and burn.

Keith thinks he wants this wolf to fuck him.

Terrified by the sudden thought, he draws back, disguising it as a need for breath, and Shiro moans soft endearments and…pets his hair. Keith falters. The wolf is petting him. “So good,” Shiro gasps, “Keith, please, please don’t stop, feels so good…”

Keith swallows, savoring the bitter salt taste of precum and sweat and something else he might be imagining, something nonhuman that only another nonhuman could taste. Magic, maybe. It makes his tongue and lips tingle faintly. “Keep talking,” Keith says, and takes Shiro’s cock deep into his throat again.

Shiro groans, hips arching, hands scrabbling at the bed and at Keith’s hair, mingling apologies with begging and praise that sets Keith’s blood aflame.

“Your mouth looks so good around my cock, god, god, do that again, please, fuck – Keith, harder, ah, taking me so deep, so well, like you were made for it, nghh, you’re so good at this –”

Oh, he’s so fucking hard in his jeans. He thinks he might cream his pants like a teenager if Shiro keeps up this breathless litany of shameless filth and sweet talk coupled by the hard throb of his cock against Keith’s tongue. A sick part of him wants to bite down, sink his teeth in where the wolf’s most vulnerable and suck until the swollen flesh softens, but Keith shoves the thought away hastily and redoubles his efforts to make Shiro come.

It works – not thirty seconds later, Shiro’s jolting under his touch and coming down his throat, hot as blood but not nearly as tasty. Not bad, though – Keith swallows it all, licking his lips and the reddened tip of Shiro’s wilting cock as he pulls off. Shiro whines again, his taut belly sucking in sharply, and Keith just has to fondle his cock for a little longer just to make him squirm a little more.

He relents when Shiro bats his hand away, sitting up with a grunt and fixing his gaze upon Keith with intent.

Suddenly, the wolf doesn’t seem so shy and awkward anymore. Keith shifts back involuntarily. Shiro pauses, and his shoulders droop. “You don’t want me to take care of you?” he asks, nodding to Keith’s tenting jeans.

Keith shifts again, and even that small movement presses his hard dick up against the seam of his jeans; everything is too tight and uncomfortable. The denim is already soaked through with precum, and he knows Shiro can see this; smell it, too. Keith licks his tingling lips nervously. “What…what do you wanna do?”

“Return the favor, if you’ll let me,” Shiro replies at once, earnest and honest. Keith blinks at him and is vaguely unsettled. A wolf. He’s in bed with a wolf. He just sucked the wolf’s cock. He’s about to let this wolf suck his cock.

“Sure,” Keith says, because his sense of self-preservation abandoned him a long time ago. “How…how, um…”

“Sit on my face?” Shiro offers, and Keith’s cock twitches, wanting . “You can fuck my mouth, or –”

“Yeah, okay,” Keith says, and pops the button of his jeans, kicking them off and yanking off his shirt before scrambling over to straddle his chest without further prompting. Shiro chuckles, propping his head up against the pillows and peering up at him. His white forelock hangs in his face and Keith brushes it away, holding his gaze for a moment longer. The wolf really is beautiful; it’s a shame Keith is going to chase him out of town with his tail between his legs.

Determined not to waste such a pretty face while it lasts, Keith takes his cock in hand, smearing the leaking head across Shiro’s plush, parted lips. Shiro’s eyes widen. “You’re so wet,” he murmurs, tongue darting out to taste. The growl that rumbles under Keith has no right to be as hot as it is. “You taste good. Fuck, please, fuck my mouth, Keith, do it.”

Keith isn’t sure he’s capable of forming a coherent reply to that, so he just does as he’s told.

Shiro moans like a whore around his cock as Keith rocks it in and out of his mouth, slow at first, faster and deeper when Shiro grabs blindly at his ass and tugs him further forwards. Keith hisses, lifting a hand to cover his mouth and muffle the moans building in his throat, but Shiro pulls off to gasp, “Let me hear you, baby,” and that’s it, Keith can’t even be embarrassed by the way he arches and moans the wolf’s name while Shiro’s tongue dips into his slit, under the foreskin, and swirls over every vein with an art Keith hadn’t expected. This wolf has been nothing but unexpected so far.

Well, except for having a big dick. Keith saw that one coming, and he’s damn glad he was right.

Maybe he said that last bit aloud, because Shiro’s laughing, vibrations only serving to make Keith moan louder. He’s not as loud as Shiro; most of Keith’s sounds are lower and breathier, bitten-off moans and grunts and quiet curses every time he looks down at Shiro’s blissed-out face and pink lips stretched beautifully around the shiny length of his cock.

Keith wipes a line of drool from Shiro’s chin before thrusting deep and punishing into soft wet heat. Shiro takes it happily, lashes fluttering and fingers digging into the meat of Keith’s ass. He doesn’t push, his hand doesn’t wander; he just takes what Keith gives him and looks like he’s having the time of his life.

When Keith comes with a faint groan and the slow warm bloom of pleasure that he’d nearly forgotten the feeling of, Shiro swallows, milking his cock sweetly until Keith shuffles away and off, flopping numbly onto the bed beside him. Shiro wastes no time in rolling onto his side and snuggling up to him. Ugh. Figures wolves would be cuddlers.

Keith…doesn’t hate it.

Shiro wraps an arm around his waist and presses a kiss into his messy hair. “Can I get your number now?” he mumbles.

Keith raises an eyebrow. “Not content with a simple blowjob?”

Shiro frowns. “I was hoping you might want to see me again, and you did offer your number...earlier.” His gaze slides away, and so does his secure embrace. “Been awhile since I did this, too, apparently.”

Keith pities him. Or something like that. “It was a good blowjob,” Keith says, and pats his arm awkwardly. “I wouldn’t mind a round two sometime.” Damn it, why would he say that? He blames his post-orgasm brain. Shiro beams at him.

“Me neither,” he murmurs, and leans in for another kiss. Resigned, Keith kisses him back, assessing the situation. The wolf is sleepy and loose-limbed, pliant, vulnerable. Now is a good time to strike, or maybe if he falls asleep; that way Keith can get him tied up and have a chance to tell him off before –

“Dude! Would it have killed you guys to close the door?!”

Keith rips himself away from Shiro at the discordant sound; an unfamiliar voice that matches the unfamiliar scent forcing its way into the room, the scent of another wolf, fuck, there’s a third one just beyond him, out in the hall. How could Keith have been so stupid? The alpha’s lured Keith right into its pack’s lair, and now he’s outnumbered and cornered. And his dick is out.

But Shiro doesn’t turn on him. No, he shoots a panicky look at Keith and hastily covers their bodies with the nearest blanket while squawking, “Lance! You weren’t supposed to be back yet!”

“Maria’s Cafe was closed for the day,” the third wolf calls from the hall. “Pipes burst or something, the whole kitchen’s flooded.”

“Think of all the ruined frybread, Shiro,” the second wolf, Lance, laments. He has brown skin, brown hair, and a tall, lean frame. He smirks at Keith, who glares back at him over the edge of the blanket. “Ooh, he looks feisty. How is it that you’ve managed to hook up with someone in your first week here? Teach me your ways.”

“His ways are ‘have you seen Takashi Shirogane, he is a god among men,’” the third wolf says, peeking cautiously over Lance’s shoulder. His skin and hair are darker, and he’s heavyset, with what Keith is tempted to call puppy dog eyes.

“Hunk, really,” Shiro says, clearly uncomfortable. His eyes are narrowed and his grip around Keith is near-bruising. “Don’t encourage him. Guys, this is Keith. Keith, these are my roommates Lance and Hunk.”

Keith eyes them, disbelieving. He doesn’t think wolves are known for being good actors, which means...they seriously don’t know what he is. Oh, boy.

“Hey,” Keith mutters, “I’m Keith.”

“They’re juniors too, maybe you’ll have some classes with them,” Shiro says, trying and failing to make the situation less awkward.

Lance rolls his eyes. “Shiro, you know how we talked about you being the Dad Friend? You’re doing it again, right now, and now everybody’s uncomfortable.”

“Dad friend?” Keith repeats, furrowing his brow. Wolves are weird. He doesn’t get them.

Shiro is bright red. “That’s not – don’t worry about it Keith, it’s just a dumb inside joke –”

“Sure, Daddy,” Lance says, and runs away cackling as Shiro leaps from the bed with a cry of mock-outrage, grabbing a blanket to cover himself while chasing Lance out of the room.

Keith stays in the bed. His dick is still out and he’s still in the wolves’ lair; in the alpha wolf’s bed, no less; and he thinks he may be in over his head. Thace and Ulaz are going to kill him if he survives this.

“Sorry about that,” the third wolf, Hunk, says from the doorway. He squints at Keith and tilts his head. “Guess Shiro doesn’t have as much of a type as we thought he did. You don’t look much like his ex.” Hunk chuckles. “Maybe the same attitude, though.”

“His, um, ex?” Keith asks, hiding his shaking hands under the blanket.

Hunk nods sagely. “Ah, yes, Adam . Dramatic story, really.” He shrugs. “They worked at the G-Sec Corporation together for years; it’s where they met. But Shiro got a, uh, high-profile position under Allura Knight at their rival company, Arus Tech, six months ago, and they haven’t spoken since.” He glances over his shoulder. “Probably shouldn’t have said that. Don’t tell Shiro?”

Keith freezes. Allura Knight? As in...the daughter and heir of Pack Altea, ruled by Alfor Knight, only one of the most powerful and feared vampire-hunting alphas in the States? Not to mention Alfor Knight owns one of the biggest tech companies in the West. Keith bets all the top executives at Arus Tech are wolves, which is a terrifying thought.

Hunk peers at him. “Do you know Allura? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I know of her,” Keith says. “Why are you telling me about Shiro’s ex? You saying I’m the rebound?”

Hunk frowns. “Rebound? No, nah, I mean, like I said, it’s been six months. He’s over it. Probably. Mostly.” Hunk wrinkles his nose. “It was a messy breakup, so I guess I’m telling you as a warning. Shiro’s a good guy who’s been through a lot, that’s all.”

“Is this a disclaimer?” Keith mutters. “Too good to be true and all that?”

“Huh?” Hunk shrugs and looks away, evasive. There are loud squawks and curses in the background, followed by Shiro’s muffled shout and a crash that makes Keith and Hunk wince. “Not necessarily...look, you planning to date him, or just hook up?”

“What’s it to you?” Keith retorts, bristling at his nosiness. Packs, ugh. Always up in each other’s business.

Hunk folds his arms, which are, Keith notes, absurdly muscular. He supposes it was a long shot to hope that the pack sent after him would be a bunch of runts. “Shiro’s one of my best friends, that’s what it is to me,” Hunk says. “He’s got other things to focus on than heartbreak, that’s all.”

Keith narrows his eyes. “I’m aiming to get laid, not break hearts,” Keith drawls just as Shiro stomps back into the room, hair ruffled.

Shiro blinks. Hunk elbows him. Shiro says, “Were you just giving Keith the talk? Really?”

“Nope, we didn’t get to the ‘don’t hurt him or I’ll castrate you,’ part yet,” Hunk says mildly.

“We did, however, get to the ‘talk about Shiro’s ex, Adam’ part,” Keith says.

Hunk glowers at Keith. Shiro glowers at Hunk. “Hunk,” Shiro says, voice low and warning. It makes the back of Keith’s neck prickle, especially when the beta wolf takes a step back, bowing his head slightly and averting his gaze.

“Sorry,” Hunk mutters. “My bad. Nice meeting you, Keith.” He slinks off with his figurative tail between his legs.

Keith watches him go with a tilted head, until Shiro steps into the room, closing the door behind him, sitting on the side of the bed and looking unsure. “You close with them?” Keith asks casually, playing with the edge of the blanket. “Your roommates, I mean.”

Shiro nods. “Very close, yes. They’re old friends. I’m the oldest, so...I guess I see them as little brothers, you know? Well, except for Matt.”

“Matt?” God, there are more?

“Yeah, Matt Holt and his sister Katie still live with their parents, just off campus, but they’re over here a lot. Katie’s a freshman and Matt is a senior like me. He’s in astrophysics too, we’re kind of two peas in a pod.”

Keith mentally notes Matt Holt as Shiro’s highest ranking beta. “I see,” he says. “You know, I don’t think introductions to the roommates is the greatest pillow talk…”

Shiro flushes and scratches his head. “Erm, yeah, right, ‘course, sorry about that. I should’ve locked the door, just…”

“Got carried away?” Keith shifts closer. He may have fucked up a little, but doesn’t mean he can’t try to milk the situation for all it’s worth. Plus, it’s all-too-easy to make Shiro squirm as Keith strokes a cool palm up his muscled arm, lingering at the swell of his bicep and squeezing teasingly.

“Yeah,” Shiro whispers, and gulps. Keith’s eyes trace the movement like the predator he is.

“Wanna get carried away again sometime?” Keith asks. Shiro nods, breathless, gaze locked on Keith’s parted lips. “Gimme your phone,” Keith orders, and with shaky fingers, Shiro does.

*

They meet again two days later. Shiro had wanted lunch; Keith had politely declined and diverted them to his favorite coffee shop instead. Shiro didn’t protest, and is certainly not protesting now, his cappuccino sitting in front of him untouched while he unsubtly watches Keith unsubtly suck down his black iced tea, twirling the straw around in his mouth.

“Do you not drink coffee?” Shiro asks, a bit choked, after Keith’s drink is halfway empty.

“Sometimes,” Keith says. “I like tea better.” In truth, it’s just much easier on his...very specialized digestive system. Strong black tea tastes metallic and bitter, like blood, or at least Keith’s always thought so. He won’t share that little detail with Shiro, though. “You prefer coffee, I take it?”

Shiro nods, and takes a long sip from his cup. “It’s stronger,” he says. Keith raises an eyebrow and he hastily adds, “More caffeine, I mean, it’s…” He coughs. “I’m quite an insomniac, sadly. Coffee does the best job at getting me through the day.”

As a primarily nocturnal hunter, Keith can empathize. Wolves aren’t supposed to be fully nocturnal, though. He frowns. “All the astrophysics homework keeping you up?”

“Not exactly,” Shiro sighs, pushing a lock of white hair away from his forehead. “Look, I’ve been meaning to ask...how much did Hunk tell you about my...my ex?”

“Not much,” Keith says. “His name. Told me it was messy. Told me you worked together at G-Sec until you joined Arus Tech. Said I don’t look much like him.”

Shiro chews his lip. “Messy is an understatement,” he admits.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Keith says. He’d rather not get into potentially tearful territory, even if his curiosity about Adam might be piqued.

Shiro drinks some more coffee. “Thanks,” he says. “I can think of better things to do with you, anyway.”

“Yeah?” Keith smirks and shakes his cup full of ice cubes. “Then you’d better finish that coffee, stat.”

Shiro finishes the coffee, stat.

*

They go to Keith’s apartment, this time.

He preemptively sprayed the shit out of everything with Febreze, cologne, Clorox; anything to mask even the faintest whiff of vampire. Vampires don’t smell like much, not even to werewolves, but Keith’s not taking any chances.

He needn’t have worried, though, because Shiro is too distracted to focus on anything except Keith by the time they get into Keith’s bed. His bed is the only private space besides the bathroom in the small studio apartment; he partitioned it off with some oriental folding panels he found at an antiques store years ago. Shiro eyes them with interest – they’re pretty, Keith thinks, with silk tigers and bamboo and bright white and red koi swimming in a turquoise pond lined with pink water lilies – but Shiro quickly turns his gaze back upon Keith, sprawled over his own bed expectantly.

“Hi,” Shiro says, and butts his forehead against Keith’s.

Keith snorts and shoves down the bloom of warmth in his chest. “Hi,” he says.

“What are your thoughts on making out right now?” Shiro asks, keeping a conversational tone and a straight face that nearly send Keith into a disbelieving fit of giggles. Nearly. He is dignified, okay. This dumb wolf will not make him giggle.

“My thoughts are yes,” Keith says. “What are your thoughts on making out after mysteriously losing our shirts?”

“My thoughts are,” Shiro sits back on his heels and drags his shirt slowly, slowly, up and over his head, “yes.”

“Mm,” Keith says, taking his time to stare, “I’d have to agree.”

