Chapter Text
Keith is in his last year of pursuing a masters in astrophysics at Garrison University. A renowned school, it’s well known for three things: its ascetic acceptance rate, its world-class physics department, and its predominantly vampiric faculty.
It’s what they boast on most of their pamphlets and all over the admissions page of the website. Sure, other colleges have an occasional member of an occult species here and there, but they’re usually just in consulting positions. However, Garrison University attaches a certain prestige to its faculty, insisting that their long lifespans and powerful energies make for good teachers, going a step further to exclusively employ educators who fall into the any category of the following: vampire, werewolf, fae, banshee, urban legend, campfire story creation, abject amalgamation, extraterrestrial beings, and other things that one wouldn’t expect to exist but do.
For the most part, however, the Garrison faculty are vampires. Among occult beings, they have the best temperament for teaching and have statistically been alive (more or less) longer than most any of the other beings that roam the campus—the fae exempt of course, but the fae are often too proud to lead classes, on top of their blatant disregard for schedules.
To accommodate the non-conforming habits of its faculty, Garrison University qualifies as a night school. Campus opens officially an hour after sunset and remains open until the dregs of dawn wash in and the select few day-class goers and human instructors make an appearance. Keith isn’t usually awake to see them.
His entry into GU had seemed like the only way to go after getting his bachelor’s in Astronomy. He had been recommended by his advisor at Marmora Tech and, through whatever system of nepotism and favoritism that seemed to permeate academia like a stale miasma, was accepted and quickly assigned an advisor at GU.
The GU advisor system is another unique but less acclaimed feature of the school. Because the student body is so small, students are designated faculty advisors, and Keith’s is none other than the head of the astrophysics department, Professor Takashi Shirogane.
Where many of the faculty are traditionalists by default, he insisted that the class call him Shiro, that “professor” was too stuffy. Relatively young in comparison to the other staff at a spry 362 years old (though appearing not a day older than twenty-seven) he was malleable to social change and unabashed about his preferences and politics. His classroom walls were plastered with movie posters and science journals alike. He’s the kind of person that Keith wants to spend hours with, in and outside of his Plasma Diagnostics course.
Shiro wears clothes that are a little too small for him and alternates his outerwear between cozy cable-knit cardigans and a stiff letter jacket adorned with physics accolades in lieu of sports, despite a body that suggested opposite. He cracks jokes that are relevant and actually funny. There is a really cool portrait of him in the on-campus museum for his contributions to astrophysics.
And he is so attractive. Keith had not been prepared for that on top of everything else.
At Keith’s undergrad there had been a local vampire faculty or two and of course they had both been beautiful. But there was something completely unique about Shiro’s beauty that hit Keith like an unstoppable freight train across an icy tundra.
During their first one-on-one together, Shiro had been cordial and excited to meet Keith and it was pure salt to the open wound. Keith was ruined for crushes. This was it.
The worst part is that Keith found himself struggling with the fact that it’s inappropriate for students and faculty to engage in any kind of intimate relationship with each other. For safety reasons as well as historical precedent, it was simply not done.
He would never tell anyone, but if given the chance, Keith would let Shiro absolutely ravish him in every way physically possible.
*
Keith is a full-time student and without a car, so he takes up odd jobs around campus to make extra money. While his scholarships and grants cover tuition, his apartment, and a meal plan, Keith has his eye on a motorcycle that his friends have been cooking up on his behalf in the engineering department. If they can get it street-legal, the insurance will be through the roof. Keith needs it.
So he splits his time between custodial work, summer fellowships, and working the library front desk. It’s on a Thursday night in second semester when Shiro waltzes into the library with a swarm of overachieving undergraduate sophomores enrolled in his Astro 310 class.
“This is where you will be conducting your research projects. I want you to choose groups of no more than four, split the work, and bring something great to the table by the end of the semester. If you need any help, the library staff are wonderful and can assist you in more ways than you’d expect. Take Keith at the front desk, for example.” When Shiro calls his name, Keith’s heart flutters and he sits up a little straighter. He doesn’t know how he’d deluded himself into thinking that Shiro hadn’t noticed him, considering the whole enhanced hearing and sight thing.
