#Keith finds out and bruises the bridge of his nose pinching it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ladyemberswrites · 5 years

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"A Touch Is All I Ask"

Summary: Basically, an Au of Au wherein an accident Lotor ends up traveling through the rift only for him to met and fall in love with Allura from another reality, but because life refuses to give him a break the rift creatures destroy both that Allura and her reality along with her leaving Lotor to travel the rift for centuries trying to find his way back home. Fortunately, he ends of being saved the Princess Allura from his reality. Which makes things all the more awkward as Lotor has to force himself to differentiate between this Allura and the Allura he had loved. The plot only thickens once Allura starts to develop feelings for him as she nurses him back to health.

Rating: T and Up

Words: 2k

Chapters: 1/?

He had lost everything in a single fleeting moment. A breath, a heartbeat, and soon nothingness consumed him. It ate away at the flesh and the bone, and pierced his dreaded, cold heart. His fingers reached for nothing, tiny cosmos, stars that have already long passed, and they bleed through his fingers. His fingers, these hands that have done nothing but bring about horrors, that only bring about destruction. Perhaps they were right, he is a curse. A blight on the world, a filthy obstruction. He felt the world around him drown, his body as heavy as lead and as weightless as a cloud. In space-time is obsolete. His mind and memories fragmented, and the voices that haunt him whisper in his ears in continual repeat.

The rift is relentless, a cruel, twisted mistress. An abomination, an unknown horror and they like a siren singing sailors to their deaths upon the steep rocks sing to him too as he wanders, and he drifts to nowhere. Howling, and lulling sweet tunes that fill the silence of his travels where there is nowhere and no one, and as the presumed days go by they fill the aching silence. He‘s long tuned them out-but-

~Lotor~ their eyes are amber like hers. Their hair a dark silver like hers had once been. Though, he had never heard her voice, he assumes that must have been what she sounded like. But, he knows that they aren’t his mother. Their image of her is picture perfect, not a single detail missed, but he knows. He’s no fool. He knows their games he knows their lies. They hiss when he pays the cheap imitation no mind, growling, and sneering.

~How dare you!~ they screech in union, a kaleidoscope of dissonant voices. His ears run red when the shrieking refuses to come to an end, but again he disregards them and simply keeps going, he keeps moving because he does not know when to give up. Because death is too easy, no matter how tempting it is to just collapse and sleep an endless dream. But, dreams offer him no repute, no reprieve instead they are nothing more than a reflection-a mirror world-a gateway to his own insanity. There is no peace. So, he must walk even though there is nothing.

“That's absolutely disgusting, Lance!” Pidge grimaces, her nose wrinkles as she spat out her tongue.

“Yeah, well, try actually being there and seeing it in person" he leans into her, his shoulder, bony and sharp, cuts into her side "let me tell ya, that changes a man"

“Just because you experienced it, doesn't mean I want to hear it” Pidge mutters into her palm "and can't you sit on your side of the ship?" she shoves him.

He brushes aside her last comment making himself comfortable “I thought we were friends, Pidge? Besides you who else do I have in this big lonely castle?"

"Why can't you bother, Hunk for a change" the girl surfs her screens in boredom.

"I would, but he's been too busy with his new girl-friend" he emphasizes his point by making quotation marks with his fingers "to hang out anymore-I mean whatever happened to the bro-code!?"

Pidge rolls her eyes "so, what? He can become a lonely, desperate misogynist, womanizing jerkhole?"

"I prefer the term lover man, Pidge"

"I think you missed the entire point of that statement..nevermind-the point being is that there are other men on the ship you could socialize with"

"I rather get stabbed in the spleen again than hang out with Keith out of my own volition"

"I wasn't talking about, Keith."

"Shiro's way too serious to do anything fun with. It's all Lance stop. Lance your drinking way too much. Lance you can't spike people's drinks. Shiro's awesome and all, but he doesn't have a single fun bone in his body"

"I don't think perpetuating liver damage is something I would personally consider fun"

"It's not about the drinks, the drinks are just secondary, where there's alcohol there's hot women, come on get with the program Pidge"

"Shiro's gay"

"I was gonna hook him up"

"With a dude?" She rose a dry brow.

"Of course a dude, unless he goes both ways, I can get him both"

"...Y'know it's a wonder why your single?"

"Is that sarcasm?"

"What about Coran" she dodges the question " he's a guy"

"Coran's fun-until he goes overboard. Y'know like the time he nearly killed us"

"That was your own fault y'know"

"How was I supposed to know pot would drive him into a murderous rampage-" The hiss and beep of the bridge door interrupts him. Hunched and bleary eyed, Allura wanders onboard in a complete daze, her heels clicking against the paneled walkway. Her characteristic bun hung lopsidedly off the side of her head, her ends frazzled and uncombed. Her eyes sunken with dark bruises and her favorite white jacket hangs haphazardly off her one shoulder.

Lance whistled “Boy, you look awful, Princess-or is that a new look your aiming for”

Allura snaps her head towards him with lethal speed, barely restraining the urge to strangle him

“I’m far too tired to deal with your nonsense this morning, so please do shut up unless you’d like be placed on toilet duty again”

The threat hangs in the air for a few minutes before Lance snorts, brushing her off awhile tugging at the hem of his turtleneck sweater in a nervous bout “Y-yeah, but no thanks, Princess, I've cleaned enough toilets and vomit to last me a lifetime"

Allura didn’t bother to comment but casts him one last warning glare before turning back to the teleduv, reaching out she taps it lightly bringing the ship's screens to life. The skies were all clear except for a bach of asteroids floating in the distance, but to her relief so far no enemy ships or anything remotely suspicious, as they travel the cosmos to Planet Greta off hidden on another less known side of the galaxy.

Even so, she didn't wish to take any chances and made sure to double check her assessment, while ignoring Pidge and Lance's continued conversation Bits and pieces dribble into the forefront of her thoughts here and there, but there's nothing she can make sense of being that the topic relates back to Earth.

Her checks repeat nothing new-Sighing, she cuts the feed to rub her face in annoyance. Everything hurt. Her body aches in a way that's more aggravating than truly painful. But, sleep has been hard to come by lately, the moment she closes her eyes-the nightmares began again. Her father’s blood upon her hands, splattered upon the blue silk of her gown, the sight of his mangled corpse lying at Zarkon’s iron boots. His face darkened, indistinguishable from the other bodies that littered the marble floors-

She clenches her fingers listlessly fearing that if she didn’t pay attention she’d find his blood on them again. Her skin burned, having spent the night trying to scrub the red away. Now, they just itch, the skin of her hands rubbed raw and dry. And yet, there's that lingering feeling of wetness that she just can't shake, despite knowing that it isn't there. Yet, she kept scratching her wrist as she stared out over the bridge watching nothing but stars pass them by.

“Lura?” she didn’t hear Pidge pace up to her. She turns in the girl's direction “you okay there? You’ve got that dead look in your eyes again?”

“I’m fine, Pidge. Don’t worry” she wonders if her voice always sounded hoarse, or is it just her, and she’s hearing things again. Whatever the case she just shakes her head attempting to ignore it. That and the throbbing headache that pounds at the back of her skull.

“If you say so….” Pidge didn't know what else to say or do other than offer the woman her space, and awkwardly returns to her seat.

"What's her problem?" Lance whispers.

"....I don't know. She looks sick-"

"She's not going to pass out again is she because-"

Perhaps, it’s time to give up and ask Doctor Alibhe for some sleep aid? Her nose wrinkles at the prospect, but what else can she do. She's tried everything: training until she's exhausted to the bone. Meditation only abandons her to her own traitorous thoughts which only leads to exasperation and a wish to lobotomize herself. So, no that was a no go. She's tried tea, acupuncture, oil massage. Worse case scenario, well, partially out of desperation a chiropractor who only charged her an exuberant amount of money and a nasty crick in her neck that took weeks to go away. Trial or error aside, she can't continue like this; people will notice, people are already noticing, if it keeps going the questions will never end. Pressing a fist to her brow, she huffs-if only the night didn't dreg up past horrors-

*Ping*

Her temples throb, cracking her eyes back open Allura finds herself thrown from her musings back to reality. The pinging of the teleduv continues causing her to pause and blink for a moment flicking the scanners back on.

"What?” out of bloody nowhere something pops up upon the monitors signaling a disturbance in the area. Brows tightly pinched together, she didn't see any ships-

“Enemy ship?” Lance asks in a brief moment of seriousness. Both his and Pidge's eyes dart from her to the screens above, bracing themselves for impact.

“It’s-" she squints "no” she shakes her head

“whatever it is-it’s far too small to be a ship-it’s-oh,

no” her heart plummets to the pit of her stomach.

“Oh, no what?”

“It’s another rift opening….”

“Well, that's just flipping fantastic!” Lance barks “More rift creatures! Is it bad that I rather deal with Sendak, heck even Zarkon himself any day over dealing with those walking-talking living embodiments of nightmare fuel!”

Allura swallows dryly. A lovely start to already dreary day-oh, stars, she's not sure how much more she can take of this insanity.

“Maybe we’ve been blessed by the Altean space gods!” Lance cries to the heavens “because I don’t see a single thing or y’know I'm not vomiting up my own entrails”

“Not if you don’t jinx us” Keith snaps. As quickly as it had come the rift had immediately snapped shut. Yet, no creatures of the rift made it out through the small opening. No horrifying illusions or imagery, just nothing. Just dead-end silence that did little to comfort her as she stares out among the stars and the blackness of space.

In their rush they took their respective lions on ahead with Allura placing Head Commander Hira at the helm and with the ship on high alert. When nothing assaulted them, Shiro suggested they take a look around by hand. Jetpacks loaded with full and pistols set on lethal everyone disembarked only to greeted by nothing.

Allura worries her bottom lip out of nervousness, she’s only glad that she hadn’t eaten anything for breakfast or else she would have vomited in her own helmet. Holding her pistol close, she prepares herself for anything by as the minutes trickle on by, besides the cluster of asteroids, nothing bizarre happens. An hour of searching and checking and rechecking the area's clear of any potential danger.

“I’m starting to think it was a false alarm, Princess” Keith calls out to her.

“Yeah, I’ve got nothing. Nada , zilch” Hunk tapped his scanner “besides the glitchy connection, I don’t see anything out of the ordinary”

“Me neither” Pidge mutters “it’s all just empty space as far as the eye can see.”

“Same here” Shiro adds, perplexed.

“Same with my end” Matt floats back to them “looked all over those asteroids over there, but like Hunk said zilch. Nada.”

“Perhaps, something was trying to get out, but couldn’t” Hunk states with an uneasy hitch in his voice.

It isn't unlikely, and it's probably the case, too. Though that does beg the question-if something were trying to claw its way out the rift what stopped it? Allura isn’t sure if she wants to find out.

“Hunk’s probably right” Allura agrees quietly, holstering her pistol “we should probably head back to the Lions. Oxygen's running low.” They weren't that far from the castle ship, but it's still a pretty good distance even with the lions.

"About time! This place gives me the creeps"

"Second that-"

“...more like it was a waste of time…” everyone moves on ahead of her as she can't help but linger, taking one more glance over her shoulder she scans her surroundings. It's times like these that remind her how vast the galaxy is. Enormous and all consuming like a sea with no bottom, no end. Left could right, and right, left. Shoving down the existential dread, she moves to to turn and head back until a twinkling light catches the corner of her eye. Stopping, she swivels back to look again-this time the twinkling is hard to miss, she squints, it isn't a star, as the source of the glittering is a top an asteroid closest to her. With bated breath she slowly, carefully maneuvers herself over to it. It's rocky texture is rough, the cold seeping through her gloves. With a grunt she heaves herself upwards, her thoughts oddly quiet as she focuses on climbing and hauling her weight until she reaches the top. Heaving enough to cloud the glass of her helmet, she stills to inhale a deep breath before she decides to lift her head up and freezes-

A massive body is collapsed upon the mountainous structure.

It-can't be-

Galra?

Hesitantly, she crawls towards him on all fours both curiosity and fear churning in her gut. Carefully, she reached over to quickly tap his shoulder to snap it away fearing a swipe of his large hand. Or a lunge. Squeezing her eyes shut she expects the worst, but when nothing came she instead hears a low, pained groan.So, low that if it weren't for her being so close she probably wouldn't have heard him. Placing a hand to calm her erratic heart, Allura steadies herself before gently extending both her hands to flip him on to his back, however it isn't without some difficulty. He's super heavy. With a grunt she manages and once he's on his back she's met with a rather gorgeous face, but unfortunately one she did not recognize. Examining his body, his armor is old. Eroded with rust and dented all over with the color of it faded. His face as handsome as it is, is marred with bruises painted black and dark blue, and dried blood dribbles down his obviously split lip. Yet, strangely enough she didn't find anything indicating his rank. No badge or medallion, no even a family crest holding his cape together. There's a satchel hung around his waist, but it wouldn't be wise to open it out here. He definitely looks the part of a high ranking galra general, but that begs the question, if he is, what is a seemingly distinguished general doing out here in the middle of an asteroid field? Did someone dump him out here?

Frantically her eyes dart around- but, she was so sure she hadn't detected a galra ship in the area-

Breathing heavily, she only finds emptiness.

-unless-

Her eyes fall back to him-the rift. Her eyes widen as she eyed him closer now noticing the markings on his face, a telltale sign of quintessence exposure. They weren't too bad, but it isn't something that can be ignored without consequence. Frightened out of her mind, she shouts back to her team over her shoulder.

