Chapter Text
The musky scent of age lays heavy on the flea market warehouse. It’s deep and complex, unique and thrilling. The dust of decades past coats everything in a filmy haze, pulling Keith forward on curled tendrils of mystery, the excitement of potential discovery thrumming heavy in his veins.
He pushes deeper into the building, driven forward by a soul-deep need for revelation. As he wades through cramped aisles and bustling stalls, he suddenly feels a presence tugging at his awareness, beckoning him off the regular path toward a ramshackle table set up in a back corner. The feeling is a pulsing in his chest, speeding like a homing beacon as he nears the unassuming stand. The table is simple, a small aluminum thing draped in a clean, white cloth. On top of the fabric sits several antique books, all beaten down leather with worn edges and broken spines. Around the books, a variety of crystals and charms, burning incense, and several other trinkets Keith doesn’t recognize.
Keith pulls up in front of it, gently laying fingertips across the covers of the books on top of each stack. They’re all impressive in their obvious age, beautiful with the effects of skin oils and time. But they’re not what he’s looking for. He knows this as a bone-deep truth. What his body is calling for, what the tug is dragging him to isn’t here. It’s an impossible truth, but still, he knows it like the sky knows the stars.
A cracked, rasping voice calls his attention upward. “You seem one with a keen eye.”
A kindly old woman stands behind the table, thin and bent over an old cane crafted from a tree branch older than time itself, it seems. Where she came from, Keith has no idea, but she’s here nonetheless.
“Are these yours?” he asks, for lack of anything better to answer her with.
“Indeed they are,” she confirms, narrowing her eyes at his chest. “But none of these are what you seek.”
Keith startles at her words.
“I think,” she continues, bending to reach below the table, “that this may better suit your interests.”
She produces a small wooden chest, nondescript and beaten. The latches and hinges are a simple hammered metal, the joints roughly carved dovetails. Nothing on the box is new, nothing draws attention. But it calls to him like a siren. Its song is unique, a dog whistle tuned to his ears and his ears alone. It’s a low hum, deep and rolling, filling his head until his mind feels like little more than cotton filling.
“May I?” he asks cautiously, eyes fixed on the box. Before he finishes his words, the woman is already nudging the box his way. He reaches out, the sound gaining frequency and volume, bouncing around the walls of his skull. His fingertips touch the lid and all sound falls away.
His mind goes silent, the market dead to him. All that remains is the box and Keith. His fingers trace burning paths across the rough surface until he finds the latch and flips it, opening the lid.
In a rush, his environment returns to him. Sound pours into his ears, his fingers tingle where they touch the box. He looks up, startled, and catches himself under the scrutinizing gaze of the old woman, now standing tall and straight.
“It would seem I was correct,” she breathes. “Well, this will be leaving with you today. Allow me to tell you about it.”
Keith leans forward, gazing down into the box. At the bottom rests another book, but it’s different than the rest of the tomes on display. The cover is badly beaten, scratched leather with tarnished copper corner pieces. There is no writing on the cover that he can make out - it’s completely blank, aside from a single symbol painted on the spine. He spies it as the woman lifts the book from the box to crack it open for him.
“What does that mean?” he asks. He knows runes and greek symbols. At least, he’s vaguely familiar enough with them to understand what they mean. This looks nothing like those.
“Ah, that is a mystery you’ll need to unravel on your own,” the woman answers, turning the book around for him to appraise. She flips a few pages for him, revealing old parchment coated in Latin and drawings. It looks like-
“A spellbook?”
“Indeed,” she answers. “I cannot tell from when or where it came, I’ve been unable to find anything else quite like it. It seems, however, destined to fall into your hands. An old woman cannot possibly stand in the way of a fate such as that. But, still-” she snaps the book closed- “we have more to cover.”
Gingerly, she closes the book and sets it back in the box, withdrawing a gleaming dagger and crystal pendant. The pendant is an unassuming thing, a simple point of amethyst mounted to a black, leather cord. The dagger, however, is unique. Keith has never seen anything like it. It’s jagged in its design, curved outward lightly on either side of the deeply beveled blade. The handle is thin and black, ending with a bulbous, pointed form. In the center of the handguard is the same symbol from the book's spine, a gleaming purple sigil that nearly glows.
“A ceremonial dagger,” the woman says evenly. “Not every ceremony requires a dagger, but the ones in this book do. I would caution you, though. These spells are powerful. Dangerous to perform if one isn’t already a powerful witch. But you have nothing to worry about there, it seems.”
Keith snaps his head up to look at her.
“What?”
She regards him silently for a moment.
“What indeed.”
The closing bell for the flea market rings loud overhead, startling Keith out of their staredown. The woman doesn’t move for several measured seconds.
“No matter,” she says. “Let’s get this packaged up for you.”
Some long minutes later, Keith finds himself walking home with a linen-wrapped parcel in his hands. It’s not until he locks his front door and sets it down on his coffee table that he realizes he never paid the woman. He leaves the box in a daze to grab a cup of water from the kitchen before returning to scoop it up and carry it his bedroom for closer inspection. Sprawling across his bed, Keith pulls the box into his lap and flips the lid. The rush of sound doesn’t happen like it did in the flea market, but he still feels a peculiar draw of energy pulsing from the box. He tugs out the book and lays it open on his lap.
Flipping through the pages isn’t very illuminating. The entire thing is written in Latin and several other languages he doesn’t quite recognize. Still, though, he can’t quite bring himself to set it down. The illustrations are well-drawn and interesting, pictures of plants and animals, creatures he’s never seen before, people that aren’t really people. Everything drawn is just to the left of actual things he could identify them as - as if they were objects found in another dimension. He ponders over that fact as he flips through a few more pages, landing on one that draws him up short.
In the upper left corner is a perfect illustration of the dagger that accompanied the book. Around it, in spindles of text, Latin mixed with modern English. Symbols and runes decorate the page. At the bottom, a crude drawing of a man with horns. It’s simpler than the rest of the pictures in the book, almost as if it was drawn in a rush. Just enough to get the idea down, but not enough to flesh it out. Keith runs his fingers across the page, a hum of energy crackling up his arm as he goes.
He grunts, pulling his hand back abruptly in shock. Curiously, he reaches into the box at his side, withdrawing the dagger. The woman from the stall had wrapped the handle in a strip of linen when she packaged the box for him, so he pulls the strip of fabric away, turning the knife around in his hands. He twists it around in his grip, comparing it to the drawing and trying to figure out why a book would even need to come with its own knife in the first place.
He loses himself in his consideration, and in his distraction, the blade slips in his palms. Keith winces as the point of the blade pricks his fingertip. He curses and shakes his hand against the pulsing in his finger. As he flicks his hand around, a drop of blood falls to the page beneath. Keith watches as it lands. The blood hits the paper and is absorbed in a yellow glow. Which is, quite frankly,
“Impossible.”
Keith is nothing if not impulsive at times. He looks between the dagger in his hand and the page of the book and makes his decision. He sits up on his knees, setting the open book on the mattress before him. Taking a deep breath, he slices the pad of his thumb open, hissing as the blade cuts through his skin. Before he can stop himself, he drops his hand, dragging his dripping thumb along the page. The blood disappears again, sinking into the paper with a bright yellow glow. The book hums under his touch, growing in volume the longer his hand contacts it. The hum grows and changes, becoming jagged words, whispered harshly into the room. It suffocates and shakes him, and he tries to rip his hand from the page. He can’t, though. His finger is affixed to the page, and the book refuses to give him up.
