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Shiro tries to eat the first three ornaments he finds, because of course he does.
Keith isn't sure why he thought his giant snakefriend wouldn't try to eat the unidentified bite sized objects, but he really should know better by now. Next time he's just going to put everything in a box that says 'Not Food' and hope that Shiro can read... or that he'll choose to read, since his snake is a petulant one when he wants to be.
And right now he wants to be.
“I'm sorry they hurt going down,” Keith sighs for the umpteenth time while trying very hard not to roll his eyes, “but they weren't for eating in the first place, so it's not my fault you ate them.”
“They were berry colored,” Shiro hisses from where he's curled up in a pouty knot, buried up to his eyes in coils of glimmering scales, “we eat berry colored things.”
Keith feels his lips press into a thin line and keeps his back turned as he hangs the replacement bulbs on the little tree in their room. He's determined to celebrate Yule this year. Mostly because he's thankful that the Blades built out the rickety headquarters in the months that they've been here, lending them both greater comfort and privacy – not to mention actual accommodations for Shiro's generous bulk. There's a small heated section of the floor stuffed with their shared bedding that keeps him from freezing at night – one of Ulaz's most impressive feats of engineering, helpfully brought to life by Kolivan's never ending manual labor. Really the entire place is starting to feel like a real home and not the ramshackle stopgap he'd been afraid of getting tetanus from when they'd first arrived.
It helps that he's got one more reason to stay here, now that his mother has returned from far afield. The whole thing between them is still a little bit awkward, but introductions to his snakefriend went about as well as he could have hoped. At least neither one of them tried to eat the other, though he noticed she's made a point to wear snakeskin boots for a good while after that. He's not sure if he should feel loved or insulted, but at least it's better than apathy.
Either way, the snake in questions has been awfully petulant lately, and if he's not careful Keith might end up with his own pair of shoes. Maybe he could tuck them beneath this little tree, now covered in his second attempt at decorating – which isn't quite as fine as the first attempt, but he's certainly not reaching into Shiro's dagger mouth and down his gullet for a few bits of broken glass.
“Maybe you should go get some stew then,” he suggests, hoping against the odds that Shiro will choose to abandon his cozy warm spot on the floor to slither down the hallway to eat. More often than not, Keith ends up bringing the food back for him, since the cold takes a lot of energy out of the naga. “If you're hungry you should eat.”
“I did eat.” Shiro grumbles, muffled by his own tail as the tip flicks back and forth like an agitated cat. “It just hurt.”
Keith doesn't argue with him, it's not worth it. Instead, he reaches into his box and pulls out a few salt dough ornaments, all dyed in festive colors. He can hear the soft scratch of scales as Shiro looms up behind him, suddenly finding keen interest in his efforts.
“What are those?”
“Still not food,” Keith grunts as he fiddles with the placement of one, trying to keep the bough from drooping under the weight of the ornament. “They're nearly all salt and hard as a rock.”
“We eat salt,” Shiro points out, forked tongue flicking in the air as he slithers up to set his chin on Keith's shoulder. “Don't we?”
“Kind of,” Keith hedges, refusing to lose his hard-won decorations to a hungry reptile that could just as easily go get real food from the kitchens, “it's not the same though – it's not meant to be eaten.”
“That's what you said about the possum,” Shiro whispers, thoughtful bordering on accusatory.
He really loves this snake. Truly. Even if he has to remind himself of that fact once a week or so.
“Please don't eat my decorations... they're special to me.”
The flickering kiss of a forked tongue tickles his cheek and ear, a playful gesture that he's come to cherish from his scaly menace.
“I will not eat your tree snacks,” Shiro decides, nodding his chin where it rests as he wraps his arms around Keith's waist. “They are very small.”
“I'll be sure not to make any that are temptingly possum-sized then,” Keith teases him as he reaches down to tangle his fingers with Shiro's claw-tipped hand. “Would you like to help me?”
“I sssuppooossse...” Shiro winks at him, unfurling to his full height to tower over both Keith and the tree. “Would you like some up high, little love?”
“Har, har.” He picks a pretty red one to give to Shiro, trusting him to keep his word and his appetite in check. “Yes, please.”
And so they go, Keith decorating the bottom and Shiro scattering ornaments around the top – pausing now and again to critique Keith's ornament placement, like he's ever seen a tree before... though who knows, maybe he had once upon a time before getting snakified.
“I didn't know you were such an expert decorator,” Keith comments, still mild despite the fluttering of his eyelid each time Shiro's claws dart down to move an ornament an inch this way or that.