“I found something!” drawing all eyes to her. I've definitely found something; she whispers to herself.

#Voltron #oldtron #lotura #lollura #redemption universe

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stressedspidergirlsfandomblog · 5 years

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PT 15

(Citrus themed mentions no action, also more torture references)

Keith glances over at Shiro, gently nudges his leg, and then sighs when he realizes the other man is half asleep.

"You really are tired, huh?"

"I'm not exactly sleeping well," he points out, voice somehow dry while mumbling.

Keith shakes his head. "Does anything help?"

Shiro turns red, and shifts some, revealing the back of his neck and shells of his ears are red, too.

Knowing Shiro had 0 embarassment related to sleeping with Adam, Keith wonders what's got him riled up. "What?" He asks, leaning forward to poke Shiro's side. "C'mon. What helps?"

More or less using his heels against the carpet to push himself out of Keith's reach he makes a protest noise. 'Don't poke me.'

Keith just laughs and scoots closer to do it again. "You never get embarrassed. C'mon spill. Does Curtis heat you up some warm milk and tuck you in? Have special fuzzy jammies? What?"

Shiro shifts again, more or less choosing to roll over rather than get up. Another irritated noise that Keith has cornered him against the coffee table, he lightly presses his leg against Keith's chest to prevent him from getting closer.

"Weren't you ticklish right behind your knee?" Keith asks, catching his ankle before he can jerk away. Then again Shiro is still stupid strong and when Keith hangs on as Shiro jerks his leg, it tugs his entire body forward and off balance. Only Shiro, with 0 leverage, 1 arm, lying down, could do something like that. Immediately shifting he settles himself on top of Keith, pinning one arm to his side with his knees.

Trying to buck Shiro off without hurting him doesn't work. In that he can't seem to get him off and when he tries to use his arm Shiro catches it and pins that, too. They're more or less at a stalemate because Keith could probably break free if he wanted to. Presuming Shiro was willing to let him without taking his pound of flesh.

"Alright you win. I give up." He lightly taps the carpet as best he can.

Shiro stands up and settles on the couch instead.

"I was only asking because as long as it meant I didn't have to fuck you, I'd be willing to try it so you could get a nap."

Shiro turns red again. "We aren't there yet." For all he won't admit some of it is that so far his body isn't working right. He probably can't do that. Or at least enjoy it as much.

Keith pauses. "You and Adam put rabbits to shame." Sometimes anyway. Not school nights.

"He lost someone, too." Shiro looks at his hand, and puts it on his knee. "In the Invasion."

"Oh."

His lip quivers. "I can't imagine what he went through." Swallowing hard, he takes a breath. "His partner died buried under rubble before they could dig him out." He has no idea there's tears on his cheeks or that he's squeezing his knee so hard his whole hand is white. "Curtis tried to get him out. Kept digging even after he suffocated." His breathing hitches and his voice cracks. "He told me the doctors said there was no way, it wouldn't have mattered. He was already crushed from the rib cage down... They're not even sure how he survived long enough to call for help." Shiro doesn't realize he's shaking. "Curtis says he kept promising to dig him out, and saying he loved him, and that it'd be okay. He broke most of his fingers, shredded the skin so bad he needed grafts, and broke his forearm trying to shift the rubble. Inhaled a lot of smoke and dust, too." Sobbing softly, "I can't imagine anything worse... To be so close and not even know... To think there was hope and not get to say goodbye... " Releasing his leg he drags a hand over his face, surprised to find tears. "I couldn't survive that. I don't know how he gets out of bed every day."

Keith puts an arm around Shiro's shoulders. "Is he not ready to move on?" He asks, trying to be sympathetic. He has similar nightmares about his father burning alive. Trying to fight the fire and not making it in time. Now he wonders if he'll be digging, too.

"He is. He's over the man, if not the tragedy." Pinching the bridge of his nose, he squeezes his eyes shut trying to stop the tears. It doesn't work. "I'm not ready either. I still don't feel like this body is mine. I didn't before, either, even when it was. I can't remember where half these scars came from. I don't wanna ... Make love... And not feel like it's me doing it."

"Which scars?" Keith asks softly. He's only seen the one on Shiro's face. He's felt the ones on his back.

Shiro looks at him, and takes a breath. He pulls up the hem of his tank top and drags it over his head. Keith blanks his face. Don't react. He waits as Shiro shifts, facing away. Keith blinks rapidly.

"How many times?" He asks softly, reaching out to touch Shiro's back. Trace so many scarred over lacerations he can't count. Some were on top of each other, he can tell. Only the start or the end splitting away from the center tells him it isn't just one giant gash.

"I can't remember," Shiro whispers. "I just remember saying 'no' the once. They stripped me down and whipped me till I passed out."

Keith looks again, some of the scarring trails past the waistband of his pajama pants. Lightly touching the worst one, it had to have gone down to the bone. Maybe even damaged the spine. Shiro breaks out in goosebumps.

"Then they woke me up. And kept going. I think they jabbed me in the side with some kind of taser, it's so fuzzy. The pain was so bad."

Keith lightly touches his side, looking for any kind of burn scar, nothing's there. Shiro locks up and Keith kicks himself mentally. He knows he just triggered some kind of flashback. A waking nightmare. "Idiot," he hisses at himself.

Shiro's pupils are blown and he breaks out in a light sweat. His breathing changes and Keith knows he's back, sort of. He's seen a lot of panic attacks now, for all he hasn't seen Shiro have one. There's something they're supposed to count or do.

"Hey, look at me. What else can you see?"

"Blood," Shiro whispers, tears filling his eyes.

"No, look at me. There's no blood. There's nothing red in this apsttment, even. What do you see right now in this room?"

"Couch... A couch. Carpet. Um... Coffee table," his voice shakes.

"Good. Good. What do you feel? Three things you can feel?"

"You, couch... Cold."

Keith looks down and realizes he'd reached out at some point without noticing. They're clasping forearms and Shiro is going to leave him with an ugly bruise.

"Okay, something you hear."

Shiro flinches like he's been struck. Then focuses his eyes on Keith. "You breathing... The upstairs apartment has water running... My heart pounding." He's already a little calmer.

"Uh, last one I think. Something you can smell."

Inhaling deeply, his nostrils flare and he tries to center himself. "Bacon. You used my soap..." Which isn't accusatory he just smells it on Keith.

"I'm so sorry. I had no idea I'd trigger anything."

"It's fine." Shiro closes his eyes, tears streaming out from under the lids. "I fought back," he smiles beatifically. "I resisted." He hadn't just gone along with it after the first time. He hadn't broken instantly.

"I fought back and refused to execute people no matter what they did to me," he whispers. "I only stopped when they realized torturing the prisoners to death in front of me was worse than them torturing me. I could take any pain they dished out. I couldn't watch them skin someone alive.

"They made sure I would be in the room when they did it. Tied me up and made me watch. It was faster and kinder if I just killed who they told me to." He runs a hand through his hair, gripping it. "She didn't stop screaming for hours and I couldn't take it back. I've never been so sick in my life. I begged to trade places with her. Promised to kill her. Anything to make it stop. Make them stop hurting her."

Keith looks away. He can't keep his face blank after that. He wraps his arms around Shiro and hides his face in the other man's shoulders. Shiro hugs him back, breathing rough and uneven. "We shoulda just gone back to sleep," Keith says roughly. For all that's twice now he's seen something ugly around Shiro drop away.

"Probably."

"You never did answer my question."

"And I never will," Shiro mutters. He's not going to admit that sleeping next to Curtis and being able to hear or feel his heartbeat makes him feel safe. Just being held, and loved is healing in and of itself. His favorite 'position' with Curtis is his head on the other man's chest above his heart. He also likes being the little spoon, if he's being honest. He was usually the big spoon with Adam. Not always. Not on bad days. But then again he feels like most days are bad, now.

"We should get you some stuff for your apartment."

"No need. Curtis kinda asked if I might wanna move in with him when his lease is up."

"Ooh." Keith feels like Lance or Hunk would love this conversation. He just feels silly trying to act normal. He has no idea how to navigate this conversation. He's glad. He's not sure if it's too soon or not. But he's seen the way they look at each other. It's right. They fit right.

"I'm clearing out a drawer for him in case he sleeps here."

"Does he complain it's like sleeping with Dracula?"

"Dracula lived in an opulent castle, Keith. See, id you hadn't failed your literature classes and then gotten expelled, you'd know that."

"I know the doctor is the monster."

"Everyone knows that. Even Lance knows that."

"No way."

"Yeah he knows."

"You willing to bet on it?"

"Not anymore," Shiro mutters. "But I'm still right." He glances at the clock over the stove. "We have about an hour and a half before we have to leave."

"You just wanna lie down?" Keith asks. "Or are you telling me to set an alarm?"

"Both?" Shiro yawns so hard his jaw cracks.

"Stay out here? I'll get you a blanket. Will the holo bug you if it's on?"

"Nah."

Keith gets up and drags the comforter off the bed and a pillow. There's nothing on the couch. Settling himself against the arm rest he drops the pillow on his lap, still holding onto the comforter which he's bunched up against his chest. Shiro eyes him warily but chooses to lie down anyway. Keith tosses the blanket over him and they both settle into comfortable positions.

Flipping on the holo, he watches whatever he wants, one hand resting on Shiro's shoulder the whole time. Pidge supposedly has some kind of surprise waiting for them.

Shiro's asleep in seconds. Constant nightmares and emotional exhaustion sucking him under immediately. Keith dozes off and on. The last 48 hours have been a hell of an emotional rollercoaster for both of them.

#curtashi #shurtis #curo #takashi shirogane #keith kogane #voltron #vld #my fic

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stories-in-the-stars · 5 years

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The Fallen and the Wandering

As before, please check the reblogs for a link to Ao3 if you so desire. Enjoy!

~*~

Chapter 2

Keith had quite lost track of the time, milling about in his thoughts as he sat at the edge of the bed clad in nothing but a blanket, when he heard the click of the lock of his front door. Shiro had long since foregone the need to knock (although even after Keith had given him a spare key to his apartment, Shiro had still insisted on the nicety--it was Keith that told him time and again that it simply wasn’t necessary), but he at least called out to Keith when he walked in. Keith called back, saying he’d be out of his room in a moment as he scrambled to throw on some sweats and a t-shirt. He found Shiro in the kitchen already putting what looked to be a tupperware of hearty stew in the microwave.

Shiro raised an eyebrow at the state of Keith’s hair, bed-messed and sticking up at every angle. “You didn’t dry your hair before lying down?”

Keith looked away and shrugged.

“Keith…” Shiro crossed his arms, looking gentle but stern.

“I know, I know, I’ll be fine,” Keith insisted, patting at his hair, trying to get it to lie down in such a way that it didn’t look like a bird’s nest.

Shiro raised his eyebrows pointedly, but said nothing. He took the stew from the microwave and handed it to Keith, who devoured it promptly. It wasn’t until he scraped the bottom of the plasticware that he remembered he had something very important to discuss with Shiro.

“Oh yeah,” he said past the last mouthful of vegetables. “Why him, of all people?”

“Who?”

Keith scowled. “Lance.”

“Ah…” Shiro cracked a wry smile. “I thought you wanted someone that could keep up with you.”

“Yes, I want that, not someone who dumps me into the ocean the first chance he gets!” Keith exclaimed.

Shiro put a hand over his mouth, but it was all too clear he was laughing.

“Shiro, seriously, I can’t work with him,” he said over Shiro’s laughter.

“Come on Keith, I can’t rotate you through a different person every day until you can reapply for replacer trainer,” Shiro told him once he’d overcome his giggles, but he was still grinning.

“I’m not asking you to--how about this, forget finding someone that can keep up with me, just pair me up with someone that is at least tolerable,” Keith pleaded. “This guy, Lance, he talks too much, he treats everything like a game, he’s full of himself… What?!”

Shiro had started laughing again, not even bothering to try to hide it this time. “Sorry, I’ve just never seen you so riled up before. I’m sure he’s not as bad as you think.”

“Have you even met this guy?” Keith asked.

“Keith, I’m his supervisor,” Shiro pointed out with a snort.

“Well--supervise him better!”

Shiro laughed again, much to Keith’s ire.

“Alright, how about this: you stick with him for a week, just one week, and if by the end of the week you still can’t stand him, I’ll look for someone else. Sound good?” Shiro offered.

It was more than good, the rational part of Keith’s mind said, but the part of him that could still hear Lance’s childish teasing was feeling petulant and wanted nothing more than to demand that another partner be found immediately. Keith took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose in an effort to not throw what would essentially be a tantrum. Shiro waited patiently all the while.

“Okay,” Keith finally said. “I will try not to strangle him for a whole week.”

“Thank you. Now, tell me honestly, how did you both ending up falling into the water?”

Keith, somehow, started before they’d officially become partners, telling Shiro about his unfortunate fall on the ice that Lance had laughed at, and then the incident just outside the broom closet. He told him in vivid detail about Lance’s lackadaisical attitude towards just about everything, how he treated star collecting like a game to be won, and admitted that perhaps he’d risen to Lance’s bait too easily, but still, Lance could’ve just backed off for at least a little bit instead of trying to get back at Keith for simply being a better flier--

Keith stopped abruptly when he realized he had been rambling. He sighed, and flopped backwards onto the couch, insisting that he wouldn’t talk anymore about Lance. He glanced at Shiro, who seemed quite at ease and very amused by something.