The whispering grows and changes, becoming terrifying shrieks of language he cannot understand. The sound smothers him, wrapping around him as he struggles against it. It crescendos and pulls at him, lapping at his skin and tugging at his clothes. Keith whimpers and shakes against its bonds until, finally, he finds his voice.
“No!” he shrieks, and as if his voice was the key, it all stops. Keith scrambles across the bed, snapping the book closed and hastily wrapping the blade with the linen before shoving it all back in the box and cramming it in the back of his closet.
He spends the night on the couch.
+++
In the morning, the harsh buzz of his cellphone against the shitty particle board of his IKEA coffee table startles him out of dreamless sleep. Groaning and rubbing at his crusted eyes, he bats his hand along the surface until he bumps into it, wrapping groggy fingers around the metal and glass.
Pidge: Good morning, my little edgelord. Wherefore art thou, my precious telltale goth?
Keith glances at the time and jolts up from the couch. He’s ten minutes late for the Engineering class he shares with Pidge, and at this rate, he’d only make it for the last twenty minutes. He’s exhausted and still feeling off-kilter from his experience the night before, so for just this once, he decides to cut himself some slack.
Me: Sorry, Katie. I’m not feeling too hot today so I’m gonna stay home.
Pidge: Are you sure? You never miss class.
Pidge: Do I need to come over?
Keith panics for a second. He can still feel the book like shrapnel in his spine. The whispers still echo in his head, the wind still whips at his skin. He feels tightly wound with nerves, and the worst part is he can still feel it . The draw of the book still calls to him, beckoning him back toward his bedroom closet, begging him to crack the cover once more. Maybe staying home isn’t the best idea. Maybe it would be best to go get some air.
Me: No, it’s fine. I might go get some soup or something soon.
Me: Don’t worry about me, I’m good.
Pidge: If you insist. But I’m coming over if you still don’t feel good tomorrow!!!
Pidge: And I’m bringing Lance. You know he loves giving you shit.
Me: My hero. Thank you for your kindness, m’lady.
Pidge: I’ll buy your ass a fedora. Don’t tempt me, you raven ass bitch.
Me: Nevermore.
Chuckling, Keith sets his phone down on the couch. He fell asleep in the clothes he had worn to the flea market, and this poses a problem. He needs to get dressed and put on some makeup, but his clothes and everything he needs are in his dresser. In the bedroom. Where the book is.
“Okay, Keith. Okay. You can do this. This is nothing.”
Steeling himself, he curls his hands into fists and stomps into the bedroom. He grabs some jeans and a shirt, his favorite boots, and his makeup bag in record time and dashes from the room. The book remains silent and he lets out a breath of relief, heading toward the bathroom and a nice, hot shower.
Thirty minutes later finds him in the local park, wandering the trails with a much tamer book in his hands. If he missed class for the day, he figures he might as well get some homework out of the way instead. He finds a gazebo and settles down at the old picnic table within. As he sets to work, he listens quietly to the sounds of the surrounding woods. He’s always liked it out in nature, despite what his appearance would suggest. Yeah, he wears dark clothes and fishnets and black eyeshadow smudged to perfection, but he’s always been kind of crunchy at heart. He favors the natural, damp smells of the forest leaves and dirt. He loves the sun-mottled green of the plants and grasses. He finds peace on the banks of a river. It suits him.
A twig snaps off in the distance, snapping him out of his contemplation. It’s the woods, this isn’t something surprising. However, when a twig snaps in the woods and Keith is around to hear it, Keith really hears it. He shakes off the surprise and goes back to his work.
Two equations later, a twig snaps again. This time, it’s closer. Keith shifts around in his seat, trying his best to ignore it. Another problem, another snap. It’s closer again. Keith’s neck burns like he’s being watched. Which is impossible. He didn’t spot anyone coming or going as he wandered the trails. Another snap, another advance. The blood rushes in his ears. Keith clears his throat loudly and scrunches his eyes, taking a deep breath to center himself.
Snap.
Closer.
Snap.
Closer.
Snap.
Behind him.
Keith whirls around with a shout, fists raised at the ready to attack-
No one. There’s nobody there. No disturbance on the ground. Nothing to reflect the advance of anything, be it human or animal. Tears prickle at his eyes, but he holds them back, squaring his shoulders and holding his head high. He gathers his things with shaking hands and leaves the forest on rubber-band knees. His back burns the entire trek out.
When Keith arrives home, he shoves the box to the back of the cabinet under the kitchen sink and falls into a fitful sleep.
The rest of the week doesn’t treat him much better. Everywhere he goes, he feels the presence of eyes on him, a ghostly hand swiping across his lower back, a prickling just behind his eyes. He turns jumpy and nervous, even in places he once felt safe. Pidge and Lance notice his odd behavior, he knows they do, but they stay quiet, leaving him to deal with whatever issue he’s working through.
The incidents get worse. On Tuesday, his doorbell rings, and when he opens the door, he finds nothing there but a broken twig. On Wednesday, he wanders to the kitchen for a soda, only to find the dagger in the cheese drawer of the fridge, unwrapped and taunting under the crackling fluorescent light. On Thursday, he gets dressed and rushes out the door to meet Lance and Pidge at the library.
“There’s our favorite emo kid!” Lance calls from the front table they always sit at.
“Shut up, Lance,” Pidge chastises, elbowing him in the side. “Besides, he’s a Victorian widow, not emo.”
“Fuck off, both of you,” Keith grouses, plopping down in his seat and rubbing his face.
“Keith, you alright buddy?” Lance asks. “You’re not wearing makeup. I can see your eyes. You look like shit.”
Keith glares across the table at him.
“Not to be that guy, but he’s right,” Pidge chimes in. “You look exhausted. And what is that around your neck?”
“What?” Keith asks, reaching up to where her eyesight is trained. He pats his hand on his chest until his fingers brush the item in question. His blood runs cold in his veins, trickles of ice where his lifelines once laid.
He doesn’t remember putting the necklace on.
+++
By the next Saturday, the sensation of not being watched becomes novel. More often than not, Keith finds himself glancing over his shoulder and huddling in on himself in hopes of becoming too small to notice. The moment he reaches up to clutch at the pendant around his neck and realizes again that it’s on his body without his permission is the moment he decides he’s had enough. He rips the cord from his throat, shoves it in the old wooden box with the book and dagger, and hightails it back to the Saturday flea market.
Keith storms into the old warehouse and spends hours combing the place. He checks every stall, every table, every makeshift booth, but he doesn’t find the one he needs. He asks the merchants that were nearby, but none of them recall ever seeing an old woman hocking books of any sort. Of course they don’t remember.
Keith curses low in his throat. He doesn’t want to just leave the thing, but he can’t keep it. He physically can’t handle it anymore. He feels it like a millstone around his neck, dragging him deeper into the depths. He’s on his last vestiges of sanity and needs to come up, gasping for air. Resolutely, Keith dumps the box in a dark corner and leaves.
