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Shiro likes his job. He likes helping people with the gift of magic he was born with, and he likes seeing how much joy it brings them, if he does his job right — and whenever possible, Shiro does his job right.
Charms and potions are finicky things, and not many witches can master them. Shiro knows he has a reputation in these lands for being one of, if not the, best of his kind. They’re a dying breed, the charmweavers and alchemists, so as both in one, he’s a veritable unicorn. It means he’s got a steady stream of business, but many of his customers are regulars from the nearby villages. Though new customers aren’t unheard of, the one who walks into his humble shop on a warm spring morning surprises Shiro so badly he almost drops a vial of freshly distilled mugwort. His familiar, who takes the form of a black cat named Stella, gives him a distinctly amused look from where she’s sunning herself on the windowsill.
It isn’t that the customer has horns, or purple skin, or is a bear (though that did happen once, and Shiro dealt with the situation, and the bear became a woman again after quite a bit of trial and error with various moss-blackberry concoctions, and everyone was happy). No, the customer looks human-ish, and Shiro supposes he would be rather unremarkable, if he were not the most beautiful man — or being, or creature, or entity — Shiro had ever laid his eyes upon.
He’s neither short nor tall and moves with the fluid grace of a practiced swordsman, and though his build is not bulky his shoulders are broad and strong, tapering into a narrow waist and long, lithe legs. His hair is dark, raven-black, Shiro would say if he were prone to cliches. Then the man looks at him and Shiro embraces cliche wholeheartedly, for the luminous gleam of his eyes is like the moonlight on the mountain lakes at midnight, a strange shade Shiro can call neither blue nor violet.
The closest color he can compare it to is the depthless purpled hearts of the petunias hanging in his bedroom window, the kind of color you could get lost in. Shiro is lost, utterly and irrevocably, for as soon as he manages to tear his gaze away from the man’s eyes, he sees the rest of his fine features, high cheekbones and angled brows, a nose ever-so-slightly upturned and rosy lips pursed in a discerning frown.
The man’s attire is simple yet striking — a long black traveling cloak, a dark red tunic, a heavy belt with a scabbard for a shortsword, dusty black boots, and a worn pair of brown trousers that are a tad too tight...on purpose? Shiro doubts it; the way the man carries himself is not attention-seeking but somewhat withdrawn, wary as he steps into the crowded but neat shop.
Shiro greets him, still unable to drive the dreaminess from his thoughts as his gaze lingers. It has been so long since he even attempted a romance. Perhaps today is the day. Certainly he has never felt so strongly for someone so quickly — at first sight, even. It could be worth pursuing —
“I need a love potion.”
Shiro’s thoughts screech to a halt with the chaos of a crashing carriage.
Nevermind, then. He forces his face into a polite smile though his heart is crumpling slowly in his chest and Stella is giving him a sympathetic look. “A love potion,” he repeats. “What kind of love potion?”
The man shrugs. He looks uncomfortable, and a tad annoyed. “I don’t care. Whatever.”
Shiro’s ardor fades. Beauty only gets one so far – rude customers are the least attractive. “I...see.”
But then the man clears his throat, scratches his head, and heaves a sigh. “Listen – sorry. I just genuinely have no idea. I guess...what’s your most popular one?”
Shiro blinks. “Oh – ah, that one, on that shelf there.” He points from behind the counter, and the man wanders over to it, brow furrowed. It’s an aptly bright pink bottle with a cork carved in the shape of a heart, and the label reads: True Love’s Mist. One dab behind the ear every morning. Helps people to see the best in you, and gives them the courage to act on it. Also, you’ll smell wonderful. Note: DOES NOT COMPEL PEOPLE TO LOVE YOU. WE DON’T DO THAT HERE.
The man raises an eyebrow. “An alchemist with a moral compass,” he remarks, “that’s a new one.”
Shiro folds his arms, miffed again. He cannot tell if this beautiful man is actually trying to be rude, or is just blunt and sort of clueless. “Any alchemist that claims to be selling you a love potion that will actually cause anyone to fall in love with you is a fraud,” he retorts. “That’s not love. That’s compulsion and obsession. They have to actually have some inclination towards you first for it to have any real and lasting effect.”
“Hm.” The man nods, and picks up the bottle. “What does it smell like?”
Shiro shrugs. “Depends on what smells good to certain people. For example, I like the smell of lavender and incense, but someone else might hate those scents.”
“Interesting…how much for this, then?”
Surprised at his lack of further questions – customers usually have a million, especially the new ones – Shiro forgets for a moment, and stammers, “Uh – five silver, please.”
The man’s brow creases. “Five silver? The alchemist in the Daibazaal Peaks charges twice that, easily.”
Shiro eyes him, his right shoulder prickling with phantom memory. “You’re from Daibazaal?”