“What?” he demanded.

Shiro shrugged. “It’s just been a while since I’ve seen you so… enthusiastic?”

“Enthusiastic? Really? I’m enthusiastic about some puffed-up--arrogant--?” Keith gestured wildly with his hands when his words failed. The point was, enthusiastic was not what he felt right now.

“Right, alright, we can drop it,” Shiro said, sitting on the opposite end of the couch and dropping a foot in Keith’s lap.

They engaged in a brief tussle where Keith tried to get Shiro’s feet off of him, while Shiro did everything in his power to make sure that at least one foot was touching Keith. After a few moments, Keith slumped back on the couch, defeated and being used as a very nice foot rest, according to Shiro. They flipped through some TV, chatting idly about everything and nothing. Shiro talked about an interesting article he’d read during his shift about a breed of bioluminescent plants that didn’t require sunlight to flourish. Keith argued that such measures could become obsolete when the sun was found, but Shiro pointed out that there was no guarantee as to when that might be. Keith agreed, and clarified that he meant there was no telling what would happen to those sorts of plants once the sun did return. How dependent would the earth become on them in the meantime? Their conversation went on like that for some time, the TV forgotten and left on some old nature documentary that had been recorded some time before the fall. The hours slipped away easily, and soon enough Shiro had to leave, but not before making Keith promise to call in if he felt too sick to work (to which Keith insisted he would be fine, although his head was already pounding and eyes aching--he brushed it off as fatigue).

The mention of work reminded Keith of the deal he’d made with Shiro: one week with Lance as his partner, that was all he had to make it through. He wondered, almost hopefully, if it would count if he was sick for most of that time. Knowing Shiro, probably not, but if Keith did catch a cold from that unplanned swim, he might as well make the most of it and give it a shot anyways. Not that he wanted to get sick--for some reason even the barest of sniffles would catch him in a vice grip and refuse to leave for far longer than normal. As far as any doctors had been able to tell Keith, he was completely healthy and average, so why Keith was so severely affected when he got sick was a mystery. Even with this disposition, Keith turned down the heat (which had been turned up just a little during Shiro’s visit) and bedded down under a single blanket. As he drifted off to sleep, his only hope was that the next day would be at least a little more tolerable than this one.

As fate would have it, the day started decidedly worse than the one before it. Keith had woken up several times throughout the course of the night, feeling markedly worse each time. The last time he woke up, a few hours before his alarm was set to go off, he reluctantly pulled himself out of bed to take some medicine. While it seemed to do the trick, granting him a few blissful hours of solid sleep, it did it a little too well, and Keith awoke in a panic when he realized he’d slept past his alarm. He wasn’t late for work yet, but he would be no matter how he rushed. He texted Shiro to let him know as much as he threw on his many layers, throwing on an extra layer even though he knew it would have him sweating by the end of the day. Better to try and keep out the chill, if he was already sick.

He practically ran to the Bureau, nearly slipping on ice again but thankfully saving himself from another bruising. When he burst into the searcher’s department, huffing and puffing and sniffling, Lance was already there, waiting with his arms crossed and tapping his foot as though Keith were an hour late rather than ten minutes.

“Well, well, well,” Lance said when he spotted Keith. “Look who finally decided to--”

“You were late yesterday, so I don’t want to hear it,” Keith snapped, his voice sounding a little more hoarse than he would’ve liked. He blamed it on only having just woken up, though the prickly feeling in the back of his throat belied that.

Shiro looked at him pointedly when Keith shuffled up to his desk trying not to sniffle too much, as though to remind Keith that taking a sick day was an option, but Keith was stubborn. He got sick too easily and for too long to take sick days for any but the worst of times. He knew himself. He probably had a few days before it got horrible, if it got to that point at all. If he was lucky he’d just be stuck with a runny nose, a sore throat, and a general feeling of crap for the next few weeks. If he was lucky.

Meanwhile, Lance seemed as chipper and vivacious as he had the day before, practically hopping in his spot and ready to go. Apparently their impromptu polar bear dip had been nothing but a mild inconvenience to him. Keith silently cursed Lance’s luck as Shiro assigned them the same area as the day before. Not wholly unusual for larger areas, and especially considering that their shift had been cut short the day before, it wasn’t at all surprising for Keith. He decided, however, that if Lance decided to play games today, he wasn’t going to play along, no matter what the bait.

Shiro, it seemed, shared Keith’s concerns and then some.

“Try to not go for a swim today,” he told them, a little stern. “Boring as it can be sometimes, this is serious work. Most importantly, try to work together. You’re partners now, so make the most of it.”

Part of it was directed at Lance, the rest at Keith. They both nodded obediently, but Keith wondered just how seriously Lance would take Shiro’s words. If yesterday was any indication, then there was a fat chance of it. Not that Keith was any better. He planned on doing whatever it took to work independently of Lance, even if it meant flying to the very fringes of their assigned area. It was the only way he was going to make it through this week, he was certain, especially as they accidentally crashed into each other (again) trying to beat the other out the door.

They flew to their area in complete silence, which genuinely surprised Keith. He thought for sure that Lance would have something to say. Perhaps, Keith thought with a bit of shame, he’d judged Lance too quickly. After all, they’d only known each other for a day--maybe Lance was just bad at first impressions? And everyone else seemed to think he was an alright guy, even Pidge, who had agreed that Lance was full of himself. Still, Keith couldn’t quite let go of the fact that he was now literally sick because of the guy (by the time they took to the air, there was no denying the veritable waterfall coming out of Keith’s nose), and ultimately decided to reserve his judgement, though it was definitely not leaning in Lance’s favor.

When they reached their area, Lance paused to double check their map, as well as the time. Keith, certain that this was the right area, set to work immediately, intent on getting as far ahead of Lance as possible. Lance, however, quickly realized his intentions, and worked hard to catch up while still picking up any stars he saw along the way. In a way, this was actually a good dynamic for them. Keith swept through and picked out the most obvious stars, while Lance trailed behind and collected the ones that Keith had missed. But as Lance drew closer to Keith, Keith left behind stars in favor of putting more distance between them. He quite liked the silence and peace, and wanted to keep things like that thank you very much.

Unfortunately, Lance took Shiro’s instructions more seriously than Keith had expected him to. When Keith bypassed stars in favor of a more far out place over the ocean, Lance did the same, keeping the distance between them small. Keith sniffed hard, partly out of irritation, partly because his nose was still running. He flew a bit faster, trying to lose Lance, but Lance sped up just as much. Scowling, Keith hunkered down low over his broom and took off like a bullet through the dark. At this point he didn’t even care if he went a bit out of their area, he just wanted Lance to stay away! Still Lance kept pace with him, if a little ways behind. Just over the wind rushing past his ears, Keith could barely hear Lance shouting something, but he couldn’t make it out, whatever it was.

So intent was Keith on losing Lance that he didn’t notice the shadowy figures up ahead until he nearly crashed into them. Three in total, dressed completely in black to blend in with the darkness, and all with less than friendly expressions. They eyed Keith’s lantern full of stars greedily, and Keith knew immediately what he was up against: snatchers. No doubt that was what Lance had been shouting about. He didn’t dare take his eyes off the snatchers to see how near or far behind him Lance was. They could be tricky and unpredictable, snatchers, but Keith had dealt with them before, and alone at that. He hadn’t needed Lance’s help before, and he certainly didn’t need it now.

There was a brief standstill as Keith and the snatchers regarded each other, and then one of the snatchers darted forward, making a grab at Keith’s lantern. Keith moved quickly, dropping a few meters down through the air and then darting quickly underneath the snatchers, buying himself some time as they turned around to give chase. They caught up with him quicker than most snatchers would, and Keith found himself practically lying flat against the handle of his broom in order to get the most speed. Even then they proved difficult to shake. They positioned themselves strategically, one on either side and the third behind him. No doubt he wouldn’t be able to duck under them again (not to mention he didn’t want to get too close to the surface of the water--he wouldn’t put it past them to dunk him under, given the opportunity), but he might be able to flip over them and throw them for a loop again, and at this speed it might prove more effective.

Gripping his broom tight, Keith jerked sharply upwards, his stomach still trying to follow the forward momentum and making him feel a bit queasy. Now upside down, he watched the snatcher that had been behind him swipe up at him, but catching only empty air as Keith sailed seamlessly over him. Keith grinned in spite of the situation. He righted himself and flew forward, flying low to the water to hurriedly grab some stars so that the snatchers couldn’t, in such a speedy way that he was certain he looked like a stone skipping across the surface of the water. With the snatchers hot on his tail again, Keith stuffed the handful of stars in his coat pocket and sped up again. Why they didn’t just collect stars out of sight of searchers like Keith was beyond him, but here they were. Perhaps they just saw it as more efficient to have someone else do the searching and collecting for them, especially if he wasn’t their only target for the day. Regardless, he wasn’t going to make this easy for them.

Apparently, they had no intention of making this easy for Keith either, as they closely surrounded him once more. For the first time he found himself wondering where in the world Lance was--had he finally succeeded in losing him at the most inopportune time? Keith flipped again, this time over one of the snatchers at his sides, and turned sharply in a new direction, the sudden swivel making him feel irritatingly nauseated again. The snatchers caught up even quicker than before, closing in even closer this time, very nearly within arm’s reach of Keith and the stars he’d collected. Or at least, the ones at his sides were. A sudden jolt that nearly knocked him out of the air told him the snatcher behind him was much closer than he ought to be. The one on his right reached out just as he stabilized himself, and on instinct he leaned out of their way--right into the waiting hand of the one on his left.

Keith cursed himself for having fallen for such an obvious trick, and now found himself grappling with one snatcher and trying to fend off the other two with one leg. The snatcher that grabbed him had an iron grip, and it was all Keith could do to keep them from grabbing his lantern. Fatigue was overtaking him more swiftly than he would’ve liked, his struggling arms already turning to jelly. Keith was starting to worry that these snatchers might overpower him when, with a loud whoop, Lance dive bombed the one that had a hold of Keith, pushing his entire weight on the front of the broom and flipping the snatcher neatly into the air. Unfortunately, the snatcher didn’t let go of Keith until he was already well and falling, which meant that Keith was jerked sharply forward off of his broom. As soon as he was free of the snatcher, he twisted around in the air, catching his broom and catching himself just before he hit the water. The snatcher wasn’t so lucky. Had they been farther up, Keith might’ve been worried for the poor sap.

Meanwhile, Lance’s flamboyant flying style had the remaining two snatchers in a tizzy, twisting and spiraling through the air just as well as Lance but still finding that he slipped right through their fingers. Keith watched as Lance then made a sharp dive, the agitated snatchers hot on his tail, and tried not to laugh the instant he realized what was about to happen. He held his breath as Lance successfully pulled up out of the dive a split second before hitting the surface of the water, while the snatchers, likely disoriented by the lack of light on their target, hit the water with a resounding smack. Keith winced, but also laughed a little at their sorry state.

Lance flew up to him, laughing animatedly. “Phew, nothing like a few snatchers to keep you on your toes, huh?”

“No kidding,” Keith agreed, feeling a little out of breath. “We should probably--”

“I already paged the Bureau,” Lance interrupted. “As soon as they started chasing you, I paged them, and then I tried to catch up to help… Took a while though, both you and them can really move.”

“Well, you caught up just in time… thanks,” Keith said, a little quietly.

Lance beamed, clearly pleased with himself. “No problemo, after all, we’re partners, right? That’s what partners do.”

“Yeah,” Keith breathed, mild guilt washing over him. “Uh, sorry for trying to ditch you, earlier.”

Lance waved a hand at him. “Don’t worry about it. I’d try to ditch me too, if I did to me what I did to you yesterday.”

“That… hardly makes sense,” Keith said, squinting at Lance.

“Yeah, I know,” Lance giggled just before sneezing so hard he nearly flipped in the air. Keith rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help but smile a little. What a dork.

A squad of keepers (officers who dealt with the official capture and arrests of snatchers, particularly those that attacked searchers) arrived within a few minutes, just as the defeated snatchers had stumbled onto the beach half-frozen. Keith almost felt bad for them. The flight to the Bureau while completely soaked with icy ocean water was not a fun one. Still, once they were out of his sight, he returned his attention back to searching. There had been times when he’d thought to be a keeper, given how exciting it could be to dance through the air while trying to outsmart snatchers, but the majority of keeper work involved a lot of paper shuffling. The last thing Keith wanted was to end up chained to a desk for days at a time.

They finished their shift without further incident, and Lance in particular was eager to share the excitement with Shiro, telling the story with over-exaggerated gestures and infectious enthusiasm. Shiro was glad to see the both of them safe and dry, and was particularly pleased that they didn’t seem to be at each other’s throats today. When Lance left, eager to clock out, Shiro stopped Keith to ask him how he was feeling. Surprisingly, Keith found that it wasn’t a lie when he said he felt perfectly fine. His nose was still running a little, but the threat of a sore throat was gone, and he didn’t feel nearly as exhausted as he ought to. He went home feeling almost chipper, so much so that it was all too easy to be brought back down when he forgot, in his good mood, about that patch of ice in the middle of his path home. Thus he was brought back down to his usual state of casual cynicism.