“This, off,” Shiro mumbles, tugging at Keith’s T-shirt. He allows the wolf to remove it, but does not allow the wolf to ogle him – Keith yanks him into a kiss as bruising as the first, at least initially. The kiss softens when Shiro cups his cheek and opens his mouth, turning everything warm and lazy, until Keith is so relaxed it feels dangerous. It is dangerous, he knows, to let down his guard around Shiro. He may be sweet now, but he could turn on Keith in a second.

With that in mind, Keith breaks away and flips them, though Shiro had never been entirely on top of him to begin with. Shiro blinks up at him, and a bemused smile slowly spreads across his face. “Like being on top, do you?” he murmurs.

Keith’s lips quirk. “Maybe a little,” he says, shifting over Shiro’s hips.

“Hmm.” Shiro’s hands slide up Keith’s thighs, still clothed, but Keith can feel the heat of his palms through the denim. He can also feel the bulge of Shiro’s cock rousing under him.

With a sudden streak of daring, Keith leans forward, bracing his hands on Shiro’s chest, and purrs, “Is that gonna be a problem?”

Shiro’s fingers dig into Keith’s thighs, and with a shiver Keith imagines claws bursting from his fingertips, ripping through his jeans, raking red lines over pale skin. It’s an unexpected image and Shiro must see the hunger in his eyes, because he makes a low, growly sort of sound deep in his throat, and says, “I think I can work with it.”

“Then work with it,” Keith retorts, and Shiro surges up, catching Keith’s face in his hands and kissing him, dragging him down but never forcing him to relinquish the upper hand. Keith kisses back greedily, pawing at Shiro’s chest and finding the hard peak of a nipple, thumbing over it and grinning when Shiro bites down on his lower lip. Then he stops grinning, because he can’t let Shiro taste his blood, or his secret will be revealed and his bad choices will culminate in a very bad end.

Keith jerks away, glaring down at him, and stabs a finger into the center of his chest. “No biting,” he says.

Shiro eyes his finger, playful, clearly considering biting it. Keith glares harder and shoves his finger over Shiro’s mouth in the universal signal for shut up. Shiro, however, opens his mouth and, far from biting, sucks Keith’s finger sweetly.

Yeah, Keith definitely wants this wolf to fuck him.

“I want you to fuck me,” Keith says.

Shiro chokes, accidentally biting Keith’s finger in the process, his eyes huge. Keith yanks his finger out – it’s shiny and wet with spit, and he curls it thoughtfully. Shiro tracks the movement, his mouth still hanging open. “Uh,” he stammers, “I don’t – we’ve known each other three days –”

“People have known each other for less time and done more,” Keith counters, sitting back so that his ass presses directly over Shiro’s crotch. It’s not subtle.

Shiro sucks in a sharp breath and Keith feels his cock twitch. “You’re serious,” he says.

“Yeah,” Keith says. “Do you wanna?”

“Do I –” Shiro throws a hand over his eyes. “Christ, ‘course I want to, Keith, have you seen yourself? You’re amazing.”

Keith smirks in an attempt to distract from his rapidly darkening blush. “So?” he says. “Fuck me.”

“I thought we were just making out,” Shiro says, voice uneven and edged with panic. Keith falters – the wolf is nervous. Like, really, seriously nervous.

“Shit,” Keith says, alarmed, “I didn’t – I don’t wanna pressure you into anything –”

Shiro looks awfully embarrassed. “You’re not – I mean – I’ve just...that’s a little too fast, for me. Sorry.”

“What – no, no, don’t be sorry,” Keith hurries to say, stumbling over his own words, equally red in the face, “I’m sorry, I don’t wanna be like, that asshole.”

Shiro chuckles awkwardly. “Heh. Asshole.”

Keith stares at him. “Did you just make an asshole joke?”

“That was the goal,” Shiro says weakly.

Keith pounces on him with an exasperated squawk of “Oh my god, what are you, five?!” and in between cackling and flailing at him, Shiro manages, “Yes, actually,” and Keith pauses to demand, “Excuse me?!”

“I’m five,” Shiro says, grinning in the dopiest way possible. Keith hates this wolf, he really does. “Born on Leap Day.”

“Leap Day,” Keith repeats. “What the hell.”

“What?” There’s a little line between Shiro’s eyebrows. Keith itches to smooth it out with his fingertips. It’s stupid. He doesn’t.

“Leap Day’s in February,” Keith says. “You’re a fuckin’ Pisces.”

“Uh,” Shiro says, looking more confused, “yeah?”

“A Pisces,” Keith repeats. “God.”

“Well, what are you?” Shiro demands, lifting his chin. “A Scorpio?”

Keith’s stormy silence is all the answer the wolf needs. He busts out laughing. Keith sits back, arms folded, and glowers at him.

“You’re such a Scorpio,” Shiro wheezes. “Broody little sex fiend –”

“I am not, you take that back, you...you...emotional fish!” Keith exclaims, which only serves to make Shiro laugh harder.

Keith likes making Shiro laugh. That’s an even more terrifying realization than wanting Shiro to fuck him. Keith rolls off of the wolf and the wolf shuts up, propping himself up on an elbow and eying Keith with mild worry.

“I didn’t mean that,” Shiro says. “You’re not a broody little sex fiend. I think you’re pretty cool.”

Keith snorts and stares at his ceiling. “You think I’m cool,” he repeats. “Well, you’d be the first.”

“I doubt that,” Shiro says. “You give off...vibes.”

Keith gives him a look that says, Now what the fuck is that supposed to mean?

“Not bad vibes,” Shiro hastily assures. “Don’t fuck with me vibes, maybe. Tall dark and handsome vibes, too.”

“I’m not that tall,” Keith says.

“Dark and handsome, though,” Shiro says, and kisses him again.

Keith finds himself winding his arms around Shiro’s neck, and doesn’t stop him when the wolf shifts over him, never fully covering Keith’s body, always giving him a chance to escape. It’s something most people wouldn’t notice, but Keith, who has felt trapped more times than he can count, is painfully aware of it. It’s what keeps him calm, what persuades him to slide his tongue into Shiro’s mouth and taste him, what drives him to wrap a leg around Shiro’s waist and arch up into him, rubbing off against his thigh.

Shiro groans into the kiss and grabs Keith’s ass, angling their bodies closer, until their trapped cocks grind together and Keith hisses, fumbling to unzip his jeans, then Shiro’s, both of them shoving their pants down until the zippers are safely out of the way and they can slide their cocks together.

Shiro reaches between them to take their cocks in hand and Keith whines, lashes fluttering as Shiro’s hand works them over, rubbing his thumb over both the heads, slippery and messy and incredible. The wolf looms over him, thighs straddling Keith’s and head hanging down, gaze dark and lips bitten in concentration, and in that moment Keith is no longer afraid of him.

“Shiro,” he gasps, biting his own lip in an attempt to shut himself up, “Shiro, fuck, fuck, yeah, more –”

Shiro stops jacking them off for an agonizing moment to lick his hand, making a big show of it, and Keith groans loud, rutting up eagerly into his now-wet palm and against the wolf’s swollen cock. It’s fascinating how their cocks look together: Keith’s long and curved and paler pink, foreskin pushed back, dribbling with precum that makes both lengths sloppy; Shiro’s thicker, bigger, with a wide dark head and visible veins that make Keith’s mouth water. It’s fascinating, too, to watch Shiro’s hand move: tendons flexing and nails digging in just so, scratching occasionally through dark coarse hair and over sensitive skin.

“Fuck,” Shiro says, in hitched staccato gasps, “fuck, Keith – m’gonna –”

“Come,” Keith hisses, and nips sharply at Shiro’s other hand, which is splayed over Keith’s jaw, thumb too close to his mouth to resist.

Shiro grunts and jolts, his cock spilling over Keith’s and his slick palm in thick ropes of cum, and Keith can’t not come at the sight, adding his white splatter to the mess. He thinks he says Shiro’s name as he does.

The wolf slumps over him, careful not to crush Keith, but with a laxness to his frame that is infectious. Keith closes his eyes, and lets Shiro nose into the curve of his neck despite every fiber of his being telling him to push him away. It’s a vulnerable place, a personal place. The wolf rubs his nose over the delicate skin, uncaring of sanctity.

“I thought you said no biting,” Shiro murmurs, his thumb brushing light over Keith’s lips.

Keith wants to unsheathe his fangs and rip Shiro’s wrist open, drink from the precious blood that he can hear thrumming just below the surface.

But he does not. He murmurs back, “You never said I wasn’t allowed to bite.”

Shiro pauses, and pulls away. Keith opens his eyes, and tries to stay calm. Shiro’s expression is troubled. He touches Keith’s mouth a little more carefully, and slowly pulls back Keith’s upper lip in a gesture that might be meaningless for anyone who did not know what he was looking for. Keith stays still. He does not let his heart speed up. His fangs stay hidden, and Shiro relaxes, moving his searching fingers away.

“What is it?” Keith asks, expression neutral with a convincing hint of confusion.

Shiro moves off of him to lay down beside him on the bed. “Keith,” he says, quiet, “I don’t want to frighten you, but I think...I think there’s something evil at Gamara University.”

Evil. That’s what vampires are, in Shiro’s eyes. That’s what Keith is.

Struggling to maintain his composure, he asks, “What do you mean?”

“The girl who was murdered a week or so ago,” Shiro says. “What do you know about that?”

Keith searches his gaze with a frown. “Again, your pillow talk sucks.”

Shiro frowns right back. “I know, I know, but...this is important. I’m asking because...well, I don’t want you to get hurt, Keith. I don’t want to drag you into something...bad.”

Keith’s gut twists. “Her name was Carmen Santos,” he says. “She was a sophomore, and...and they found her behind the auditorium, dead. Blood loss, right?”

“Yes,” Shiro says. “What else?”

Keith shakes his head, and does not think of warm skin growing cold under his shaking hands, a final breath gasping frantically in his ear, the soft fall of hair across his arms as she crumpled to the ground in front of him, too fast, too soon. “There was something weird about it,” he says. “Her throat was slit, so they thought, mugging, but nothing was taken.”

“Not slit,” Shiro says. “Torn.”

Keith flinches back. “What do you know about it?” he snaps.

Shiro’s intense expression morphs into apologetic at once. “Sorry,” he sighs. “It’s just...it’s personal, I guess. She...Carmen was one of Pidge Holt’s friends. They went way back, from the Robotics Team in high school, and then in Computer Science at Gamara…” Shiro looks away, his jaw set. “That girl was going places. Was.” He sits up, pinching the bridge of his nose, and sighs again. “I really do suck at pillow talk, huh?”

“Kind of, yeah,” Keith says when he can find his voice again, sitting up with him. “But I think I get it. You’re worried this is gonna happen to someone else?”

“There are no suspects,” Shiro mutters. “Whoever did this, they’re still out there.”

“Hey,” Keith says, nudging Shiro’s arm, “don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself, and I always keep a knife on me.”

Shiro turns to him, eyebrows raised. “A knife?” He smiles weakly. “Figures, Mr. Scorpio.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Keith chuckles, though his humor is gone, especially when he replays Shiro’s words in his head: something evil, something evil, you are something evil.

Shiro catches the forced laughter and tilts his head, cupping Keith’s face. “Sorry again. Didn’t mean to ruin the mood, I just...I care about you.” Keith’s eyes widen and he hurries to add, “Even if this is just a hookup, I care, um, about your safety, and all that –”

Keith presses a finger to his lips again. “Thanks,” he says. “But it’s a sharp knife.”

Shiro kisses his finger, eyes soft. “I’m glad,” he says, and thankfully, they leave it at that.

*

Keith is in trouble.

He knows this as his frustrating fond feelings for the wolf grow exponentially over the next few weeks, even as his fear of discovery worsens with every day. Every time he denies another dinner or lunch invitation, he swears Shiro is onto him, but the wolf always appears none the wiser. Keith hasn’t used his thrall once on him, either; Shiro is just like this.

He’s content to get coffee and then get Keith off at his own pace using hand or mouth or both, to study in companionable silence (Keith manages to find some old, old textbooks and prints a bunch of old Art History essay prompts; Shiro is too embroiled in his astrophysics thesis to notice), to walk around town or drive out to the city or, one beautiful night, to drive out to the woods together and sit on a lush hilltop to watch the stars.

It’s then, when Keith finds himself alone with Shiro at night in the middle of nowhere, that he truly realizes he’s reached the point of no return. He should be able to unsheathe his fangs, to lunge and pin Shiro to the grass, to tear open his throat just as he did to Carmen Santos. Or, he could curl to Shiro’s side, tuck his face to Shiro’s throat, and slide his fangs into the wolf’s jugular as easy as anything. In the very least, he could reveal himself, challenge the wolf to a fair fight.

Keith should be able to do any one of those things. But he can’t. He’s frozen, there under the stars with Shiro, because how can Keith bring himself to hurt someone who touches him so tenderly and treats him so much better than he deserves?

Keith’s had hookups, over the years, and he knows this isn’t one. The tone is different. They’re not just people who meet up sometimes and fuck; they’re friends. Shiro has said so. Keith has agreed, albeit hesitantly. Because he knows this can’t last. He knows he’s pushing his luck.

But he can’t stop pushing that luck when Shiro holds him and kisses him and runs his fingers through Keith’s hair with a small, kind, genuine smile. Shiro is so terribly genuine. Sometimes Keith is almost embarrassed for him. But then...Keith thinks that he used to be just like that. He was never good at keeping secrets, before. He was an open book before he was turned. Since then, Keith’s kept to the shadows.

Being with Shiro feels like stepping into the sun. And that’s forbidden; deadly, even – but when he’s with Shiro, Keith starts to think it might be worth it to burn.

As they’re driving out to see the stars in Shiro’s Honda Civic (yes, the alpha wolf is a Pisces and he owns a Honda Civic and bought Keith a large black iced tea not once but five times and Keith often questions if his life is just a badly written satire), Shiro says, “This way, you won’t have to slather yourself in sunscreen while enjoying the great outdoors.”

Keith stiffens. “How d’you know I slather myself in sunscreen?”

Shiro snorts. “Guess my nose is just sensitive to it. Not the greatest smell, sunscreen. Anyway, it’s alright, not everyone tans.”

“I definitely don’t,” Keith grouses, sliding down in his seat and ignoring the thought of the wolf sniffing his skin. “I burn. It ain’t pretty, trust me. Slathered sunscreen is a much better alternative.”

“Hey, hey, I hear you,” Shiro chuckles. “I don’t want a cripsy Keith, either.”

“Crispy Keith,” Keith repeats, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Hmph.”

Shiro glances over at him with a grin. “Is that a smile I see, Cripsy Keith?”

“Eyes on the road, babe,” Keith says. Shiro swerves at babe. Keith’s smile keeps tugging.

It’s a bit of a hike to the top of the hill Shiro’s chosen for their stargazing, but it’s worth it – the view at the summit is so beautiful that Keith has to stop and whistle, taking in the vast expanse of green woods, yellow plains, winding silver ribbon river, and the distant city lights beyond. And then there’s the sky. Keith looks up, and almost sways on his feet at the sight of so many stars so close, the glittering strip of the Milky Way radiant in a way Keith has only seen in one other place. Home.

“Keith, hey,” Shiro murmurs, coming up behind him and wrapping a careful arm around his shoulders, “everything alright?”

Keith swallows. He misses home, the home he can likely never return to. He thinks of tall blooming saguaros, sitting in the cool shade of pale green palo verdes, swimming in the flooded washes while the monsoons light up the dark sky with flashes of lightning and shake the earth with roars of thunder. He thinks of the sun, the blazing desert sun that would surely flay a vampire’s skin from its bones within minutes. Oh, but what a way to go.

“Just makes me think of home,” Keith says.

“Where’s home?” Shiro is curious, not interrogative. One of the many things Keith likes about him.

“Arizona,” Keith says. “The desert. The stars are like this, way out there.”

“You’re from the desert but you’re prone to sunburn?” Shiro says. “That’s a tough lot in life.”

“Well, there’s a reason I moved away,” Keith says dryly, and sits down in the long dewy grass. “Still, I miss it sometimes.”

Shiro nods and sits down beside him. “I get that. I miss home, too. Sometimes.”

“Where’s home for you?”

“Japan, actually,” Shiro says. “Osaka. My parents are there. We moved to Seattle when I was a kid, and then…” Shiro shrugs, and studies his hands. “I always liked the States better than my parents. I tend to find home in the people here more than anything else.”