The man sighs, and counts out some coins from his purse, setting them down on the counter. Eight silver and a Daibazaal copper piece. “I’m not going to rob your shop and burn it down, if that’s what you’re worried about. Keep the change. You seem like less of a charlatan than that alchemist, anyway.”
And with that, he leaves. Shiro stares stupidly at the money. Stella leaps from the windowsill and onto the counter, mewing at the coins and batting the copper with her paw. I like him.
“Don’t start,” Shiro warns.
*
The man returns not a week later. “Hello,” Shiro says, a bit warily. “Any luck with the potion from last time?”
“Oh, yes,” the man sighs. He doesn’t exactly sound happy about it. “Worked great. That’s why I’m back. I need another one.”
Shiro pauses. “Another love potion…?”
The man makes a sort of I guess so gesture towards the shelves.
“Very well.” Shiro’s not here to judge, even though he’s still having difficulty feeling anything positive towards this man’s mysterious lover. Lovers? “Same as the last one, or…?”
“What others do you have?”
Shiro nods to the shelf where the original potion is. “They’re organized mainly by function, so they’re all there, more or less. If you’re looking for something, er, different, the polymorph one could be interesting.”
The man makes a beeline for it. “Polymorph? As in, it can change you into different people?”
“Or different things,” Shiro says. “Some people are into…” He clears his throat. “Interesting stuff.”
“What does this one do?” The man holds up one of the polymorph bottles, a yellow one with little glass cat ears. Stella, who is curled up in her favorite hiding place atop the bookshelf, lifts her head with a disgruntled sneeze.
“Uh,” Shiro says, “it can make people half-cat, sort of. The love potion part comes in because it’s supposedly a very attractive cat. For people who are into that. You...would be surprised how many people are into that.”
Stella stares at him with disdain from the bookshelf. I rue the day I taught you that potion.
“Perfect,” the man says with feeling. “How much? Don’t say five silver.”
Shiro throws up his hands. “Ten silver, fine.”
“Good.” The man grins and sets the bottle down on the counter, fumbling with his purse to count out the coins.
As he does, Shiro dares to ask, “How are the Daibazaal Peaks lately?”
The man glances up. “Huh? Oh – they’re...fine.” He eyes Shiro uncertainly. “I...don’t think I ever introduced myself. I’m Keith. Originally of Marmora, not Daibazaal.”
Shiro’s brows lift. Marmora has an even more questionable reputation than Daibazaal, as a land of wild warriors. Who is this man? “It’s a pleasure, Keith of Marmora,” Shiro replies. “I’m Takashi Shirogane, of here, but most people call me Shiro.”
“Hmm.” Keith inclines his head and pushes the coins towards Shiro. “Until next time then, Shiro.”
After Keith leaves, Shiro shakes his head. “A damn cat,” he sighs.
Stella doesn’t even justify that with a reply.
*
Keith returns three weeks later. It’s been so long that Shiro almost expected to never see him again. “How was the polymorph potion?” Shiro asks.
Keith grunts. Again, he looks more irritated than pleased when he replies, “Yeah, it worked. A little too well.”
Disgusting, Stella remarks, stretching and hopping down from her perch to slink around the back, still out of sight.
“Ah.” Shiro doesn’t want to know. Except he kind of does. No, nope, not thinking about Keith with cat ears. “Looking for something else, again?”
Keith nods. “Maybe some kind of sleeping draught...and one of the first love potions I got, too.”
Shiro clears his throat. “A sleeping draught? I’m not sure I can –”
Keith looks horrified. “What? Oh, no, shit, that’s not…” He stops and clears his throat. “He’s just weird, and a kinky bastard, but he’s not a creep.”
He, Shiro thinks, heart stumbling. The crush he thought he’d forgotten comes galloping back. “Oh,” Shiro says. He pretends to consider it, then points out the sleeping draughts, recommending one of the lighter ones, and relieved when Keith nods and takes it without an argument. He’s not sure why he trusts Keith, but he does. When Keith again ignores the price Shiro suggests and adds a couple extra copper, he isn’t going to comment, but as Keith is leaving, he calls, “Thank you. You’re very generous.”
Keith turns, confused, and offers him a little wave of acknowledgement before closing the door behind him.
*
Keith returns many more times over the next several months for increasingly wild potions and charms, including but not limited to more polymorphs, a shrinking potion, a charm that attracts an illusory form of succubi in one’s dreams, many stamina draughts, several assorted enlargement and sensitivity charms and potions, a variety of mild aphrodisiacs...and a charm that wards off venereal diseases – less fun, but when Shiro quietly recommends it, Keith goes red and accepts it without protest. Stella finds the whole ordeal hilarious.