The next day saw his sniffles completely gone, the risk of a weeks long battle with a cold safely passed much quicker than Keith had ever seen it go. As such he started his day in a pretty good mood, though not so good that he was distracted from that menacing ice that seemed determined to take him down. Lance, on the other hand, was more miserable than Keith had seen him in the past two days. It was a little jarring, honestly, to see Lance with his shoulders slouched and a scowl on his face. He looked as though he’d hardly slept. Keith was still acutely aware of how little he knew about Lance, but he couldn’t help but feel like something was off.

“Are you… alright?” Keith asked tentatively.

Lance narrowed his eyes at Keith, his expression accusing. “You got me sick.”

Keith blinked at the accusation. “I did not!”

“You did so! You were sniffling yesterday, and you gave it to me! Now I’m sick and you’re not, and I never get sick! Never!” Lance’s voice was hoarse and the effort from raising his voice sent him into a coughing fit.

And thus they were back to bickering, Lance no less argumentative in spite of his constant sniffling and sore throat. Keith was starting to think that the previous day had been a fluke, the friendliness born from necessity rather than any inherent goodwill. Lance’s over-emphasized sniffing quickly wore on Keith’s nerves, to the point where he practically threw a box of tissues at Lance’s face (not that he’d been aiming for his face, his face had just been in the way of where he had been throwing…), which only gave Lance further reason to complain. It wasn’t until they took took the air for the day that Keith got a few moments of reprieve, the only sound being the rush of wind past his ears. Unfortunately, as soon as they reached their assigned area for the day (a heavily forested area, forcing them to search on foot rather than in the air), Lance immediately began anew, much to Keith’s dismay.

It was only a few minutes after they’d begun searching that Keith couldn’t take it anymore. “If you’re feeling so miserable, why didn’t you just take the day off?”

Lance scrunched up his nose, either trying to stifle his runny nose or simply annoyed. Probably both. “Can’t a guy complain a little?”

“No,” Keith said sternly. Perhaps if it really were just a little bit of complaining it’d be fine, but clearly he and Lance had very different ideas of what was considered “a little”.

“Fine,” Lance sighed, with another dramatic sniff. “But can we at least talk about something? It gets so boring searching and collecting in silence.”

Keith deliberated as he picked up a few stars tucked away in a bird’s nest under a bush. He vastly preferred to search in silence, but if it meant that Lance wouldn’t be aimlessly complaining about how Keith had gotten him sick, maybe it would be worth it.

“Okay, what do you want to talk about?” Keith asked.

Lance faltered. “I, uh, don’t--actually know? Never thought I’d get this far.”

Keith closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying very hard to remain calm. Thankfully Lance very wisely chose not to say anything as Keith took several deep breaths. Never before had Keith encountered someone who seemed to be specifically designed, in every single aspect, to test his patience (of which there was very little in the first place).

“Oh, oh, I’ve got something!” Lance exclaimed suddenly. “Why did you decide to become a searcher?”

“It’s a job,” Keith said, not entirely honestly.

“Really, that’s it?” Lance asked. “You’re so boring.”

“Whatever,” Keith sighed. “What’s your reason then? You want to save the world or something?”

“Exactly,” Lance answered.

“What? Really?” Keith hadn’t expected that to actually be the case.

Lance nodded eagerly, climbing up a tree to grab some stars nestled among the leaves. “I want to find the sun, moon, and all the other planets.”

“You realize those are all different task forces, right?” Keith asked. There were searchers specifically dedicated to the sun, moon, and planets, but each different celestial body had a different task force dedicated to it. Searchers on those task forces didn’t stop for stars, so as to stay focused on their main goal.

“Yep, but I’m still going to find them all,” Lance said enthusiastically. “You don’t necessarily need to be on the task forces to be the one to find them.”

“Yeah, but you’d have more time and resources to better search,” Keith reasoned.

“And even then they still haven’t found a single one of them. So much for all those time and resources,” Lance said.

Keith hummed. “Solid math. So you’re just going to keep searching for stars until you happen to find the sun or moon?”

“Yep!” Lance said with a pop.

A beat of silence passed between them, during which Keith considered telling Lance about his true desire to be a replacer, but that would necessitate telling Lance that he’d failed the most basic screenings, hadn’t even made it to the training. He knew Lance probably had an inkling--after all, unless you chose to have a partner, you didn’t get assigned one for no reason. Still, Keith wasn’t sure he wanted to explain that Lance was stuck here with Keith because Keith was inexplicably drawn to searching for stars, to flying through the dark. It felt right in a way that nothing else in his life had. It felt personal, not something he wanted to talk about with someone he’d hardly known for three days yet.

“Okay, okay, I’ve got a better question: would you rather find the sun or the moon?” Lance asked.

“That’s stupid, the sun,” Keith answered.

“Really? If I had to choose, I’d choose the moon,” Lance said.

Keith sputtered at such backwards logic. “What? That’s crazy, we need the sun!”

Lance smiled mischievously. “Yeah, but how does the moon shine?”

“It reflects sunlight--hey, that’s cheating!”

Lance laughed loudly. “How is that cheating?!”

“The moon could be in the sky without shining, we just wouldn’t see it without the sun, which means we need the sun!” Keith argued.

“Sure, sure, but the implication--”

“There doesn’t need to be an implication--”

“The sun and moon go together--”

“Then why’d you ask it like it was a choice?!”

They bantered in a similar manner for the rest of their shift, Lance asking off the wall questions that he answered with insensible logic. By the time they were set to fly away, Keith felt more exhausted than he’d ever felt at the end of any shift before (save for perhaps the past two days). They had just risen above the treetops when they heard something highly unusual--a distant rumble of thunder. At first, Keith thought it was a distant explosion, which was worrying enough. But then Lance pointed towards the horizon, where a lone bolt of lightning had just struck, followed by another low rumble. That was perhaps even more concerning. Since the fall, all weather patterns had essentially ceased; storms were a rare, but devastating happening. With that in mind, Keith and Lance hurried back to the Bureau without another word.

“Quiet day?” Shiro asked when they returned.

“Mostly, until the end,” Lance said. “There was some lightning, even though there’s no storm in the forecast, but I mean who can tell what the weather is going to be like anymore.”

“Yeah…” Shiro said, with a touch of melancholy. He blinked just before his eyes misted over, and continued, “Some searchers actually had a close call with that lightning. We’re told it was just electrical discharge from the upper atmosphere that managed to reach the ground--thankfully no one was hurt, and there’s no storm either, so all in all, not as bad as it could be.”

Lance had immediately tuned out as soon as Shiro started talking about science stuff, but Keith caught on to the implication.

“‘Not as bad as it could be’?” Keith repeated. “What does that mean?”

Shiro sighed deeply. “This isn’t the first time there’s been a spontaneous discharge of lightning without any storms. Granted, lightning can strike quite a ways from storms, but these have been happening without any storms for hundreds of miles. Scientists are worried that it means the atmosphere is, essentially, breaking apart.”

That got Lance’s attention again. “Breaking apart…?”

Shiro nodded gravely. “We’ve gone without the sun for too long. We’ve survived for this long through sheer willpower and wishmaking, but this may not be something we can avoid with wishes and ingenuity. The Bureau is starting to take on more searchers into the solar task force, so if either of you want to apply, they’ll gladly take you.”

Keith looked back and forth between Shiro and Lance. Normally application for task forces was nearly as tedious a process as applying for replacer training, as for some reason everyone on the specialized task forces was required to have special clearance, which necessitated all manner of background checks, interviews, and of course mental screenings. With the sting of rejection from replacer training still fresh, Keith was certain that, even with the solar task force trying to double their numbers (and efforts), he would still be rejected. Lance, on the other hand, looked thoughtful. Keith liked to think he was certain that Lance wouldn’t apply; after he’d only just told Keith a few hours ago that it didn’t really matter whether he was on some specialized task force or not. But his expression cast a shadow of doubt in Keith. He shoved it aside--if Lance decided to apply for the solar task force after all, then good for him. It would just leave Keith in need of another partner, was all.

“I think I’m good,” Keith told Shiro with a pointed look.

“Yeah, me too. At this point what we really need to find the sun is some good luck, and a lot of it,” Lance said casually.

“No kidding,” Shiro agreed. “Well, if you guys change your mind, let me know, they’d prefer experienced searchers over new recruits, so you’d both probably get in no problem.”

Keith wasn’t quite convinced that it would be so easy, but assured Shiro he would keep it in mind. Lance was oddly silent on their way to drop off their stars at the analysts’ department, save for a sniffle or a cough here and there. Keith almost asked if something was wrong, but then, they’d just been told that the last thing that made their planet livable was breaking apart. Such news would be sobering to all but the most apathetic. As it was, Lance perked right back up in the analysts’ department, insisting that they count their stars to see who had managed to collect more (Keith did, but Lance was certain that he’d miscounted and would’ve counted for himself had Pidge and Hunk not shouted at them to step away from the stars so they could actually do their jobs).

As Keith waited to see if Pidge found anything of note, she mentioned, “The solar task force is looking for more people.”

Keith nodded. “Shiro just told me. I’m just going to stay a general searcher for now.”

“I think,” Pidge started slowly, not looking up from her work. “I’m going to apply.”

“What? Why?” Chatting with Pidge at the end of his shift was one of his favorite parts of the day! Who would he vent to on days where Lance decided to be insufferable (although he only had to hold out for a little less than a week now, Keith reminded himself)?

Pidge shrugged. “They need more people, what with the potential collapse of the atmosphere happening… not to mention it’d be nice, to feel like I’m part of something bigger than myself, I think. And my dad and brother are on one of the planetary task forces as well, and I’d like to follow them, in a way.”

She looked up at Keith. “Aren’t you going to apply?”

“No,” Keith said shortly. Pidge didn’t press the issue.

When he awoke the next day, he hoped that it wouldn’t come with any more unwelcome surprises. The last three days had left him unusually exhausted, and while he was certain he could handle it if he needed to, he wasn’t all that sure he wanted to. Thankfully, the majority of the day was relatively quiet, save for Lance’s griping about his cold, which had become worse than it had been the day before. Again Keith reminded him that if it was really that bad he could just take a day off, to which Lance replied he wouldn’t have anyone to complain to if he stayed home, so what was the point? It wasn’t until they were flying back to the Bureau that something unexpected, though not entirely unwelcome, happened.

They had just been flying along when Lance began shouting, which made Keith think there were more snatchers nearby. But when he looked at Lance, he was waving enthusiastically at something--scratch that, someone. Keith looked where Lance was starting to fly towards, and saw a silver streak gliding down from the sky. His first thought was that a comet was passing through (comets had been dragged down during the fall as well, but had a curious behavior compared to other celestial objects--they roamed free over the surface of the earth, bringing snow and ice with them, almost a substitute for the absent weather patterns), but a closer look revealed that it was a person with long, silver-white hair.

“Allura! Hey!” he heard Lance call out, loud enough that it made him start coughing again. That didn’t stop him from flying forward to meet the woman, who was removing a high-altitude mask--she was a replacer.

Lance reached out as though to hug her mid-air, but she neatly ducked under him with a laugh.

“You’re sick, I don’t want you getting me sick!” she giggled as Lance clumsily sailed right over her.

He turned to scowl at Keith. “This is your fault!”

“For the last time, I did not get you sick, you fell in too!” Keith snapped.

It looked as though they were going to fall into their usual back and forth when Allura coolly cut in, “Lance, is this the new partner you were telling me about?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, Allura, this is Keith. Keith, Allura,” Lance quickly introduced.

“Nice to meet you,�� Allura said, holding out a gloved hand. “I hope Lance hasn’t been giving you too much trouble.”

“More than I know what to do with,” Keith replied with a firm shake of her hand.

Lance loudly protested this statement, but it seemed that Allura was all too familiar with his antics. In fact, Keith discovered, they were childhood friends (though, from Lance’s expression, Keith thought there might be something else there too, but he didn’t want to ask outright). Keith joked that he was already tired after four days with Lance, and how did Allura manage an entire lifetime? Allura was in the midst of making a snarky reply when Lance quite literally cut in between them and decided that they were not allowed to become friends. The rest of the flight back to the Bureau was mostly idle chatter between Allura and Lance, which freed Keith from having to hold a conversation with Lance. It was actually kind of cute, seeing the dynamic between two people who were so close, and Keith was far from being a sappy person. Where Lance was tactless and almost clumsy, Allura was refined and graceful, at least as far as Keith could tell. They complemented each other quite nicely, Keith thought.

When they reached the Bureau, Lance was the first to hurry to the analysts’ department to count how many stars he got. Keith was about to follow close behind, turning to bid good bye to Allura when she stopped him short.

“I really do hope that Lance isn’t too much trouble. I know he can seem--overbearing at times, but he really is a good person,” Allura said.

“So I’ve been told,” Keith replied.

“Hopefully in time you’ll come to see it as well,” Allura said. “That said, I can’t help but feel you’re bad luck for him.”

It had been framed as a joke, but after hearing something along the same lines from Lance almost non-stop for the past several days, Keith couldn’t help but snap, “I told you, it wasn’t my fault that we fell in--”

“I know, I know,” Allura hurriedly interrupted. “I just meant, he never gets sick, and I’ve known him since we were young. He literally never gets sick, and now, only a few days after meeting you, he gets a cold. I know it was probably just from falling in the ocean.”

Keith sighed. “Sorry, I know you were just joking--wait, he really never gets sick? I thought he was exaggerating.”

