“Give me a minute. Or five." Keith had totally planned it from the beginning, and Shiro didn't mind. Not at all.

Keith and Shiro play chicken. Sex chicken. Everybody wins. "What do you think you're doing?" "What does it look like I'm doing?" Shiro has an excellent poker face; it doesn't even flicker when he says, "Demonstrating the male version of the human reproductive system. Why are you doing it on my lap?"

Shiro's heat hits, and Keith helps him with what he needs

His arm wasn't the only thing the Galra changed. They also gave him certain... needs. Shiro learns to make it work for him.

The harvest god Kogane requires an offering of seed—and not the kind that you plant. Shiro is more than willing to provide.

No one would help him get to the bottom of Kerberos, and it had all reached a breaking point when Iverson threatened to terminate Keith’s scholarship if he kept snooping. So Keith got what he came for, the little black book no one was ever meant to find, and stopped snooping. Because now, he’ll have someone else to do all the snooping for him. The situation isn’t ideal, Keith thinks as he slits his palm open and methodically draws the pentagram on the floor, placing the necessary items one by one into each point of the star. But considering the circumstances, he thinks he’s done alright for himself. More importantly, for Shiro.

They think it will be funny to leave him with a Galra in heat. It whimpers. It's a sound of pure pain, one Shiro's heard a hundred times now in the arena. The sound of something wounded and helpless; the sound of something that knows it. "Are you hurt?" Shiro asks in the bare silence of the cell, and moves a few steps closer. The creature on the floor twitches violently at his voice. It's not dressed like the other prisoners. It's hard to tell in the poor lighting but the back of its skin-tight suit is glowing in circuits, the same purple he's come to associate with the Galra. "I won't hurt you," he says, softer. It doesn't make a sound but its back arches, head lifting from the floor, dragging black hair along the floor. It's dripping wet with blood or sweat. Shiro realizes the small sound he's barely been registering is breath—it's panting. It rolls, just enough to eye Shiro through its dark bangs. He. It's a boy, and he's beautiful.

“I still - I don't-” Shiro feels like his brain is broken. “I still don't get why this is necessary.” “All aspects of physical stamina are tested during the trials,” Kolivan replies, standing next to him as both of them watch the screen. “Awakening the blade is only the first step. Your friend is an omega, and all omegas currently serving with the Blades have lasted an hour or more on this device. It is protocol.”

“Now you get to help me stall them since you almost blew my cover.” Keith shifts in his lap and Shiro’s fingers tighten on his hips. “We gotta act like we’re into public shit. They’re gonna leave otherwise.” Shiro freezes where he’d been mouthing at Keith’s bare shoulder. “I’m serious, Shiro, don’t blow this fucking mission,” Keith hisses. “We’ll deal with this later.”