As he walks home, he feels lighter. He doesn’t feel eyes on his back, or a presence over his shoulder. His head doesn’t feel dampened or stuffed full of cotton. His senses are sharp and normal. He doesn’t feel afraid. He smiles to himself, turning his face into the sun. Finally, he thinks, he can get back to living a normal life. He pulls out his phone and hops into his group chat with Pidge and Lance.
Me: Let’s go out tonight. I’m feeling better.
Lance: keith
Lance: my buddy
Lance: my dude
Lance: you have blessed me this day
Pidge: Keith, we’re home. I already punched him for you.
Me: Thanks, Katie.
Lance: A N Y W A Y
Lance: there’s a party tonight at the epsilon house
Me: When?
Lance: eight but we’ll come get you first
Me: Sounds good to me.
Pidge: You sure you’re good, Keithy Cat?
Me: Gross.
Me: I’m fine.
Keith smiles and shoves his phone back in his pocket, clomping up the stairs to his apartment. He unlocks the door and pushes inside. It’s hot. Unusually so. Keith steps into the living room, and a sob tears itself from his throat.
There, in the center of the coffee table, rests the box.
Keith is decidedly not fine.
“Okay,” he shouts, gesturing around his empty apartment, “you wanna play it that way?! We’ll play it that way!”
He whirls around and stomps into the bedroom to change his clothes and get freshened up. He takes his time in putting on his makeup, he touches up the black polish on his nails, he puts on one fishnet top then changes his mind and swaps it for another. He changes his jewelry five times. He messes with his hair. He wastes a good few hours this way, pointedly ignoring the humming from his living room. He laces up his combat boots and throws his leather jacket over his shoulders. The whispers start up again, lilting latin and guttural sounds floating in under the door, but he feigns ignorance.
Before he knows it, a knock sounds at the door. Whirling around his bedroom, he scoops up one final necklace and throws it on before stomping through the apartment and straight outside to his waiting friends.
The music is pounding loud and heavy across the yard by the time the trio arrives at the Epsilon house. Kids are spread out all over the place, sloshing alcohol from solo cups and playing dumb drinking games. Keith rolls his eyes as he watches two frat guys try to lift a couple girls over their heads and do squats. He’s never much understood the peacocking that happens when a bunch of these dudes collect in one place. Then again, he’s never really understood much of the social cues of dating. He’s always been a much more straightforward type of person. If you feel it, you say it. It’s always worked out best for him.
He shakes his head and follows Pidge and Lance up the walk to the house.
“Lance! You came!”
Keith looks up just in time to watch Lance shit his entire nervous system out at the call of his name. The manager of the Garrison University soccer team, Allura, is waving them down and shoving through the crowd.
“I thought there was an ulterior motive here, and lookit that. I’m right,” Pidge whispers to Keith. He snorts and nods in agreement.
“Allura! Princess! You look as radiant as ever!” Lance shouts, scraping down into a deep, over exaggerated bow. Allura giggles and turns pink at his words.
“Oh, stop it, you flirt!” She tugs him up by the ear and shoves him through the throng in the living room. Right as they disappear into the crowd, she turns back over her shoulder. “Katie, Keith! It’s lovely to see you! Have fun tonight!”
“See ya, princess!” Pidge calls to her back. Keith smiles and waves half-heartedly, scanning the crowd for more familiar faces. He gets one in Hunk, a member of Pidge’s robotics team, lumbering up to them through the hallway.
“Hey, guys!” he calls over the heads of the kids between them. “Come back to the kitchen! I made snacks!”
Pidge loud laughs and tugs Keith in Hunk’s direction.
“Hunk, you don’t live here!”
“Okay, but there’s nothing anywhere about me not using the oven, soooo.”
It’s fair enough, Keith thinks, scooping up two mini-quiches and shoving them in his mouth. He moans in bliss as the buttery crust melts on his tongue.
“Tell me about it,” Pidge agrees, crumbs spraying from her mouth.
Hunk laughs and pats her back.
“The rest of the team is here, I thought we could hang out a while!”
Pidge looks at Keith guiltily, but he just waves her off.
“Pidge, it’s a party. There’s booze. I know some people. It’s fine.”
She quirks an eyebrow at him in doubt.
“What?! It is! I’ll be fine! Just go!”
He shoos her off and plunges deeper into the house, looking for the keg. He finds it on the back porch and sets about filling a cup for himself. He sprawls out on the lawn, sipping at the shitty beer and rubbing his thumb across the crystal necklace he doesn’t remember putting on. The pendant pulses under his touch, beating in time with his heart. He wants to scream, but he can’t make a scene, so he gets another beer instead.
Before he knows it, he’s drunk and stumbling through his door. He doesn’t remember getting drunk, and he doesn’t remember how he got home, he just knows that the apartment is empty and darker than he left it, his skin is buzzing, and the book is open on his bed with the knife right next to it.
Fuck it.
Keith stumbles to the bed, dragging the book to the edge. In his alcohol-addled state, he doesn’t notice that it’s already open to the proper page, or that the words suddenly make sense to him. All he knows is that it’s been torturing him for what feels like forever, and he needs it to stop. The only way it seems it will is if he does what it wants.
So he follows the instructions.
He drags the dagger across his palm just the way the book says to, opening a smooth gash to pour blood on the floor. He dips his fingers into the puddle and sets to work, angrily scrawling the summoning seal over the polished wood surface. He copies the book exactly, only staggering a few times around his lightheadedness. He squeezes more blood out and draws precise runes and sigils across the surface of his arms. His hand throbs in pain, but so too does his heart. Somewhere, back in the dampened corners of his self-preservation, he knows this is wrong. But the alcohol and paranoia, the frustration and anger, all of the things he’s felt in the past two weeks have overwhelmed him. The whispering and stilted sounds that so often followed him around his home or through the streets begin screaming when he angrily slams his bloody palm down on the edge of the seal. A heavy wind whips around the room, stirring papers and dirty clothes around the floor. The atmosphere changes, turning heavy and foreboding.
Keith leans forward, retching under the crushing energy, as he shouts the words scrawled in the book. With the final syllable, he drops his other hand to the seal. It bursts to life, spewing shafts of blinding golden light up into the air. The scent of sulfur fills his room, carried about by the dying winds crashing against the walls. The wind tightens into a tornado of thick, black smoke, twirling and writhing at the center of the summoning circle. The beams of golden light turn red, spearing the plumes like swords. Keith squints up into the mass of confusion as it coalesces into something more substantial, something huge. The smoke smooths out into the shape of a being, a hulking mass of ghostly red. Its eyes are caution light yellow, its legs cut off into formless red wisps. Atop its head, a flop of what must be hair obscures its forehead.
Keith’s breath goes still in his chest as the creature reaches a massive clawed hand out toward him.
“I have been eagerly awaiting your call, Keith.”
The world goes black.
+++
Keith awakens on the ground. It’s cold and smooth beneath him, made of obsidian and pulsing with a strange energy. His head is killing him and he sits up, groaning. Everything around him is made of the same glass; giant pillars and mounds of it extend into the sky. The landscape is nothing but rolling dunes of the stuff, stretched out as far as he can see.
“At last.”