“Nope, Lance has always been exceptionally healthy, more so than most people,” Allura confirmed. “I’m surprised he’s even bothered to come to work, but I suppose that’s once again your doing.”

“Me?”

She nodded. “Lance has never quite been able to settle on one thing to strive for--I don’t know if he told you he wants to find the sun, moon, and all the planets?”

Keith nodded.

“He’s always been like that,” she continued, smiling fondly. “He wasn’t even sure he wanted to be a searcher, he only applied to the Bureau because I did. But he does have a competitive streak, though he’d never admit it. He seems to think he needs to do better than you, and so if you’re still coming to work, he thinks he needs to come as well.”

“He has been counting our stars to see who collects more,” Keith noted.

“Well, some way or other, you’ve inspired him to do better. Only, don’t tell him I’ve told you any of this, okay?” Allura asked.

Keith was about to assure her that his lips were sealed on the matter when Lance rounded the corner, reminding them that they were, under no circumstances, allowed to become friends and insisted that Keith hurry up so they could count his stars. After this declaration he sneezed several times. Allura giggled and bid them both goodbye as she made her way to the replacer’s department. It was only later, as Keith mulled over that conversation in his head, did he realize that Allura had quite contradicted herself. Granted, she’d been joking when she said Keith might be bad luck for Lance, but she didn’t know that it was normally Keith getting sick easily and not recovering for weeks at a time. Had Keith’s luck with health somehow switched to Lance? He shook his head of the thought--that was simply ridiculous. That was just life. He’d said it himself, everyone got sick sooner or later. It was more of a stroke of good luck in Keith’s case than any bad luck in Lance’s. That aside, Keith, good for Lance? A little weird to think about when Lance seemed intent on picking a fight with Keith at every opportunity. How could that possibly be good for anyone? Regardless, Keith was certain it was no good for him, and had no intention of continuing this partnership past the week that Shiro had given him.

The next day was even quieter, very nearly the kind of day that Keith enjoyed having--if only because Lance’s throat had become so sore that his voice came out as nothing more than a strained hiss. His movements were more sluggish and hardly improved throughout the day. Keith found himself slowing down to let Lance catch up, which only seemed to aggravate Lance. Unfortunately, without his voice, and the fact that he’d doubled the layers piled onto him (making him look like some sort of puffball with legs), it was a little difficult to take him seriously. Still, Keith felt a little bad. He knew all too well what it was like to be stubbornly sick, and from what it looked like, Lance needed at least a little downtime to recover. But if what Allura had said was true…

Keith took the next day off, much to Shiro’s surprise. He didn’t explain too much, only asked that Shiro tell Lance. Shiro told him what he’d suspected all along: missing a day wouldn’t exempt him from having Lance as his partner for an entire week. Shiro sounded suspicion when Keith didn’t put up a fight at this, but didn’t inquire. He assured Keith he would let Lance know. Keith was then subjected to an incredibly boring day. Sick days normally were, but in this case he wasn’t actually sick. Time passed even more slowly than normal, no matter what he tried--drawing, reading, watching TV, playing video games--nothing seemed to grab his attention for more than an hour.

It was almost a relief to return to work the next day, even with Lance being even more over the top than usual, in celebration of the return of his good health. That day and the next, while still exhausting for Keith, were exhausting in a pleasant way, if new to Keith. Lance still insisted on talking about something, anything to while away the hours while they collected stars, one day over a river, the next in a field. It was almost like pulling teeth to get Keith to make responses that were more than a few words, but with enough prompting Lance eventually found decent conversations in Keith. And Keith--well, he couldn’t remember the last time a shift had passed so easily.

As such, when Shiro asked him at the end of the sixth day with Lance as his partner what he was thinking, Keith told him he was still thinking. In reality, he didn’t want to admit that perhaps Lance wasn’t as bad as he’d first made him out to be. Certainly Lance was full of himself, but not necessarily to the point of arrogance. And, believe it or not, Keith was beginning to think that Lance’s chattiness was something he could get used to. But if he admitted any of that, Shiro would give him a smug, knowing look, and Keith would have to live with that. Better to put it off for as long as possible, inevitable as it was.

The seventh day began as peacefully as the past two. Today, Lance was talking about his family.

“We used to live on the beach, but I don’t remember much of it. My mom talked about it a lot though, about how the waves were so soothing and the ocean was like this incredible force of nature that made you feel really humbled, and then my dad would always interrupt to talk about sunsets and sunrises over the ocean,” he rambled. “But we moved away maybe a year or so before I started school. Still, I was born after the fall, so it’s not like there was much to remember. Where did you grow up?”

Keith had been so content with just listening that it took him a moment to realize that Lance had actually asked him a question. “Oh, I--I grew up in the desert, mostly.”

“Really? Like with cactuses and everything?” Lance asked eagerly.

“It’s cacti, and no, not really. The desert used to be a really sunny place, apparently, and they didn’t last very long without the sun,” Keith explained.

“I’m pretty sure it’s cactuses,” Lance insisted. “So what was it like growing up in the desert then?”

“Cacti, and very cold,” Keith answered absently.

Lance was just about to argue that it was cactuses when a sharp, yet distant crack echoed throughout the air, drawing their attention to some place a few miles off. Another spontaneous bolt of lightning. They watched with bated breath as another lightning strike lit up the distant skies. Neither Keith nor Lance had much to say to that, a stark reminder of the limited time they and everyone else on this planet had. They were just about to fly away, continue their work, when Keith remembered something.

“Hey, didn’t Shiro say that the lightning was caused by some breakdown of the upper atmosphere?” he asked.

Lance shrugged. “Yeah, but maybe we can only see what’s happening in the lower atmosphere? I don’t know how that stuff works.”

Keith didn’t know how that stuff worked either, but he watched a third bolt of lightning split through the darkness, fizzling out well within the lower limits of the atmosphere. Not to mention, all three bolt now had been within the same area. Something didn’t seem right to Keith. He started to fly towards where they’d seen the lightning, when Lance flew in front of him to stop him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, where do you think you’re going?” Lance demanded.

“I’m going to go see what’s going on,” Keith said, flying around him to continue on his way.

But Lance again blocked his path. “Some junk going down in the upper atmosphere, like Shiro said. You’re going to get yourself zapped if you go over there.”

“Okay, but why is it only happening over there? Isn’t the entire atmosphere collapsing?” Keith pointed out.

Lance didn’t budge from his spot, but he looked thoughtful. Keith didn’t have time to explain his vague suspicions to Lance. He didn’t even know what he expected to find, only that something didn’t seem right about this spontaneous lighting. He flew around Lance again, and was pleased that Lance didn’t try to stop him this time. Then, only a second later, he noticed Lance flying by his side.

“I honestly think you’re being paranoid,” Lance told him. “But Shiro would probably kill me if I let you do anything stupid by yourself.”

Keith grinned. “Race you there?”

Lance’s eyes lit up, his smile cocky. “Oh, you’re so on.”

It was hard to say who reached the area first, given that there was no concrete finish line--and also the fact that a fourth bolt of lightning nearly struck them out of the air. Keith only barely managed to hold on to his broom as the sharp maneuver he’d used to avoid the lightning sent him rolling through the air. Everything was ringing, and he saw spots in his vision. He could only barely see Lance, but decided that at this rate, it would be safer for them to be on the ground and grabbed him by the arm as he descended. Even if they got struck by lightning, it would be better if they didn’t fall out of the air. Lance, still trying to rub the spots out of his eyes, resisted at first, but then followed easily.

They landed on a charred patch of ground, still smoking from the intense heat of the lightning. Lance waved a hand in front of his face to clear some of the air around him. Nothing seemed very out of the ordinary--except for the fact that there had now been four bolts of lightning in nearly the same place. Not to mention, something just felt… off to Keith. Maybe it was just the air, unusually warm and dry, that made him feel like something was wrong.

“See, Keith?” Lance said, gesturing to the area. “Nothing sinister going on here.”

“Really? Nothing feels at all weird to you?” Keith insisted, knowing it wasn’t just paranoia he was feeling. He wasn’t superstitious by any means, but the best way to describe it was that there was some presence, looming and dangerous. He suddenly thought it was not a very good idea to be here.

Lance hesitated with his answer. “I mean, yeah, it feels weird, but there’s nothing actually weird here!”

“But you agree there’s something weird here?”

“I just said--!”

“No take-backs, you agree that something weird is going on here, and we’re going to find what it is!” Keith said with certainty.

Lance mumbled something about how he should’ve kept his mouth shut, but Keith ignored him as he surveyed the area. Even with his eyes adjusted back to the darkness, Keith couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary. He detached his lantern of stars from his broom, and held it aloft, hoping the soft light would help him spot something, anything that would justify this nagging feeling at the back of his mind. Still there was nothing.

He was just about to turn to Lance and admit that, perhaps, just this once, he’d been wrong (much as he loathed to even think it), when Lance grabbed him by the arm and roughly shoved him down. Keith was, at first, adverse to such treatment, but when something solid and fast swept the empty air over his head, Keith was grateful for Lance’s quick reaction--how had he missed someone so close to him?!

They stumbled upright to face their assailant--a snatcher, if the way he eyed Keith’s lantern was anything to go by. He used his own broom as a weapon, but that didn’t make him any less dangerous. Senses sharpened by adrenaline, Keith noticed several more in the nearby woodline. He would’ve missed them if he hadn’t been looking for them. Keith gripped his own broom in his free hand. They were definitely and easily outnumbered, and already on the ground. Fancy flying wouldn’t get them out of this one. But, Keith thought, if they could get in the air, they might be able to get away. That would be their best bet, but how did Keith let Lance know that. They stood back to back as the snatchers slowly advanced on them, like predators closing in on their prey. Keith was determined to not be easy prey.

He lunged at the first one, the one that would’ve gotten the drop on him had it not been for Lance. There was only so much he could do with a broom one handed, but that didn’t mean he didn’t give the guy a run for his money. A quick, sharp jab to the gut had the snatcher doubled over, allowing Keith to smack the back of his head, and for good measure, kick him just hard enough to put him on the ground. Lance, meanwhile, had the use of both hands and wielded his broom much like a staff. He was quicker by far than the snatchers, and managed to keep them at bay while Keith created an opening from them to escape behind him.

“Lance, let’s go!” he shouted as soon as there was an opportunity.

Lance didn’t need telling twice. With a huge sweep of his broom, he pushed the snatchers back (if only a little), and followed Keith away from them. They only needed a few seconds to get in the air far enough that the snatchers couldn’t drag them back to the ground. After that, it would be a simple matter of outflying them all the way back to the Bureau.

Keith had just mounted his broom when he heard Lance scream a ways behind him. Another searcher, one neither of them had seen before, had Lance sprawled out on the ground. The other snatchers had backed away, practically back into the woodline. Lance had a pained expression, though Keith couldn’t see any evidence of injury. The snatcher’s expression, on the other hand, was a bit more difficult to decipher. It was neutral, but almost self satisfied, like she had the upper hand on them. Which, granted, may be the case, but Keith wasn’t about to let her know that.

She said nothing as she raised her hand, curling her fingers into a finger gun pointing straight at Keith. He faltered--what did she hope to accomplish by doing that? The other snatchers had retreated even farther back, and Keith realized a second too late what was about to happen. He saw the snatcher’s mouth form a single word (“Bang!”) just before all his senses whited out, and then faded to black.

When woke up next, Keith found himself in a blindingly white hospital bed with a throbbing headache, with the distinct feeling he’d had a dream, a dream filled with too much light and too much heat and too much everything that was the exact opposite of his dreams. He blinked, and the sensation was gone, but the headache remained. Beside his bed, Shiro sat patiently, looking a little apprehensive.

“What happened?” Keith croaked.

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Shiro replied.

Keith shook his head, and pressed his hands to his eyes in a weak attempt to dispel the pain. It didn’t work, and the pain made everything blurry. There had been snatchers, that much he could remember. He and Lance had been surrounded…

“Where’s Lance?” he asked.

“In the room next door,” Shiro answered. “He’s fine, save for a badly sprained ankle. You, on the other hand, have a concussion. You’ve been in and out of consciousness for the past couple hours now.”

Keith groaned at that. Injuries, like sickness, took forever for Keith to recover from. He didn’t count on getting lucky like he had with the cold, for all that he hoped he would. A concussion would have him grounded, which, as a general searcher, either meant paper shuffling or star analysis. Neither of which Keith was keen on. Shiro got up to go check on Lance, and let a nurse know that Keith was awake and aware now, but Keith stopped him just before he walked out the door.

“Hey, Shiro,” he said in a quiet voice, trying to choose his words carefully. “If--I mean, I know he won’t like being grounded because of me… but if Lance were to stay on as my partner… I don’t think I’d mind.”

Shiro spared him an “I told you so,” and even smiled without seeming smug. He simply nodded, and then left Keith to the silence of his hospital room. And for the first time, the silence was not as calm and peaceful as he once thought it to be.

#klance #voltron #vld #voltron legendary defender #the fallen and the wandering #chapter 2 #fanfic #fan fiction #creesh.txt #yeehaw

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bingbong21 · 6 years

Text

The Things We Fear

Summary: It's not just alien invaders that a person can be afraid of. It can also be the what-if's, the what could have beens, and everything in between.(Alternatively: Keith and James become friends with benefits in an effort to cope)

A/N: I 100% blame Keithy on the Sheithans server. This can be found on ao3 here and FFN here.

It was supposed to be a one-time thing.

