Keith has been gone for too long. He's listened, counted the clacking steps of drone patrols to measure the passage of time. Any match they'd throw his relatively unknown mate into should be over by now. Is Keith..is he? He smells blood, his own blood. Shiro looks down to where his nails are digging bloody crescents into his palms. He forces his fist to unclench. Keith has to be okay. He has too. He can't have lost the thing he cares most for in this universe. If he'd just died in his first fight, none of this would have ever happened. His mate would still be safe back on earth. Lonely but safe, instead of-instead of..

The door to the cell screeches open. He looks up, and Keith is being shoved into the cell. Shiro is there, checking him over for injuries, before the door slams shut again. There are none, not even the persistent sand from the arena floor that always seems to cling to the prison uniforms. He tilts Keith's chin up, something is off with his eyes. He can't tell what until he sniffs. Keith smells like alcohol.

"Where were you?" Shiro hisses. He hadn't been fighting. He didn't look traumatized enough for the druids. Where could he have possibly been that involved him drinking while Shiro was thinking he was dead.

Keith blinks at him slowly, "Nothing happened," Keith says, tone subdued. No defensive anger to match Shiro's aggression, "Can we go sit down?" Keith sways unsteadily in his hands. He's drunk. He's not angry enough and he's drunk. Why is he just? Shiro lets out a frustrated growl. Pulling Keith under one of his arms and guiding him back to their corner.

Keith all but collapses to the floor. Shiro sits beside him, pinning the smaller alpha between the wall and his own mass. He still wants answers, but he wants the other prisoners to be able to get close to his mate in this state even less. Keith leans his head against Shiro's shoulder. Something familiar tickles his nose. Shiro presses his nose to Keith's hair and breathes deep. The smells of unfamiliar alcohol and Keith are strong, but under that, fainter is, "Why do you smell like Lotor?" Shiro growls.

Keith shivers, "Nothing happened," Keith repeats quietly, then after a pause, "He wanted to talk." Lotor wanted to talk to Keith? Why? A thought, passing, but the last time Lotor had been near Keith…

"What did he do?" He will find a way to kill the Prince.

Keith's fingers interlace with his own pulling up the hand closest to him and kisses the knuckles, "Nothing, dinner and drinks, that's all." He could be telling the truth, he doesn't smell more no matter how deeps he breathes, but there are lots of ways to get rid of scents.

"Lotor doesn't pull prisoners from the cells for no reason." Shiro whispers, someone has probably already overheard the topic of their conversation, but he doesn't need to make it easy for them. Keith sighs. It takes him a moment to realize that he's not going to answer him, "Keith." Shiro jostles him.

Keith lifts his head and blinks at him owlishly, "I'm tired," He says.

"Answer my question," He needs to know what the Prince wanted with his mate. Why he got him drunk and then sent him back to his cell. What if anything happened.

"Nothing happened," Shiro snarls at hearing that line again, it was never reassuring, less so the more it's repeated, "I'm going to sleep," Keith says, laying his head back on Shiro's shoulder.

"Keith, Keith!" Keith refuses to speak to him further, no matter how many times he hisses his name. Shiro is left with a sleeping mate pressed against his side and no answers.

.

The Castle comes for them early the next day.

End Note:

I'll let ya'll guess what happened, before I give any answers. This is the end of Cornered.