Keith startles at the deep voice, whirling around violently to face it. Before him, lounging casually on a throne of the same material is the demon he summoned. Holy shit, he summoned a demon. What the fuck were you doing?! he scolds himself.
“Summoning a demon,” the demon supplies helpfully.
“Fantastic,” Keith deadpans. The demon ignores him, standing from the chair and brushing nothing from his shoulders. Keith balks at the size of him. He’s easily a good eight feet tall, his shoulders are broad and thickly muscled, hell, one of his hands...claws? Whatever, one of them is the size of Keith’s head. He could crush Keith like a grape.
“My deepest gratitude, Keith. That is very kind of you to notice.”
What the fuck.
“What the fuck.”
“I suppose I should explain.”
“Yeah, that’d be pretty great,” Keith grouses, dragging himself up from the ground. Look, he knows when he’s at a disadvantage. He’s definitely at one now. But he’ll be damned if he goes down without a fight.
“In the interest of honesty, Keith, you are damned either way.”
“What.”
“Keith,” the demon sighs. “Let us start from the beginning, shall we?”
“That’s typically how things work,” Keith snaps, ignoring - once again - his survival instincts. Surprisingly, the demon smiles indulgently down at him, revealing rows of sharp, canine teeth. They glisten with saliva, and Keith wonders if demons are venomous.
“I, particularly, am not. Although, if that is a trait you admire, perhaps we could find a way…”
The demon trails off in thought, and Keith is left stricken. He clutches at his chest for stability, only to find his hand wrapping around the amethyst pendant.
“First things first,” he demands, “you tell me how you can hear inside my head.”
The demon’s brows raise high, and if Keith could tell the difference around the bright yellow sclera, he would swear it rolls its eyes at him.
“I am not an ‘it’, Keith, thank you very much. I can hear you, because, as you have sussed out, I am a demon.”
Demon powers. Of course.
“Of course,” it-
“He, if you please.”
-ah, he affirms. Keith moves on to his next question.
“Why am I here?”
“I have had my eye on you for some time now, Keith Kogane,” he answers, stepping forward on new, solid legs. “You are not like other mortals. Of course, I am sure you have taken notice of this.”
Keith looks down at himself, scoffing. He gestures to his outfit, a long sweep of his arm.
“Of course I’ve noticed.”
The demon huffs a rumbling laugh.
“Not in appearance. In composition.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“What, indeed.”
They stare each other down for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. The demon looks serene, patiently standing before Keith. Keith’s mind is reeling, sending him tripping over his panicked thoughts and emotions. He needs to find a way out of here, wherever here is, and fast.
“Come now, Keith. You know where you are. The landscape and atmosphere are charged with it. You can feel it. You know the truth.”
Keith is fairly certain he does, but he just can’t bring himself to acknowledge it. If he does, it makes it true. It makes it real. He doesn’t know if he can handle it.
“You are easily able to summon a demon, but cannot handle being brought to hell? That is a very interesting outlook.”
“Oh my fucking god,” Keith whispers, pained. He drags his hands through his hair, linking trembling fingers at the back of his neck.
“Well, I am not your god, to be certain. But you shall be my queen.”
Keith drops his hands in surprise.
“Excuse me?”
“As I have been saying, I have been watching you for some time, Keith. I require a queen and I desire you. I intend to make you mine. Now, how we go about that, of course, is a fair bit more elastic. The end results will remain the same, however.”
“I’m not your fucking queen.”
“Not now, but you will be. But please, allow me to introduce myself first. I am Tor’annoth Sthrathundir. I go by Takashi Shirogane topside, though. Most call me Shiro. It suits the purpose.”
“Shiro,” Keith repeats dumbly. “A demon named Shiro.”
“Yes.”
“Interesting.”
“Quite. Introductions aside, I have been tracking you for some time now, Keith. It has taken me months to hook you, do you realize?”
“Hook me? What are you talking about?!”
The demon, Shiro, his mind unhelpfully reminds him, steps forward, leaning down into Keith’s space. He drags long claws lightly down his jaw and settles them beneath his chin, raising his face to meet glowing eyes.
“Did you think this all happened overnight? First, I had to find you, dear one. That was a challenge of itself. You are a rare bird, as they say. Tracking your signature was difficult. And once I did, I knew I could never just bump into you on the street. That would not be enough with one like you. No, I needed to make you come to me.”
“I don’t understand what you’re getting at,” Keith grunts, jerking his head out of the demon’s touch.
“Well, typically, I could influence you. I tried for a long time. But I failed. Nothing could draw you. You are strong-willed, Keith Kogane. Hard headed. I like that about you.” Shiro smirks at Keith. “ You are exquisitely beautiful, as well.”
“Fuck off,” Keith grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Especially when defiant,” the demon coos. “But, you are also resistant to my usual advances. I needed something stronger. Something that would appeal to your nature. That is where the book came in. Normally, we can influence and kidnap, and that is enough. But not for someone like you. You require a lighter hand, more freedom. So, I simply dropped the summoning kit in your path. You took it from there.”
“I didn’t want it.”
“Yes, I saw that. But you must admit, it really did not take much to convince you to use it anyway. A little whispering, a nice party, some alcohol. You become incredibly pliant when you have imbibed, Keith. That can be a dangerous trait.”
“Okay, that's disgusting. And I can take care of myself,” Keith argues. “Besides, that doesn’t matter, because you still forced me down here! You think that I ever would have found that book and done that ceremony on my own?! Bullshit.”
Shiro steps forward again, bending down to look Keith in the eye.
“You are a fiery one, Keith. It is part of what makes you so charming.”
“I don’t want to be charming. I want to be home.”
“Well, be that as it may,” Shiro answers, straightening up, “you still performed the ceremony.”
“Which means?” Keith asks cautiously.
“Which means that, no matter what, you are still bound to me. Until the contract between us is met, you are stuck with my presence. At least give me the opportunity to prove my worth to you. Let me bless you, Keith.”
“Absolutely not,” Keith answers, staggering backward. “I don’t even know what that means, but I know I don’t like it. No way.”
“Fine,” Shiro grits in annoyance. “I suppose I will have to do this the old-fashioned way.”
“Wh-what?”
“I could trap you here,” Shiro starts, a plume of grey smoke emerging from nowhere and creeping up his legs. “I could force your submission to me.”
The smoke continues to climb, wrapping gently around his red limbs and knitting across his chest. His words strike fear deep in Keith’s heart.
“I will not do that. I have seen inside you, Keith. I have seen the very heart of you. I know your dreams and goals. I will prove my intentions and dedication to you.”
The smoke engulfs Shiro’s body, swirling and opaque. It whirls in place for endless minutes until finally, it falls away and in its wake stands a man. A beautiful man. A gorgeous man. Keith’s actual, literal, picture-perfect, ideal man. Where once a mountain of red flesh and claws stood, there is now nothing more than six feet of tanned skin and soft grey eyes. There’s a scar across his nose and a white shock of hair flopping over his forehead, but nothing else to suggest his true nature. Keith’s knees go weak with it. Human Shiro takes confident steps forward, pressing in until his lips are level with Keith’s ear. He circles a broad arm around Keith’s waist, tugging him in flush against a rock hard chest. Keith’s eyelids flutter shut.
“I’m going to court you, Keith. I’ll make you mine.”