Everyone had been hurting after the failure of the Kerberos mission, but all their grief paled in comparison to Keith’s. James understood why of course; Officer Shirogane had gotten him into the Garrison, saved him from a life of jumping from one prison sentence to the next. But now that he was dead, that whole plan seemed to be in jeopardy. So like the kind, caring man that felt a sense of duty to finish what Shirogane had started and who wished the best for his fellow classmates (which had nothing to do with wanting to be top of the class fair and square), James set out to offer Keith his condolences and a shoulder to cry on. And of course like the paranoid, socially stunted bullheaded asshole he was, Keith took it as an invitation to fight.

It hadn’t been pretty. There was no elegance to their fight, just a raw brutal animalistic force that only two teenage boys on the cusp of manhood could wrought. It ended exactly like their first fight at the Garrison had, with James on his back and Keith above him with raised fists. Then Keith’s shouts turned to sobs, his punches into desperate grabs at clothing, and next thing he knew he was staring up at his ceiling naked with a passed out, equally as naked Keith next to him.

When he woke up the next morning, Keith was gone. Gone from his bed, from the Garrison, and probably from his life forever. James didn’t let the bruised pride or the smarting marks on his body interfere with his career, and soon he was top of the class with Keith as nothing more than a distance memory. He had effectively forgotten about the guy, focused on preparing for whatever would come his way.

Five years later and life decided to give him a roundhouse kick reminder that no one was allowed to forget the name Keith Kogane.

James leaned against the windowsill, staring out at the vast expanse of desert before him. He was in one of the corridors of the Garrison hospital, sitting on one of the cushioned ledges they provided. He was there because…because…honestly he had no fucking clue why he was there. Him and his squad had been cleared pretty quickly after the final battle, diagnosis nothing more than some bruises and scrapes with a prescription of rest and celebration with the rest of the universe. The Paladins of Voltron were either sleeping off four years of an intergalactic war or catching up with the people they left behind and the friends they made along the way. There was no reason for James to be here yet there he sat, looking out to the desert as if it provided answers.

The squeaking of the wheels of an IV drip pulled him from his musings. He looked over and had to fight the urge to rub his eyes. There, walking as if he hadn’t just woken up from an explosion-induced coma was the head of Voltron himself, Keith Kogane. He looked so much younger in the hospital uniform, the bandages wrapped around his head giving him a sense of vulnerability. Just like when they were younger Keith paid him no mind, sitting on the same ledge as him and staring out the window. Either he was still unaware of what an awkward silence was, or he also didn’t know how to approach the sudden tension.

“Didn’t you just wake up from a coma,” James asked; subtlety was never his strong suit when it came to Keith. “What the hell are you doing walking around?”

Keith glanced at him from the corner of his eye before looking back out the window. “Felt weird, sitting there doing nothing. Feel like I should be planning another battle strategy or be in some diplomatic meeting.”

Makes sense; even when they were young Keith felt the need to be occupied by something, otherwise he was prone to getting into trouble. “Don’t you have some aliens to catch up with though?”

Keith shrugged, “Mom and Kolivan are out doing stuff for the Blades, Shiro’s busy being the voice of a new world order, and the wolf is probably either getting spoiled rotten by Lance’s family or playing with Bae-Bae. Don’t exactly have many options left to keep me company.”

“I could keep you company.” The words are out of James’s mouth before he even thinks to process them. Keith fully turns to look at him, an eyebrow raised in question; James holds his hands up defensively. “What? I’m not a complete and utter asshole you know!”

“We fought literally every time we were in the same room as each other.”

“Not every time,” James shoots back; something about Keith makes him want to argue, even if it makes him look like a dumbass. Those thick caterpillars Keith calls eyebrows furrow together before shooting into his hairline. James feels a smug sense of satisfaction at the light blush that blooms across Keith’s cheeks. He takes it as an invitation to scoot closer to Keith, hand resting dangerously close to his.

“Everybody else is celebrating or rebuilding right now,” he murmurs, “a party of one sounds pretty lonely, don’t you think?”

“Since when have you cared about me being lonely,” Keith responds; it’s quieter, not at all reminiscent of the confident leader he saw in battle. James shrugged, fingers walking between the spaces left by Keith’s.

“Since we saved Earth from a bunch of murderous space furries,” he quips, cocky grin on his face. He settles his hand right on top of Keith’s; for such a fiery guy, he really did have cold hands. “So what do you say?”

Keith’s eyes drop to their hands before slowly making their way back to James’s face. He gives a short nod, jerking his head back towards where he came. Soon the two of them are walking back to Keith’s room, with James thinking back to that night before Keith left. All thoughts cease when the door opens and he’s pulled inside, a mouth slanted over his and the door closing behind them.

When James had left his room after pulling the thin hospital sheets up to Keith’s chin, that should have been the end of it. Just a celebratory knocking of boots together for having not died and saving the universe from tyranny.

Except it kept happening.

Whenever one of those things fell from the sky, James would find himself being shoved into a broom closet or bathroom stall. When they actually managed to catch a break for longer than two days James was either being dragged to Keith’s room or pushed back onto his mattress. Not to say that James was some pushover whore for Keith to use at his fancy; James instigated a bunch of their liaisons himself of course. It’s just…Keith’s need to fuck was a lot higher than his. Like a lot higher. To the point that James wondered if it was a Galra thing to always be in a constant state of fighting or fucking. If so, no wonder those fuckers took over the entire universe.

Apparently others took notice of Keith’s stamina.

“So are you and Kogane just fucking or what?”

James spluttered, water going all over the table. Kinkade, Leifsdottir, and Rizavi all moved their trays accordingly in scarily perfect synch. James glared at Rizavi while coughing, who had the gall to just sit there and innocently poke at her salad. He took the napkin offered by Kinkade, wiping at his mouth.

“What are you talking about?”

“After every mission you and Kogane disappear for approximately ten to fifteen minutes,” Leifsdottir stated as if it were just another piece of data, “afterwards you both appear slightly disheveled with marks that are generally associated with sex. You and Kogane also have a tendency to disappear together for large swaths of time whenever there is nothing else to do, only to come out looking the same.”

“So cut the crap and give us the deets.” Rizavi jabbed her forkful of salad at James’s face. “Y’all fucking or what?”

James heaves a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If you must know, yes, we are fucking. It’s a friends with benefits sort of deal; he scratches my back, I scratch his. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Rizavi hums, leaning forward on the table, chin resting in her hands. “And how’s that going for your big fat crush on him?”

James jerked away from the table, face erupting in flames. “I…How…I do not have a big fat crush on him!”

“Seventy-five to eighty percent of your complaints about him in flight school were about things that, upon further analysis, could be considered you actually talking about how attractive he is,” again Leifsdottir chimes in, as if she were just talking about the weather instead of one of her friends’ sex life. James shot her a glare, the blush still visible high on his cheeks.

“Yeah well, the numbers mean nothing. I don’t have a crush on Kogane, and this arrangement here isn’t making me have feelings.” He grabbed his tray, pushing away from the table. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m gonna finish lunch in the hangar.”

He ignored whatever snarky comment came from Rizavi’s mouth as he left the mess hall, thoughts bouncing wildly around his head. There was no way in hell he had a crush on Keith Kogane. Sure he respected the guy for his battle tactics, courage, and flight skills, but so did Commander Iverson and everyone else in the base. Did that mean they all had crushes on Keith? Of course not; it meant they were people with eyes and enough brain cells to rub together to have a decent thought. And fine, maybe he thought he was pretty easy on the eyes, but again that meant nothing. He’d seen Rizavi cycle through so many freak-outs about pretty girls without meaning to seriously pursue them that it barely even phased him.

Everything relaxed as he entered the upper decks of the MFE hangar. Something about being there, close to his ship and the opportunity of freedom just instantly calmed him. He looked around, hoping that he could claim a seat to look over his personal plane, when his eyes caught another Garrison cadet uniform perched on the walkway. More specifically, Keith in a Garrison cadet uniform with that kickass wolf perched on the walkway. Perched on the walkway right above where his beloved MFE sat charging.

Motherfucker.

“Thinking of stealing my ship are you?”

The dull thud that rang out in the hangar as Keith’s skull made contact with the rails above it had James wincing in sympathy. He walked over with his tray, afraid Keith might lash out in some sort of retribution. Keith merely clutched his head, groaning in pain before cracking an eye open.

“Why the fuck do people always think I’m trying to steal their shit,” he grumbled, arms slowly falling back to his sides. One hand came to rest on Kosmo’s head; the wolf pushed his snout into his hand. James shrugged, taking a seat next to him.

“You did steal Captain Shirogane’s care before we got here.”

“That was one time!”

“There was also the time you stole someone’s pens cuz they pissed you off. Oh, and the ti-” James was cut off as Keith slapped a hand over his mouth. He looked over at him, trying to avoid all connotations of intense eyes and hand over mouth with sex.

“Keep it up and I actually will,” Keith threatens before removing his hand. He wipes it off on his pants before crossing his arms on the railing, resting his head on them. James took a moment to study his profile before turning back to his food. Kosmo comes towards him, eyes asking for food and pets; it takes everything in him not to give in.

“What’re you doing in here anyway? Shouldn’t you be hanging out with your crew or something?”

“They were getting a little too rowdy for my tastes,” Keith responds, still staring straight ahead. He places a hand on Kosmo’s back, letting it rest. “It’s great to hang out with them, but when you spend two years on the back of a space whale with just your mom and a wolf, it takes a while to get used to it again.”

“Space whale?”

The corner of Keith’s lips twitch upwards, as if remembering fond memories. “It’s a long story.”

He turns to look at him, eyeing his tray empty of everything save a few scraps of meat James left for Kosmo. “What about you? What brings you here instead of being with your squad?”

James set his tray aside, watching as Kosmo descends on it like a vulture. He makes it a point to mimic Keith’s previous posture, resting against the railings. He shrugs, staring down at his jet. “Same as you. Rizavi made one too many snarky jabs.”

Keith hums, “So you can dish it but not take it huh?”

James’s shoulders tense; he’s not about to let some punk ass fuck buddy diss him in his happy place. He whips around to face Keith, only for his retort to die on his lips. Keith is laughing, a smile on his lips and good God he should not look as cute as he does. The Keith he remembers and the Keith he’s been fucking don’t smile or laugh like that. They’ve always been stony faced little bitches, only giving barest hint of emotion in the throes of passion.

“Relax Griffin, I was just kidding.” Keith’s snickers died down, face relaxing into something of…concern? James couldn’t tell, he was still trying to wrap his head around him laughing. “Rizavi really must’ve pissed you off huh?”

James wrenches his eyes away from Keith; anything to not confront the sudden emotions. “Yeah…guess it hit a little too close to home.”

More like a nail getting smacked down by a hammer, but Keith didn’t need to know that. A warm hand placed solidly on his thigh has him jumping form his thoughts. He looks over at Keith, eyes wide and faint blush on his cheeks. Keith’s jaw worked, eyebrows furrowed together as if he were chewing on a questionable piece of meat. James was about to ask what was up before he finally spoke.

“You ever fuck in the back of an MFE before?” James shook his head, too stunned by the sudden turn of events to do much else. Keith grinned, devilish and shit stirring and oh James was so fucked.

“Neither have I. Let’s fix that.”

It was cramped, hot, and humid inside his MFE, and so many different rules were being broken right now but honestly? James could give approximately zero shits at the moment. Not when he was leaning back in the passenger seat, Keith kneeling between his legs and sucking his cock just the way he liked. James moans, fingers combing through Keith’s thick hair. How the fuck did he get so good at this? Was that a thing for the Paladins of Voltron, just going around sucking alien cock? Or maybe he was practicing on one of his other Paladins; maybe he was practicing on Shirogane.

James growls low in his throat, grip tightening in Keith’s hair. Those two were awfully chummy before Kerberos, and now that Shirogane looked like some sort of Greek god? No wonder Keith’s asshole was always so ready to go; he’d been taking Shirogane’s monster cock on the regular for years now.

He yelped as a sharp pain shot up his thigh. James glared down at Keith who was currently sucking and licking a dark mark into the meat of his thigh. “The hell you do that for?”

“You spaced out,” came Keith’s smooth reply. He crawled up James’s body, settling himself in the other man’s lap. “I’m not doing this cuz I like the smell of sweaty balls you know.”

James pointedly looked out the window of the fight yet, trying to ignore the way Keith idly played with the ends of his hair. He could hear the frown in Keith’s voice when he spoke again. “What the hell has got you so worked up today?”

“Nothing!” James yelped again as Keith leaned in and bit into his neck. “Would you stop that! It’s not my fucking kink!”

“Not what you were saying a couple days ago,” Keith mumbles against his skin. He grasps James’s chin, yanking him to look him directly in the eyes. “Now tell me.”

James sucks in a breath, trying to resist the hypnotic lure of those beautiful eyes. “You and Shirogane ever fuck?”

Keith stares at James for a minute before his face scrunches up. James had seen the face before, when that orange-haired alien dude had cooked something up for the Paladins to try using Earth ingredients. “What? No! Why the fuck would I ever fuck Shiro?”

“Are you blind? Shirogane is hot! Plus…” James averts his eyes. He’s not sure why this part embarrasses him, but it does. “You guys have always had that really close weird bond thing going on.”

“Oh my God…” Keith mumbles, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He sighs, “You ever see that really old show Scrubs? Takes place in a hospital with a bunch of interns or some shit?”