“But you miss them,” Keith murmurs. “Your parents.”

“Sure,” Shiro says. “I visit as much as I can. Don’t you miss your parents?”

Keith’s throat tightens. He does not think of his father if he can help it. “No,” Keith says. “My dad passed away awhile ago.”

Shiro’s eyes crinkle at the corners in concern. “And your mom?”

“Never in the picture,” Keith says.

“Oh,” Shiro says. “I’m sorry, Keith.”

“Being alone’s not so bad,” Keith mumbles, folding a blade of grass between his fingertips until it cracks in half.

Shiro’s gaze is heavy on him. “I can’t imagine being alone,” he admits. “Doesn’t it ever get, well, lonely?”

Keith shrugs. Yes. Yes, it does, especially after a decade or so. “Sometimes,” he says. “You get used to it.”

“You don’t have to,” Shiro says, peering down at him earnestly. “Get used to it, I mean.”

“And what would you suggest?” Keith murmurs, looking up at him steadily.

“You’re not alone right now, are you?” Shiro asks. Keith can only shake his head, breathless when Shiro leans in and brushes a kiss over his lips. Keith deepens it, and when they both pull away to breathe, Shiro adds, “No one should be alone all the time.”

Shiro is right about a lot of things. Unfortunately, he is not right about Keith.

*

They’re making out on the couch in Shiro’s living room when Keith meets Pidge Holt.

The door bangs open and Keith and Shiro are too slow to pull apart before the smell of greasy cheese and tomato sauce fills the apartment as Pidge Holt, all four feet eleven inches of her, busts into the apartment and exclaims, “PIZZA DELIVERY!”

“Pidge,” Shiro says, face pink, holding Keith at arm’s length. “Knock next time.”

“Get a room next time instead of sullying the furniture,” Pidge retorts, one hip cocked out as the door swings shut behind her. She looks like a small and frazzled bird, Keith thinks. Her large round glasses are askew on her pointy freckled nose and she’s wearing a strange assortment of baggy clothing in varying shades of green and tan. A parakeet, Keith decides.

Shiro gives her a look but, as he’s prone to doing, doesn’t tell her off for backtalk. He’s a lenient alpha, as far as Keith can tell, though Keith guesses he’s even more lenient with Pidge than with Lance and Hunk. Keith can’t blame him; parakeets are cute and easy to get attached to.

“Pidge, this is Keith,” Shiro says before she can ask. “Keith, Pidge Holt.”

“Hi,” Pidge says, and squints at him. “You don’t look like Adam at all.”

“So I’ve been told,” Keith says.

“Pidge, c’mon,” Shiro says. “Can we maybe not compare them?”

“Adam is uncool,” Pidge says. “Keith may or may not be cool, that’s still to be determined.”

“Shiro thinks I’m cool,” Keith offers.

Pidge rolls her eyes. “No, Shiro thinks you’re hot.”

“Katie!” Shiro exclaims.

“What? It’s true. You guys want pizza or not?”

Shiro gets up for pizza but Keith, making up a very fake excuse about deadlines and art midterms, makes a hasty exit. The mere thought of pizza makes his stomach turn, not to mention the nauseating smell.

But Keith is hungry.

*

“You look tired,” Shiro says the next day, smoothing out the bags under Keith’s eyes with his thumb. “Did you finish the art midterm?”

“Barely,” Keith mumbles. Dark alleyways and a tall man with dark hair flash through his mind. The man had looked like Shiro. Just a little. Just enough that Keith can chalk it up to coincidence, even though he knows it wasn’t.

“Keith,” Shiro says, and his expression is intense when Keith looks up at him reluctantly. “There’s been another attack.”

Keith’s heart stutters. No. How? How did the wolves find out? He was careful. He didn’t kill the man. He just thralled him and let him go. Keith swallows, and holds his gaze as steady as possible. “Really? Where? What happened?”

“Just off campus, behind a nearby bar,” Shiro sighs, his grip tight on Keith’s shoulder. “The Red Lion.”

“I know the place,” Keith says. “Was anyone killed?”

Shiro hesitates. “No,” he admits after a beat. “But a man was attacked, not a student but a recent alumn. Same method of attack – throat torn.”

Keith frowns and feigns confusion. “How is he still alive if his throat was torn?”

“The attacker avoided any vital veins or arteries, it seems,” Shiro says.

Damn right I did, Keith thinks. “Shit,” Keith says, nibbling his lip, “so...is this a serial killer, or what?”

Shiro hesitates for a little longer. “We can’t say for sure,” he finally says. “But I’m afraid they’ll strike again. Please, please promise me you won’t stay out alone after dark, Keith.”

Keith’s stomach flips. “Only if you promise me the same,” he retorts.

Shiro frowns. “Keith –”

“No, I’m serious,” Keith says, laying his hand firmly upon Shiro’s broad chest, “I want you to stay safe, too. You’re not a detective, you’re not the police, and I don’t want you to get hurt by getting too involved in this.”

“Keith,” Shiro sighs, “it’s complicated. Pidge...she wants whoever did this to pay. You know?”

Keith draws away from him, cold all over. “So you’re a vigilante, now?”

Shiro winces. “I...that’s not…”

“Shiro, are you planning on killing someone?” Keith demands, unable to stop the tremor in his hands, because someone, in this case, is himself.

Shiro blanches. “What? No! God, no, absolutely not, Keith.” He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. “Listen, okay? Pidge’s parents, they’re with the police, and they’re investigating, too. We’re all just helping with the investigation as best we can. Safely. We don’t want anyone else to get hurt, Keith, we just want this person brought to justice.”

“I see,” Keith says, not believing him for a second.

Shiro’s face falls. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I know this is a lot.”

“Yeah,” Keith says. “It is. I can take care of myself, Shiro. Sharp knife, remember?”

Shiro really does look like a kicked puppy. “I know,” he says, lowering his gaze. “I just...care about you. And I want you to be safe.”

Keith hates that he’s letting his dick make all the decisions, lately, but he does it again when he reaches out and touches Shiro’s arm, saying, “Hey. I’ll be safe, okay? Promise.”

Shiro looks up, hopeful. “Thank you,” he whispers, and leans in for a kiss. Keith kisses back, and he doesn’t hate how soft and sweet it is nearly as much as he should. “I really do care about you,” he says when the kiss breaks, his voice even softer than the kiss itself.

“Then prove it,” Keith says, sliding his hands under Shiro’s shirt.

Shiro does.

*

It’s the day before the full moon.

Keith scheduled a coffee date slash sex for today without even considering the lunar cycle, but he realizes his mistake as soon as Shiro’s eyes lock on him across the cafe. Keith’s fight or flight response is instantly activated — his gray eyes have a bright, inhuman sheen to them, and he carries himself differently, taller and more calculated...more predatory.

Every step is measured as he approaches Keith’s table. Keith drinks his black tea nervously. Is today the day everything goes to shit? Shame, Keith didn’t even get to fuck him yet.

But when Shiro sits down opposite him, he says, slow and serious, “You look beautiful, Keith.”

Keith almost chokes on an ice cube. “Uh,” he stammers, “thanks?”

Shiro tilts his head. “Mm,” he says, “you’re welcome.”

He’s just staring at Keith. Keith thinks he might get his wish today, but he’s not sure it’s a very good idea. Then again, none of this is.

“Are you gonna get a coffee?” Keith manages after several more seconds of blatant intent staring.

Shiro blinks, and shakes himself slightly as if realizing where they are. “Coffee...yes, right.” But he doesn’t get up.

Keith raises an eyebrow. “You’re acting weird. Everything okay?”

Shiro blinks again, and his gaze slides away guiltily. “Yes,” he says. “Just...antsy. I don’t know.”

“Antsy,” Keith repeats, eyebrow lifting higher. “Antsy, or horny?”

Shiro’s gaze darkens and he looks right back at Keith. “Finish your tea,” he says. It’s not a suggestion.

Keith finishes his tea in record time and Shiro drives him back to his place — of course the wolf wants to take him back to his den, which Keith expects to be full of the rest of the pack, but it’s surprisingly empty. He questions it briefly as Shiro is slamming him against the door and Shiro mutters something about his roommates knowing when they need to give him space before kissing Keith breathless.

“Shit,” Keith gasps as Shiro practically drags him down the hall to his room, “what’s gotten into you?”

“You,” Shiro growls, shoving Keith backwards, onto his bed. Keith lands with a grunt and has no time to even breathe before the wolf is on him, eyes black with desire and dick hard against Keith’s thigh.

Keith swallows and, testing the boundaries, retorts, “No, I’m not in you yet.”

He expects Shiro to recoil, or maybe push him down harder in some attempt to assert dominance, but instead the wolf blinks, blushes, and peers down at him. “Do you wanna be?” he asks, low and hesitant.

Keith stares up at him. “You’d let me fuck you?”

Shiro nods fast, eager , biting his lip, and fuck, fuck Keith is so gone for this damn wolf. “Yeah,” Shiro whispers, shifting atop him. “Yeah, I would, ‘course I would, Keith.”

Keith licks his lips. Considers it, even though he knows what he wants right now, and as appealing as the image of fucking this alpha wolf into the mattress is, it's not that.

“Would you settle for me riding you?” Keith asks.

Shiro’s eyes narrow and he groans, rubbing off on Keith’s thigh without seeming to realize it. “Yeah,” he agrees, “I’d more than settle for that, baby.”

“Then I don’t understand why we’re still talking, here,” Keith murmurs, and grunts in surprise when Shiro takes that as a cue to all but tear his shirt off, then fumble with Keith’s jeans while Keith fumbles with Shiro’s, his want skyrocketing as soon as he feels the promising bulge under his palm. Shiro gets Keith naked first, and Keith feels vulnerable in the interim, freezing under the wolf’s hulking shadow as his scent, that scent that’s so distinctly not human, floods his senses and tells him, no, commands him, to run.

Shiro falters, jeans open and shoved down around his knees, shirt off and crumpled at the end of the bed. He takes a second to assess the situation, tilting his head at Keith sprawled out on the bed under him, pale and messy and as aroused as he is terrified, avoiding Shiro’s gaze and hating himself for letting this go this far.

He wants Shiro to take him; to fuck Keith like the evil monster Shiro thinks he is. But he doesn’t really want that, and that’s even more terrifying. He wants Shiro to treat him tenderly, the way he has so far. He wants Shiro to take him as roughly as he likes but he wants to know that Shiro won’t truly hurt him; he wants to know that Shiro doesn’t want to hurt him. But Keith knows that’s not possible. He knows, with a sinking dread that settles heavy and virulent in his chest, that Shiro would kill Keith if he knew. He also knows, with just as much dread, that he’s willing to risk that.

“Hey,” Shiro says, brow furrowed and expression suddenly so open and gentle that Keith thinks he might cry, “what is it, what’s wrong?”

He leans down, seeking to give reassurance that Keith wishes he did not need, and Keith lunges, hooking his fingers into Shiro’s belt loops and yanking his jeans off, sending Shiro tumbling onto his back as he overbalances. Keith sits atop his hips, triumphant, and shapes Shiro’s dick through his boxers while Shiro watches with wide eyes. “Your pants were still on,” Keith says, pressing his thumb to the wet crown of the wolf’s cock. “It was making me sad.”

“Uh-huh,” Shiro says, voice uneven. “My boxers don’t seem to be stopping you, though.”

“Nope,” Keith says, and pulls Shiro’s cock out, letting the fabric chafe at it while his fingers tease until the wolf hisses, hands twitching abortively at his sides. He’s still giving Keith control, though. It’s interesting. Keith decides to reward him for being so patient by sucking his cock, but is stopped by a warm hand squeezing his ass, nails digging in with something like a warning.

“Can’t,” Shiro grits out, tendons standing out in his neck and face flushed. “Baby, I want you so bad – now, please, I can’t, wanna be inside you –”

Keith’s stunned into silence by his blatant pleading. Okay, so maybe not so patient. He exhales, and nods. In any other state, Keith knows Shiro would probably insist on a condom. Now, Keith’s glad he doesn’t – vampires and werewolves can’t contract human diseases, so it’s a moot point. “Right. I’m clean. Lube?”

Shiro almost knocks over his lamp trying to get the top drawer of his nightstand open; Keith takes pity and helps, wasting no time in popping the cap and dipping his fingers in. Shiro grumbles in dissent as Keith reaches behind himself, and takes the lube from him. Keith raises an eyebrow as he finds his hole, teasing himself open slowly. “Something you wanted?”

“Wanna help,” Shiro says, his hand cupping Keith’s ass again, fingers tiptoeing inwards. Keith almost inhales his tongue. “Please let me finger you open for my cock, baby, I’m good at it, promise, gonna make you feel so good –”

“Holy shit,” Keith hisses, stuttering on his words as Shiro’s dry fingers bump against his knuckles where he’s got two fingers inside himself. Shiro’s got long fingers, thick fingers; Keith would be a fool not to want those inside him. “You’ve been holding out on the dirty talk.”

“Sorry,” Shiro whispers. “Can I?”

“What – yeah, yeah, do it,” Keith says in a rush, nodding at the lube, and Shiro groans happily, getting his fingers real messy with it, and Keith pulls out his fingers for Shiro’s to replace them. His back bows as they do, two pressing in right away, firm and surprisingly practiced. Keith makes low sounds in his throat and arches over Shiro’s chest, lifting his ass and spreading his legs wider as Shiro’s fingers work deeper inside of him. It’s good. God, it’s good.

“So tight, baby,” Shiro coos, watching Keith’s face carefully. “When was the last time you did this?” Keith stiffens and Shiro feels it, of course he does, and he also must see the way Keith’s expression shutters off, gaze sliding away and hands curling into fists. The wolf’s brow creases.

“Don’t,” Keith warns when Shiro opens his mouth. “Just fuck me, already.”

Shiro tilts his head, determination brightening his eyes. “No,” he says, and twists his fingers, crooking them expertly against Keith’s prostate.

Keith jolts, mouth falling open against his will. “No?” he demands, voice not nearly as strong as he’d like it to be, embarrassingly breathy and breaking on a moan when Shiro’s fingers rub over his prostate again, slow and almost too much, startling a pearly bead of precum from the tip of his cock which lands on Shiro’s taut abdomen, sliding down the flexing muscles.

“No,” Shiro says again, “I can’t ‘just’ fuck you, Keith.”

Keith grits his teeth. “If you say you’re gonna make love to me, I swear –”

Shiro shakes his head, lips curling into a smirk Keith can only classify as dangerous. “Oh, I’m gonna fuck you,” Shiro says, and Keith sees stars. When he comes to, he’s sprawled out across the bed, legs splayed embarrassingly wide and Shiro grinning down at him, sharp and bright and, well, wolfish. “I’m gonna fuck you better than anyone ever has, and that’s a promise.”

He’s got three fingers inside Keith and Keith’s dying for it, his cock red and hard and leaking against his belly. Keith has never much understood how people could be considered attractive during sex – everything is sweaty and hot and messy and sometimes awkward – but he’s never been more attracted to Shiro than he is right now. This close, Keith can fully appreciate his broad shoulders and the swell of his muscled chest, nipples dark and peaked and abdomen rippling as he moves closer, crooking his fingers until Keith’s hips buck and a cry falls from his lips, frightening in its desperation.

Shiro’s cock curves up proudly over his thighs, so hard it must hurt, and Keith wants.

Keith is breathing hard, struggling to maintain his facade of disguise because he really, really doesn’t want this to end in himself being disemboweled. He claws blindly at the sheets and stills when Shiro catches Keith’s flailing hand in his much larger one, squeezing gently. Keith stares up at him, feeling very small and very out of his league, here.

“Shiro,” he whispers, “now, c’mon, please –”

Shiro’s brazen playfulness sunders at Keith’s tone. “Hey,” he murmurs, leaning down with a look of such unapologetic fondness that Keith’s heart aches, “you’re okay, Keith. Breathe, calm down, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

“You don’t, but you can try to catch me,” Keith retorts, and flips them, straddling Shiro’s waist with practiced ease. The wolf doesn’t stop him; he just gazes up at Keith with wide, dark, wanting eyes. Keith wants tenderness, perhaps even needs it, but he knows he can’t bear it right now.