Probably, all of these wild purchases should make him less attractive to Shiro, but instead the opposite happens. Keith becomes more and more kind and genuine with each visit, and he always listens carefully to Shiro’s recommendations and warnings, always thanks him, and always gives a little extra even though Shiro knows he’s not a wealthy man. His cloak is a bit threadbare, his pants have some well-hidden patches, but he’s always generous.
Besides, Stella likes him. She usually keeps herself well out of the customers’ reach – she doesn’t like to be pawed at by strangers – but one day, she hops down from behind the counter to weave between Keith’s ankles with a purr as he’s perusing the stamina draughts section.
“Oh!” Keith exclaims, peering down at her cautiously. Shiro freezes behind the counter. “Aren’t you pretty?” he murmurs, and glances up at Shiro. “Can I pet it?”
“Why don’t you ask her that?” Shiro replies, only a little strangled.
Keith’s eyes widen, and he hesitantly reaches out. “May I?” Stella doesn’t move, ears tilting forward. Shiro braces himself for Stella to take a swipe at Keith, to bite at his fingers or else run off with a hiss, but to his disbelief she accepts the pet with a loud, content purr, rubbing against his palm for more.
“Aw,” Keith says, kneeling down to pet her properly. “She’s so sweet. What’s her name?”
“Stella,” Shiro says. “She’s my familiar.”
Stella yawns, exposing her sharp canines, and Keith withdraws his hand. “Oh,” he says. “So she’s...um…”
“A daemon, yes,” Shiro sighs. “She normally avoids customers.”
“I guess I’m special,” Keith jokes, and gasps in delight when Stella licks his palm. “She seems like a very nice daemon. A nice familiar for a nice alchemist.”
“And charmweaver,” Shiro adds faintly.
“A man of many talents,” Keith replies, his tone light, but after he leaves, Stella hops back up and pins Shiro with a knowing stare.
“Oh, what?”
He was flirting with you.
“He was not,” Shiro snaps. “Don’t set me up for heartbreak, you fiend.”
She sniffs. Bet you ten silver I’m right.
She’s usually right, but Shiro refuses to believe it.
*
Sometimes, they talk about the potion seller in Daibazaal, and Shiro learns that he’s a greedy man who cares little for his customers’ welfare – only in it for the coin. “Thank you for not being like that,” Keith tells him. “You have such a good reputation in the villages near here, and I wasn’t sure at first, but it’s well-earned. They’re lucky to have a charmweaver and alchemist like you, Shiro.”
Flirting, again, Stella unhelpfully says from the window.
Shiro turns pink and hands him his newest purchase, two stamina draughts and a hair lengthener – he’s not going to ask. “I do what I can,” he murmurs. “And I’m sorry there are people like the alchemist in Daibazaal who give the rest of us a bad name. Magic shouldn’t be used to take advantage of people like that – I just hope it backfires on him, someday.”
Keith’s eyes glint. “Does magic work like that?”
Shiro shrugs. “Maybe. I’m of the mind that if you use it for bad long enough, it always comes back to bite you somehow. Maybe in a small way. Maybe in a big way. But it can’t be used as you would use a sword or a plow or some other tool. It needs to have a purpose, and when that purpose is corrupt, it becomes more volatile.”
Keith considers this, and slowly, his gaze drifts to Shiro’s right arm. Usually, Shiro wears gloves and long sleeves, but it’s a warm day and his shirtsleeves are rolled up. “Did you ever use magic for something corrupt?”
Shiro follows his gaze. “Ah, no. That would be a witch from Daibazaal. An unhappy customer, you might say.”
Keith’s eyes widen and for the first time, anger flickers across his face. “A customer did that to you?” he demands. “What happened to them? Are they still out there?”
Shiro clears his throat and hands Keith the bag with his potions. “No, she was driven out of these lands by some helpful paladins, thankfully. Anyway, that was a long time ago, and I have no complaints with the replacement.” He curls his fingers, silvery and just barely translucent. “A gift from a powerful Altean witch friend.” He pauses, and adds, “But no, my magic is not of that sort. You might have guessed from the fact that I live in the middle of the forest that I use nature magic – I draw power from the trees, mainly. And then I release their power back into the world with these potions and charms. It’s an endless cycle.”
Keith leans forward. “Do you do other magic – other than the potions and charms, I mean? Like, spells?”
Stella rises from the windowsill and stretches. Oh, yes, impress him.
Shiro mentally glares at her, but stretches out his hand, and says a soft incantation. In his left palm, a small fern unfurls with a single red flower. Keith gasps in surprise. “An illusion?”
“No, it’s quite real,” Shiro assures, and gently sets the fern into Keith’s cupped palm with a smile as Keith gasps again, childish wonder transforming his usually grim, subdued face into a much younger, much softer one. “Most of what I can do is like that. I can heal, too – many of these are healing potions, and that’s mainly what the locals come here for.”