“Keith here is on the MA astrophysics course and while he got his undergrad at Marmora, he was a astronomy major like yourselves.” The class looks at Keith like he’s their future and he buckles under their gaze. “Keith is my ideal student, so try to be like him, okay?”
Keith thinks his heart may stop.
Shiro dismisses the class so they can establish groups and brainstorm their projects, waltzing over and leaning on to the part of the front desk where Keith is seated. “Sorry to make an example out of you,” he says with a smile sweet enough to end wars.
“I’m probably not the best example,” Keith shrugs, wishing Shiro’s revolutionary smile and kind words would stop giving him hope. Shiro’s mouth twists down at his self-deprecating comment.
“Keith,” he says, his voice gentle. “I mean it.” Shiro holds Keith’s steady gaze, unblinking in his pursuit to make his point; Keith forgets that vampires don’t have to do that. Keith stares back and stands his ground. Please Shiro, he thinks. Don’t lead me on.
“You really don’t believe me, do you?” Shiro marvels, and Keith is sure that he had been listening to his heartbeat, which is largely inappropriate between strangers or acquaintances, meant for those with a more profound relationship—a sentiment that only stirs up more turmoil in his chest. “Fine. Where’s your supervisor?”
“My supervisor?” Keith asks, waving to get the attention of Rizavi in the back. She’s the senior staffer on duty but Keith is pretty sure he’s older than her.
“What’s up?” Rizavi asks, joining them. She greets Shiro cordially.
“Rizavi,” Shiro says, his eyes flashing at her name tag. “Would you be terribly inconvenienced if Keith happened to quit his job here?”
“What?” Keith hisses, bolting up out of his chair. Rizavi looks nonplussed, shrugs, and proceeds to throw Keith under the proverbial bus.
“We’d probably be fine. Is everything okay?” She asks Keith. Shiro answers for him.
“It’s just that he’s going to be my TA this semester, and school employment rules are that he can’t surpass a certain amount of hours, so…”
This is an offer. Shiro’s posture is relaxed, genuine, and Keith knows he should refuse purely on the basis that his crush is one-sided, unrequited and never to be fulfilled. But he searches inside and can’t find a reason to turn down this golden ticket to spend more time with Shiro and maybe get some extra homework help.
“Right,” Keith exhales, ultimately deciding to play along. What could go wrong? “When do I start again, Shiro?”
“When is your shift over?”
Keith checks his watch. “I still have two more hours.”
“The office will be closed by then. Rizavi, do you mind?” Shiro asks, innocently adjusting the shoulder strap of his bag over his shoulder.
“Right now? I mean, I guess, sure,” she shrugs again. Keith had no idea she was so impartial to his employment and feels a little disappointed. “Bye Keith. You were the best at organizing the records and tapes section.”
“Thanks,” Keith intones. “Sorry for leaving so abruptly, I should’ve given you more notice.” He stresses the second part a little more and looks pointedly at Shiro when he says it.
“No worries!” Rizavi smiles, failing to read the room. Keith packs up his stuff and joins Shiro on the other side of the desk.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re compensated for the two hours. Let’s go.” Shiro takes Keith by the forearm and practically drags him to the student employment office, renegotiating contracts with the ever-patient human staff. They seem to be unsurprised by the situation; Keith doesn’t usually put much thought to how impulsive the faculty can be when they’ve been alive for centuries.
“Is this okay?” Shiro asks, after they’ve signed all the paperwork and Keith is following him back to his office.
“I mean, it has to be now,” Keith says. “We gave our electronic signatures and everything. Bound and all that.”
Shiro realizes his mistake and deflates a little, pausing as he unlocks the door to his office. “Sorry, I. Should have talked to you about it before, but I really do want you to be my TA. You really are an incredible student, Keith, and I want that energy near me, you know? You should be put to work doing something that challenges you.”
“You underestimate the Dewey Decimal System,” Keith bites his lip, trying to ignore Shiro’s barrage of praise.
“As if numbers in any form could slow you down,” Shiro raises an eyebrow. They enter his office, which is austere, pristine, organized. The only items that aren’t clearly efficiency furniture are two ceiling-to-floor empire style bookcases that house tomes spanning several genres and eras, as well as a dingy but classic-looking kerosene lamp. Shiro clears off the chair with his coat on it so Keith can sit down.
