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Breath leaves him as the guard slams him into the wall with enough force to rattle his teeth. Shiro chokes, throat pinned beneath a wide, clawed hand that only tightens as he struggles. His feet kick out, connecting with hard muscle that won’t give under the force.
“Pathetic,” the guard snarls, the word forced between fanged teeth like a curse. His knee connects with Shiro’s gut, forcing the last of the air out of his lungs in a cough. Head spinning, Shiro claws at the wrist holding him captive, blunt human nails doing little to deter the Galra. “This is the last time you will talk back.” The grip on his throat tightens and spots fill Shiro’s vision, blacking out the sneering face in front of him.
“Peltik.” A thundering voice comes from Shiro’s left and Peltik’s grip loosens, allowing Shiro to wheeze in a desperate breath. “Drop him.”
“Commander. He –”
“Drop him.”
Shiro collapses to his knees, coughing as he drags in harsh gasps of air. His throat burns and his eyes water but the spots dancing behind his eyelids fade. Before he can lift his head a foot connects with his side, knocking him flat. Saliva lands thick and wet on the back of his hand as Peltik spits on him, muttering something under his breath in Galran.
As he struggles back to his hands and knees, Sendak’s voice rises over that of the guard. “I said stand down, officer.”
“This one has been acting out since his last match. He thinks because he won he and his friends should get special treatment. I was only setting him straight.”
Sendak is unfazed. He continues as if Peltik hadn’t spoken. “When I give an order I expect obedience.”
Reluctant contrition shows on his face as Peltik bows his head. “Yes, Commander.”
“You do not question me,” Sendak insists. He takes a step forward and Peltik takes one back, leaving Shiro on his knees between both of them. He watches, every muscle tensed in anticipation of more violence. “Dismissed.”
Peltik turns on his heel and leaves. Despite his immediate relief, Shiro doesn’t dare relax. A furred hand cups his jaw, lifting his face so Sendak can see the defiance in his eyes. “You were lucky I happened by,” he says, thumb coming to rest on Shiro’s pulse.
Shiro catalogues the throbbing in his ribs and the tightness in his throat that, by tonight, will be bruised and puffy. There have been worse injuries upon his return from the arena. His lips press together; he stays silent.
“What,” Sendak says, dark amusement in the slant of his smile. “Have you run out of back talk?” Shiro glares, still unspeaking. The finger on his pulse shifts and the sharp point of a claw threatens against thin skin. “Say it.”
Shiro doesn’t, not until that claw presses in and blood warms a path down his throat, soaking into the brown of his shirt. “I was lucky.” His teeth are gritted so hard he fears one of them might chip.
Sendak’s organic eye narrows with pleasure. “And?” he prompts. Shiro’s eyes close but a none-too-gentle squeeze of his jaw has them opening again.
“Thank you,” he grits. Sendak laughs, shoving him back with enough force that Shiro hits the wall behind him with an audible thud.
“Remember my mercy the next time you consider disrespecting one of my men.”