“This is incredible,” Keith whispers, turning the fern over delicately in his hands, examining it from every angle.
He is impressed, Stella remarks proudly. Shiro ignores her, but his face is warm.
“I just didn’t know magic could be used for such things,” Keith admits, almost shyly.
Shiro huffs. “What, you thought it was only for violence, trickery, or sex?”
Keith’s ears burn red. “I – no! Not...um.” He ducks his head. “Sorry. Just not many like you in Daibazaal, or Marmora, for that matter. Well, there are a few good healers. But that’s just because we need them.” He grits his teeth in the vague approximation of a smile, and Shiro winces. The Marmorans and the most powerful Daibazaal tribe, the Galra, have been warring for decades now. It’s likely Keith has fought with them, too.
“Well,” Shiro says, aiming for a lighter tone, “you have a good healer here now, too.”
He expects Keith to laugh it off, but instead he gives Shiro a solemn nod and says, “I’ll remember that.”
Uh-oh, Stella says.
*
A fortnight later, Keith stumbles into his shop as he’s closing up – there’s a thunderstorm outside, and though his shop is thoroughly warded against all manner of danger including bad weather, Shiro doubts he’s going to be getting many customers in the downpour.
Stella yowls in surprise as the door is thrown open with a resounding bang and runs to Shiro, who’s in the back pantry. Come quick! she cries. Your favorite customer is hurt!
“My – what?” Shiro abandons the jar of toad warts to run after his frantic familiar, who is hovering anxiously around Keith. The warrior has fallen to the floor, slumped over on his knees, breathing raggedly. “Keith?” Shiro exclaims, hastily kneeling down before him and touching his shoulder, only for his hand to come away wet with dark blood. “Oh – oh, Keith, what happened to you?”
Keith coughs, strands of soaking hair hanging into his eyes, but with effort he lifts his head, expression pained. “Galra axe,” he grunts. “I think – it hit something important. It won’t stop bleeding…”
“Alright, come on, I’ve got you,” Shiro whispers, helping him up with an arm around his waist – the silver one, for it’s stronger than the other, and can hold Keith fast even as he stumbles through the shop and into Shiro’s living space, where he keeps the cot for the sick and injured. He guides Keith down onto it, and in a brief flash of lightning sees just how bad the damage is – it’s deep, looks like it’s taken a chunk out of Keith’s shoulder.
He sucks in a sharp breath and Keith coughs again, his brows knitting together. “Can you help?” he rasps.
Dazed, Shiro nods. “Yes. Yes, stay here – I’ll be right back. Stella will stay with you; tell her if you need me.”
Keith nods slowly, and Shiro sprints to his healing potions. He mixes together a concoction that will help as much as he possibly can – the wound will still scar, and if it’s gotten infected, there’s only so much Shiro can do, but hopefully this will be enough. When he returns to Keith’s cot, the warrior is shivering, eyes fixed blearily on the ceiling, chest rising and falling in laborious pulls of breath. “Shiro,” he murmurs as Shiro kneels down and lifts the bowl to his lips. “Mm...this is the potion?”
“Yes,” Shiro whispers, smoothing Keith’s hair out of his face and helping him lift his head enough to drink the pale blue broth. Some patients complain about the taste or even refuse to drink it, but Keith does neither. He closes his eyes and dutifully drinks the entire bowl, and as soon as it’s drained, he slumps back onto the cot and sinks into a dead sleep.
Shiro lingers beside him for a long, agonizing moment. Stella climbs up onto Keith’s cot to settle on the blanket over his legs, and begins to purr, cracking open her eyes to look at Shiro. Do not fret. I will watch over him. Finish your duties – all you can do now is let your magic work, and let him heal.
Shiro knows she’s right, but even still, it’s a relief when he finishes tidying up the shop and making a hasty supper to return to his room and to Keith. The warrior still sleeps, and Shiro sets about making him more comfortable, unbuckling his belt with its sheathed blades – blades Shiro is sure are bloodied – and gingerly removing his coat, then cutting away his already ruined tunic where the fabric is slashed through.
He methodically packs the wound with herbs, smooths on some freshly-made poultices for good measure, and bandages it all up. He wipes the blood from Keith’s skin with a damp cloth that he has to keep wringing out. Only when Keith looks genuinely peaceful does Shiro allow himself to ready himself for bed.
It’s a fitful sleep, and when he wakes at dawn, Keith is also stirring with a low groan. Shiro all but leaps out of bed to attend to him, and Keith blinks at him in bewilderment before smiling. “So I did reach you in time,” he murmurs. “Wasn’t sure if I would.”
Shiro’s breath hitches. “That Galran really did a number on you.”