He sits while Shiro prepares him a cup of tea, discussing the job description which is largely grading tests and helping tutor students after lectures. Beyond that, Shiro offers him to assist with his own personal research outside of class time.
“If it ever gets to be too much,” Shiro starts. “Let me know. I don’t ever want you to feel overwhelmed, alright? Which is already tough, considering you’re a graduate student. But your health comes first.”
“Understood,” Keith nods. “And thank you,” he adds. At the office, he’d learned that TA positions have a remarkably higher pay standard than library front desk helper. If he was afraid of being overworked, he felt much better about it know and was considering dropping the custodial work he sometimes does. It’ll keep him covered for the time being.
Shiro places a hand on Keith’s shoulder and gives him a look that’s meaningful but utterly indecipherable.
“Do you have any questions?” Shiro asks, finally, leaning back in his seat. In this low-light, Keith can see the depth of his eyes, dark and glassy like he can see past Keith or inside him. The weight of his hand on Keith’s shoulder is intoxicating and Keith can swear he feels Shiro’s thumb tracing the edge of his collarbone.
“N-no,” Keith coughs, thinking about those eyes on him, all over him. “Just, let me know if you need anything else.”
“Will do. Thank you, Keith. Go ahead and take the rest of the night off,” Shiro offers.
Keith wishes him a good night and almost runs out of the building to try and get some fresh air and figure out if this is a dream or if he’s been glamoured by passing fae. But all signs point to reality being stranger than fiction.
*
Keith spends a lot of time wondering if he should update his friends or not about his new job. He weighs the inevitability that they’ll find out eventually anyway against the fact that he’s TA-ing for Shiro in particular. While he wants to keep that part a secret, he knows that he’ll be in deeper trouble if he doesn’t say anything at all. Either way, he decides that the group chat will suffice as a platform for his demise.
Keith: don’t look for me at the library anymore
Lance: finally escaping academia to live a solitary life in the rainforest eh? good on u keith. leave me your creuset thnx
Pidge: Joking aside, what does this mean, Keith?
Hunk: please…. Please tell me you didn’t get fired
Lance: ok wait u can keep the creuset i actually want your bike! Is that chill?
Keith decides that the fastest and most efficient way to communicate won’t be through text. Glancing at the clocktower, backlit in red, orange, and yellow for the fall season, he decides that ten forty-five p.m. isn’t too early for lunch.
Keith: meet at bagel
✓ Read by all
There’s a bagel place on campus that everybody tries to hate in the name of rampant, pervasive capitalism, but the truth is that people like bagels. A perpetually busy establishment, Keith strikes gold when he snags an open table, which he interprets as the universe aligning for his imminent take-down.
Keith’s suspicion is confirmed when Lance shows up first.
“Well, well, well,” Lance starts. “So the great Keith has finally elected to relinquish his earthly goods to the all-deserving Lance. Thank you, Keith. Also I’ve decided that asking for both the creuset and the bike isn’t too much, so I’ll be taking both. Thank you for your generous contribution.”
“I’m not giving you my stuff, Lance,” Keith rolls his eyes. “Nice try though.”
“I’m dying to know how you got fired.”
“I didn’t get fired Lance.”
“You two really can’t be left alone for five minutes, can you?” Pidge and Hunk arrive together, dragging Lance into line to order.
Joined together at the table, Pidge gets the ball rolling.
“Ok buddy,” they say. “I wanna hear the whole story. And I also want to place my bet for you winning the lottery.”
“Do you mean that literally? Because not quite,” Keith says, which has their interest piqued even more.
“My guess is a new job!” Hunk cuts in before Keith can continue.
“Hunk’s guess is correct,” Keith nods. “But there is a small issue. I’m Shiro’s new TA.”
The whole table threatens to erupt with unbridled glee, overly enthusiastic high-fiving, and absolutely ruthless teasing but Keith brings his knee up to shake the table from below and diffuse the rising tension.
“Don’t make a scene,” he begs, face growing hot.
“Dude, this is like your wildest fantasy come true,” Lance grins. “How are you not freaking out?!”
“Oh, he’s freaking out,” Pidge notes, pointing to the scarlet glow of Keith’s ears. “He’s got it bad.”