“I got to watch Ulaz decorate the plants in the manor each year,” Shiro admits, smiling through sharp teeth at the memory, “he would hold up the ornaments to me sometimes, and the ones I liked he would put on the side of the plant that faced my tank... almost like a tiny sliver of free will.”
“Huh.” Keith nods to himself as he hangs another ornament, this time not minding so much when Shiro moves it just a touch to the side. “I'm surprised they decorated at all.”
“They had to keep up appearances, I'm sure.” Shiro shrugs and cracks a little smile, bumping Keith with what passes for his hip. “Plus, even evil bastards like getting gifts, right?”
Keith's hands still on the tree and he turns to give Shiro a squint. “Have you been peeking? Eavesdropping?”
“Me?” Shiro feigns shock, all pointy teeth and flicking tongue as he brings one clawed hand to his chest. “Never!”
“Then how did you know we managed to get gifts this year? We're in the middle of nowhere.”
Shiro shrugs, a sinuous roll of his torso as he slides back in close to hug his little human. “I believed in you... and even another possum is a gift.”
“It's not a possum,” Keith grumbles, affronted that Shiro's expectations for him are so low, “and it's not anything else you can eat either.”
“No?” Shiro croons in his ear before rubbing his face against the crook of Keith's neck, tongue flicking into the air. “You don't taste like lies...”
“That's creepy.”
Shiro sniffs a pout, still scenting. “I don't tell you that your legs are creepy.”
“My legs can't give away your feelings either,” Keith points out, sinking back into Shiro's embrace.
“No, but they spread awfully pretty, and then you can tell what I'm feeling...”
The nudge at Keith's back makes Shiro's meaning perfectly clear, just in case he couldn't tell from the tease in Shiro's voice or the wandering claws on his sides.
“You're a menace,” he sighs and hangs one last ornament before twisting in the strong arms that cradle him, “What am I going to do with you? Naughty snakes don't get presents.”
“I'm not naughty,” Shiro pouts, which is ridiculous on his massive and imposing frame, “I made presents for everyone.”
Keith blinks up at him in pleasant surprise. “You made them?”
“Well, I can't go slithering into town, now can I?”
Chagrined, Keith stretches up to press a kiss to Shiro's nose. “I'm sure they're going to be lovely, Shiro.”
His snake squints down at him. “You don't believe me do you?”
“No, of course I do!” Keith hurries to assure him, wrapping his arms as far as he can around Shiro's sinuous torso, “You're very clever.”
“I am,” Shiro agrees, mollified for the time being as he basks in Keith's warmth along his front. “You'll see.”
“I'm sure I will... now let's go get food before you decide to eat my whole tree.”
“It is bite sized,” the naga muses as he eyeballs it from top to bottom, “I wouldn't even have to unhinge my jaw much.”
“Stew tastes better,” Keith wheedles and untangles himself from Shiro's embrace, carefully stepping over the glimmering coils of tail as he makes his way to the door with a coaxing smile. “I'll steal an extra bowl for you.”
Shiro perks up. “Is that my present?”
It is not, in fact, his present... but Shiro seems content all the same to curl up around the table Kolivan had made for him – right next to the fire with plenty of room for his tail to coil up underneath and out of the way. He sucks down stew like it's going to be his last meal, like he always does, and Keith can't help but watch in a sort of endeared horror, like he always does. They have a routine now, and even the other blades have finally started warming up to Shiro now that he's been coming out of their little home more often. He might be the strangest of the oddities in the headquarters now, but not by much. Regris brought home someone who was more than likely some sort of fae creature last time – her gossamer wings leave a trail of sparkles everywhere she goes, and she's so thankful to be out of whatever freak show she'd been in that Keith is pretty sure there's going to be a bunch of smaller sparkly creatures around here before long. Then again, Kolivan thinks the same thing about him, but he's damn near certain that's impossible, given the fact that they have three dicks between the two of them.
His mother herself is also a bit on the... odd side. For one thing, she's purple. And not like, might've stood out in the chilly streets too long purple. Like purple purple. And she's got glowing yellow eyes and fangs – neither of which Keith happens to have, much to his great relief after realizing that the woman staring back at him contributed to half his genetics. Apparently he and his dad had more in common than he could have guessed.
Still, a naga draws a bit of attention, even tucked out of the way and basking in his dinner. Regris eats with them sometimes, but his new friend is a little wary around Shiro, likely having met the less benevolent of his kind. Otherwise they are often left to their own happy devices, trading sibilant whispers as Shiro curls protectively around Keith and tries to stuff him with more bread than any one person should ever consume.