A howling wind whips up again and Keith opens his eyes in his bedroom.
+++
Tuesday morning sees Keith sitting at his desk in a daze. His mind has been foggy ever since he returned from the underworld, the promise of a demon on a mission to win him over weighing heavy on his shoulders. He doesn’t notice Pidge slide into the desk beside him until she nudges him with her elbow to get his attention.
“Hey, space cadet. What’s up with you?”
“Nothing,” Keith lies. “Just tired.”
Pidge doesn’t believe him, he can tell. Her suspicion is written all over her face. Still, she lets it go and changes the conversation for his sake. He appreciates it because he still doesn’t know how he could ever explain his current position.
“So,” she says casually, “you hear we’re getting a new prof?”
Keith startles, a sense of foreboding flooding through him.
“Why? The semester’s almost over.”
“See, this is why you should check your email more often. Haggar sent out an email Sunday, something about a family emergency. We’re going to have an adjunct in charge for the rest of the season. Professor...S-something-or-other.”
Doom falls around Keith’s shoulders.
“Professor Shirogane?” he croaks.
“Yeah, that’s it!” Pidge confirms, snapping in approval. “Wait, how’d you know?”
“A hunch.”
She raises her eyebrow but doesn’t get to ask, because right as she opens her mouth, their new professor sweeps into the room. All chatter dies as he strides to the desk on confident legs. He sets his bag down in the chair and turns to regard the class, a warm smile painted across his lips. He makes eye contact with Keith, and his eyes sparkle, his smile broadening.
“Good morning, class. I’m adjunct Professor Shirogane. I’ll be taking over for Professor Haggar while she takes care of some personal business. I know it’s kind of late in the semester, but hopefully, I can still get you through everything.”
A few giggles rise up from the back of the lecture hall and Keith rolls his eyes.
“Okay, then,” Shiro says, clapping his (decidedly human) hands together, “why don’t we spend a little time backtracking so I can make sure we have a seamless transition, and then we’ll get to work, yeah?”
Keith is thrown by the change in his speech patterns. He’s less formal and more relaxed. He doesn’t sound so much like a traveler from the eighteen-hundreds. Rather, it seems he’s adapted himself to modern vernacular. Keith squints his eyes at him across his desk. Shiro shoots him another secret smile and gets down to business asking about their last test.
It comes as no surprise to Keith that Professor Shirogane is the hot new body on campus. He can’t go anywhere without hearing about him. It’s fucking insane, honestly. He can’t stand it. Fortunately, he only has three classes on Tuesdays, so after his third, he heads off to the library for some much-needed silence.
“Keith,” a deep voice rumbles from above his head. Keith doesn’t even have to look to know who it is. Shiro drops a bag into a chair across the table from Keith and slips into the seat beside it. “How are you today, beloved?”
“Don’t call me that,” Keith hisses, cutting his eyes around the room to make sure nobody heard.
“But why ever not? It’s what you are to me.”
“Well, it’s not what you are to me.”
“Not yet,” Shiro states calmly, gathering his bag and standing. “I’ll see you this evening.”
Shiro strolls casually out of the library, leaving a stunned Keith in his wake. It’s not until he ambles out of sight that Keith registers his words.
“Wait, this evening? ”
Keith finds out what he means the moment he steps through his threshold to find the demon sprawled on his couch, humming a tune to himself. He’s still in human form, but he’s let a few edges slip. His fingers end in their sharp claws, and as Keith steps into the room, his eyes snap open, focusing gleaming yellow points directly through him. Keith sighs, dropping his bag to the floor.
“Why are you here?”
“Well, seeing as how I don’t technically have a residence in this realm, I assumed I could simply stay with my contracted,” Shiro drawls.
“Yeah, that’s not gonna work,” Keith snaps. “You can’t stay here.”
“Hmm, I have a soul contract that speaks otherwise, Keith.”
Shiro quirks an eyebrow at him in triumph, and Keith knows he’s outmatched. He sighs again, wandering into the kitchen for a drink.
“Fine, whatever. Just stay out of my way.”
Clawed fingers trail across his lower back, rucking up his shirt and sending shivers crawling along his spine.
“I can’t do that, darling,” Shiro answers low. “I can’t court you without your involvement, you see.”
The demon spins Keith around, and he finds himself trapped, body locked beneath his golden gaze. Briefly, he contemplates the position he’s found himself in. Keith has always been a little different. He’s always found himself interested in things that most people may not be. Even from a young age, he found darker topics more compelling to learn about. It’s not like he tries to be edgy or anything, he just likes what he likes.
But this, being confronted by an actual demon from actual hell, is a lot for him to handle. He’s read extensively about the occult and the supernatural. He’s always thought it fascinating. Now, however, he finds himself on a precipice. Faced directly with something he only ever considered to be something of a fairy tale, he isn’t sure what to do. Technically, he brought this upon himself.
Keith was the one who took possession of the book.
Keith was the one who got frustrated.
Keith was the one who got drunk and summoned a literal demon.
No matter the forces that nudged his hand, he still gave in.
And isn’t it just convenient that the demon he summoned is a perfect vision? Isn’t it fantastic that he can read right into Keith’s head so that he can’t hide anywhere? Isn’t it just hilarious that Keith finds himself attracted to the demon even though he knows he shouldn’t be?
Just. The funniest.
And really, Keith almost wonders if he should have seen this coming. He, incapable of holding a steady relationship. He, unable to totally align with very many people. He, who dresses a little darkly and carries himself with a serious expression. He would be destined to have some sort of Lord of the underworld chasing after him, just waiting to trap him.
“You should take it as a compliment, really,” Shiro comments lightly. “I wouldn’t simply choose anyone. You are special, Keith. One of a kind. And I would only elevate you. Contrary to popular belief, demons do have morals. I would never force you into anything that you were not in agreement with.”
Well, that’s interesting. A demon with a heart of gold. Keith snorts at the thought.
“I’m going to bed,” he announces, effectively cutting off any more input from Shiro. “You can sleep on the couch. If you even sleep. What the fuck do I know, honestly?”
Shiro smiles.
“I rest.”
“Great,” Keith deadpans. “Just stay out of my room.”
With that, he grabs a glass of water and scurries off to shut himself in his final place of reprieve.
Shiro is gone in the morning and Keith breathes a sigh, a little confused and a lot relieved.
Weeks pass, and Shiro falls into place among the residents of the University. They all respect and revere him. Most of them would die to touch his muscles. Still, Shiro often finds excuses to catch up with Keith or ask him to see him in his office. He finds reasons to be wherever Keith happens to be. It doesn’t escape the notice of the student body at large.
This is problematic for multiple reasons. Keith has always kept a fairly low profile on campus. Go to class, go to the library, go to work, go home. It’s a good schedule and it keeps him out of trouble. Now, however, rumors fly about his involvement with the hot new professor on campus.
Who is he to Shiro? Do they have a relationship going on? Is that really appropriate? Why him?
He hears it in whispers and sees it in eyes that follow him wherever he goes. He feels it as a spotlight over his head every time he walks into his Engineering class and Shiro smiles at him across the room. The worst thing about it, the thing that makes him hate himself the most? He likes it. He likes the attention from Shiro. He feels a little special every time the man focuses on him and nobody else. He can’t help it.