“Help,” Keith wheezes, afraid his voice will crack if he speaks any louder. He tells them the whole story of the previous night, voice low and avoiding the heightened senses of the nearby staff and student body. He hopes the general chatter of the bagel place will mask their conversation.
“So let me get this straight,” Pidge begins. “Shiro came to the library, praised you in front of his students, stole you from your job while you working, all so he could have you to himself?”
“You’ve embellished some things,” Keith says, ultimately nodding in agreement.
Lance interjects. “Go get it, Keith! I bet Shiro’s looking for a slice of something nice.”
“Please don’t refer to me as ‘a slice,’” Keith pleads.
“Keith,” Hunk says. “Be careful.” The group looks at Hunk expectantly, the mood growing suddenly heavy. “It’s just, I hate to play this role but, he’s a vampire, it’s dangerous. Especially if he wants… you know.”
“Drop the ‘know,’” Lance snorts, lowering his voice and raising his eyebrows. “Cause he wants you.”
“Lance,” Keith says warningly.
“A slice.”
Keith is about to let Lance have it when Pidge puts their hand on his shoulder and Hunk pulls Lance into an exasperated half nelson.
“Keep us posted,” Pidge says, biting into their bagel. “Let us know if you need anything, okay?”
Keith nods and steals a bite of Lance’s bagel while Hunk still has a firm hold on his head and neck, chewing the spongy bread slowly and considering his anxiety. His crush is a known fact to his friends and at this point he wouldn’t put it past Shiro to know it too. It’s a matter of whether or not Shiro wants to take advantage of him or not because of it.
Either way, Keith still recognizes that he would, still, unequivocally give himself over to Shiro. It’s with this weak thought that he starts his first night as a TA, and probably exactly why the night goes over the way it does: terribly.
*
It all starts and ends when Keith shows up to Shiro’s office hours.
He’s supposed to be in attendance for Shiro’s Astro 310 class, but Shiro had offered for Keith to join him prior to classes to assist with research or ask questions. As a gesture of good faith, Keith goes to pick up a tea latte for Shiro. He’d seen some other TAs do this before but he never knew if it was because the faculty required it or if they too were trying to get in the faculty’s pants. Keith isn’t going to lie to himself anymore; he very much understands that is he part of the latter group in that scenario.
But when he gets to Shiro’s office, tea latte in hand, Shiro is not there.
Shiro has never been late to class, and while Keith isn’t keeping a record anywhere, he’s fairly certain that his punctuality extends to office hours as well.
The hall is eerily quiet; the other staff offices are dark and seem void of all life or unlife. Swaying back and forth on his feet for a moment, Keith considers what he should do. He elects to set down his bag and the tea latte and check outside: nothing but crickets and the psychology majors headed for the library. Slipping back indoors, Keith puts his hands in his pockets and checks the clock on the wall again to make sure he isn’t the one who’s too early.
Then he hears it: a faint, low droning. Instinctively, his hands fly up toward his chest in a defensive position. Was it coming from the interior stairwell?
Keith edges closer and the noise gets louder, takes the shape of a pained groan. In a moment of bravery, Keith throws the interior stairwell door open and the noise becomes even fuller, punctuated by a small and strained “Help.”
Keith knows that voice, but he has never known it like this. “Shiro?” He asks, horrified. Taking the stairs down three at a time, he finds Shiro two flights down, heaving himself upward, paler than a sheet, his eyes sunken and ringed by dark bags. His eyes are a worrying color, bleached pale gray instead of the deep black Keith was used to seeing. Worst of all was the dark, spreading stain that soaked Shiro’s shirt.
“Shiro, what’s wrong?” Keith asks, trying to school the desperation in his voice. Despite his instincts telling him not to approach, Keith pulls Shiro’s arm over his shoulder and decides to carry him to his office so he can call the health center from there. Shiro doesn’t respond immediately and Keith wonders if he should just leave this to the professionals after all.
“I’m so dumb,” is the first thing Shiro can say, which makes Keith laugh.
“You and I both know that’s not true,” Keith quips. “What happened?”
“There were some students,” Shiro wheezes as Keith hauls him up the stairs, quickly approaching the floor Shiro’s office is on. “Messing around with organic flash bombs in the parking lot. One went off and I was blinded,” he coughs, clutching at his stomach where the dark stain lingered. “And then I tripped and landed on one of the stakes lining the marigold beds.”