“Another piece?” Shiro offers, wiggling the special decorated loaf in front of Keith's face, “It has craaaanberriesssss.”
“Shiro, I've already had three!” Keith huffs, trying to wriggle out from where he's wrapped in cozy coils, but his stomach is so full it takes more effort than he's willing to expend to free himself entirely. “You can't just stuff me until I nap as long as you do.”
“I'm feeding you now,” Shiro argues with his little fangy smirk, “I'll be stuffing you later.”
Keith gives up, overtaken by a full body blush in the middle of the dining hall as his perpetually horny snakefriend takes delight in pressing morsels past his lips.
“You two look sweet,” Krolia drawls from where she's appeared from thin air, as the blades are keen to do. “Do you mind if I join you?”
“No! Not at all,” Keith scrambles to right himself from his slump, getting no help at all from his chair. “Have a seat.”
She settles herself on one the benches across the table, carefully keeping her feet off the coils below. “Are you two having a nice holiday?”
“Yes ma'am.” Shiro inclines his head toward her, blinking slowly. “It is cozy in our den, and much bigger than a cage... and I made presents.”
“Oh?” She cocks her head in genuine interest, smiling at him. “I've never been much for creating things myself... I'm afraid I've only brought back furs for everyone.” She gives them a once-over, leaning to squint under the table as well. “I think the mammoth pelt I have should cover all of you, it's just finishing curing now.”
“A blanket!” Shiro rasps out, squeezing Keith so tightly in his excitement that he feels like he might burst, “Keith, we will have more blankets!”
Keith wheezes out a weak cheer as the air is crushed out of him, sucking in a breath when Shiro hastily loosens his grasp with an apologetic pat.
“Thanks, mom.” It's still kinda weird to call her that, but she lights up every time, and it is the holidays after all. “We love blankets.”
“I noticed,” She grins at him, thankfully not bringing up the time she caught him digging through the pantry in the middle of the night all swaddled in blankets like they were robes and capes. “I wouldn't want either of my two favorite men to freeze this winter.”
Keith can relate, he had similar ideas in his gift for Shiro – made with Ulaz's help. For his mom though...
“You should come by our room later, I have something for you.”
“Really?”
She looks so delightedly surprised that it makes Keith ache a little bit... like she had expected and would have been fine with a complete brush-off.
“Yeah, of course... we're family.”
Shiro sniffles above him, quickly burying his face in Keith's hair. For a giant predator he sure is a sympathetic softy about everything. Besides, he even saw Keith make it – a little painting, not very good at all, of the little cottage on the outskirts of the city that he grew up in with his father – before the plague took him. The man had always said that his mother had cultivated the phlox that had taken root in a riot of purple outside their stoop, and that she had lovingly coaxed the morning glories to climb up until they coated the walls and roof. Of course, those plants are likely long dead now without their caretaker. Technically the deed for the cottage was still his, but the matron of the orphanage he'd been shipped off to had retained it while he was under her care, and he'd been sold to the slum bosses before he came of age to retrieve it. Either way, the painting is recognizable at least, and gives him a pang of nostalgia every time he sees it.
Truth be told, he shed a tear or two painting the three silhouettes in the window – the family that he never got to have. He can only hope that she even remembers it.
Really though, the painting is at least half from Shiro since he'd done all the legwork – or rather, the slithering – to find suitable plants for the pigments that Keith wanted wherever they were scattered across the moor. Turns out being able to outpace a horse without loosing visual acuity is a talent that lends itself just as well to gathering as it does to hunting... though Keith is pretty sure Shiro's gotten himself a spare possum or two on his excursions if the bulge in his gut upon his return is any indication. Regardless, he appreciates not having to trudge endlessly through muck and weeds trying to find some scraggle of plants that are suitably purple, especially since the effort of grinding them into paint is annoying enough.
But the end result had been worth it, probably... and at least he has something to give.
Shiro, oddly enough, has been much more secretive about his gifts – storing them away up in the rafters where Kolivan had built him a little boxy platform. It doesn't seem quite fair that he hides things up there but can smell Keith's every hidden present, but then again he did get cursed into being a giant snake, so perhaps they're even. He even has something for Keith's mother, apparently taking the implicit threat of her snakeskin shoes in stride, and from the hiss-chortling that Keith occasionally hears floating down from there he seems quite pleased with himself.
Like he does right now.