Keith closes his eyes with a snort. “You should see him.”
Shiro clears his throat. “Is he…?”
“Chopped his head off,” Keith replies. “Harder than it sounds, honestly.”
“Oh,” Shiro says, faint. “Right. That’s...rather beyond my healing abilities.”
“Yes. Unless you’re a necromancer.” Keith squints up at him. “I don’t know what you did, but it doesn’t even hurt.”
“It will, as it starts healing properly,” Shiro says. “But for now, yes, I’ve given you some painkillers.”
Keith sighs, closes his eyes again. “Good. That’s good. Thank you, Shiro.”
He sleeps for a while after that, and Shiro has to go back to work, but he checks in on Keith from time to time, and brings him soup and more potions for lunch. Keith keeps it all down, always a good sign.
That night, when Shiro gives him stew and one more potion, Keith mumbles around his spoon, “How much do I owe you?”
Shiro pauses, his own spoon halfway to his mouth. He sets it down. “You don’t owe me for this,” he says. “Free of charge.”
Keith frowns. “No, that’s not right. Surely these ingredients must have been costly, I –”
“Keith,” Shiro says, firmer, “don’t worry about the payment. This isn’t work. It’s helping a friend. You can pay me by not dying, how about that?”
Keith sits up with effort, and tilts his head. “A friend, huh?”
Shiro eats his stew to avoid answering that.
“I think I can manage not dying,” Keith says, sinking back down to the cot. “But I’m paying you extra for the next potion.”
Shiro sighs. “You always do.”
Keith’s lips quirk. “I do, don’t I?”
FLIRTING, Stella says, and steals a chunk of venison from Shiro’s stew.
*
Keith heals within the week, and Shiro doesn’t want him to go, has no idea when he’ll be back again, but forgets to be sad about it when Keith hugs him at the door, the swift, bruising sort of squeeze two warriors might give each other. Shiro is not a warrior, and squeaks in surprise. Keith chuckles and steps away. “You’re a good man, Takashi Shirogane,” he declares, and walks off into the forest.
Flirting, Stella sighs from the porch. She’s clearly given up on them.
*
At least, Shiro thinks she’s given up, but he should really know better, because the next time Keith comes looking for a specific kind of potion that Shiro knows he had in stock and yet he can’t find a single bottle, nor a single shred of purpellium, the key ingredient...he knows Stella has been up to no good.
Oh, those bottles? Stella asks with a nonchalant tail flick. I haven’t the slightest idea.
Sometimes, despite their mostly good nature, daemons do use their vast powers for evil.
Especially evil, because this potion is the most powerful aphrodisiac Shiro has in stock. It’s marketed as an all-in-one kind of deal, because it has properties of standard love potions, aphrodisiacs, and stamina draughts, but mostly, it’s an aphrodisiac derived from the lichen-esque plant purpellium. And purpellium is ridiculously difficult to find.
When Shiro expresses this, Keith offers to help him go searching for it. If Shiro were thinking straight, he would have said no, but Keith is as beautiful as ever, and it’s the first time since he was injured that Shiro has seen him, and, well, fine, he missed Keith, alright? He’s not opposed to the idea of strolling through the forest with him, even if that stroll is to find one of Shiro’s least favorite plants.
It goes well, for the first hour. Shiro keeps his spirits up, and he and Keith fall into an easy banter about their respective, very different lives. Shiro regales him with tales of the recent gathering of alchemists, where he met with his dearest witch friend, Allura. They came up with prototypes for a new right arm, not because there was anything wrong with this one, but just to spice things up.
Keith tells Shiro all about the skirmishes in Daibazaal with the Galra and promises he’s been keeping out of trouble, because though his shoulder is healed, it’s still a bit sore. He visited his family in Marmora, and tells Shiro all about his mother, a great warrior of his tribe. Shiro is cheered by the fact that he mentions no lovers at all, then grows worried about this, for what if such things really mean nothing to Keith, despite their frequency? Shiro tries to distract himself from these thoughts, but after the second hour, this doesn’t go very well.
“I’m starting to think purpellium doesn’t exist,” Keith admits, peering at the base of the thousandth oak tree they’ve passed.
Shiro heaves a sigh, glancing to and fro. He recognizes this part of the forest, though it’s much deeper than he meant to go. The trees are older, and though the forest doesn’t frighten him as it does for many travelers, this is a place of great, ancient powers. “It should be somewhere around here…”
“What are we looking for, exactly? Some kind of moss?”
“Lichen, technically,” Shiro says. Keith gives him a look. “What? You asked. Ironically, it’s hard to miss, it’s bright purple. And it smells sort of like lavender, but don’t get too close.”
Keith frowns. “Why not? Is it poisonous?”