“I think you caught me, first,” Shiro breathes, and he groans when Keith grabs the base of his cock, shooing Shiro’s fingers out and away and positioning himself above the wolf, biting his lip in concentration. “You’re beautiful,” Shiro tells him, “you’re so beautiful –”

“Shut up,” Keith says, and sinks down on his cock far too fast.

Shiro chokes on a moan and Keith grits his teeth, arching his back and staring at the ceiling with disbelieving, watery eyes. Warm hands settle on his hipbones, calloused fingers spanning a frankly ridiculous amount of skin, and Keith shivers, digging his nails into Shiro’s chest where it will hurt and trying to remember how to breathe. He’s so full, and he forgot how this felt. Half of him wonders if it ever felt like this.

“Keith,” Shiro’s saying, low and urgent, thumbs rubbing circles into Keith’s ribs, “Keith, talk to me.”

“I don’t think,” Keith manages, “we’re meant to be talking, here.”

“We can,” Shiro says, strained, “I thought you liked dirty ta – ah – alk…”

Keith rolls his hips slow and shallow to begin, riding him as he gets used to the sensation of being stretched by Shiro’s thick cock, working it deeper inside him and breathing in staccato gasps that he tries and fails to contain. Shiro’s big, and Keith wastes no time in telling him, which makes the wolf’s eyes roll back in his head. Praise, huh? Keith can work with that.

He leans over Shiro, one hand braced on his chest and the other stroking his own cock loosely as he rides harder, and murmurs, “You look so good like this, under me, letting me fuck myself on your fat cock just how I want it.” Shiro whimpers, his cock twitching inside Keith, and shit, that’s hot. “Mm, does it feel good? Are you gonna let me do all the work until I come all over you, or are you gonna help?”

“Feels incredible, you’re incredible,” Shiro grunts, belly sucking in sharply at his words and hips stuttering upwards, uncertain. “Do – do you want me to? I only – I only want what you want, nngh, Keith, Keith…”

Keith shudders. “Yeah, I want it,” he says, and Shiro’s hips jump up from the bed, fucking up into Keith. Keith yelps, bouncing hard and moaning aloud at the way the head of Shiro’s cock brushes over Keith’s prostate, spine buckling in pleasure and head falling back limply. “Again, more, more,” Keith orders, and Shiro obeys, gripping Keith’s waist so hard that Keith can feel the bruises forming, and he loves it, he wants Shiro to leave marks on him –

He must have said that aloud, because the next moment Shiro groans and surges up to kiss him, biting at his lips and forcing his tongue into Keith’s mouth; Keith clings to him and kisses back fiercely, too far gone to be disgusted by the sloppiness of their spit and loud breaths as they both pick up the pace, seeking their ends together.

One of Shiro’s hands leaves Keith’s waist to fist into his hair and Keith squirms on Shiro’s cock, lashes fluttering when Shiro pulls, craning Keith’s neck back and pressing him into a near-backbend. Keith doesn’t resist, hot flashes of memory behind his eyelids, and just whimpers and takes it when Shiro smacks Keith’s hand away from his cock and, holding Keith close with a hand cupping the swell of his ass, rolls Keith onto his back and under him.

Keith’s legs close tight around Shiro’s hips, dragging him in until the wolf’s heavy balls nudge at his ass, and then Keith has to break the kiss to pant for air, unsure if his dizziness is from oxygen deprivation or unbelievable arousal. Shiro nuzzles at his jaw, mouthing over it and dragging his teeth slow and sharp across Keith’s neck; Keith bares his throat without a second thought and digs his heels into Shiro’s back as Shiro fucks him and sucks a stinging bruise into his skin.

The entire bed moves and creaks with the wolf’s unrelenting pace and all Keith can do is hang on and swear and sweat and plead and then, when dull canines bite into the flesh between neck and shoulder, come with a startled moan between them.

He clenches down around Shiro’s cock and Shiro groans, licking over the indentations of his bite as his hips pump through his orgasm, cock spurting inside Keith for what feels like too long, too much. Keith isn’t complaining, and in the warm afterglow imagines Shiro’s knot, splitting him even wider, keeping his cum inside, and trembles with another weak pulse of climax that takes them both by surprise.

“Baby,” Shiro whispers, like Keith’s the Eighth Wonder of the World, and Keith grabs clumsily for his head and kisses him, just as sloppy as before but slower this time, and better. Shiro’s a good kisser, and Keith appreciates it. He loves kissing, always has. Shiro’s lips slot against his own easily, sweetly, smoothly, and it’s addictive.

As they kiss, Shiro’s hands slide over Keith’s body, leaving goosebumps in their wake. When his thumb brushes over the mark on Keith’s neck, Keith has to break away and close his eyes for a moment, grounding himself. Shiro lets him be, humming quietly above him. Keith wonders what song it is that’s on his mind. After a few more seconds, he thinks it must be “Pocketful of Sunshine.” He snorts.

Shiro pokes his face and when Keith opens his eyes, Shiro’s flushing and smiling down at him. “What?” he says. “Something funny?”

“You,” Keith replies, shaking his head. “Natasha Bedingfield, really?”

“Hey,” Shiro says, smile growing, “it’s a classic, don’t judge.”

Keith’s lips quirk. “And do you?” he asks. “Have a pocketful of sunshine, that is?”

Shiro’s eyes soften, and Keith’s heart pounds. “Mm,” he says, “I think I just might.” He leans forward to kiss Keith’s brow, lingering there for a few moments before moving off of him.

Keith is momentarily stunned by his admission, jolted out of it when Shiro pulls out. He hisses and winces, and is unprepared for Shiro to instantly sit up and fuss over him. “Are you alright?” he asks. “Was that too much? It was too much, wasn’t it? I’m sorry –”

“Do not,” Keith warns, “be sorry right now, Shiro.”

The wolf balks. “No?” He peers down at Keith with a frown. “I didn’t hurt you?”

“No, it’s just been awhile,” Keith admits, and stretches on the bed, enjoying Shiro’s gaze on him as he does. “I’m okay. Really. Better than okay.”

Shiro bites his lip. “You’re sure? I know I got carried away, I just…” He reaches out tentatively to touch the fading bite marks on Keith’s neck. “I don’t know what got into me.”

Keith covers his hand, pressing the wolf’s fingers to his marked skin. “It’s okay,” he repeats, more firmly. “I liked it, Shiro.” He lets himself smile, lets himself relax even though he knows he shouldn’t. “I wouldn’t mind it if you got carried away more often, to be honest.”

Shiro’s relief is palpable, and he leans down, cupping Keith’s face and bumping their noses together lightly. “I’m glad to hear it,” he murmurs. “I...that was fun. More fun than I’ve had in awhile.”

“Mm,” Keith says, scratching his fingers lightly through Shiro’s undercut and making the wolf shiver, “me too.”

“How do you feel about a shower?” Shiro asks, all innocence and wide eyes, but Keith sees right through him, and his gut aches in anticipation.

“Only if you carry me there,” Keith retorts. “I don’t trust my legs not to give out from under me, yet.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Shiro says, and scoops him up from the bed in one fell swoop. Keith squawks and grabs for his neck instinctively, sucking in a sharp breath when Shiro squeezes his ass and then, to Keith’s chagrin and excitement, tosses Keith over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and marches off to the bathroom.

“Hey!” Keith exclaims, beating lightly at his back with his fists. “Unhand me, you scoundrel!”

“Scoundrel?” Shiro chuckles, the sound reverberating through Keith’s body. He heads down the hall and opens the bathroom door. “You wound me; I’ll have you know that I’m a gentleman.” As he says it, his hand on Keith’s ass readjusts its grip, and Keith freezes when his finger prods at Keith’s loosened hole, still leaking cum. Shiro’s chest rumbles with appreciation when the digit slides in easily, cum squelching around it.

Keith moans and hides his face in Shiro’s flexing back muscles. “I don’t think gentlemen do that,” Keith gasps, his toes curling when Shiro’s finger curls and explores deeper.

“No?” Shiro laughs, soft and wicked. Keith barely has time to yelp as the wolf plops Keith down on the edge of the bath, holding him in place with hands forcing his thighs apart, and lifts Keith’s ass towards his face. Keith scrabbles at the tiles for purchase and gapes at him. Shiro’s mouth is on his inner thigh, and he’s not breaking eye contact as he lets the path of his lips move ever inwards. “Do they do this?” Shiro asks, and licks over Keith’s messy hole.

Keith almost falls back into the bathtub but Shiro catches him, holds him up as he licks inside of Keith, moaning low in his throat as he does. Keith gasps and twitches, arching into it, unresisting when Shiro guides Keith’s legs to wrap around his head. “Oh my god,” Keith keeps chanting, “God, what, nngh, Shiro, yes, yes – !”

Shiro’s fingers follow his tongue, and Keith opens to them, his soft cock stirring, and this time Shiro doesn’t stop Keith when he starts jacking himself off. No, the wolf seems to be observing the movements of Keith’s hand, watching the way he digs his thumb in under the crown, presses his nail to the leaking slit and sobs on a gasping breath, squeezes at the base and writhes when Shiro’s fingers and tongue find his prostate.

It doesn’t take long for Keith to come again, at that rate, and Shiro pauses as he does, and he’s definitely watching as Keith convulses, cock spurting over his belly and chest as he slumps over. Then Shiro drags his tongue up, up, up, cleaning off Keith’s limp cock and balls, a touch that makes him jolt and swear, then lapping over all the rest of Keith’s cum-splattered skin. Keith lets him, and waits for Shiro to fuck him, but instead Shiro turns the shower on, large body shielding Keith from the warm spray.

“What,” Keith stammers, ever the eloquent one, but Shiro shushes him gently and climbs into the shower with him, supporting Keith with an arm around his waist. When Keith sways dangerously, knees the consistency of jelly, Shiro guides him to sit down on the shower mat. Keith blinks up at him, eyelevel with the wolf’s half-hard cock, and makes an inquisitive sound, head tilted.

Shiro’s face is pink, and Keith takes a moment to admire the way the water droplets cling to his muscled body, slicking his skin in a layer of glossy wet shine. “Do you want me to suck you off?” Keith mumbles, shuffling closer.

“If you want,” Shiro says, breathless.

Keith considers him. Years ago, he wouldn’t have stopped to think before taking Shiro’s thickening cock into his mouth and making him come with single-minded devotion. Now...he’d like to think he’s changed at least a little. “And if I don’t want?” he asks.

Shiro’s brow furrows, and he kneels down. Keith shrinks back, not expecting it. “Then don’t,” Shiro says, soft and certain and more than a little concerned. “You don’t have to.”

“You just ate my ass,” Keith retorts dryly, “I think I owe you.”

But Shiro shakes his head, just as troubled as before. “No,” he whispers, “Keith, you don’t owe me anything.”

Keith stares at him. He has never felt so lost and yet so sure that he’s where he’s meant to be. “Okay,” he whispers back.

“Let me take care of you,” Shiro says, tucking a wet lock of hair behind Keith’s brow, smoothing it back. “Let me take care of you, Keith.”

“Okay,” Keith says again, ducking his head, cheeks burning. He goes to his feet as Shiro guides him up, and leans back against the tiled wall as Shiro pours shampoo into his palms and massages it over Keith’s scalp, through his hair, firm but careful. It feels...nice. Keith doesn’t know what Shiro could possibly gain from doing this, but he’ll allow it for now.

Unable to look Shiro in the eyes, Keith stares down at his feet, and by proxy at Shiro’s cock, which occasionally rubs up against Keith’s hipbone but otherwise keeps its distance. When Shiro grabs the bar of soap and starts cleaning off Keith’s body, Keith says, “Can you hand me the other washcloth?”

Shiro nods and picks up the extra washcloth, handing it to Keith with raised eyebrows. Keith gets the cloth damp in the stream of water, and then wraps it, and his hand, around Shiro’s cock.

Shiro grunts, surprised, thrusting into the textured cloth and Keith’s tight grip, chasing friction. “What –” Shiro starts.

“Keep washing me off,” Keith retorts, batting his eyelashes and stroking Shiro’s cock, dragging the fabric along his hot length. “Don’t let me distract you.”

Shiro huffs, face reddening, but obeys, working the soap up into a thick white froth over Keith’s skin. Keith leans back against the wall, jerking him off lazily, content to watch the wolf slowly come apart in front of him. To his credit, Shiro gets Keith mostly clean before his patience runs out and he growls, hauling Keith up by the backs of his thighs and, when Keith dutifully removes the washcloth, lifts Keith up and onto his cock.

Keith groans into his neck at the slight burn and sudden fullness, mewling soft and pleased when Shiro’s hips hitch in shallow, urgent thrusts, knocking Keith’s back against the hard tile. Shiro’s holding him up like it’s nothing, and Keith can’t deny it’s turning him on beyond belief. He clings to Shiro with his entire body as the wolf grunts and fucks him in short sharp jabs of sensation, almost a tease with how close they come to his prostate, and how delicious the rasping brush of Shiro’s thick happy trail is against Keith’s mostly soft cock. He doubted he could go again, but the longer Shiro fucks him, the more he thinks he was mistaken.

The thing is, being fucked by Shiro is almost...peaceful. It’s hard to explain, because there’s nothing peaceful about his rough manhandling of Keith as he holds him up against the wall, and there’s nothing peaceful in the harsh, deep sounds spilling from his lips, and there’s certainly nothing peaceful in the way his nails dig into Keith’s ass, leaving red-edged white indents behind, or the way he bites bruises into Keith’s jaw, or the powerful flex of his muscles as he drives his cock in and out of Keith’s pliant body.

But Keith feels at peace. He feels, somehow, safe. When Shiro finds his prostate and Keith cries out, muffled against Shiro’s shoulder, he feels the subtle shift of the wolf’s stance; the effort to have Keith make that sound again, for Keith to feel as good as Shiro does, perhaps even better. That, that means something. Keith thinks it must.

It must mean something when Shiro holds him up with one broad palm and smooths his other palm down Keith’s arching back, bringing him away from the wall, feeling the scrapes left behind from the tile and letting out a soft, concerned rumble. It must mean something when Shiro groans, “Touch yourself, Keith, make yourself come for me,” and Keith obeys without a thought, lashes fluttering as he brings himself over an impossible third edge mere moments after Shiro empties his load inside Keith.

Keith whines and claws at his back, tucking his face into Shiro’s throat and considering, if only for a second, what it would be like to unsheathe his fangs and bite. Not to bite to feed, either. Just...just to do it. Just to feel Shiro’s blood on his tongue, in his mouth, running down his throat sweet and hot and intimate. And Keith thinks that would mean something, too; something important and special.

But he knows that to Shiro, it would only mean one thing.

And that’s where the fantasy falls apart, and so does Keith, slumping forwards into Shiro like a puppet with cut strings. His head lolls forward and Shiro murmurs, “It’s alright, shh,” and there are warm hands on him, cleaning Keith off for good this time, gentle where Keith is aching and open as he pulls out.

Shiro swears softly as warm cum drips down Keith’s thighs, and Keith wonders what the wolf in him thinks about that. Keith may avoid wolves – or he used to, anyway, when he was still sane and cared about staying alive more than getting laid – but he’s heard things about their mating drives. Their need is stronger when the moon approaches. But Keith’s not a wolf, and he’s not a female, and even if he were, vampires and werewolves don’t mix. The thought of the possibility is mildly horrifying yet amusing, and Keith chuckles into Shiro’s chest as the wolf turns off the shower and bundles him up in a warm towel.

“Hm?” Shiro asks, nudging him and ruffling his wet hair. “I’m not humming Pocketful of Sunshine again, so what is it this time?”

“Just thinking,” Keith mumbles. “About things that don’t mix.”

Shiro is unsatisfied with this answer. “What, like oil and water?”

“Sure,” Keith says. “Close enough.”

The ghost of a frown crosses Shiro’s face. “Is everything alright, Keith?”

Keith nods and forces a smile, straightening up and stepping away from the wolf with effort. “It’s late,” he says. “I should get home.”

Shiro’s frown solidifies. “Oh,” he says. “You know, you can stay. If you want.”

“Here?” Keith stares up at him. “I don’t want to intrude —”

Shiro laughs, a bit choked. “Intrude? Keith, c’mon. You’re not, not at all.” He takes a step closer, brow furrowed. Keith holds very still. “I want you to stay the night, baby,” he murmurs, his tone hopeful rather than commanding.