James nods; it was Rizavi and Kinkade’s favorite old timey television show. Keith continues, “You know that one pair of friends on the show? Scrawny white guy and black surgeon dude? TJ and Thurk?”

“JD and Turk.” The correction slips out before James can stop himself; Keith rolls his eyes.

“Whatever, JD and Turk. That’s the kind of relationship we have. Definitely, hundred percent gay, we love each other to the ends of the universe and would do whatever it takes to save each other. But we’re not in love with each other, alright? He’s coping with Adam being dead and all that happened to him, and I’m…”

Keith goes silent, finally averting his eyes from James’s face. His jaw and face do that thing from earlier again. James cocks his head to the side, puzzled. “You’re…?”

“…Dealing with everything else, I guess,” he finally responds quietly. His shoulders are slumped forward; again James is struck just by how vulnerable and small Keith can look when he’s not leading them in battle. The thought is gone when Keith resettles in his lap, lining their bare cocks up together in his hand. His eyes are a smoky haze of lust and want; James is starting to wonder if that’s just a cover.

“Come on, we gonna finish or what,” Keith asks, lazily thrusting against James. James shudders at the feeling, prick perking back up in interest.

“Dunno, the moment is kinda gone,” James manages to mumble. Keith merely smirks, the fire of being issued a challenge lighting up in his eyes.

“Then let’s bring it back.”

More time had passed; the giant robots attacking them had slowed down to a trickle thankfully. Now it was just making alliances and a bunch of other bureaucratic niceties. Which was a pleasant change from the usual “Save the Earth or probably die trying” shtick they’d been doing, except that it kept the Paladins busy. Meaning that it kept Keith busy. Busy, and not needing a good lay to keep his head on straight. Which unfortunately for James meant he had plenty of time to ponder what his life had become and try to find meaningless mundane tasks to fill the time.

(“Why are you so obsessed with Scrubs recently? Is this a Keith thing?”

“It is not a Keith thing.”

“Oh my God it’s a Keith thing.”)

Right now he was engaged in his current least favorite way to pass the time; staring up at the ceiling of his room unable to sleep after curfew had been called. After so many years of being on edge, having to be ready to fight at a moment’s notice, James had trouble relaxing when the days had been so…mundane. No secret rendezvous with Keith to tire him out, no life or death situations to deplete his mental energy, just nothing but peace.

He hated it.

James groaned, rolling onto the side facing his bedroom, eyes shut tight. No, hate was too strong of a word. He just…had adapted too quickly to wartime life and was now having trouble adapting back. He’d seen the others have the same struggles; they’d walk around aimlessly, looking for something to do but finding nothing. Funny how they were chosen for their skills at adapting to new situations but sucked complete ass at reverting back.

A warm moist puff of air hit James’s face; he scrunched his nose at the smell. Why the hell did his room suddenly smell like dog breath? He cracked an eye open only to come face to snout with Kosmo.

“Jesus.” He scrambled upright, heart racing. Why the absolute fuck was Kosmo in his room? Sure he’d gotten into the habit of giving the wolf a treat every time he saw him, but that didn’t seem special enough to have him break into his room in the middle of the night. Kosmo merely tilted his head, watching James with an otherworldly sense of intelligence. James sighed, reaching forward to ruffle his fur.

“I dunno what you want, but you should go ba-” A sudden pulling sensation deep in his gut, and soon James found himself sitting in a corner of the Garrison gym in his boxers and undershirt. He whipped his head back and forth, trying to grapple with the realization that he was here and not in his bed. He glared at Kosmo, who was quietly curled up in front of him looking innocent of any crimes.

“Hey, what was that for?!”

“James?”

His spine stiffened; he recognized that voice all too well. He turned towards the source of the voice, eyes the size of dinner plates. He watched as Keith walked over, hair pulled back in a low ponytail, sweat running down his face and soaking the sleeveless undershirt he wore. He noticed how his hands were taped, but more importantly he noticed how low his pants rode on his hips.

“The hell are you doing in here?”

Keith’s voice had him snapping to attention. He gestured wildly at Kosmo. “I…y-your stupid dog came into my room and brought me here!”

Keith narrowed his eyes at Kosmo; Kosmo gave an uninterested yawn. “I thought I told you not to wake people up?”

“Actually I was already awake,” James offered; even after being kidnapped by a wolf he felt the need to make sure Keith knew it followed the rules. Keith blinked, apparently taken aback by the statement, before looking to Kosmo again. Kosmo stood up to stretch before walking forward to Keith. He bumped his head against Keith’s hand, clearly looking for affection.

“I’m not petting you just because you know what a loophole is,” Keith chided; Kosmo’s ears lowered, a whine coming from him. “Don’t give me that look! You know exactly what I meant when I said that. Now take him back to his room.”

James swears up and down that Kosmo gets the same defiant look in his eyes that Keith gets before promptly turning away from him. With head and tail held high he walks over to James, plops himself in his lap, and immediately does not do what Keith asked of him. James and Keith both stare at Kosmo in confusion; Keith growls.

“No, that’s not-Stop petting him, you’re reinforcing bad behavior!”

James pulled his hand away from the soft fur, looking up sheepishly at Keith. He honestly hadn’t even realized he was doing it until Keith called him out. “Sorry…”

Keith groans, walking over to sit beside him. He slides down the wall, shirt riding up as he sits, legs spread out in front of him. This close James can smell the pungent scent of sweat and body odor, dizzy from its force. Keith leans his head back against the wall, eyes slipping closed. The gym fills with silence; James begins petting Kosmo again.

“Why are you in here anyway?” The question claws its way out of his throat no matter how much he tried to hold it back. “Curfew’s been in effect for a couple hours now.”

“Couldn’t go back to sleep,” is the blunt response Keith gives. James looks over at him, observing the way he tenses at the question. How his body seemed poised to strike at a moment’s notice. It was so eerily similar to how he was as a child that James finds himself giving into his old habits of prodding when he shouldn’t.

“Why?”

Keith’s jaw tenses, hands clenching and unclenching into fists. James can tell he’s at war with himself, fighting a battle to tell a lie or a truth. It’s odd, watching Keith actually think before he moves. James had only ever known him to act rashly without a thought for the consequences. It was what made him a thorn in everyone’s side, yet at the same time made him such an incredible pilot. As the silence and battle stretched on, James pressed further.

“Keith…”

“Because of the nightmares,” Keith finally shouts; James jumps, startling Kosmo. Keith runs his fingers through his hair, eyes trained on the ground as he continued to speak.

“Because when I close my eyes I see my team dying, I see Shiro dying, or that stupid fight in that God forsaken factory, or my mom dying just within reach or,” Keith heaves a breath, fingers gripping the material of his pants, “or an entire planet being blown up because the Galra have just gotten that powerful now.”

“These alliance meetings…I know they’re important, know that they can change history, but they just…they make it impossible to exhaust myself so I can just black-out in bed.”

Realization dawns on James; he grips Kosmo’s fur harder than necessary. “That’s why we’re sleeping together, isn’t it?”

Keith nods, head still bowed as if in shame. James frowns as he processes the information, smoothing the ruffle he made in Kosmo’s fur. He’s not sure why this surprises him; maybe it’s because Keith has never failed to give off an air of confident nonchalance. Maybe it’s because he never suspected Keith of all people to use sex as a coping mechanism. Maybe it’s because he never thought Keith would involve him in any of his recovery steps. Either way he’s here and a choice needs to be made.

James turns towards Keith, reaching out with the hand not buried in Kosmo’s fur. He tilts Keith’s head up before slanting his mouth against his. He feels the way Keith freezes beneath his touch, lips chapped and slightly parted. Knows the exact moment Keith melts, moving his mouth in an all too familiar dance, allowing him to slip his tongue in. Shudders at the intimate feel of them meeting in the middle, twining around each other in greeting, combined with a tingling sensation in his stomach. Surprised when a sudden force has him pushing Keith down into…a mattress?

James pulls back, panting as he takes in their surroundings. They were back in his room, Kosmo nowhere in sight. He must have teleported them back before going back to Keith’s room. He looks back to Keith, taking in the sight of cheeks flushed with something other than physical exertion, black hair spread out in a halo around his face. He traces his thumb reverently over the scar he came back with before daring to speak.

“You take care of the universe,” he murmurs; he settles more on top of Keith, straddling his hips. “Now, let me take care of you.”

A barely perceptible nod from Keith has James leaning back down to reconnect their mouths. He slips a hand under Keith’s shirt as their tongues pick up where they had left off. His skin is still tacky with sweat from the workout he did; James feels a desperate need to run his tongue over those hardened muscles. He pushes Keith’s shirt up higher, breaking the kiss only to remove it. He quickly yanks his own off, tossing them both to some part of the room before focusing back on Keith.

In the wake of Keith’s admission, the scars that mar his body tell a new tale to James. They tell the story of a man who’d give everything and anything to save the universe from tyranny. They speak testaments to his utter selflessness, how he puts lives above his own and asks for nothing in return. Before James had simply thought they were attractive, marks of his prowess as a warrior and ability to survive. Now though, he thinks as he traces the scar on his cheek and shoulder with his eyes, now he just hopes that someone had been there to soothe the hurts he suffered.

He presses a gentle kiss to the scar before peppering kisses down his neck. It’s different from the other times, no harsh bites or crudely given hickies. Tonight isn’t about staking claims or taking frustrations out on each other’s bodies. Tonight it’s about simply being there, taking care of the wounds they can’t see. Again James is reminded of that night they shared so long ago; he realizes then that he hadn’t treated Keith like he should have, like he had wanted to. He presses a kiss to the scar on his right shoulder, so dangerously close to his pulse point.

“I’m sorry.” The apology is almost lost in the harsh panting Keith provides. James feels fingers carding through his hair, blunt nails gently scraping his scalp.

“…For what,” comes the hoarse reply. James looks up, eyes locking onto Keith’s. He shrugs, hand idly moving to stroke at his abdomen; Keith’s muscles contract.

“For not treating you right,” he finally managed, moving to kiss a more recent scar further down. He continues moving, pressing kisses along every trace of injury, old and new, speaking between the kisses. The hand in his hair tightens as he moves ever close to Keith’s cock.

“That night, after the pilot error…I should’ve been kinder to you. I shouldn’t have said all the things I said to you, before or during. I know it doesn’t fix anything, but you deserve to know.”

The silence in the room is palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. James wonders if Keith will shove him off now and tell him never touch him again. He’s surprised when he hears a isgh, and the hand in his hair pets him instead.

“I…” The hand stutters, before resuming its pace, “I’m sorry too. I know I wasn’t the easiest to get along with, and…I shouldn’t have left you that night. At least, not like that.”

James dares to look up; Keith is looking off to the side, finding the corner of his bed absolutely fascinating. He sees that vulnerable side Keith so rarely shows, and knows that he should tread carefully here. Still, seventeen-year-old James wants answers, wants to know why he was abandoned when all he tried to do was be kind.

“So why did you,” he asks as softly as he can manage, moving back up his body. Keith shrugs, still not making eye contact.

“I dunno, I was…scared? I didn’t know what would happen after, and I already was going to leave, so I just…did.”

James cups his face again. “You scared now?”

“Absolutely terrified.” Keith’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, leaning into the touch. “But…I don’t want to stop.”

James huffs, reaching over to grab the lube and condoms he keeps on his night stand. “That makes two of us then,” He uncaps the lube; Keith begins to shimmy out of his pants and boxers at the sound, “So at least…we can be scared together.”

He pulls his own boxers down, exposing his hard cock nestled in brown curly pubic hair to the air. He rolls the condom down, wanting to be prepared as soon as Keith is slicked and stretched. He takes his time loosening Keith, using one finger at first before gradually moving to two, then three. He never paid much attention to the sounds Keith made before and he curses himself profusely. The moans, the high pitched mewls he makes when James manages to strike his prostate, the expressions he makes on his face as he basks in pleasure…it’s enough to have him grasping the base of his dick to keep from cumming too soon. The rest is a blur; he’s only back to full awareness when he’s pushing inside Keith.

The feeling of that familiar wet heat gripping him tightly, coupled with the flood of newly discovered feelings has James feeling like it’s his first time all over again. Perhaps in a way it is; perhaps this was life giving them a second chance at something incredible. He reaches up, fingers lacing with Keith’s as he sets a slow pace, moans mingling beautifully with the punched out cries from Keith. With every thrust inside him James feels the balance of their relationship shift, changing from something to casual to something deeper than either of them ever dared to dream of. It brings a pleasure far greater than any physical action has ever wrought. He reaches down, taking Keith’s cock in his hand and stroking it, coaxing a gasp and moan from the man beneath him.

“James,” Keith pants; his hands grip tighter to his shoulders, legs moving to wrap around his hips to pull him in deeper. “I can’t…I’m gonna-ah!”

James slants his mouth over Keith’s milking him slowly through his orgasm. He feels his own drawing ever closer, abdomen drawing tight. His pace speeds up ever so slightly and, with a shout of Keith’s name, he spills inside the condom. Panting he rests, pulling away from Keith’s mouth; he chuckles as he sees that just like before Keith has already passed out in his bed, chest rising and falling steadily. He slowly pulls out and makes quick work of cleaning the both of them up. He pulls the covers up, and allows himself to fall asleep to the sight of Keith in his bed.

