Summary: Apparently the Galra hate a mixed race Galran even more than a traitorous Blade of Marmora. Keith just so happens to be both.
Timeline notes: Anywhere in season four - five when Keith is with the Blades
Warning notes: Whipping
Additional notes: For Tumblr follower kiriban event with prompt: Gonna request Keith for the whipping square. :-)
Salted Tears
Keith sucked in a harsh breath, interlocked fingers tightening against one another as the whip sank into his back.
Don't scream.
Don't cry.
Don't give them the satisfaction.
It was the only thing he had to cling to.
Well, besides the post he was had been forced to kneel in front of, arms chained flush around its girth and restraints pinning his ankles to the ground behind him.
He wasn't going anywhere.
He vaguely wondered if he was going to die here.
The whip cracked and Keith hated how he tensed.
Sixteen.
He counted the number as he bit down on his tongue to swallow the groan as it connected, digging into already bleeding, raw flesh.
He had no idea how many more there would be.
Probably…
Probably a lot.
"Who's next?" roared out the the Galran commander of the base Keith had been attempting to sneak in to on a Blade mission that had not gone anywhere close to planned. "Who wants a piece of this traitor halfbreed's flesh?"
A clamor arose from the gathered troops and Keith sensed more than saw a new soldier come up behind him.
There would be no shortage of volunteers.
Not for him.
It had been bad enough to be captured, some sort of failsafe programmed into the mainframe Keith had been accessing that had shocked him with such a heavy pulse he had fallen right then and there, unable to move or even speak even as the alarm had started and pounding feet had rushed the control room.
It was worse when they'd disabled his Marmora mask and gotten a glimpse of his features; peach skin and white ringed eyes and growls of 'halfbreed' and 'traitor' had started to sound.
Apparently the Galra hated a mixed race Galran more than they hated even a Blade of Marmora, for the initial plan had been to apparently just shoot him in the head and send his body off as a warning to the Blades had been forgone in favor of hauling him out by his hair and deciding they were going to "have some fun."
Keith supposed at least this way he had lived.
He knew it was only temporary.
Once they got tired of this game...
He closed his eyes.
Seventeen.
He wished he'd had a chance to say goodbye.
Eighteen.
He should have never left Voltron.
Nineteen.
He wished Shiro was here.
At twenty he couldn't quite choke back a cry.
It hurt.
"Oh ho, listen to that," chuckled the commander. "He does make noise." Keith could almost feel the sharp grin. "Now let's make him scream."
The lashes came faster then, sinking into raw flesh, striking high and low and leaving bloody welts and flayed skin behind.
At thirty-two Keith was sagging against the post, only the restraints keeping him upright.
At forty he had still not let out more than a groan or hiss.
His lip was a bloodied mess.
His back was even moreso.
Keith was grateful he couldn't see it.
No screaming.
No crying.
He would go out with his pride.
His resolve held until they dumped the salt water.
The scream ravaged his throat as fire exploded down his back, salt sinking into every wound, and he tossed his head back as though that could relieve the pain.
"I think this disgusting piece of halfbreed filth needs to be cleaned," the commander sneered.
Another barrel was dumped over him to the sound of cheering, a gushing torrent that flooded his mouth, his nose, stinging his eyes while his back wept blood and salty tears.
Keith couldn't breathe.
He could do nothing except choke and shake and wait for it to be over.
"Look at you. Pathetic."
A clawed hand descended into his hair, yanking Keith's head backwards until he was forced to look up at the commander above him.
Pained amethyst eyes met cruel yellow.
Keith spat out the water he hadn't yet coughed out.
It hit the Galran dead center between his eyes.
Keith grinned, a bloody thing.
The commander bellowed.
Those enraged eyes were the last thing he saw.
Author's Notes:
Mmm, ambiguous ending. Expect a few like that as given the whump prompts and my self-imposed length of 500 to 2k-ish words I can't devise a rescue for everyone. That'd get boring anyhow, yeah? ;p I for one imagine Keith has been rescued after getting knocked out (head to pole, maybe?) here.
(Also real quick, Battlefield is not a request fic thread. If you would like a fic of your own from me you can find details on my Tumblr on how to go about doing that, but this fic is for my own personal snippets/drabbles I'm inspired to write and a place to house all of the prompts from the Tumblr kiriban.)
Enjoying it? Please drop a comment below and give the author some love. I'd love to hear your overall impression, a part that jumped out, a piece of dialogue... the small details make my day!