“I have something for you too.” Shiro beams at her, wriggling in excitement enough to slide Keith sideways. “A thank you for making Keith.”
“My pleasure.” She grins back at him. “Fortunately he was little when he came out.”
“As most eggs are.” Shiro nods thoughtfully. “I am feeding him though.”
“Wait, eggs?” Keith balks, swatting away another bite of bread that Shiro tries to coax past his lips. “What eggs? Did I come from an egg?!”
Krolia's cackle is loud enough to draw the attention of the other tables, even with her face buried into one hand. Shiro seems just as bewildered as Keith does, and neither one of them get much of an answer as she trips over herself to stand, waving them away with the giggling promise that she'll be by after checking on the furs.
“I don't see how this is funny,” Keith pouts as Shiro hauls his mass from underneath the table and gathers Keith up in his arms. “Dad never said anything about eggs.”
“Doesn't everyone lay eggs now?” Shiro asks, head cocked and curious. “I don't think I've ever before, but the witch mentioned them a time or two.”
“Do me a favor and don't serve them for breakfast if you do,” Keith grunts, going a little green around the gills at the thought of it. The last thing he needs is that can of worms... or naga... or whatever.
Ugh.
Shiro slithers them into the safe confines of their room, where he doesn't have to think about where he came from or where he's going – not in the safe bundle of blankets, and especially not when they're supposed to be celebrating.
Speaking of...
“Put me down by the dresser.” Keith point, imperious as his snakefriend obliges him. “Then close your eyes.”
“I can still smell you,” Shiro points out, “you can't sneak up on me.”
“I'm not trying to sneak up on you,” Keith huffs while rummaging through the cabinets that he knows are too low for Shiro to comfortably peer into, “I'm trying to get your... aha!”
He pulls out a wrapped bundle, warm to the touch, and reaches for Shiro's hand to place it in his palm.
“What's this?” Shiro asks him, his other hand wrapping around the top of the bundle, greedy for the warmth. “For me?”
“Yeah, open it, you can look.”
Keith gnaws on his lip as Shiro blinks his eyes open and carefully unwraps the bundle, layer by layer, removing dingy cloth to reveal a brilliantly glowing silvery-blue orb.
“Keith...” he hisses softly, pupils blown to circles as he cradles it close, “it's beautiful... what is it?”
“It's um... purified quintessence. It's supposed to keep you warm all the time, so you can come with us when it's cold outside... if you want.” He shrugs and offers a shy smile. “I just thought maybe you don't want to be so cooped up in here half the year.”
“I love it,” Shiro declares, reaching out to pull Keith into an embrace that traps the warmth between them, “you are the best mate.”
“Aww, thanks Shiro.”
“Now stay here, and close your eyes.”
Keith does as he's told, listening to the soft hiss of scales across the wood and support beams as Shiro climbs up to his little lair. Some animal part of him always demands he flee whenever he hears that dangerous rasp, but the bigger part of him sings in anticipation of Shiro's arrival. Now though, he's more curious than anything, there's an awful lot of rustling happening up there before the whisper of scales returns to him.
“Here.” Shiro presses something cool into one hand, and something soft into another. “For you.”
Keith opens his eyes, and gasps.
There's a single opalescent scale in his left hand, strung onto a braided leather cord. It glints in the light of their room, casting rainbows onto his hands like Shiro does to the walls when the dawn light streams through the window. It's impossibly beautiful... and in his right is a tunic made of a similar sheen – thin as gossamer and silky smooth, but deceptively strong.
“Shiro... is this?”
“My shed!” Shiro crows, clearly pleased with himself as his chest puffs out. “Ulaz showed me how to sew... and you said I ripped all your nice shirts, so I made you a shirt!”
Keith can't help the laugh that bubbles out of him as he clutches them both close. Of course his naga would make sure he's well and truly claimed at all times... and do so in such a thoughtful and beautiful way. “I love them, Shiro.”
“Good... I made your mother one too,” he confesses with a little shrug. “I saw that she enjoys wearing the skins of smaller reptiles, which is not quite fitting for a warrior of her stature. If she enjoys beautiful patterns I wanted her to have something more fearsome.”
Keith bites down on his lip to keep from laughing again, instead choosing to fling himself into Shiro's arms. Of course he took the boots as flattery.
“I'm sure she'll love it.”
“She'll love yours too.”
Keith nods into Shiro's chest and thinks of the painting tucked away in its wrapping, feeling a pang that is neither longing, nor the sorrow that usually accompanies the Yule season.
No, for once he has a family that he loves, as odd as they may be.