“Not...exactly.” Shiro clears his throat. “It’s the aphrodisiac component of the potion. It’s very potent – oh, shit!”
One second, they’re both standing on a perfectly normal looking hill; the next, the earth beneath them gives way and they’re tumbling head over heels down the steep slope, loose dirt and rocks and roots making their descent impossible to stop, until they both come to a stop at the bottom, gasping. “Ow,” Keith groans, sitting up and rubbing his head ruefully, and then his eyes widen. “Um...Shiro? I think we found the missing potion ingredient.”
With mounting horror, Shiro sits up and stares at their surroundings. They’re lying in the middle of a patch of purpellium, and he can already see the spores drifting up with deceptive serenity through the air all around them. “Oh, no,” Shiro croaks, “Keith, listen, we need to cover our faces and get out of here as fast...as...possible…”
Keith blinks at him, unfocused, pupils slowly dilating as he inhales. Shiro wants to smack him, but his limbs won’t obey. “What?” Keith asks, shifting closer to him, brow furrowed. “Why…?”
“It’s an aphrodisiac, the most powerful natural one there is,” Shiro manages, each word an incredible effort to form. “In small amounts, it’s manageable, but like this –”
“Oh,” Keith whispers, soft, almost awed. He doesn’t sound upset. He starts crawling towards Shiro again. “I feel warm. Do you feel warm?”
“Keith,” Shiro says miserably, “we – we should leave – remember, the love potion, for – for your lover –”
Keith peers at him. “Huh? I don’t have a lover.” He hums, a strange croon low in his throat. “Not yet…”
“Keith, wait – !” Shiro yelps as Keith reaches for him, grabbing a fistful of his coat and knocking them both off-balance, until they’re laying in the purple lichen, the scent of concentrated lavender heavy and hazy between them. Keith is on top of him, and he’s not moving. He’s staring down at Shiro, sort of cross-eyed. “What...what was I saying?” Shiro whispers. It’s hard to think; his thoughts are slow as syrup and the warmth in his flushed face is spreading, building everywhere he and Keith touch.
“I don’t know,” Keith breathes, gaze darting between Shiro’s eyes and his lips. “But I know I wanna kiss you – I need to kiss you. Can I kiss you?”
“Fuck,” Shiro says simply, and Keith takes that for the resounding yes that it is and presses his lips to Shiro’s with a kiss that stays chaste for about a second before Keith shoves his tongue down Shiro’s throat with a muffled moan.
After that, the warmth very quickly tips over into thick heat, and Shiro groans, grasping blindly at Keith’s clothes, his right arm glowing with insistent power until he rips Keith’s tunic clean off, leaving it gaping open in the front. Keith pulls away for a shocked moment to marvel at this before diving back in to kiss Shiro with renewed enthusiasm. Shiro makes a mental note that Keith likes stupid displays of strength. Or maybe not so stupid, if Keith likes it. Keith isn’t stupid. Keith is so good. Shiro wants to lick every inch of his body.
“Please,” Keith gasps, shoving Shiro’s coat from his shoulders and unlacing his tunic, then giving up halfway and just pulling all the lacing out. Shiro can’t complain – once they’re skin to skin, chest to chest, everything is so much more, and he can do nothing but hold Keith to him, palms sliding down the flexing curve of his back, scarred muscle rippling under his fingertips as Keith grinds down on him and oh, yes, that’s Keith’s dick, Shiro needs to suck Keith’s dick immediately.
Keith is begging again, and Shiro thinks maybe he said that aloud, but also that for all his fighting prowess it really didn’t take long for Keith to beg, and that’s an interesting thought, and maybe an even more interesting thought is that HE’S TAKING OFF KEITH’S PANTS AND THEY’RE BOTH HIGH OFF OF PLANT SEX PHEROMONES –
That last remaining line of logical thought is immediately and spectacularly crushed by the sight of Keith’s dick, and of Keith spread out under him – when did that happen? – with his pants around his ankles, his squirming only serving to send more spores into the air. His cock curves up hard and red and needy, and Shiro’s own cock pulses desperately, but his first priority is getting his mouth on Keith, so that’s exactly what he does.
Keith’s shout echoes through the trees, and Shiro is glad they’re so deep in the forest that no one could possibly find them – mostly because he doesn’t want anyone else to see Keith like this. Greedy, leaning into the sharp possessive shiver that Keith’s sounds of pleasure ignite, Shiro sinks down further, licking Keith’s cock until it’s wet and sloppy, his eyes falling half-shut in pleasure when Keith’s frantic pleas and curses grow louder and louder and his cock swells against Shiro’s tongue, thick and hot and dripping down his throat.