Keith swallows. “Okay, then,” he says. “Take me to bed, Shiro.”

*

That night, Keith traces the lines of the veins in Shiro’s neck with his eyes, covetous and hating himself. The wolf makes a soft, wordless sound in his sleep and snuggles closer, lips warm on Keith’s brow.

*

Keith wakes to Shiro standing at his bedside, staring down at him.

He bolts upright with a yelp and Shiro quickly steps away, like he can somehow pretend he wasn’t just watching Keith sleep.

“Shit,” Keith wheezes, “what’re you doing?!”

Shiro tilts his head. The bright gleam in his eyes is brighter, and Keith realizes it’s the day of the full moon. “You’re very still when you sleep,” the wolf drawls. “I wasn’t even sure you were breathing, for a second there.”

Keith doesn’t breathe, then. “Um,” he says, “sorry?”

Shiro shakes his head, some of the strange gleam fading. “Nevermind. Sleep well?”

“Uh-huh.” Keith throws back the sheets and isn’t sure whether he’s scared or aroused by the way Shiro eyes his naked body with equally naked hunger, as if he’s about to pounce. “Where are my clothes?” Keith is fully prepared for the wolf to say he burned them and is keeping Keith here forever, in his bed and at his mercy. He isn’t as upset by the possibility as he probably should be.

But Shiro turns and picks up a small pile from the nightstand, handing it to Keith. It’s his clothes, freshly washed and folded. They’re still warm from the dryer. Keith rubs his thumb over the fabric and raises an eyebrow. Shiro ducks his head, suddenly bashful. “I woke up early,” he admits. “And I figured you might want clean clothes.”

“And you had to do laundry,” Keith guesses.

Shiro’s lips quirk. “Yeah, maybe.”

Keith lifts the clothes to his face and inhales. They smell like lavender, and Shiro. “Thanks,” he says.

Shiro scratches his head and looks away. “Yeah. No problem.”

It’s awkward between them, for once. Keith gets out of bed on the other side and changes into his lavender scented clothes while avoiding eye contact, keeping his back to Shiro for some sad attempt at decency, as if Shiro hadn’t fucked him twice and eaten his ass last night.

When Keith turns back towards him, fully dressed, he’s surprised to see Shiro is ashen, sweaty and sort of twitchy, shuffling his feet and wringing his hands like he’s got a terrible secret to confess. Keith is not in the mood for confessions.

But, against all odds, he does care about Shiro, and so he walks around the edge of the bed and asks, “Are you okay?”

Shiro’s head whips up with nearly-comical quickness and he blurts, “Are we okay?” He looks embarrassed as soon as he’s said it.

Keith frowns. “I think so,” he says. “I’m okay. Again — are you okay?”

Shiro sighs. He looks defeated, and Keith notes the dark circles under his eyes, and wonders if he slept at all. “I don’t feel so great,” he says. “I’m sorry, Keith.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“I wanted to…” He scratches his head. “I really enjoyed last night, okay?”

“Really,” Keith says, sliding into defensive mode. “Couldn’t tell.”

Shiro winces. “Keith, please, I...well, I wanted to spend the day with you, have a lazy Sunday together, and, I was thinking we could go out for brunch, or go to a museum, or get ice cream, or…” He chews his lip. “I want to do those things, with you.”

Keith folds his arms as if he can shield the pounding of his heart from the wolf’s pleading eyes. “Brunch,” he repeats. “You look like you’re about to barf.”

“Yeah,” Shiro mumbles, “about that. I feel like shit. Happens sometimes, I’m, uh...sick.” He looks away. “It acts up about once a month, and today is just...one of those days.”

“You’re sick?” Keith struggles to keep his tone level. “It’s not contagious, is it?”

“No!” Shiro shakes his head and just makes himself look more nauseous. “No, no, don’t worry. Not contagious. It’s just a thing I’ve had since I was a kid that does its best to get in the way of my life.” His smile is strained.

Sick. Lycanthropy could be considered a sickness, Keith supposes. Nice save. How many times has Shiro told this lie before? “I see,” Keith says. “I hope you feel better, then.” He steps away, closer to the door. “Thanks for letting me stay the night.”

“Of course,” Shiro says, too earnest as always. “Thanks. I will. Feel better, I mean. Just gotta give it a couple days. But I’ll, I’ll text you, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Keith says. “Sure.”

Shiro sees right through him, but he still forces a smile and drives Keith home.

Keith is in a daze for the entire ride. Shiro shoots him anxious looks and sweats. It smells sour, and unmistakably wolfish. Keith presses his face to the car window and imagines Shiro shifting into a snarling, looming beast, swiping at Keith with vicious claws and snapping jaws lined with cruel teeth. Keith shivers, and Shiro swerves, and Keith tells him to look at the road. Shiro looks as if Keith’s slapped him, and obeys. Keith wants to apologize but doesn’t even know where to start.

He’s a wolf, and he’s a gentleman, and he’s great in bed, and he’s absolutely too good for Keith to ever deserve him.

When they get to Keith’s building, Shiro stops him from sprinting out of the car like he wants to, laying a hand over Keith’s as he reaches for his buckle. Keith freezes, and Shiro looks slapped again. “I just,” he starts, and sighs. “Stay safe, okay? And don’t be a stranger.”

“Uh-huh,” Keith says. “You should get some rest.” He hesitates. “And, for the record, I enjoyed myself last night, too. A lot. Bye.”

He all but tears himself out of the car, runs up three flights of stairs, rips open the door to his apartment, and screams into his pillow for at least ten minutes straight.

*

Keith’s awoken at three in the morning by his phone buzzing loudly beside his ear. Grumbling, Keith paws for it, bleary and disoriented, but he shoots upright as soon as he sees the Caller ID. It’s Shiro. At three in the morning, on the night of the full moon. Keith peeks around the corner of his folding panels – sure enough, the moon is high and bright in the sky. Keith stares at his phone, gulps, and hits Answer Call.

“Hello?” he whispers.

The sound on the other end of the phone is disconcerting, to say the least – it’s just breathing, but it doesn’t sound human, because it isn’t – too heavy, raspy, and uneven. Keith’s skin crawls. Then a voice says, “Keith.”

Keith barely stops himself from chucking his phone across the room. It’s Shiro, but it’s not. It’s Shiro’s voice spoken through a mouth not made for human language. Keith gulps. “Yeah,” he manages, “yeah, um, what are you...you don’t sound so good, Shiro –”

“Keith,” the wolf says again. “Miss you.”

“Uhhh?” Keith’s fingers are shaking. “You. You do?”

“Yes,” Shiro groans, “wish I could touch you, kiss you…”

Keith is living a horror movie. Or maybe he’s the horror movie. The line is blurring very quickly, here. “Right,” Keith ekes out, “okay, I’m gonna hang up, alright, so please don’t murder me in my sleep, cool, bye, goodnight –”

“Would never hurt you, baby…”

Keith hangs up, on the verge of hyperventilation. “What the fuck,” he whispers into the darkness. “I’m gonna die. Again.”

He doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night. But no wolf murders him, either, so it’s a zero sum game.

*

Keith wakes up at four in the afternoon on Monday to a slew of texts from Shiro.

6:33 AM: Hey, Keith. Last night was bad, and my memory’s not too good, but apparently I called you? I’m so sorry if I said anything that freaked you out, and I want you to know that everything’s okay, it was just an episode, and I wasn’t myself.

9:45 AM: Keith? Can you please text me back when you’re able?

10:15 AM: Ok honestly I’m kind of panicking did I scare you off??

1:20 PM: Please let me know if you’re okay.

The last one is from about fifteen minutes ago. I’m so sorry, Keith.

It’s not like Shiro to double-text, much less quintuple-text, so he must be well and truly freaked out. Good, so is Keith. But he finds himself calling Shiro anyway, because he’s an idiot.

Shiro answers so fast Keith would be embarrassed for him if he wasn’t already so embarrassed for himself. “Oh my god, Keith?!”

“Hi, Shiro,” Keith says. “I was sleeping, sorry.”

“Oh,” Shiro says, and there’s a sound like muffled cursing. “Sleeping, right, uh, aren’t you missing class?”

“Professor cancelled,” Keith lies. “Aren’t you in class?”

“Just ended,” Shiro says, and clears his throat. “You’re not screaming at me, so I’ll take that as a good sign.”

“Did you expect me to scream?” Keith asks. “It wasn’t that bad.” It was. It so was. “Just kind of creepy.”

“Oh, god,” Shiro groans, “what did I say?”

“Um.” Keith fumbles with the phone a little. “Just that you missed me.” He coughs harder than necessary. “And that you wished you could touch me. And kiss me. Think that covers it.”

“Fuck,” Shiro says softly and with feeling. “I am so sorry. This normally doesn’t happen. Ever, I swear...”

Keith adds, “You also sounded weird. Like, sick, I guess. Are you feeling any better?”

He can practically hear Shiro’s grimace through the phone. “Oh, man, I must have sounded awful. I’m just tired and sore now, and stressed...less stressed knowing that you’re not traumatized, though. Wait, are you?”

“Traumatized?” Keith snorts. “Weirded out, yes. Traumatized, not really. Could’ve warned me you sound like The Grudge when you’re sick, though.”

“Yikes, can’t say I’ve heard that one before, but you’re probably right.” Shiro pauses. “I’m not exactly back to my normal self yet, but...would you maybe be down for going out for drinks on me this Wednesday night?”

“Drinks?” Keith blinks. “Like, at a bar?”

“Yeah, I mean, you’re twenty-one, right?” Shiro says. “If you’re not comfortable with –”

“Free alcohol sounds good to me,” Keith says. His stomach is already clenching in disgust. Tea is one thing; beer is another entirely.

Shiro chuckles in obvious relief and Keith feels warm at the sound. “Great,” he says. “Red Lion at eight work for you?”

“It’s a date,” Keith says.

*

Keith arrives at The Red Lion at five past eight with an immense and unexplainable dread.

Maybe it’s the fact that this place is swarming with people, and Keith was too anxious to go out and hunt when he should have last night. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s going to have to force himself to drink something that will inevitably leave him puking his guts out. Or maybe it’s the fact that he’s going to have to face Shiro after hearing the wolf openly lust after him.

Or maybe it’s everything.

Shiro is sitting at the bar and trying to look busy as he scrolls through his phone, but he shoots out of his seat when Keith strolls over. “Keith, hey!” His grin is electric, though Keith can see dark circles under his eyes. “How are you?”

“Alright,” Keith says. “You?”

Shiro shrugs, gesturing for Keith to take a seat, which he does. “I’ve been worse,” he admits. “But hey, couple drinks should help with that. You want something?”

Keith sucks in a breath. “Whiskey ginger,” he says.

Shiro whistles. “Starting with whiskey; you sure you’re okay?” Keith gives him a look and Shiro shakes his head, half-smiling, and orders it, along with some craft beer that has Scarlet in the name. Keith hasn’t even had a drink yet, and already he feels dizzy. It’s Shiro, he realizes with muted horror. He can smell Shiro’s blood, ten times stronger than usual, and he can hear Shiro’s heart beating in his chest, drowning out the sounds of the crowd around them, replacing the bassline in the pounding music until it’s the only thing Keith hears.

The bartender slides a glass over to Keith and he snaps out of it as soon as his fingers touch the cold surface. Shiro is looking at him. “What?” Keith says.

“You seem out of it,” Shiro says, brow creased. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“I will be,” Keith says, and knocks back his drink.

*

Two hours later, Keith is draped all over Shiro’s front, and they’re dancing, or rather, drunkenly moving together. Shiro’s breath reeks of beer but Keith still wants to devour him whole. He settles for a kiss, fisting a hand in Shiro’s shirt and biting at his lips, and Shiro grunts and squeezes Keith’s waist, both of them swaying.

“Wanna fuck you,” Keith breathes, low and hot into the soft space just below Shiro’s ear.

The wolf shudders hard, hand falling heavy over the back of Keith’s neck. “Yeah,” he groans, “you should. Right now, we can...the bathroom –”

Keith mutters, “Unless you got a secret stash, we don’t have lube.”

Shiro’s eyes narrow. “We can just use spit,” he whispers. “You could eat me out –”

This is a stupendously bad idea, considering Keith’s fangs are about two seconds from unsheathing. “Bet you’d love that,” he hisses, letting Shiro feel his nails as they dig in through his T-shirt. “You’re filthy, you know that?”

“Like you’re not,” Shiro chuckles, his eyes dark and hooded. “So? Bathroom?”

Keith can picture it, vividly – Shiro arching against the dirty wall of the bathroom stall, legs hitched up around Keith’s waist as Keith shoves his cock into the wolf again and again, until he’s begging to come, begging for Keith to let him. But it’s a fantasy, not a reality. In reality, Keith doesn’t think he’d be able to control himself long enough to even finger Shiro open before his disguise slipped away and he took a bite out of Shiro’s gorgeous neck.

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he sighs in soft defeat, letting his head fall forward to rest in the crook of said neck. “When I fuck you, I’m gonna do it right.”

“Baby,” Shiro whispered, the single word dripping with so much emotion that Keith’s drunk, desperate grasp tightens around him to the point of bruising. He doesn’t want to let go, even though he knows he has to.

“Think I might puke,” Keith mumbles, stepping away from him. The nausea is setting in, fast.

“Oh, shit, c’mon, let’s go then,” Shiro says, and grabs his hand, leading Keith through the writhing crowd with authoritative ease. Keith stumbles after him, watching the nape of his neck, wondering what the sweat beaded there would taste like.

The cold night air is a shock to the senses, and the bar door closing is like a gunshot. Keith jerks up, breathing hard, staring at Shiro. Somewhere along the line, the wolf had grabbed his half-drunk bottle of beer off the bar, and holds it in his free hand as they stand in the back alley. The dumpster is overflowing, and Keith’s vision swims with the overload of scent and taste, all unpleasant, all unimportant when compared to Shiro’s.

“Hey, Keith,” Shiro says, stepping closer, eyes wide and concerned, “talk to me. You’re pale as a ghost, what’s wrong? Do I need to call someone?”

“No,” Keith gasps, shaking his head and staggering back, “no hospital, it’s fine, I’ll be okay –”

“Keith, you’re gonna fall on your ass,” Shiro reproaches, reaching for him, and Keith doesn’t think before pushing him away, hard, so hard that Shiro gasps in surprise at the unexpected force, and falls, the bottle in his hand shattering as he does. Braced against the gum-speckled wall, Keith sees the exact moment that the glass slices Shiro’s palm open.

Blood splatters over the ground, staining concrete, staining Shiro’s gray shirt, staining Shiro’s hand and arm in violent red as he hisses in pain and lifts the wound up for inspection. Keith stares, panting, sucking in air and the scent of Shiro’s blood with a hunger he never could have stopped. His fangs slide free of his gums, his human face replaced by the monster within. Claws shift from dull nails and his ears taper to thin, ugly points like a bat’s. Keith sniffs, pink tongue swiping over his teeth, body straining towards Shiro’s even as his claws dig into the wall’s mortar in a weak attempt to hold himself back.

Shiro looks up at him, and the expression on his face is like a sledgehammer to the chest.

“Keith,” he breathes, low and horrified, scrambling to his feet. “No, it can’t – it’s you?”

Keith shakes his head, tearing his gaze away from Shiro’s blood. “Wait,” he gasps, “let me explain –”

But it’s too late. Under Keith’s horrified gaze, Shiro is shifting, canines huge and gleaming and grim, eyes glowing gold, hair spreading in a dark ripple as his skin bulges with expanding muscle, illuminated in a silver wash of moonlight. “You killed her,” Shiro growls. “It was you, you’re the murderer.”

Keith breathes unevenly, backing away, away from the wall, the bar, the wolf. “Shiro,” he whispers.

But Shiro’s mouth twists in an ugly curl. “Did you thrall me?!” he demands, sounding so disgusted and furious that Keith almost trips on his next frantic step away. “Did – did you make me...have you known what I am all along, and you’ve just been biding your time?”

Keith’s eyes widen. “No!” he exclaims. “No, Shiro, I never, I swear I never thralled you, I wouldn’t – I never meant for this to go so far, I –”

“Were you planning to kill me, too?” Shiro sounds like he’s the one on the verge of vomiting, now.