Spending time with the demon is something he can’t avoid, especially when he can just...show up. Whenever. Wherever. Keith has had to set ground rules. Walking into his bathroom to take a shit in the middle of the night only to find Shiro perched on the counter was enough to send him to the morgue. It was also the last straw. Keith, I want everything to do with you, he claimed, surely knowing your habits is important? Keith had never in his life wanted to punch someone in the face so badly.
But now, he’s gotten to know the guy. Not just as a demon or as a demon masquerading as a mortal, but as his own being. He loves dogs (Ours are different downstairs, of course ), he loves his mother (She birthed me from the ash of a dying world ), his favorite color is red (It shines the brightest to me ).
Keith is fairly certain he would never need to say anything at all for Shiro to know everything about him, but still, the demon indulges him every time he opens his mouth to share a new piece of himself. He listened intently when Keith told him about the loss of his parents (It is one of life’s greatest tragedies to lose the first ones you ever love ). He sympathized when Keith described growing up in the system (A child should never be forced to learn the lessons of life so soon ). He smiled with amusement and teased when Keith told him all about why he wears makeup (I admire your skill in application ).
It softens Keith up to him terribly, and he’s unsure how to feel about it, exactly.
“I know how I feel about it,” Shiro says, appearing suddenly at Keith’s side. Keith curses loud and jumps up from his seat.
“And how is that?” he demands.
“I am honored, Keith Kogane.”
+++
Pidge: We need to talk.
Lance: boooyyyy, ur in trouble DEEP
Me: Why?
Me: What did I do?
Pidge: Coffee shop. Today. 5 pm.
Pidge: Don’t you dare try to worm out of it.
Lance: BOYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!
Keith doesn’t know what he’s done, but he knows it’s bad. He doesn’t think he’s forgotten anything important. He knows everyone’s birthdays by heart, and none of them have passed. He knows he hasn’t broken any promises recently. Hell, the three of them went out to dinner last week, so he hasn’t been neglecting them.
So what did he do?
At five o’clock on the dot, Keith marches into the coffee shop to meet his fate. Pidge and Lance are already seated at their usual table, three cups of coffee sitting between them. Keith knows it’s serious. They never have his coffee waiting unless they need to talk about something important.
Shit.
Either way, he’s going to have to face the music. He straightens his spine and marches across the seating area, plopping down into the seat next to Pidge. Lance’s mouth curls into a sardonic smirk. Pidge’s eyebrows scrunch beneath her glasses.
“Buddy,” Lance drawls, “you are in so. much. trouble.”
“I don’t even know what I did,” Keith answers, bouncing his eyes between them. “What did I do?”
Lance snorts.
“Who, more like.”
“...What?” Keith asks slowly. He sees it now, where this is headed. He should have predicted it, really. The rumors have been swift and merciless. Of course, if talk has gotten around campus, it would surely find his best friends. Pidge’s mouth twitches and he steels his nerves.
“What’s going on between you and Professor Shirogane?”
Boom goes the dynamite.
He can’t be honest, that much he knows for certain. Firstly, he doesn’t know that they would believe him. If it were him hearing the story, he wouldn’t believe him. Secondly, he still hasn’t totally come around to what’s going on between them. They’re familiar in a way that he only is with a few people. Keith is ridiculously attracted to him. He’s a demon. Keith still can’t quite admit to catching feelings for a demon, and, as far as anybody else is concerned, a relative stranger.
“Nothing,” he answers evenly. Technically, it’s not a lie. Nothing is going on between them, no matter how much Keith can feel them slowly creeping there.
“That sounds like a lie, Keith,” Pidge answers him. “I’ve seen how often you two talk.”
“Look, I know,” Keith answers, “but I swear I’m telling the truth. We’re friendly, but there’s nothing going on.”
“Hmmm,” she replies, raising an eyebrow and taking a measured sip of her coffee. Lance stares between them. The good thing about him, in Keith’s opinion, is that he’s always been a little dense to his surroundings. He’s whip-smart and loyal to the end, but it takes him a little longer to pick up on environmental signals. He’s blissfully oblivious most times, and this is one that Keith appreciates. They sit in silence, which is fine with Keith. He squirms in his seat under Pidge’s attention, but he knows if he waits a few minutes, her mood will slip away.
Suddenly, Lance snaps up to attention in his seat.
“Well, speak of the devil,” he whispers, wiggling his eyebrows like a goddamn asshole. A large hand comes to rest on the seatback of the chair beside Lance, and Keith flinches.
“Would you three mind if I sit with you? Everywhere else is full, so,” and of course it’s Shiro. Why wouldn’t it be? What a dick, honestly. Shiro chuckles quietly beside him. Keith really wishes he’d stop with the mind reading stuff. And the manipulating circumstances stuff. And just...stuff. Shiro laughs again but turns it into a cough.
“Sure, you can pop a squat, Professor,” Pidge answers, keeping her eyes on Keith. They narrow at him in suspicion, but he just continues to stare straight ahead. Keith isn’t a great liar, but he is great at avoidance.
“Thank you, Katie. Great job on that discussion board, by the way. You made some very salient observations.”
“Thank you so much!” she chirps, launching into her thoughts on their latest research assignment. Shiro listens attentively, but every now and then, his eyes trail over to Keith. If Pidge notices, she says nothing, but Lance. Lance is a different sort of beast.
A foot nudges Keith’s ankle, and he looks up to find Lance smirking at him. He drops a wink between them and Keith huffs, turning to look back out of the window. He’s no longer actively engaged with the table at large, but he can feel Shiro’s attention on him.
“Keith, what are your thoughts?” Shiro asks, pulling Keith out of his pouting.
“On what?” he asks.
“Oh, you know. Life, the universe, everything,” Shiro says with amusement.
“It’s all bullshit,” KeiI said with a smirk. Pidge snorts into her coffee and Lance’s mouth drops open. Shiro, to his credit, bursts out laughing.
“Fair enough. Well, you three, thank you very much for letting me sit with you. I think I’m gonna head home for the night. Maybe spend some quality time with some papers.”
With that, he takes his leave, random patron’s eyes swiveling after him as he pushes through the front door. Lance and Pidge watch as he disappears over the horizon. The very moment he fades from view, they turn on Keith.
“Alright, you fuckin’ liar, tell us the truth,” Pidge demands, poking a finger in his face.
“I have no idea what you mean,” Keith answers, pushing her finger back down.
“Keith. My friend. My Bro. My Brogane,” Lance pleads. “Teachers and students don’t look at each other the way you two just did.”
“We weren’t looking at each other any sort of way.”
“Oh, please!” Pidge butts in. “You two were dripping goo goo eyes all over the table.”
“Yeah!” Lance agrees. “And I’ve never had a teacher hang all on my words like that. Have you, Pidge?”
“Hell no, I haven’t.”
“So then it’s settled!” Lance announces, slamming his palms down on the table. “You two have something going on.”
“You guys, seriously. We don’t. I promise you.”
It’s Lance’s turn to narrow eyes at Keith.
“But you want to.”
