Chapter Text
The good thing about being the plus one at Keith's holiday work party was that it was an open bar.
The bad thing was that the open bar was the only thing keeping him from ripping the hand right off Keith's coworker.
He might even keep it to mount above the fireplace - it can't weird Keith out any more than the teeth had.
Shiro takes another long sip of his whiskey, trying to activate the laser vision he always wanted in an effort to burn the hand right off that weasel-faced pretty boy.
It doesn't work – yet.
But he has another few hours to try, and after that... who knows what will happen.
His glittery list is burning a hole in his wallet, just begging for him to rip it out and write 'Ugly Coworker' on there, just above that avocado stealing hag - and with one fewer question mark next to his name.
Keith glances over from his conversation, raising an eyebrow at Shiro's expression, and he quickly schools his face into polite interest in the décor.
It wouldn't do to arouse suspicion this early after all.
Keith rolls his eyes and Shiro knows he's busted.
To be fair, when Keith had stepped away to use the restroom he had said he would be right back in just a minute, so Shiro is fairly sure he has the right to sulk.
But that was before the pointy-chinned menace intercepted him on the way back, smiling and laughing... like he thinks he knows Keith. Keith hasn't spoken of this coworker at all to his knowledge, which means that they can't be friends. It makes the hand that reaches out to touch Keith's bicep at every joke all the more unbearable.
Shiro is surprised he hasn't ground his teeth into stumps watching it.
Even worse is that Keith doesn't mind! He doesn't even have his usual resting bitchface armor on, due to the first two drinks of the night. The interloper had the good sense to strike when Keith's internal social mechanism had been lubricated.
The glass creaks a bit in his grip at the thought – he is the only one allowed to lubricate Keith, socially or otherwise.
He swirls the glass once to pass the creaking off as intentional.
It would be so easy to remove this smarmy Casanova from the equation, not particularly large by any stretch of the imagination... he's fit much bigger people in the bathtub at home. Now that he's been introduced to everyone as Keith's husband it would be nothing to figure out his route home and happen to break down on the way.
Oh gee, you're Keith's coworker right? Oh thank you so much, you're a life saver! Oh, home? No, I was going to the park. Text Keith? No need, it's actually a surprise for him. Yes, I just love him so much. Oh, you're too kind, I just have the worst luck... Could you help me set up this tarp? The corners always get away from my prosthetic.
Keith catches his eye again, this time his brows are furrowed as he flicks a look between Shiro and his coworker before shaking his head once.
Killjoy.
Shiro switches gears, dropping the empty whiskey glass on the bar and ordering a glass of Chardonnay from the bartender. If Keith won't let him have his way then he'll have to play a gentleman's game.
Like finding out which car this guy drives and poking pinholes in his tires to drive him insane with a reoccurring slow leak.
Or sneaking to his house in the dead of night and reseeding one square foot of his lawn with crab grass until it invades the whole thing.
Or leaving raw meat outside his windows for both maximum smell and wildlife invasion.
Enjoy the possums, asshole.
Handsy gets distracted for a moment by someone calling over his shoulder and Keith gracefully slips away.
Shiro sips his wine and pointedly watches the sway of his husband's hips as he draws closer.
Hoisting himself up onto the barstool, Keith turns to him and sticks his hand out expectantly. He gets an innocent look for his trouble.
“Come on, let's see it.” Keith gives him a flat look as he makes no move to comply. “I saw your murder face, Darling.”
He sighs and leans forward, pulling out his wallet and flashing the list, grateful he had restrained himself from adding 'Mr. Manscaping' to it. It almost offensive how high Keith's eyebrows raise at the lack of additional names.
“Aww, I'm proud of you!” Keith beams at him and reaches out to caress his cheek, as if not adding Captain Hair Gel to the list would keep him safe.
But... Keith is happy, so he supposes he can let it go this once.
“Awfully touchy, wasn't he?”
Or not.
Keith has the nerve to laugh.
“Oh, don't mind James, he's just drunk and swaying enough to touch everyone he's talking to.”
Shiro narrows his eyes and scans the crowd for his Definitely Not Competition. The man in question, is in fact now leaning unsteadily on another man, chattering up into a stoic face with a hand on the man's chest.
Keith follows his line of sight and shoots Shiro a sly smirk.
“That's his husband.”
Oh.
“Well.” Shiro clears his throat and takes another sip of wine. “I figured he was married.”
Keith hums knowingly back at him and pats his hand on the bar.
“I know you did, Dear, I know you did.” He snags Shiro's glass off the bar and takes a sip, eyes laughing over the rim. “So don't slash his tires in the parking lot later.”
Shiro wrinkles his nose, maybe his husband knows him a bit too well...
“I would never.”
Keith stifles his smile as he hands the wine glass back, inclining his head in acknowledgment.
“Of course not.”
Shiro sniffs daintily before cracking his open eyes with a smirk.
“I'd much rather rub rancid butter on the windows of his house.”
The sound of Keith's laughter, head thrown back and unrestrained, is worth every glittery name.