Keith’s chest heaves. The wolf will kill him if he stays any longer, and though Keith has often found himself wishing for death, this isn’t how he wants it to end. “She was anemic,” Keith whispers, trembling and digging his claws into his own palms, letting the pain keep him above water.

Shiro falters, the gold in his eyes flickering. “What?”

“Carmen Santos,” Keith says. “She was anemic, and I didn’t know, so when – when I bit her, she bled out too fast, it was a mistake, I didn’t – Shiro, I didn’t mean it.”

And then, before he can see the wolf’s wretched expression, because he knows it will be burned into his mind forever, Keith turns on his heel and runs.

*

Thace holds back Keith’s hair while he vomits into the toilet, slumped on the porcelain tile, his eyes red from crying. Ulaz wordlessly hands him a damp paper towel, and Keith wipes his mouth clean dully, though it doesn’t really matter – he’ll be making it a mess with blood soon enough.

At the thought, his stomach rumbles miserably, and the two older vampires exchange looks. Keith can’t meet their eyes. They treat him better than he deserves. This isn’t the first time he’s showed up panicked and starving on their doorstep, but this is the worst time so far. They don’t know that, though, and Keith’s not about to tell them.

“Come on,” Thace sighs, heaving Keith to his unsteady feet. “We’ll warm up some soup for you, okay?”

Soup. He’d forgotten how Thace and Ulaz have always done their best to make this mess as normal as they possibly can. They both have day jobs. They have a nice two bedroom apartment in a nice part of town. They have friends who aren’t vampires. They have three pet cats, Marshmallow, Peaches, and Strawberry. The calico, Strawberry, weaves around Keith’s ankles as he wanders into the kitchen, and he leans down to give her a scratch behind the ears. She nips at his fingers and purrs, following him to the kitchen table, where he sits down heavily.

The bowl of blood Ulaz sets in front of him does look like tomato soup. Keith stirs it with lackluster enthusiasm, and Thace sits across from him, arms folded. “You want to tell us what’s going on, Keith?”

Keith would much rather drink the reheated blood, so he does, slurping it loudly and looking away. It doesn’t taste half as good as he imagines Shiro’s would.

Ulaz sniffs, and his eyes go wide in alarm. “Keith,” he hisses, “you smell like wolf.”

Keith stiffens. He stares into his bowl of steaming blood. “I smell like beer,” he mutters. “Same difference.”

Thace’s eyes are narrowed to suspicious yellow slits. “Did one of them approach you while you were...out?” He says ‘out’ after a long pause, because they all know Keith rarely goes out.  

“Something like that,” Keith says. He really, really doesn’t want to talk about this. He doesn’t want to see Shiro’s face in his mind – staring at Keith in horror and fear and disgust, accepting in a second that Keith was a murderer and should be punished for his crimes. Wolves did love to be the judge, jury, and executioner. But he’d hoped Shiro was different. He’d hoped so badly. But why would he be? He’s one of Allura’s lackeys. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid...

“Keith?” Ulaz touches his shoulder gently, sitting down in the chair next to him. “Were you hurt?”

“No,” Keith says, shoving another spoonful of blood in his mouth and hating how his body responds, skin warming and vision sharpening. He swallows hard, and sighs. He owes them something; more than sulking and evasion. Obviously he can’t tell them the truth. But he can tell them part of it. “There was a girl,” he admits. “Her name was Carmen Santos. I fed from her weeks ago and...well, I made a mistake. She was anemic and she bled out.”

Their mouths tighten and press into thin, disapproving lines. “We heard about Carmen Santos through the grapevine,” Thace mutters, “but we hoped it wasn’t you. We thought you were more careful than that, Keith.”

Keith chews on the inside of his cheek. “I should have been,” he mumbles. “Because they sent a pack after me, to Gamara. The...the alpha was getting too close. To figuring out it was me, I mean. And, and, he tried to corner me at the Red Lion and I…” Keith exhales. “I panicked and ran. And I’m starving because I was too afraid to hunt sooner, not with those wolves everywhere…”

He knows they don’t buy it entirely. But they accept it, and that’s enough for now.

*

Keith doesn’t leave the apartment for another three weeks.

He tells himself he’s not scared; he’s not. But on the third night that he wakes up in a cold sweat with Shiro’s wolfish grin burnt into the backs of his eyelids, he’s forced to admit that not only is he scared, he’s terrified.

Keith’s never liked wolves. They terrified him when he was younger, newly-turned and taught by others of his kind about the dangers of werewolves. They were ruthless and relentless hunters, and though they supposedly held ideals of honor and loyalty, none of this ever seemed to apply to their vampire prey.

Of course there are vampires who turn the tables and hunt werewolves, but they’re far more rare. Vampires, as more solitary creatures, don’t stand a chance against a seasoned pack of wolves in a “fair” fight unless they’re ancient. So vampires developed the reputation of being sly, deceptive, underhanded, and outright villainous. Their ability to thrall doesn’t help this reputation one bit.

Keith hates using his thrall. The ability to control someone’s being completely holds little to no appeal for him, nor for most other vampires he knows. Keith only uses it for the prey’s sake, and even then, only a little, so that they forget the ordeal and feel no pain. It’s exhausting to exert one’s thrall for long periods of time, which is why it’s ridiculous to the point of nearly funny that Shiro accused Keith of thralling him.

Nearly funny, except it’s not. Because that possibility scares Keith, too. He never used his thrall on Shiro; at least he’d thought he hadn’t. Keith’s heard of cases where vampires unconsciously used their thralls when put under a great deal of stress, when their drive to survive kicked in...but not in bed. Surely not then. The mere thought is revolting to him, and he can’t imagine how Shiro must feel.

No, he can imagine. Furious. Out for vengeance.

Yes, Keith fucked up, big time.

He still can’t convince himself it wasn’t worth it, though. And that’s the scariest part of all.

Not all of his dreams about Shiro are nightmares. Some end in a gasp of breath and a sticky mess in his boxers. Or, worse, he wakes up sweating and hard and has to bite his palm and will it away, which never works. That always ends in him jerking himself off and moaning Shiro’s name into his pillow, muffled and broken.

Keith isn’t sure why Shiro won’t leave his mind. Sure, the wolf is hot, but if that were his only redeeming quality Keith would have dealt with him long ago. There’s more to it than that. Keith liked Shiro. He liked him a lot. Still likes him, despite all signs pointing to bad, terrible, awful, worst idea ever.

Thace and Ulaz can’t get through to him. Keith knows they must see him as a child – he’s been one of them for just over a decade. They’re both nearly a century old. So they leave him be in the guest room they’ve given him, generous to a fault, continuing to provide him with thermoses of “soup” though Keith often finds himself wishing they would just let him starve.

No matter how much blood he drinks, his temperature stays much colder than it should be, a sign of stress in vampires which Keith notes dully. Vampires go into a state of torpor in emergencies; when food is scarce or when their cortisol levels are too high, and with every passing day Keith slips closer and closer to that state. He stays bundled up in an old quilt on the bed, nestled into the pillows, drawing in the new sketchbook Thace slipped under his door after he refused to come out the first day, listening to My Chemical Romance on repeat.

He tries and fails to not draw Shiro. Part of it, Keith thinks, is that he doesn’t want to forget. He won’t ever see Shiro again, hopefully, and though the thought should be a relief, it’s really just painful.

On the fifteenth day, when Ulaz drops by with the soup, Keith says, “What do you know about Allura Knight’s pack?”

Ulaz pauses, sets the soup down on the nightstand, and sits on the edge of Keith’s bed. “Do you think they may be after you?”

“The alpha of the pack that was sent after me,” Keith mutters, “he works for Allura, I think. His pack must be one of her satellites.”

“Ah.” Ulaz purses his lips. “Well, it could be worse. It could be the Garrison after you.”

Keith frowns. The Garrison is highly clandestine, an allied force of specially trained (and sworn to secrecy) human hunters and wolves. Keith knows precious little about them; Pack Altea has always been the closer and more pertinent threat.

“What’s so bad about the Garrison?” Keith asks.

Ulaz sighs. “Pack Altea is...dangerous, yes, but old-fashioned. They’re still capable of honor, believe it or not. They may hunt our kind, but they do not do so without reason. They sent that alpha’s pack after you because they saw you as a danger to humanity, a future threat to be eliminated. Pack Altea does not make such decisions lightly...Thace and I have dealt with them in the past, and I can say with confidence they are reasonable wolves, generally speaking. Prejudiced, yes, but not cruel.”

“And the Garrison?”

“Cruel,” Ulaz says. “To them, our very existence is reason enough to hunt us down. Their rhetoric is...troubling, to say the least. The Garrison believes vampires are a stain on the world, parasites to be wiped out.”

“Wait,” Keith whispers, his blood running cold as he remembers, suddenly, what Hunk told him weeks ago, “does the name G-Sec Corporation ring any bells?”

Ulaz narrows his eyes. “Yes,” he says. “That’s one of the Garrison’s business fronts.”

Keith swallows hard. “He worked there,” he says, numb. “The alpha, he...before joining Allura, he was one of them, not an official hunter, I don’t think, he would have been too young, but a trainee, a student, and his ex-boyfriend worked there with him, I don’t –”

“Keith,” Ulaz says, laying a firm hand on his shoulder, “you seem to know a great deal about this alpha. What happened?”

Keith can only shake his head. “He’s going to kill me, Ulaz,” he breathes.

“Were you friends?” Ulaz presses. “If he is part of Altea now, perhaps –”

“No,” Keith says. “You didn’t see his face. He was so…” He can’t finish the sentence.

Ulaz looks at him, not with pity but with a deep, sorrowful understanding. “We cannot help what we are, Keith,” he murmurs. “It is ugly to some, but there is no changing that hatred and fear, except by being better than what they expect us to be.”

Keith doesn’t reply, and Ulaz leaves, shaking his head.

The soup tastes like nothing, and that night, Keith dreams of Shiro’s hands around his throat, claws spraying black blood across his face and chest, a long sloppy tongue licking it away, a satisfied growl echoing in his ear when he bolts upright, face stained with tears and sweat and shame.

*

After a week, Keith decides he can’t bear the dreams and the soup anymore, and ventures out into the city before Thace and Ulaz get home from work.

It’s a cloudy night, which makes him feel more at ease, more hidden – fog curls and drifts through the empty streets as Keith idly searches for his prey, black hoodie pulled over his head in an attempt to hide his face. He catches a stray scent on the wind, a young woman, slightly intoxicated, foolish to walk alone at night. But, of all the monsters she could run into in the city at this hour, Keith thinks he’s one of the kinder ones. He’ll make sure she gets home safe when their business together is done.

He’s less than a mile away, and quickens his pace, lifting his head to sniff, lips parting. Maybe, after feeding, he’ll go to a club to try to quench the different sort of thirst curling low and frustrated in his belly. Some vampires might just use their prey for the same purpose, but Keith could never. Especially not when Shiro’s revolted expression is branded into his mind.

He’s not thinking about Shiro tonight. Absolutely...not…

The clouds drift aside, and Keith stumbles. The moon is full, and he is an idiot.

Four weeks. It’s been four weeks since Shiro shifted and called him and –

They’re following him. Keith can feel their eyes on his back, all at once, and there are so many, and he’s all alone, and all he can do is run.

Keith flees through the city, but it’s unfamiliar terrain and panic blinds him; he hasn’t the slightest clue how to get back to the apartment, and he realizes his mistake as he stumbles down a narrow street that dead-ends in a public park, illuminated by the hazy orange of amber street lamps, pools of light that will take away Keith’s advantage of the cover of darkness.

But there’s nowhere else to go, so he sprints for it, faltering as he hits the damp turf and playground mulch, running past the swingset so fast that the swings begin to swing by themselves, caught in the wind. But it still won’t be fast enough. A pack of wolves is faster; they’re always faster.

As they get closer, though, Keith realizes something even worse – none of their scents are familiar. It’s not Shiro’s pack.

Then who – ?

Something catches Keith just below his shoulder blade, a burning, tearing pain like a heavy thorn, and when he stumbles and gasps and chokes on his own blood, he knows there aren’t just wolves following him...because he’s been shot. With a silver bullet, no less.

Shock and superhuman strength carries him forward, away from the accusing light and into a shadowy corner lined with trees, silent sentinels who cannot help Keith except to give him a quiet place to die. He slumps against one of their trunks, turning to face his hunters with ragged breaths, wondering if he’s only working with one lung.

The human who shot him steps forward along with the wolf who must be the pack’s alpha, and as Keith feared, it isn’t Shiro. The wolf glares at him with unabated disgust, green eyes glowing too bright for Keith’s sensitive night vision. It’s around seven or eight feet tall, vaguely humanoid in shape but with the snarling head, brown fur, tail, sharp claws, and strength of a wolf. Its betas flank it, one black and one darker brown, both baring their teeth. There are two humans accompanying them, both with guns.

Keith is flattered they thought they needed so much firepower to take him down. Whoever they are.

“Finally,” the alpha growls, voice masculine and dripping with loathing. “I knew we’d find the murderous little bloodsucker who thralled Shiro into his bed eventually.”

Oh no, Keith thinks. “Wait,” Keith wheezes, bracing himself against the tree, “I never used my — augh!”

The alpha lunges, claws cleaving clean through Keith’s shirt and hoodie and skin, agony slicing across his chest as he crumples with a choked scream, more blood bubbling past his lips. “Shut up,” the alpha snarls, “you’re going to pay for ever even thinking about hurting him.”

Keith stares up at him, refusing to give into the darkness creeping into his peripherals, and despite his better judgment, calls upon his thrall at full force. At once, the alpha freezes, his eyes widening, then going hazy as Keith projects, Go, leave, run, stay away, stay far away, and the alpha takes a step back, and then another, and then another, and for a second, hope flares in Keith’s wounded chest.

He’s too weak to sustain a thrall on an alpha wolf any longer, though, and the moment his control breaks, raw fury ignites in the alpha’s eyes.

“How dare you!” the alpha roars, and Keith shifts fully, struggling to his feet, baring his fangs and clawing at the wolves as they descend on him, but it’s so useless it’s laughable. Keith can’t breathe, though, let alone laugh, and his blood puddles out on the ground around him as he staggers away too late from sharp teeth. They close around his calf and rip , searing pain that brings tears to Keith’s eyes, and in his peripherals, one of the humans aims, and Keith squeezes his eyes shut, hoping it takes more than two silver bullets to kill a vampire —

A haunting howl splits the night air, and the alpha startles back, leaving Keith crumpled in the bloodied grass, feeling the strength and life drain out of him, fighting to stay conscious.

“Shiro,” the alpha rumbles, sounding surprised, and Keith cracks his eyes open.

The silver-white wolf bounds out of the shadows, looming over the other alpha in size and height, yellow eyes glowering and teeth bared. He’s shifted more fully than the brown alpha, and his reply is less of a word and more of an animal grunt. “Go.”

The brown alpha’s mouth twists. “The vampire still lives —”

Shiro growls at him and stalks forward, fur bristling. “Mine,” he snarls. Keith curls in on himself, trembling, summoning up the impossible strength needed to flee. Unfortunately, living off of bagged blood and curling up in torpor for three weeks is not conducive to being at peak health.

One of the human hunters steps forward, turning their gun on Shiro. “Adam, he isn’t one of our operatives,” the human says. “He’ll compromise the mission —”

Shiro growls louder and shoves the human out of his way, scaring the two betas off with a few snaps of his jaws and standing over Keith, Keith’s black blood staining his white paws. The wolf’s expression is unreadable, but when he sinks down onto all four paws and opens his jaws, black lips curling away from white canines, Keith scrabbles at the earth frantically, trying to drag himself away from the dangerous teeth and burning eyes.

Hot breath washes over Keith and he clings to the tree bark and torn grass with his clawed and shaking hands, staring up into the wolf’s steady gaze with visceral terror. Even then, he can’t bring himself to thrall Shiro. Ashamed, Keith lowers his head, hair falling into his bruised and bloodied face.

“Please,” he whispers, setting aside his pride in favor of survival, “Shiro, please, don’t –”

Powerful jaws close around Keith’s torso and he lashes out with the last of his strength, claws slashing across the wolf’s muzzle, red blood dripping across white fur. Shiro’s pained growl reverberates through Keith’s body as he struggles, reopening wounds, stilling only when Shiro lifts him up into the air, jaws tightening in warning. Keith goes limp, heart pounding, held aloft in the wolf’s mouth like an oversized chew toy.