And there it is. The ugly truth Keith has been trying to ignore. Shiro is a demon. A demon. But, Shiro is undeniably hot. Shiro essentially tricked Keith into opening a blood contract with him. But, Shiro is undeniably exactly Keith’s type. Shiro wants to drag Keith straight to hell and rule over...something together. He isn’t even sure what. But, Shiro also wants Keith for what he is, without question.
Keith wants him.
Keith wants him so bad.
It strikes him like a bolt of lightning, burning through his veins and scorching his nerves.
“...Yeah.”
“Then what the fuck are you even doing, mullet boy?!” Lance shouts. “Go get that hot teacher dick!”
“Gross.”
“Okay, yeah, that was gross,” Pidge adds. “But he’s not wrong. That man wants you, Keith.”
Man. Keith snorts.
“Go get him, loverboy,” Lance says with finality. “Or let him get you. Whatever.”
“Whatever,” Pidge agrees.
“Whatever,” Keith says, standing up. “I’m going home.”
“Sure you are,” Lance answers, waggling his eyebrows with a shit-eating grin.
Keith turns on a heel and stomps out of the coffee shop. He turns in the direction of home and shoves his hands in his pockets. Really, it’s about time for him to figure out what to do about Shiro. He can’t live his entire life with a demon trailing after him. Although, all things considered, he doesn’t mind having Shiro trailing after him. He really doesn’t mind.
He wants it.
He wants it a lot. But if he’s going to give in, he needs answers. He needs to know what the contract he opened means. He needs to know what’s going to happen to him. He needs to know specifics. But first, he just needs to get home.
Keith turns down his street, and immediately, something feels different. It feels...off. The air weighs heavy and loaded. He makes his way up the stairs, and the feeling only intensifies the closer he gets to his front door. It’s not foreboding. If anything, it’s like its own type of magnetism. It’s thick and tangible, reaching out to him on the air and beckoning him closer.
He slides his key in the lock, and static electricity shoots up his arm. He turns it and the static spreads out across his arm. He withdraws his key and turns the knob, stepping through the door. Keith crosses the threshold into a darkened apartment. The air buzzes inside, like a living being all its own. Holding his breath, Keith snaps the door closed behind him. He turns around to walk into his living room, but before he can lift a foot, Shiro is there.
Shiro, in full demon form. A hulking red mass of energy and flesh barreling straight for Keith. He lunges forward, shoving Keith back against the door, pinning him to the surface. Two clawed hands cage Keith’s head, and the demon leans forward, breathing heavy on Keith’s face.
“You want me.”
He says it like a revelation. He says it like a prayer. He says it like it’s the only truth he needs in this or any life. Keith’s knees go weak with the reverence in his tone.
“Yes,” Keith affirms.
“You have reservations,” Shiro notes, cocking his head like an overgrown spaniel.
“Yes.”
“May I show you something?” Shiro asks, straightening to his full height and offering a hand to Keith. Keith gingerly lays his own in the demon’s palm, allowing himself to be guided to the living room.
“You’re going to anyway,” Keith answers.
“No. This is part is entirely at your discretion,” Shiro answers, and through the skin and teeth and eyes, he looks so sincere. He looks so honest.
“Will it hurt?”
“Not at all.”
“Then fine.”
Shiro smiles, glinting white points in the dark, and lays a hand against Keith’s face. He strokes across his cheekbone and down his jaw with a long, pointed thumb. Suddenly, he grips Keith’s chin, gently opening his mouth. Leaning forward, he parts his own lips and breathes heavy, a long gust of breath from his lungs to Keith. Hot, red smoke pours from his mouth and curls past Keith’s teeth. It winds down his throat, sweet and cloying, but not painful. Keith can feel it filling his lungs, expanding to fit every curve and cilia. It worms through his veins and coats his nerves. He can see it in his mind’s eye, crawling up his spine and across his brainstem.
His mind goes blank.
Suddenly, he sees it. Right in the center, a brilliant point of light. From the light, billowing outward, a scene unfolds. It’s a bright spring day. Keith sees himself wandering through the city. He looks...different, filtered almost. His angles seem more graceful than sharp. His skin seems to glow. His hair looks artfully mussed rather than hopelessly shoved out of the way. His clothes look purposeful and right on his frame. He looks like himself, only-
“Beautiful,” Shiro’s voice rumbles overhead. “This is how you appear to me.”
Keith watches himself pull out his cellphone and glance at the screen. He laughs and it sounds like bells, tinkling and light. His face lights up, expressive and open. He shimmers in the sun, a spectral kind of beauty Keith's never witnessed before. He watches himself as he blows a stray strand of hair out of his eyes and types a message, carelessly shoving the phone back in his pocket when he’s done. He turns a corner, disappearing into a coffee shop, and the scene melts away.
“You’re the only thing I see,” Shiro says, hands crossed behind his back.
“I don’t understand,” Keith admits.
“Mmm, perhaps not. Let’s see something else, then.”
A new scene takes shape before them. Keith holding a kitten, staring defiantly into the eyes of a stranger. Keith remembers this day. He’d stumbled upon the stray in an alley on his way to the drugstore. A man had cornered it with a brick in his hand. Keith didn’t need to be told to understand what was happening.
He watches himself step forward, yelling at the man. His eyes are fire and his shoulders squared. The air around him wavers with the power of his anger.
“For all the world, you would protect that animal with your life. This frail creature, with no guarantee of survival.”
“It’s what anyone would do,” Keith says.
“No. It is not.”
The scene fades, immediately replaced by a new, more recent one. Keith watches Shiro address another version of himself. A version who had just come to in literal hell to find the demon casually draped across an obsidian throne.
He watches Shiro explain his circumstances. At every turn, Keith is angry, argumentative, flippant. His words are knives, edges honed to deadly precision, and still, Shiro softens for him.
“You awoke on the floors of hell to be greeted by a demon who coerced you into summoning him. You were not afraid of me. Instead, you were defiant. You did not bend to me. You did not bow and scrape and beg for mercy. Instead, you proved that it was I who should have bent a knee.”
The memory flutters away and a new surrounding appears. It’s nothing Keith has seen yet, nowhere he has been. A bedroom at the top of a building, gleaming and white. The floors are a polished marble, the dark wooden furniture hand carved and well cared for, delicate french doors opened to a balcony with billowing curtains flowing in the afternoon breeze.
Shiro kneels before him, the picture of supplication. He looks up at Keith, red skin shining in the bright surroundings. His lips part around his pointed teeth. His hands are open and upturned on his knees, palms facing the heavens. His nostrils flare with his breaths.
“I would bend a thousand knees for you, Keith. You are meant for me. You are precious. You need only snap your fingers and I would jump at your request. This is my solemn vow to you. You are special in every way and should be elevated above all others.”
Keith stops breathing. His lungs constrict painfully around Shiro’s words, tightening with the honesty in his tone.
“Is that the truth?” he asks, choking on his words.
“Of course it is.” Shiro reaches out, settling large hands over Keith’s hips. His bones burn under the touch, a hot wave of desire flashing through him. “Let me show you. Let me show you how I’d worship you.”
Shiro’s fingers curl around Keith’s sides, long nails scratching ever so lightly at his skin through his clothes. They leave trails of tingles in their wake, spreading out across his skin. He reaches out, settling a hand against the demon’s jaw. Shiro’s eyes slide closed as he leans into the touch.