Shiro inhales the heady scent of Keith’s skin, nose buried in dark hair and still trying to get closer to him, groaning in frustration as his throat works around the tip of Keith’s cock, lips stretched wide and jaw aching. He doesn’t care; he needs more, more of Keith, only Keith –
Keith grabs at his hair, trying to lift him off, but Shiro just sucks harder, moaning as Keith pulls his hair urgently before he whines and comes in a hot rush. Shiro licks it up, pulling off just in time for the last of it to splatter over his chin, and drawing his fingers through the mess in delight. Distantly, he thinks this should be disgusting, but it’s Keith! He could never be disgusting, and though the kiss that follows is filthy, Shiro certainly doesn’t feel disgusted. No, he feels horny beyond belief, and when Keith grabs his ass so Shiro can rut against his thigh, his softening cock twitching back into arousal within seconds, he decides to take matters into his own hands.
He yanks off Keith’s pants the rest of the way, gripping his thighs and spreading them wide. Keith arches under him as Shiro unlaces his pants and draws out his cock, pressing forward until it slides over Keith’s ass. Keith hisses impatiently. “C’mon, c’mon –”
Shiro growls, a deep, simmering frustration bubbling up within him. It’s been months, months of wanting this, of wanting Keith, of thinking that someone else already has him like this, but now that he’s got Keith right where he wants him, he’s not gonna let him go.
The vines burst from the earth below them at Shiro’s muttered incantation in prehensile emerald ropes, and Keith yelps, jerked out of his stupor as they wrap around his wrists, his ankles, squeezing once before flipping Keith onto his front with sinuous strength. The spell takes effort to keep up, but it’s worth it for the way Keith groans and bucks against his bonds, panting as Shiro whispers another spell and presses his now-slick fingers to Keith’s hole. He pauses, though, fitting himself along Keith’s back and brushing a kiss against his neck, along the pink scar tissue along his shoulder. “You want this?” he whispers. “Want me filling you up, using you, making you mine?”
Keith shudders violently, nodding and hiccuping on a wretched gasp of yes, yes, and he gasps louder, already wrecked, when Shiro presses two fingers inside him and directs the vines to curl around Keith’s cock, jerking him off in slow, teasing pulls. Keith’s noises increase in volume as Shiro finds his prostate, and with a hum, Shiro tells the vines to wrap around his neck where’s it’s pressed to the spongy earth beneath them.
They remain loose and hesitant at first, but when Keith feels them and groans, “Please, tighter, you can – I want –” Shiro gladly obliges him, and the vines coil around his throat in a tender squeeze. Keith’s breathing grows ragged, eyes rolling back as Shiro continues to fuck him with his fingers, and then, on a stroke of genius, one of the thinnest of the vines. It nudges at Keith’s hole where Shiro’s fingers are already stretching it open, and Keith lets out a strangled curse, panting as another vine coils around his neck. “Please,” Keith rasps, head hanging down, “Shiro, please –”
“Shhh, I’ve got you,” Shiro promises, and the vine pushes in, wriggling between Shiro’s fingers and plunging deeper than he can reach. Keith howls, writhing under him, the vines holding him fast, spreading his thighs wider so Shiro can add another finger.
“Fuck – fuck!” Keith cries out, cock spurting untouched onto the purpellium below, lifting his hips higher and shaking all over when Shiro doesn’t relent. The vines wind around him, binding his arms to his back and cradling his face against the ground, more vines winding around his legs, criss-crossing over his thighs in an intricate, beautiful prison.
Keith is trapped under him, immobile and without protest, drooling onto the vines and the blooming lichen, which he’s now inhaling almost directly from the source. His cock is hard again, leaking, and when Shiro wraps his right hand around it and lets the magic seep warmth into Keith’s skin, Keith whimpers, trying to thrust back against Shiro’s fingers and forward into his fist.
“Something you wanted?” Shiro coos, brushing Keith’s hair away from his red face. “Use your words.” The vines loosen and Keith gulps in lungfuls of air, his lashes fluttering.
“Fuck me,” Keith growls, his voice hoarse, his eyes dark and shining and desperate. “Need to feel you in me.”
Shiro’s smart retort dies on his tongue, and he nods hastily, pulling out his fingers and the vine in one smooth, wet pop, leaving Keith’s hole shiny and pink and waiting for him. Shiro doesn’t waste any time – doesn’t think he’s capable of patience anymore, honestly – and lines up his cock, guiding it in. Keith’s ass tightens around him, as if trying to suck him in, clenching so hard that Shiro has to stop halfway, groaning and biting down on Keith’s shoulder in a hapless attempt to calm himself before he comes, the sudden friction and heat too much after everything else.