“Shiro, for your own good, let us deal with it,” the brown alpha, Adam, warns. “Altea is too lenient for a monster like him –”

Shiro glares at Adam, ears pricked and tail held high in defiance, and then turns on his heels and bounds off into the night. Keith is crying, from pain or humiliation or fear or all three, tears stinging his eyes as the wolf runs faster; in full wolf form each stride is long and powerful, faster than any normal wolf or human.

He holds Keith gingerly, and through his bleary vision Keith sees the city fading into the distance behind them; the wolf is headed for the woods. Keith whimpers, letting his head hang down. Shiro will kill him there, where no one will ever find him, if there is even a body left when the wolf is done. Thace and Ulaz will assume the worst, and they will be right. Will they search for him? Keith hopes not. What if the wolves kill them, too?

At the thought, Keith starts to struggle, beating on Shiro’s neck and shoulder with ineffectual fists, screaming and then immediately regretting it when he feels his lung collapse and tear inside his chest. Shiro runs faster, pine trees closing in around them, and Keith goes still again, thinking, any second now, he will drop me, and rip me open –

The wolf slows, panting around Keith, and pads towards...a cabin. Keith’s terror triples. Horror movie stills of rusty saws and meat hooks and mounted heads flash through his mind, and he squirms, gasping wordless pleas. Shiro stops walking, groaning low as he shifts into a more humanoid form, and holds Keith in his arms instead, keeping him close to his chest. His clawed paw-hands span Keith’s entire chest, laying heavy atop him, and Keith begins to weep in earnest, turning his face away.

The wolf pushes the door open, hunching over to walk inside, and the overwhelming scent of an entire pack of wolves floods Keith’s already keen senses, paralyzing him in the alpha’s arms. The cabin is dimly lit, and Shiro pads past a sort of living room full of blankets and pillows, upon which several other wolves are lying, watching him with pricked ears and cocked heads. A lean brown wolf with blue eyes, Lance, growls softly. Beside him, a much larger wolf with dark brown fur and yellow eyes nudges Lance, shaking his head. Hunk. Two lighter brown wolves with green eyes, the Holts, just stare steadily, nod, and return to their silent watch.

Shiro brings Keith to a room at the end of the hall, and Keith gasps, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” but when the door swings open, it’s just a bedroom, though instead of a bed there’s a large nest of blankets, pillows, and sheets. Keith falters, uncertain and confused. The wolf lays him down in the nest, peering down at him and making a soft chuffing sound low in his throat. Keith gulps and tries to crawl away, but Shiro sighs and lays down beside him, keeping Keith there with a heavy, muscled arm around his waist.

Then, impossibly, Shiro guides Keith flush against his front and says, “Drink.”

Keith makes a strangled sound. “Wha...what?”

“Must heal,” Shiro insists, craning his neck, exposing it to Keith, and repeating, “drink.”

Keith’s eyes dart between the wolf’s face and his offered throat. Surely this must be a trick, a test...but Keith’s weakening body doesn’t care, and on instinct he lunges, sinking his fangs into the vein he can see just below the surface like a beacon, moaning as the wolf’s hot blood fills his mouth. The clawed hand tightens on his hip, and Shiro growls quietly, but does not push him away.

Keith’s eyes flutter shut in pleasure, and he presses closer, thoughtless, simply chasing the welcoming warmth of his prey. Shiro’s furred chest is like velvet under his palm, and Keith kneads at the thick muscle as he drinks. Shiro tenses, then relaxes. When Keith finally pulls away, mouth messy with blood, he leans in again to lick at the wounds, encouraging them to heal, because he doesn’t want Shiro to die; he has never wanted that.

The wolf rumbles in approval, nuzzling into Keith’s hair, and murmurs, “Sleep,” and Keith curls against his chest, belly full and wounds knitting together with the wolf’s borrowed strength, and drifts off.

*

At some point during the night, Keith jolts into consciousness at the cold touch of claws on his bare back, pulling something even colder from his flesh – the silver bullet, it must be, burning him anew as the claws dislodge it.

Tough bastard, someone mutters. G-Sec grade bullets are nasty business. I see why you left the Garrison; they’re sadistic assholes.

Quiet, Lance. That one, that’s Shiro. Keith turns blindly towards his voice, gasping weakly on a splatter of blood as his body struggles to heal the silver burns. His lips part, an alarming mix of wolf, blood, and tension filling the air. Keith bares his fangs, and whines softly in pain and distress.

Shit, a younger female voice, Pidge, whispers. Those teeth are no joke. Poor Carmen, Jesus...

Focus, Katie. T hat must be Matt . If he makes it through this, you can talk to him about Carmen later.

He’s not healing, a lower male voice – Hunk – says. Should we do this the old fashioned way, Shiro? I’m good at stitches, remember...

No, Shiro says. Not yet. He just needs more blood.

Shiro, wait, Pidge starts, but Shiro is already lifting Keith’s limp body up until he slumps into the wolf’s waiting body, his head then guided to Shiro’s throat.

Keith hums, eyes half-lidded, and bites a few inches from the first mark. Shiro is still and silent as he drinks, and Keith registers this as a rejection, and pulls away too soon, blood dribbling down his chin. “You need more,” Shiro whispers, pushing gently on Keith’s head, and Keith whimpers, mouthing over the punctures with slow reluctance. He can smell Shiro’s anger, seething in the air at a low but scalding boil. His sadness, too, though that feels closer to cold mist, fragile and clouded. It is confusing, and Keith does not know what Shiro wants from him, except for him to drink. So he drinks, and falls into darkness once again.

*

Keith has blurry memories of waking and feeding from Shiro a third time, the wolf’s paw shifting into a man’s hand where it cups the back of Keith’s skull. The world is lighter around them, early morning sunshine streaming in through the gap in the curtains, and Shiro’s face looms in his vision, unreadable.

When Keith pulls away, blood dripping messy and wet from his mouth, Shiro wipes it away with something soft. Keith blinks, torpor setting in again, and rasps, “Sorry,” because it is the only word that comes to mind.

Shiro just shakes his head. “Go to sleep,” he says, and Keith slips into a sleep as deep as death itself.

*

When he wakes again, fully, Shiro wakes with him, eyes opening slowly as Keith stirs in his arms. Keith is at once aware that Shiro is shirtless under the random assortment of blankets draped over them, and then, after a few stunned seconds and a faint twinge of pain in his back, terribly aware of all the events from last night.

Shiro studies him, eyes gleaming pale gold. There’s a new scar across the bridge of his nose where Keith scratched him last night. It makes him look older. More serious.

Keith is too scared to say a single word. The moon is still full, even if it can’t be seen. Shiro could still shift fully. At least, Keith is pretty sure he could. He has no clue how any of this stupid magic shit works, anyway.

“How are you feeling?” Shiro asks quietly.

Keith swallows. He can taste Shiro’s blood in the back of his throat, and tamps down his panic. “Better,” he whispers.

“Good,” Shiro says. “I thought...I smelled you bleeding, and your fear, and…” His brow furrows. “I worried I was too late.”

“No,” Keith says, and has to look away. “We’re hard to kill.”

“Not for a pack of well-trained hunters and wolves on the full moon,” Shiro says.

Keith flinches and Shiro makes a soft sound. “I’m sorry, Keith. I didn’t – if I had known Adam planned to go after you…”

“Why are you doing this?” Keith asks, still trapped in his embrace.

Shiro falters. “I. I missed you,” he says. “And after you left...I realized I was wrong. I know you didn’t thrall me. I’m sorry for accusing you of that, I was just, you surprised me, and I never suspected...but you knew what I was all along. Didn’t you?”

Keith nods, jerky and tight. “Since the moment I first saw you.”

“Huh.” Shiro shakes his head slowly. “I don’t know whether that’s brave or stupid.”

“Stupid,” Keith repeats, eyes downcast, “it was stupid. I’m sorry. Shiro, I’m so sorry — mmph?”

Shiro kisses him, and Keith gasps into his mouth, arching into him on autopilot. Shiro takes this as a cue to wrap his other arm around Keith, tongue slipping into his mouth, and Keith trembles, kissing back even as his heart pounds and his spinning brain short-circuits. “Keith,” Shiro whispers on a stolen breath, shifting over him as Keith collapses onto his back. “Oh, Keith.”

And then Keith is aware that his ripped and bloodied clothes are gone, replaced by a pair of what must be Shiro’s sweatpants, and he’s hard in them so fast he’s dizzy, hard even though he has never been more terrified in his entire life. Even his damn turning’s got nothing on this, on Shiro kissing him, rolling their hips together, grasping Keith’s jaw with false gentleness; Keith knows it must be false.

Shiro breaks away to mouth and nuzzle at his neck, and Keith squeezes his eyes shut, arms limp at his sides, legs splaying open because he knows what Shiro wants from him. He gasps when Shiro sucks a bruise into his throat, a slow sting of teeth. Keith imagines canines tearing into flesh in a splatter of pain and blood, and whimpers under him, breathing short and sharp.

“Shh,” Shiro murmurs, stroking his hair and grinding his thigh over Keith’s trapped cock in a tease of pressure. Keith knows Shiro is toying with him, knows Shiro wants him to understand his vulnerability, and the fact that Keith is utterly at his mercy, not to mention in his debt.

Keith may not know everything about wolves, but he knows of their need to assert dominance, to maintain in their hierarchy, and to show others their place. Shiro is an alpha wolf strong enough to best even another alpha, and Keith is the stupid, stupid vampire who betrayed him.

He once thought he wanted Shiro to fuck him like the monster Shiro thought he was, and now it’s actually going to happen. Keith half-wishes Shiro had just killed him.

Shiro stops, pulling back to peer down at Keith with softly glowing eyes and a small frown. “What’s wrong?” he whispers. “Are you still hurt? Do...do you need more blood?”

Keith stares at him. The words don’t process, because they don’t make any sense. “No,” Keith says faintly. “It’s fine.”

Shiro’s frown deepens. “No,” he says, “it’s not fine, you’re scared, you’re – are you scared of me?” He scrambles back, eyes wide. “I didn’t mean…”

Keith shivers. “Just get it over with,” he whispers.

Shiro’s lips part. “What?”

Why is he playing dumb? Keith steels himself as best he can while still shaking, still weak from last night’s attack. “I don’t know why you let me live, but I know you must hate me at least a little for what I did. And I know wolves don’t like being tricked. I know you want to punish me for that, to make me pay. But don’t draw it out like this. Please, don’t.”

Shiro moves off of him, his face closed off and mouth set in a thin line. “Is that what you think of me?” he asks. “Of my kind?”

“You think I’m a murderer,” Keith whispers. “You were going to kill me. Why didn’t you?”

Shiro gives him a long look, one filled with so much disappointment that Keith feels physically smaller in the face of it. “I could never hurt you, Keith,” Shiro finally sighs, and rises from the nest to leave without another word or backwards glance.

Keith watches him go helplessly.

*

He stays in the nest that day, awaiting Shiro’s return, but the clock in the corner ticks past noon before he even hears Shiro’s voice again, and it comes from out in the hall, not in the room. He’s also not alone.

“I cannot believe you!” a stern British female voice exclaims. “You were under orders, Shiro. Explicit orders. And for you to defy them, to defy Altea like this…”

“I’m sorry, Allura,” Shiro says, and Keith freezes. “But the situation is more complicated than I thought. And Adam, the Garrison – they interfered. Allura, you didn’t see what they did to him. They were acting out of cruelty, not duty.”

“Shiro, this vampire killed at least one human,” Allura says, a bit softer. “It was wrong of the Garrison to intervene, but you still have a job to finish. Humanely. I know you prefer it that way.”

They’re talking about putting him down. Like a dog. Keith almost laughs at the irony. The lump in his throat prevents him from doing so.

Then Shiro says, “That’s not possible, Allura.”

“It is quite possible,” she retorts. “This whole place reeks of vampire blood, and –” There is a long, deadly pause. “Please tell me those marks on your neck are not what I think they are.”

“Allura…just let me explain.”

Keith stands, takes a moment to steady himself, and walks towards the door. He hoped for it, but it’s still a shock when his hand closes around the doorknob and it turns, unlocked, swinging open in front of him to reveal the hallway and the two alpha wolves arguing in it. Both fall silent at the sight of him.

Allura is tall and beautiful and stares at Keith like he is the Devil incarnate.

“Takashi,” she growls. “You didn’t even think to lock the door?!”

“I thought about it,” Shiro says, looking at Keith steadily, his brow furrowed. “But I didn’t.”

“Are you going to kill me?” Keith asks.

Allura opens her mouth, then closes it. Her blue eyes are aglow in definite warning, but none of them move. “I don’t think that’s necessary,” Shiro murmurs, and takes a hesitant step closer to him. “Did you ever thrall me, Keith?”

“No,” Keith says, meeting Allura Knight’s gleaming eyes. “No, I never thralled Shiro.”

“Tell her what you told me that night,” Shiro adds.

“Carmen Santos was anemic,” Keith says, lowering his gaze. “It was an accident. I never wanted anyone dead.”

Allura pauses, the accusatory radiance in her eyes fading to a thoughtful shine. “You’re telling the truth,” she says. “Hm. This certainly changes things.” Her eyes narrow and dart to Shiro. “It does not make me any less irritated with you, Shiro. Honestly, how could you be intimate with a vampire on multiple occasions and still remain oblivious?”

Shiro flushes. “That wasn’t – I don’t know. He...had a very convincing disguise.”

Keith pointedly shifts into said disguise, and Allura eyes him again, folding her arms. “I see. I suppose you were also distracted, hm?”

“Allura, c’mon,” Shiro mumbles, ducking his head. “Was I really supposed to assume the cute guy who seduced me was the murderous vampire we were looking for?”

“Seduced,” Keith repeats, and frowns.

“Ugh.” Allura shakes her head. “Lance was right, this is ridiculous. Shiro, I want this vampire watched closely, which ought to be no problem for you. As for you, Keith…” She sighs. “I know your guardians, Thace and Ulaz, are decent vampires. I believe your story; I highly doubt they would raise a killer. Think of this as a warning. Do not make the same mistake again. Understood?”

“How do you know Thace and Ulaz?” Keith demands, panic rising in his throat.

“Your friends are safe. They contacted me this morning,” Allura explains. “They have had dealings with Pack Altea before. They feared for your safety. I’m sure they will be happy to hear you are alive and well.”

“Oh,” Keith whispers. “I...good. I’m glad they’re...okay.”

She sighs, and for the first time he notices the dark circles under her eyes. She’s had a long day, and it’s far from over. “We are not your enemies, Keith,” Allura says quietly. “We are just trying to do what is right. I think you are trying to do the same, given the circumstances.”

A dark head of hair pops out from a half-open door in the hall, sending Keith stumbling backwards with a shriek as Lance says, “You mean, given that he has to drink human blood to survive? Pretty shitty circumstances.”

Keith, in his blind panic, ends up grabbing for Shiro’s shirt and freezing halfway there. The wolf looks down at him, nonplussed. Lance snickers, and slams the door shut before Shiro can even open his mouth.

“Um,” Keith mumbles.

“Uhh?” Shiro whispers.

Allura pinches the bridge of her nose. “Heed my words, both of you,” she says, and leaves with a swish of her hair and skirt.

They are left alone in the hallway, which feels much smaller than it did before.

“You need to rest.” Shiro scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “I can give you an actual bed, or…”

“I like your nest,” Keith says, just to see his reaction.

The wolf turns violently pink. “Uh – I mean – you do?”

Keith rolls his eyes. His knees are more than a little shaky. “Go on. Bring me back to your lair.”

Shiro huffs. “It’s not – listen, Keith. I’m sorry. For all of this. But you really do need to rest, and heal.”

Keith holds up his hands. “I said, go on.”

Tension summers thick and unpleasant between them like high humidity as they walk back down the hall and into the room at the end.

“This your bedroom, then?” Keith eyes the sparse interior; the space is dominated by the massive nest. There is a pathetic potted succulent by the curtained window, more yellow than green. The shabby dresser, Keith guesses, has only the bare minimum of clothing in it. There’s no mirror.

“My bedroom away from home, yes,” Shiro says. “For full moons.”

Keith sits down in the nest, because Shiro’s hands keep twitching like he’s physically restraining himself from scooping Keith up and tucking him in.