Keith is blinded, suddenly, by the feeling of devotion Shiro emanates. It pours off of him in waves, striking Keith square in the chest, sinking straight to the core of him. He takes a deep breath.
“Okay.”
Shiro’s eyes snap open, blazing with heat and determination. He stands from the floor, scooping Keith up as he goes, throwing him over a broad shoulder as he marches to the bed. He sets Keith gently down on the edge, peeling his shirt up over his head and tossing it off to the side.
He's human again, and extremely naked when the fabric pulls past Keith's eyes. All but his sparking yellow gaze and sharp-clawed hands. His dick is impressive, if not strange. Keith can't help but stare at it for a second. It's long and thick, with a single corkscrew ridge coiling up the shift. In the spaces between the ridge lay small nodules. The head comes to a sharp taper, much more pointed than a human.
“Be lucky, Keith Kogane. Some of us are barbed.”
Jesus.
Shiro leans forward and drops a chaste kiss to Keith’s mouth. It’s nothing, barely a second’s worth of contact, but it knocks his world off axis. Shiro drops to his knees again. He bends forward, sucking kisses down Keith’s jaw and chest, mouthing sloppy trails across his skin. Keith shudders as the saliva dries, gulping deep breaths to steady himself. A forked tongue peeks out from parted lips and circles Keith’s nipple, pulling a low groan from his throat.
Shiro draws back, settling his head on Keith’s knee to smile up at him. The points of his teeth poke out over his lips, and Keith can’t help but to look at them and think adorable. Shiro’s smile widens.
“I’m going to take proper care of you, Keith.”
In one swift motion, he unzips and tugs off Keith’s jeans and underwear. Shiro stands and leans over Keith, nudging him back on the plush bed. He crawls up Keith's body, straddling his hips with clawed hands splayed across his chest.
“Can I show you what I have to offer, beloved?”
“God, please.”
Shiro smiles and leans down to kiss Keith properly. His lips are soft and pillowy against Keith's mouth, and gentle in their work. He deepens the kiss, sucking on Keith's lower lip. His tongue sneaks into Keith's mouth, licking his teeth and sweeping around his gums. As their mouths find their rhythm, Keith feels something odd between their bodies, stirring at his groin. He makes a confused sound, but Shiro shushes him.
“I'm a demon, Keith.”
The thing between them slithers up Keith's thigh, hot and thick, a wriggling cord.
“We shapeshift to suit our needs.”
The cord teases at Keith, fluttering along his shaft, coaxing him to hardness. It wraps itself lightly around him and tugs gently. A shock of pleasure punches the air from Keith's chest. Shiro smirks down at him, dragging a clawed hand down Keith's side.
“Would you like to see?”
Shiro props himself up so Keith can look down between them, and sure enough, there it is, long and coiled around him.
“Demon dick,” he mutters.
Shiro snorts, tightening the grip on Keith and tugging at him again. Keith slams his head back down on the mattress, whining at his ministrations.
“Demon dick,” Shiro confirms. He leans back down to whisper in Keith's ear. “That's not all it can do.”
With a final, slow caress, Shiro's dick loosens its grip, unfurling and releasing Keith's throbbing erection. Shiro mouths at Keith's jaw as the head of his dick trails away from Keith's own, tracing a wet path down past his balls to nudge between his ass cheeks. Shiro reaches down to spread Keith's legs further open. The moisture intensifies as his member moves, pooling and running between Keith's cheeks.
“I'm a self-lubricating sort of guy. I hope you don't mind.”
The head of his dick circles Keith’s entrance, dripping hot slick across the surface. It's precise and methodical, slowly circling and prodding him. It nudges and teases, catching at his rim and sending sparks across his nerves, only to dance away again. Shiro keeps up the teasing, playing with Keith's patience and watching him squirm until Keith can't take it anymore.
“Shiro, please.”
Shiro draws back to look at him. His eyes burn with desire, his jaw clenched.
“As you wish.”
Shiro's dick breaches Keith. It's thinner now than when he saw it, roughly the width of a finger. It wriggles and teases at Keith’s walls as it pushes in, oozing more hot slick inside of him. Keith feels himself relax around it, sighing in pleasure.
Shiro shifts above him, and inside of Keith, his dick expertly flicks against his walls, dragging across his prostate. Keith moans loud, biting a knuckle to stifle himself. Shiro clicks his tongue and pulls Keith's hand away.
“There's nobody else here. Stop silencing yourself.”
His dick withdraws and pushes back in, thicker now. It drags deliciously against Keith, sending his head spinning. Shiro pulls out again, thickening once more as his dick shoves itself back in. Keith can feel the texture of the modules and ridges rubbing against his walls and he mewls at the thought of it, a low desperate sound.
“Alright, little one. I'm taking control now.”
Shiro slides strong arms under Keith's torso and lifts him up. He settles down on the bed and positions Keith on his lap, straddling thick, muscled thighs. Immediately, he drives his dick up and back inside of Keith.
Keith shouts, throwing his arms around Shiro's neck. Shiro fucks up into Keith, snapping hips and snarling in his ear. His dick balloons out again, the ridges dragging harder and tighter along Keith's insides.
“You feel so good around me, Keith. Like you were made to be with me. You feel like I was created just to fuck you.”
The low rumble of Shiro's voice courses through Keith in a hot wave. Shiro shifts him around in his lap, driving the head of his dick back up into Keith's sweet spot. Keith cries out over drooling lips and Shiro swallows it, latching on to Keith's mouth with his own. His kisses are heavy and insistent, broken only by the force of his hips snapping upward.
“I'm going to mate you every day, beloved. I'll fill you with my seed so everyone can smell it on you. So that they can smell how you belong to me.”
Shiro's hips snap viciously against Keith, their motions and Shiro's words sending him tumbling further and further toward the edge.
“You would like that, wouldn't you? Striking, independent man brought to heel at the end of a demon’s cock.”
“Oh my god. Holy shit,” Keith breathes, air punching out of him in harsh breaths. “What the fuck.”
Shiro grabs Keith by the hips and spins his body, slamming him face down on the bed. He pulls him up to rest on hand and knees, drawing up behind him to settle between his legs once more. He fucks back into Keith in one smooth thrust and Keith's vision goes white. Shiro wraps a clawed hand gently around Keith's throat, pulling him up against his chest, setting a brutal pace with his hips.
“You're so wet for me, Keith.”
His free hand drops to Keith's neglected cock, wiping up the pre-come dripping from him and raising glistening fingers to inspect them. He brings them to his mouth and sucks the moisture off, drawing the digits out with a slick pop. Shiro lowers both hands to dig nails into Keith's hips. His lips brush the shell of his ear as he leans down to whisper to him.
“If just this sends you so sloppy, imagine what I could do in my true form.”
He strikes Keith perfectly in the prostate once more, and Keith comes with blinding force. He feels himself clamp down around Shiro, the demon thrusting harshly a few more times before reaching his own release with a room-shaking growl.
Keith comes to on the couch, chest heaving and eyes blurred. Shiro hovers just in front of him, looking smugly pleased with himself.
“Be my queen.”
Keith tugs him forward by the hair, smashing their mouths together.
“I’m not your fucking queen.”
Shiro smirks and lays a hand against Keith's chest, engulfing him in flame and smoke.