Keith jolts in surprise as Shiro fills him, squirming in discontent only to moan again, happily and relieved, when Shiro stays hard and fucks deeper into him, through his own cum. Everything is already sticky and messy but Shiro doesn’t care, yanking Keith’s hips back until his cock is fully seated and Keith is trying his best to fuck himself back onto it, little punched out moans falling from his lips. This is obscene, Shiro thinks vaguely, but it’s a distant thought, an unimportant thought when Keith is moaning and milking his cock as he comes yet again, this time as two vines envelop his cock and tease at the slit, shocking Keith over the edge.
Shiro wraps his arms firmly around Keith, covering him with his body and thrusting hard and deep, driven on by the overpowering aroma of lavender and the heat of Keith’s body and the sound of his pleasure. There is nothing more important than this, right now. And when Keith lifts his head to kiss Shiro sloppy and open-mouthed, Shiro loses himself in it, stroking Keith’s hair and kissing him sweetly while pounding him raw and open, coming again, Keith’s body rippling from the force of it, his eyes closing as if to savor it.
It’s only after the third time he comes, when Keith has grown a little quieter, probably exhausted, that Shiro gets a flicker of clarity, startling away from the kiss as the world focuses around him in stark, shocking detail. He’s still hard, and Keith is still squirming back on his cock, but –
“Keith,” Shiro gasps, and Keith’s eyes blink open, confused. “I – I’m so sorry – the purpellium, I can’t – we’re not thinking straight.”
Keith lets out a soft, plaintive keen as Shiro starts to pull out, the vines quickly fleeing as Shiro releases the spell. “No,” he mumbles, “don’t go –”
“Keith, it’s the spores, you’re not – Keith!”
As soon as Shiro pulls out, he finds himself pushed, shoved onto his back by an indignant Keith, who then straddles his hips and sinks right back down on his cock with a satisfied, almost smug sigh. “Good,” Keith rumbles, staring down at him, wrapping a hand around his own cock like an afterthought. He’s soaked in sweat and splattered in cum and the sticky juices of the vines.
Shiro makes a sound that’s both miserable and helplessly aroused. “Keith, wait – you don’t want this –”
“What?!” Keith stops, Shiro’s cock buried fully in him, and his eyes narrow. Shiro’s breath hitches as Keith leans forward, rocking on his cock at a new, dizzying angle, Keith’s muscled abdomen flexing with powerful grace. “You don’t think I’ve wanted this for months?”
Shiro gawks at him, mouth hanging open. “But – but the love potions – the charms –”
Keith looks at him incredulously. Then, absurdly, he doubles over, laughing in between moans, shaking his head. “Oh – oh, fuck. Those weren’t – Shiro, those weren’t for me. All this time, you thought –”
Shiro splutters. “Then – then who – why were you –”
Keith lifts his head, grinning and still giggling hysterically. “It was – I lost a bet,” he explains breathlessly, “and my friend, he’s always – he’s a bard, you know, he gets around, and he made me go to your shop to buy him stuff, and he just kept wanting weirder shit – oh, gods, we’re such fools.”
Shiro stares at him. “So you don’t have a lover,” he says, slowly.
Keith pauses. His eyes darken. “No...but there is someone I’ve had my eye on.”
Shiro huffs, lifting his hands to curl around Keith’s waist, holding him there as Keith’s smirk widens. “Would it happen to be the someone whose cock you’re sitting on, or…?”
Keith rolls his eyes, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “How did you guess?”
“Because he might feel the same,” Shiro whispers, giddy and glowing with warmth, and this time it has nothing to do with a poorly-placed purpellium patch. “In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s felt the same since he first saw you.”
Keith blushes, then dives down to take Shiro’s face between his hands and kiss him hard. “I don’t think I’m gonna need that love potion after all,” he whispers. “I’ve already got exactly what I wanted right here.”
Shiro’s mouth twitches. “I might still require some compensation for my services…”
“Oh, I’ll give you compensation,” Keith warns, rolling his hips until the smile falls right off of Shiro’s face. “That vine trick of yours was fun...wonder if it works on you, too?” He raises an eyebrow and Shiro’s heart skips a beat.
“Is this the purpellium talking, or you?” Shiro manages.
Keith leans down, hair falling into his face, teeth bared in a wicked grin. “Trust me, I can be plenty creative all by myself, though this stuff,” he gestures to the spores starting to drift into the air anew, “is helpful. And...I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t imagined you tied up before.”
“Hah – noted,” Shiro ekes out. “We – we have until sunset before the purpellium stops blooming…” As he says it, he summons the vines again, and this time they creep up from the earth below him, binding his own wrists and ankles as Keith looks on approvingly. The late afternoon sunshine casts their little clearing in warm gold, and Shiro hums in invitation as Keith leans over him, hands braced on his chest, moving again, slow and languid.
“Oh,” Keith murmurs, eyes glinting with mischief and a fondness that makes Shiro feel even warmer than the sunshine, “I think we’ll have much longer than that.”