“I’m sorry about last night,” Shiro adds, not meeting his eye. “I didn’t want to scare you. But when I caught your scent – there was no way I could leave you, Keith. You don’t deserve what they had planned for you. I may...hunt vampires, but only the ones who kill on purpose, and who terrorize humans. And you’re not like that, Keith. Adam is...he wants what’s best for me. But he doesn’t get to make that choice, not anymore.” Shiro’s shoulders slump. “And I need you to know that if they’d succeeded, if you’d been killed, I don’t think I would have been able to live with that. I don’t know what I would have done.”

“So,” Keith says, eyeing Shiro from the nest, hardly daring to believe what he’s hearing, “you saved me because you actually cared. Is that what I’m getting, here?”

Shiro’s expression is pained. “Don’t mock me,” he mutters. “I know you don’t feel the same way.”

Keith sucks in a sharp breath. “You think I don’t care?”

“Isn’t that what I’m getting, here?”

“I let you fuck me,” Keith says, eyes narrowing. “On the damn full moon, at that. So either I’ve lost my mind, or I care about you, or both.”

“Wanting someone and caring about them aren’t the same thing,” Shiro insists, but he looks a little uncertain.

“I didn’t kill you,” Keith retorts, folding his arms. “Okay? Is that what you want me to say? I could have killed you so many times, Shiro. But – but I didn’t. I couldn’t. ”

“But you knew I was a wolf,” Shiro whispers.

Keith glowers. “Yeah, I knew. But I like you, Shiro. And it’s stupid, but I thought maybe you liked me too, as a human. But I’m not human, and you know that now, so...what are you doing.”

Shiro is approaching the nest slowly, his eyes bright. “I like you,” he says. “Keith, I like you.”

Keith watches him warily. “I got that from the creepy full moon phone call,” he mutters. “But you’ve seen what I am now, and –”

“I don’t care about that,” Shiro says, and Keith’s world turns inside out.

“You – what?”

“I like you,” Shiro repeats, this time with more conviction, “I like the Keith who was watching me from the bleachers at practice that day, and the Keith who watched the stars with me, and the Keith who makes fun of my zodiac sign. That’s you. Isn’t it?”

“You like fucking me,” Keith snaps, ducking his head. “That’s not –”

“No,” Shiro says, and stops, flushing. “I mean, yes – I do like that – but I also meant what I said about wanting to have a lazy Sunday with you. Even if we can’t exactly go to brunch. I think the, um, art museum has half-price tickets tomorrow, even though tomorrow is Tuesday, not Sunday, but –”

“You’re serious,” Keith says. “Oh my god.”

“Well, yeah.” Shiro runs a nervous hand through his hair. “If you want to.”

“You told Allura I seduced you,” Keith retorts. “You were the one who approached me; don’t forget that.”

“You were the one who practically demanded to give me a blowjob!” Shiro splutters.

Keith’s ears are hot. He’s not sure what’s going on, anymore, but he thinks he’s into it. “Have you seen yourself? How could I not?”

“Keith – !”

“It’s kind of ridiculous how obviously alpha you are,” Keith adds, delighting in the deepening flush on Shiro’s face, pressing further to get the reaction he wants, or maybe needs. “And you know what? I took one look at you and knew you could probably snap me in two if you wanted. But I still let you take me home, again and again, because it was so fucking worth it.”

Shiro growls, and Keith shivers at the sound, his fangs itching. “If you’re trying to goad me into violence, it isn’t going to work,” Shiro warns.

“I like you, too,” Keith admits, lifting his chin, meeting the wolf’s hungry gaze. “I like you a lot, Takashi.”

When Shiro crawls into the nest, beside him, Keith doesn’t push him away. “Keith,” Shiro whispers, and cups Keith’s face in his palm. Keith leans into it, this time. “I don’t want to punish you,” Shiro tells him, smoothing Keith’s hair back, letting his touch linger. “I don’t want to hurt you. I’m not angry – not at you. I’m angry I couldn’t stop them from hurting you. I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner.”

“Don’t,” Keith breathes, and tips his head to the side, exposing his throat. Shiro recognizes the action for what it is, and his pupils dilate. “I was hiding,” Keith murmurs, “from you. I was afraid.”

“What did you think I would do?” Shiro asks, half question, half plea.

“Hurt me.” Keith’s heart pounds. “Or maybe not.” He licks his lips. “I had dreams. About you, finding me.”

“What did I do to you in the dreams?” Shiro is close, so close.

“Unspeakable things,” Keith whispers, and reaches out, running the pad of his thumb over the scar on Shiro’s nose, the one he left there. Shiro shudders, gold illuminating in the gray stroma of his irises, a brightening brilliance from deep within.

“Can I kiss you?” Shiro asks, and it’s definitely a plea, then.

“Yes,” Keith says, and sighs into his mouth, only to groan when the wolf eagerly presses him down into the soft nest, sliding a thigh between Keith’s legs, no preamble to his desperate kissing and the messy grind of his hips. Keith wraps his arms around Shiro only for the wolf to growl and pin Keith’s wrists to the pillow above his head, prompting him to arch and squirm under Shiro in surprise.

Shiro stares down at him, and as Keith watches, his features change, lengthen, sharpen, his human eyes undeniably replaced by those of the wolf’s. “Tell me you want this,” Shiro says, his voice a low rumble that washes over Keith like a tidal wave, prickling his skin with heat and goosebumps. “Or tell me to go, and I will.”

“Don’t go,” Keith whispers, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. “Don’t you dare go.”

Shiro’s body spasms above him, shoulders growing broader, silver-white fur spreading across his skin slowly, ears tapering to furred points before pinning back in obvious shame. Shiro shudders, and ducks his head, gritting his teeth and his elongating jaw, his palms rough on Keith’s wrist as paw pads and claws half-form where human hands used to be.

“Sorry,” Shiro grunts. “I – maybe I should leave, I can’t stop – it’s still too close to the full moon.”

“You controlled yourself before,” Keith murmurs, watching him with open curiosity.

“I didn’t know what you were, then,” Shiro mutters. “And it was difficult, even then.”

“Why?” Keith croons, squirming again under him. “Did you want to let go, to fuck me like a bitch in heat –”

“What the fuck,” Shiro breathes, head snapping back up to gawk at Keith, a bead of sweat sliding down his jaw. “I – you don’t want –”

“Do you make a habit of this?” Keith needles, looking at him through his lashes. “Fucking vampires, I mean.”

Shiro swallows. “No,” he whispers. “You’re the first.”

“First and only,” Keith corrects, and there, something flashes bright and possessive in Shiro’s eyes, and his growl trembles in the air between them.

“You want this,” Shiro growls, leaning closer, hot breath only serving to make Keith’s heart pound harder in anticipation. “You want me to take you like this, like a wolf would.”

“When you fucked me, I imagined how it would be if you knotted me,” Keith admits, and Shiro groans and kisses him again, but this time his tongue is bigger, longer, filling Keith’s mouth like a cock would but wet and twisting and sloppy with spit. And yet it’s still Shiro; still Shiro pinning him to the nest with inhuman strength and weight and kissing the shit out of him, still Shiro rubbing his thigh and cock over Keith’s, still Shiro wrestling Keith out of his sweatpants and underwear until he’s bare and vulnerable under the wolf.

“Do you make a habit of this?” Shiro asks, pulling back to pant and glower down at him. “Fucking wolves, I mean.”

“No,” Keith gasps, harder than he’s ever been in his life. “No, you’re the only one.”

“Good,” Shiro says, voice sounding exactly like it did crackling through Keith’s phone on that first full moon, and leans down to lick over Keith’s cock until he cries.

Keith fists his hands in the blankets and writhes under the slippery pull and rub of his long, drooling tongue, turning his face into the pillows to muffle his cries when Shiro hums, vibrations bringing Keith too close to the edge. Shiro’s form keeps growing, and Keith’s grateful he stops halfway to full wolfiness, because Keith’s brain is imploding enough as it is. Shiro’s huge, clawed hands grasp Keith’s legs, lifting up his thighs and spreading them so wide that Keith can hardly bear to look at himself, entirely exposed to the wolf’s scrutiny.

Shiro keeps licking, past Keith’s cock and over the heavy swell of his balls, then further, and when Shiro breaches him, Keith chokes on a scream, pliant as the wolf hefts his legs up to hook over Shiro’s shoulders. Muscle ripples under Keith’s flexing calves and he whines, shredding a pillow with his claws. Shiro’s tongue plunges into him, discomfort blurring into blinding pleasure coupled by Shiro’s firm grip on his thighs and warm gaze on his face.

“Please, please,” Keith is gasping, biting his own lip until it bleeds. Shiro startles back at that, nostrils flaring and eyes narrowing as he traces the path of Keith’s dark blood dripping down his parted lips and chin.

Keith knows Shiro must smell him, what he is; every instinct must be telling Shiro to attack, to kill. Keith trembles, cock twitching as Shiro lifts himself up, crawling fully atop Keith and sniffing along the shuddering curves of his body, kissing the faint pink scars from last night with the utmost attentiveness, finally tucking his nose into Keith’s neck and inhaling deep and long as Keith writhes, his inner thighs slick with drool and his cock even more so.

“Mmm,” Shiro murmurs, rocking against him, wriggling out of his sweatpants until Keith feels the hard nudge of his cock right where Keith wants it. “Smell so good, baby, always…”

Keith’s head lolls back, and he feels the wolf’s teeth on his throat, sucking, bruising, but careful; so careful. “Really?” he whispers, his mind a hazy mess of warmth and need. “I thought vampires smelled foul to wolves.”

Shiro lifts his head with a growl of protest. “Not you,” he rumbles. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever smelled.”

“Thanks?” Keith croaks, and whimpers when Shiro’s hips roll, rutting his cock against Keith’s ass, teasing. Strings of drool drip from Shiro’s open mouth, and Keith catches them on his tongue, then gapes soundlessly as Shiro presses in.

His cock is bigger like this, as if it wasn’t big enough already, and Keith lets out a strangled sound as he’s stretched wider, impaled on Shiro’s thick cock as the wolf pants and growls in satisfaction above him. “You smell like mine,” Shiro groans, and Keith clenches down on his cock, and something snaps in Shiro.

He grabs Keith by the waist and drags him down fully onto Shiro’s cock, wrenching a scream from Keith’s throat, and Keith isn’t normally loud, he isn’t, but it’s so much more like this, both of them on display for each other, no more secrets between them, and Shiro still wants him, Shiro still wants him –

“Of course,” Shiro promises, hot and honest against Keith’s ear as Keith babbles it aloud, “of course I want you, always, you look so good, you feel so good, I want you to feel that good, Keith –”

Keith moans when Shiro flips him, shoving him down on his stomach, ass up and empty when Shiro pulls out, nuzzling over Keith’s tense shoulders until he relaxes, cock dragging wet lines over Keith’s thighs and only rutting against his ass again when Keith begs for it. It takes them both by surprise when his cock slides in again, and Keith takes him all the way to the base, tears spilling down his cheeks in earnest when Shiro starts to move, fucking him in hard deep thrusts that Keith feels in his goddamn throat.

Shiro covers him, all corded tendons and powerful muscles and soft fur and softer words, and again Keith finds strange peace in it all; in Shiro holding him, fucking him not like he is fragile but like he is precious, stroking Keith’s cock in his rough palm with so much sensation it almost hurts, licking along Keith’s neck and kissing him wherever he can reach.

When Shiro lets go of his cock, Keith hisses in dissent and tries to stroke himself to completion, but Shiro snarls, and catches the skin of Keith’s shoulder between long teeth, holding him in place and slamming Keith’s hands to the pillows, trapping him completely. Keith moans in surprise, then louder when Shiro’s cock throbs and swells in him, the thickening base stretching him open until Keith sobs, then swears as he realizes what it is.

“You’re — knotting me,” Keith whines, and squeezes his eyes shut. “Fuck, fuck, fucking shit, Shiro!”

“Mine,” Shiro groans, hips hitching faster, cock driving into Keith with urgency, claws scraping where he holds Keith’s hips and forces them back into each devastatingly deep thrust. “Mine, mine, mine…”

“Gonna come,” Keith gasps, belly sucking in and cock brushing the sheets, on the verge of bursting. “Knot me, do it, come inside me, now,” and Shiro does, hips pumping through as he coats Keith’s insides in sticky heat, and that’s it, Keith slumps and jolts into climax, cock pulsing wetly against his stomach as Shiro plugs him full.

It’s mildly worrying when Shiro doesn’t stop coming, and Keith moans at the building pressure, still trapped under him, adrenaline and unending sensation keeping his cock hard as Shiro continues to twitch and spill inside of him, some dribbling out down his thighs.

“Nngh,” Keith whines, face flushing hot at the feeling of Shiro’s cum, thicker and hotter than it’s ever been before. “Oh, god. Shiro, fuck, what the fuck, why is there so much?”

Shiro chuckles darkly in his ear. “Wolves are bigger,” he mutters, and rolls his hips, the head of his cock glancing off of Keith’s prostate. “You’re tiny.” Keith mewls; it is easily the most embarrassing sound he’s ever made.

“I am not tiny,” Keith wheezes, and freezes when Shiro’s palm cups his belly and squeezes gently.

“I can feel myself in you,” Shiro rumbles, and Keith comes again at the words, the wolf growling in satisfaction as Keith convulses around his softening cock.

“Baby,” Shiro sighs, rolling Keith onto his side, enfolding him in his arms and the curve of his body, and Keith does feel tiny, then. Shiro mouths over the nape of Keith’s neck and Keith stills, barely breathing.

“Do you want me to bite you?” Shiro asks, low and curious. “Would that do anything, for you?”

“I don’t know,” Keith whispers. “Do wolves bite each other, doing...this?”

Shiro inhales. “Mates do,” he says.

“Mates,” Keith repeats, and giggles. “Hm.”

“We’re not,” Shiro quickly adds, “I mean, that’s, a lot, and I wouldn’t presume —”

“How about boyfriends?” Keith asks, craning his neck back to look Shiro in the eye. “Can we start with that?”

Shiro smiles. “I’d like that,” he says. “Boyfriends. Yes.”

Keith leans in to kiss him, and Shiro kisses back lazy and sweet, claws threading into Keith’s hair and scratching his scalp lightly until Keith purrs. Everything is perfect until Shiro starts to pull out, and then Keith jerks away with a hiss of displeasure.

“Sorry,” Shiro mumbles, misunderstanding, “I can go slower —”

“No,” Keith growls, and this time he’s the one pushing Shiro back down into the nest, the stunned wolf rolling easily onto his back. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Keith?” Shiro squeaks, and grunts when Keith pumps the base of his cock, squeezing mercilessly. “What — ahh...”

“You heard me,” Keith says, straddling his hips and grinning at the ache in his gut as he does so. “You can do it. Wolves have great stamina — vampires, even better.”

“Keith,” Shiro groans in understanding, “you’re gonna kill me.”

“No,” Keith sighs, leaning back and lining up his ass with Shiro’s half-hard cock, rubbing his thumb and forefinger into the raising veins and engorging tip, “I’m gonna ride you. And then I’m gonna bite you until you knot me again. And then, we’ll see how we feel after that.”

Shiro moans, and Keith sinks down on his cock, cum leaking out of him all the while. “Please,” Shiro gasps, “please, bite me, Keith…”

Keith strikes like a viper, burying his fangs into Shiro’s throat lightning-quick, rolling his hips, working Shiro’s cock deeper as he chases the ecstasy of Shiro’s blood spilling over his tongue and down his throat.

Shiro bucks under him, bouncing Keith on his cock, growl reverberating through Keith’s lips and mouth, claws locking over Keith’s hip in a desperate scrabble for purchase. Keith lifts his head, licking slow and worshipful over the fine punctures, coaxing more blood from the wound and smirking when Shiro whines at the rasp of his tongue.

A second bite two inches below Shiro’s ear makes him throw his head back with a howl, Keith’s neck prickling at the sound, heart beating just a little faster. The rest of Shiro’s pack can hear them, Keith thinks, and digs his fangs in harder, drinking in long, languorous pulls, savoring the taste of Shiro; sweet sunshine and summer apples and heavy rain and morning mist and dark chocolate and every good thing Keith has ever ached to have again.

He has it now, and he’s not about to let go.