“Oh my god,” Keith chokes, nearly dropping Shiro when his knees buckle in disbelief. “How do they still have wooden stakes in the garden! That’s so ignorant,” Keith sputters, setting Shiro down in his office chair.
“We’ve been asking the groundskeepers to take them out for years,” Shiro shrugs, closing his eyes and going quiet. “Thank you for finding me. I thought I could make it here on my own.”
Keith pulls out his phone. “I’m calling the health center, they’ll send someone over immediately,” he says, searching for the phone directory.
“No,” Shiro stops him. “Let’s not make a big deal out of it. Plus, I should have stuff here,” he assures him, stuff meaning spare blood. Sure enough, there is a little fridge behind Shiro’s desk, but when he opens it his face falls. “Oh,” he exhales, shoulders sagging even lower than they already are. “Guess I don’t.”
“I’m calling,” Keith repeats, scrolling his phone again.
“But my office hours,” Shiro whines. Keith tries not to make light of Shiro’s dedication because for one it’s endearing, and two, Keith can’t say anything against one-track minded devotion. Which is exactly why he does what he does next.
“Alright then,” Keith says, taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeve. He offers his wrist to Shiro. “Here.”
“Keith,” Shiro says, warningly. “We can’t.”
“I know,” Keith counters, pressing his luck. “But you don’t want me to call and you don’t want to leave, so. Let’s not make a big deal out of it?” Keith thinks borrowing Shiro’s words will be what unravels this whole fantasy like a loose stitch in a scarf. But Shiro looks terrible, like he’s going to keel over any second, so it’s a worthy risk.
Shiro spends what feels like a whole minute thinking very loudly. Then, still blinded, he fumbles around for the extra chair in front of him, pulling it close and instructing Keith to sit down. Keith’s heart starts to race and he ties his hair back to help reduce the heat that’s burning across his face.
“Listen to me,” Shiro says, voice low. He grabs a cotton pad and antiseptic serum from the first aid kit in his desk and begins to sanitize a large area on Keith’s wrist. “No one can know about this. Don’t tell your friends and please don’t tell the dean,” Shiro pleads, ultimately pausing his ministrations to lean his head onto Keith’s shoulder—which is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to Keith—in defeat. “Keith, we can’t.”
“We can,” Keith insists, his mouth dry. “You’re about to pass out, come on. I want this,” Keith promises, which might not be the most appropriate thing to say in this situation. “I want you to be safe,” he adds, another true statement. “No one else can teach Plasma Diagnostics like you can.”
Shiro sits up straight and steels himself. Keith can’t look at the dark bruising around his eyes much longer and is about to beg Shiro to hurry when he purposefully brings Keith’s wrist to his mouth.
“Thank you, Keith,” is the last thing he says before wrapping his lips around Keith’s warm, tan flesh and sinking his fangs in deep.
The initial piercing is uncomfortable, like the needlestick of a shot or vaccine. But quickly an unfamiliar sensation rips through Keith as he can feel his blood rush toward Shiro’s hot mouth like a vacuum, and for whatever insane reasons, it feels good. It feels better than any kiss, better than all the friction and foreplay in the world. It’s like molten honey has replaced his muscles, everything relaxed and hot, or like he’s traveling at five hundred kilometers an hour but all he can feel is a light breeze.
He can feel Shiro’s tongue twitch against his skin, can feel the cool curve and hard press of Shiro’s lips. Keith had no idea his wrists were so sensitive, but Shiro’s heady presence is making him believe that he might not know anything about himself or pleasure at all.
And as quickly as it starts, it’s over. Keith finds himself in a daze, languidly leaning against the back of the chair in disbelief as he watches Shiro lick clean his puncture marks in thorough swirls, adding an extension to his ecstasy. The feeling wanes as Shiro wipes his wrist clean and begins to apply a bandage.
“Is that all?” Keith asks when Shiro gives him his arm back, words slurred.
“I probably took too much,” Shiro frets, his eyes back to their normal color. “How are you feeling?” While Keith looks Shiro up and down, he remembers the stain on his shirt and leans forward. In his sated state, he’s bold enough to pull Shiro’s shirt up to check the wound, but all he sees is the smooth, taut skin of Shiro’s six-pack. Great, he didn’t need to know that.
“Take more,” Keith offers, light-headed. “If you need. How are you feeling?”
“A hundred and ten percent better. Was that the first time you’ve ever been fed on?” Although Shiro looks somewhere between regretful and relieved, Keith thinks he has never seen him glow this way before and wonders if it must be a post-feeding thing. He wouldn’t be against seeing it again.
“Yes,” Keith answers truthfully, wishing he had a little more energy to be sarcastic and make a joke, but he’s at a loss for anything currently more complicated than breathing and blinking. “Is it always like that?” He dares to ask.
“Like what?” Shiro asks, playing dumb. Keith’s face goes scarlet with the insinuation he’ll have to explain how he’ll never successfully climax ever again knowing that it feels better to get your blood sucked than your dick.
“Shiro,” Keith pleads.
Shiro excuses himself to change out of his ruined shirt, leaving Keith with a glass of water that he demands he drinks before he gets back. Keith gets a quarter of the way through when Shiro comes back, fresh, clean, and holding Keith’s bag and the tea latte.
“Here’s your stuff,” he says, setting them down on the table between his desk and Keith.
“The latte’s for you,” Keith responds weakly. “Hope you like darjeeling.”
Shiro laughs and checks the cup, noting the Prof TS written in curvy sharpie. He shakes his head, his eyes impossibly fond.
“Thank you, Keith,” he says and Keith can feel the weight of his words. “I owe you big time.”
“Nah,” Keith sighs. “That was just me repaying you for getting me better job. And some cool new life experiences. So. Thank you.”
They share a cordial smile, holding each other’s stares for longer than necessary. Keith feels his body grow weak and eyes grow heavy.
“Is it normal to get so sleepy?” Keith asks, trying to adjust to a more comfortable position in the chair.
“Completely,” Shiro assures him. “I should get you home.”
“Just give me five minutes,” Keith requests.
Shiro acquiesces, in the meantime tidying up the room and taking a seat at his desk, Keith all the while listening to the ruffling and swishing sounds of silent work. Drawers open, blinds flutter, pens scratch against paper. It’s purely relaxing and makes it all too easy for him to fall prey to sleep.
When he wakes, which feels like blinking instead of sleeping, it’s to Shiro’s voice quietly stirring him. “Keith, it’s just about time for class. Are you okay to go? It’s totally alright if you want to skip today.”
Keith sits up and a layer of warmth falls away from his chest, leaving him cold. He looks down to see that it’s Shiro’s letter jacket, heavy and cozy. A shiver shakes him.
“I’m good,” he says, and he does feel improved after resting his eyes. Lightly, he adds, “Sorry I fell asleep on my first day on the job. I promise I have a have a decent work ethic.”
“I have no illusions about that,” Shiro grins and Keith gives him a grateful look. Carefully, Keith folds Shiro’s jacket over the chair and shrugs into his own coat, still quivering. Rising to his feet, the blood rushes from his head and he nearly falls over until Shiro catches him.
“Whoa there,” Shiro chides. “Are you alright?”
“Just a little cold,” Keith says honestly, afraid to move away from Shiro’s sturdy chest and lose his steady support.
“My letterman’s jacket might be a little too loud,” Shiro reasons, reaching for the coat rack over his door and grabbing a cozy and soft looking sweater that doesn’t clash with Keith’s current outfit too much. “But how about you borrow a cardigan?”
“Thanks,” Keith says quietly, accepting the sweater. He steps back, feeling confident enough to stand on his own but still vaguely worried that all of this is a dream. Shiro’s attentiveness is intoxicating, and Keith wants to stay high on it.
Shiro takes a sip of the tea latte and nods approvingly, exhaling in what Keith can only describe as willing defeat.
“Can I,” Shiro starts, chewing his lip like he’s weighing what he’s about to say, and they’re words that Keith never would have expected out of him, even in his wildest fantasies. “Walk you to class?”
His eyes catch Keith’s and they share laughter in the absurdity of the all. Slipping into the cardigan, Keith throws his bag over his shoulder and picks up a stack of essays that Shiro wanted him to grade.
“I’d like that,” he says. And, together, they go.
*