In the morning James presses himself against Keith’s back with a kiss to his shoulder, intertwining their fingers together, and feels like old wounds can finally begin to heal.

#jaith #jeith #vld keith #james griffin #voltron legendary defender #voltron #vld

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vegafiction · 6 years

Note

Please do “attempted rape” about Klance from Voltron (obviously:D) and if you don’t mind make Lance the one to suffer? I live for Langst

Anon: Could you please do Keith for attempted rape? And Lance comforting him, love your writing btw

Count: ~2kPairing: KlanceFandom: Voltron Legendary DefenderPrompt: Attempted RapeWarning(s): Cursing, Attempted Rape, mild torture, langst, alien OCs

Part II of “Made A Slave”

Remember when I said I’d make a continuation based on “Made a Slave” because of an Anon prompt? Yeah, this was it. The Keith request came in today so I decided to incorporate within one request. Sorry if it wasn’t what you were expecting, Anon! By the way, I made an error on the first prompt. The King’s name is supposedto be Lixvan not Delxian.

Get your own card @badthingshappenbingo

Keith’s nails bit into the fabric of his paladin uniform as he paced back and forth in the war room of the palace. It’d been two hours since King Lixvan had released a search party for Lance and another hour since they had arrived to the planet. And in those three hours, Keith had done nothing but stifle his anger and wear a path on the floor of the war room.“This is ridiculous, I should be out there looking for him!” He slammed a fist against the stone wall, a growl of frustration punctuating his words. “Lance is hurt and lost and what are we doing here? Waiting!”“We’ve been through this Keith,” Allura sighed. She sagged into her seat, as though drained by Keith’s emotions. She watched him wearily. “Expending all our energy combing the city would take too much time. We must at least attempt to relax.”“I know you’re worried about him,” Shiro interjected softly. “We all are, but you need to keep your cool. You’re not going to help Lance if you get yourself into trouble with the Magésti.”“I-I know that! It’s just…” He wracked his brain for the proper words, but only one stuck out. He leaned his weight against the wall for support, his heart hammering harshly in his chest. “I’m scared. I know he can handle himself but…”Shiro laid a comforting hand against his shoulder. “I know.”“We’ll find him,” Hunk stated. “We’re not leaving this planet until we do.”The others nodded their agreement. Keith felt the tension in his muscles loosen, appeased by their reassurance.

Lance’s screams reverberated across the chamber as Anphas crushed his hand beneath his boot. He rubbed his heel into his fingers until Lance’s screams cracked from the pressure. He cackled into the boy’s face, relishing the expression of agony that twisted Lance’s features.He shoved him aside, breathless from laughter.“Come now Lance, we’re only just beginning.”Anphas grabbed the boy’s ankles, skin bruised and bleeding from the ropes that had been tied around them, and pulled him closer until he was underneath him.Panic spilled across Lance’s face.“No, no, no!” He begged, voice rough and broken. “No, please, stop! Don’t do this—!”Anphas’s hand smacked over his mouth, muffling his cries. The Magéstan turned him over and leered into the younger boy’s face with an expression of pure mad delight.“You have such a pretty voice. I can’t wait to steal it away from you.”“Anphas!”Ezriel ripped the smaller male away from Lance and practically flung him to the wall. He crashed into a pile of supplies, knocking them over in a horrid display of noise and chaos.“The fuck, Ezriel?!” He screamed. “What are you doing?!”His partner growled in barely controlled rage. “Are you an idiot? He is a paladin of Voltron! His companions are in the palace.”“I told you to get rid of Zarax!”“He has been neutralized,” the blonde said gruffly. He turned his attention to Lance, who scrambled as far away as he could from the burly male.Lance huddled against the wall, careful not to let the cold stone touch the raw, agonizing mess that was his back but too terrified to care. His entire body trembled from fear, his skin clammy and soaked in a mixture of sweat and blood. He caught sight of Anphas unwillingly, who licked his lips.God, Lance wanted to puke.“Anphas, enough of this. The King requests our presence. You can play with your pet later.”Anphas scowled. “What does the little brat need me for?”“He knows we made a trip outside of the palace.”“Fine. But first,” Anphas fisted Lance’s shirt and lifted the Cuban boy to his height. A sinister smile marred his lips. “I’ll be back little lion. Try not to miss me too much, okay?” He thrust Lance aside roughly then exited the chamber.Ezriel pinched the bridge of his nose.Once they were gone, Lance hurried to the door. He pushed then pulled, but the heavy iron door would not move. He was locked inside.He pounded his fists against the door.“Keith! Shiro!” He rasped, his tears flowing. “Allura! Hunk…” He slide down the smooth surface, the scent of sweat, blood and metal invading his senses. “Pi-Pidge…” he hiccuped. “An-anyone…”Don’t leave me!He buried his face into his arms and sobbed.

Keith had never wanted to stab someone in the gut before they spoke until this very moment. Lotor came pretty close, but at least Keith had a reason back then. Anphas was different. He radiated an aura of such smug assholery that Keith seriously contemplated having an “accident” with the Blade of Mamora.The moment King Lixvan’s advisor walked into the room with his large, hulking companion, Keith hated him. He looked smug and greeted the King and the Paladin’s of Voltron with an air of such sarcasm—God, he just wanted to punch him.“Yes, your childishness? I mean, your highness?”King Lixvan’s childlike features furrowed into a regrettable frown. “Anphas, you and Ezriel made a trip to the outskirts of town about 4 hours ago. Did you find anything?”“Mostly grass and peasants.”“Did you happen to see anything fall from the sky?”Anphas stared at his sharp nails as though they were more fascinating than conversing with the King. “No, I don’t believe I did. The only things I saw was the decay of our good people under your leadership.”“Anphas, enough.” Ezriel hissed. “My apologies, Lord Lixvan. Has something happened?”“The Paladins of Voltron have lost a companion. I was hoping you two may have seen something?”Anphas shook his head. “Nope, we saw nothing.”Keith’s eyes narrowed. There was something about the guy he didn’t like. The way he openly mocked the King without fear, the way his mismatched eyes bounced between the rest of the paladins—something wasn’t right.Anphas’s stare landed on Keith. He sized the length of Keith’s whole body slowly before gazing into his eyes. He smiled.Something twisted sickeningly inside Keith.“Please keep an eye out,” Lixvan requested. “He could be injured.”It was barely noticeable, even the most observant of them could have missed it, but Keith saw the corners of Anphas’s lips twitch.“Of course, your majesty.” He bowed lavishly then exited the hall with his companion in tow.

Lance barely had any strength to move, but the loud click of the iron door unlocking sent a wave of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He bolted from the door to the nearest hiding place and crouched behind the clutter of junk.Anphas slipped into the room, giggling gleefully to himself. His laughter died the moment he scanned the room.“Oh dear, where has the little lion gone?” Anphas made a show of investigating the torture chamber.Ezriel watched him, unamused by his partner’s theatrics, but Lance held his breath. He desperately eyed the open door. The blonde stood in his path, but not enough to block him completely. If he was lucky, maybe he could sneak away?Before Lance could concoct a plan, he was yanked out of the shadows and tossed to the ground. Terror immediately sized control. He made a break for the for the door.“Ezriel!”The robust blonde smacked Lance in the face. The force knocked the wind out of his lungs and he collapsed to the ground wheezing. He heard the dreaded screech of the iron door closing in front of him, a visual representation of his only means of escape vanishing for good. He couldn’t stop his tears from flowing.Anphas was on him in seconds.“Thought you could run away, hm? That’s too bad.” He leered over Lance’s figure, his expression utterly insane. “Let’s play~”Lance tried to fight. He was weak from the loss of blood, exhausted from the whirlwind of pain and emotion; Anphas shredded the remainder of his clothes and pulled him close. He pinned the Cuban boy’s arms above his head then grinned.“Put on a good show for Ezzie, okay?”

He slipped his free hand between Lance’s legs.Lance screamed.Without warning, the iron door burst open.Ezriel charged into Anphas before their unexpected guest could and ripped him away from Lance’s vicinity. The younger Magéstan screamed in outrage; Ezriel whipped out his own sword from a place Lance had not seen and held it out against the interloper.It took Lance a moment to regain his senses. He stared into the angry, determined face of Keith, who held his sword drawn against Ezriel and Anphas.“I knew you were hiding something, you bastard.” Keith hissed. “What were you doing to him?!”Lance scrambled to Keith’s side, his words a jumbled mess as large, fat tears poured profusely from his eyes. Keith immediately knelt to his side. He kept his weapon pointed to his enemies, but the harshness of his gaze morphed into anxious concern for Lance’s well-being.Anphas suddenly chuckled.“I see what’s happening here. You’re his lover, aren’t you?” Keith turned sharp eyes to him, a dangerous growl rumbling in his throat. “Fair enough. I’ll share. Ezriel.”Ezriel zoomed into them before either boy could react. His large palm collided with Keith’s face, his fingers framed across his head until all Keith could see what the older man’s hand. The contact barely lasted a second. Keith swung his sword instinctively but Ezriel’s hulking mass was gone and so was Anphas.“What did they do?” Lance rasped. His long fingers gently grasped onto Keith’s face, wet, blue eyes anxiously scanning him for visible injuries, but he saw nothing.“Lance,” Keith sighed. “Oh my god, Lance.”Lance buried himself into Keith’s chest, his whole body trembling again. Tears poured from his eyes as he sobbed, comforted by Keith’s warm embrace.Keith held him close, wary of the ruined skin marring Lance’s back, but it felt good to have him in his arms again. Lance’s warmth, his sweat, his blood—Keith’s mind fogged. He nuzzled his nose into the crook of Lance’s neck and inhaled.Lance stiffened.“K-Keith?” He squeaked.“Lance,” Keith breathed. He held the boy tighter, oblivious to the wide-eyed terror dawning Lance’s face.He tried to pull away. “No, Keith, wait! Something’s wrong—what did they—“Keith shoved Lance to the ground face first. Something seemed inherently wrong with his actions, but a part of mind couldn’t piece what was so out of place.Lance struggled against him, begging him to snap out of it. He clawed the ground in a desperate attempt to escape but just like Anphas, Keith pinned him down.Suddenly, Keith felt his paladin armor was a hindrance. Here was Lance, ready and primed for the taking and he was still fully clothed. It was despicable. Keith ripped the black fabric of his paladin suit with the edge of his dagger. “KEITH, STOP! PLEASE!”Something snapped in his mind. Keith lurched away from Lance, his dagger flying loosely from his grip. It clattered noisily against the stone floor between him and Lance. They stared at each other with wide horrified eyes until, finally, it sunk into Keith’s mind.“Lance, I—“ His voice died in his throat. Guilt, terror, rage, and panic formed inside his chest like a hurricane. “Oh god, Lance, I…!”“I know,” Lance hiccuped. “I know.”With great effort, Lance closed the distance between them and pulled Keith into his arms. His hands trembled as he smoothed down Keith’s hair in an effort to comfort him.“Y-you weren’t yourself. You didn’t mean it.” Lance whispered. “I-I know. I know.”Keith peeled himself away from the quivering paladin. He pressed their foreheads together, thumbs gently caressing Lance’s wet cheeks.“Stop it. I’m here now. I’m here.”Lance broke down for the third time that day. He buried his face into Keith’s chest and cried out his sorrows. Keith held him gently. He stared aimlessly at the ground, the hurricane of rage and guilt settling for the moment.

#nada writes #langst #klance #lance voltron #keith voltron #vld lance #vld keith #tw: attempted rape #badthingshappenbingo #vld #anonymous #long post

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mischiefandspirits · 5 years

Text

So Look out Now ‘Cause He’s Comin’ After You

Shiro's gone, leaving Keith and Adam to figure out what's next.

Part 2: Aftermath

How dare they? How dare they!?

How could they release information to the press before informing the Holts and Keith?

He was furious!

He didn’t care if they had asked the press to hold off until the families could be told. With information like that, it was going to be everywhere by the end of the night.

He hoped Sam’s wife raised hell when she and her daughter came in tomorrow to “find out.” He wished he could tell her before, but he didn’t have her contact information.

At least he could save the kid that pain.

He pressed his hand to the scanner and the door to Keith’s barrack opened. He opened his mouth as he stepped into the doorway, then paused.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he groaned, “Griffin, remove yourself from Oriol. I need him for a moment.”

Griffin leapt off Keith with a yelp. “Lt. Wr-Wrona! I -”

“Save it. I’m not in the mood for your troublemaking. Just straighten yourself out and leave before I decide to write you both up.”

“Yessir!” Griffin quickly tugged the wrinkles from his uniform jacket and fled the room.

Keith, despite being far more rumpled, didn’t even bother. Instead he crossed his arms, scowling at Adam with suspicion. “What are you doing here?”

“Considering I’m ignoring what I just walked in on, you could be a bit kinder.”

“You’ve barely spoken to me in nearly a year. I think I have a right to be suspicious.”

“Trust me, I’d love to dump this on someone else -”

“Clearly. I know they asked you to act in loco parentis while Shiro’s gone and you told them to take a hike.”

“It’s not that simp-” Adam sighed and came into the room, shutting the door behind him. “Look, I’m not here to fight. There’s something you need to know, about Takashi.”

Keith immediately sat up straight. “What’s going on? Is it about the next communication? They’re not trying to keep me out again, right? Shiro made it clear -”

“It’s not that.” Adam sat next to the kid, but didn’t bother reaching out. He was well aware the kid would lash out, either because of the news he brought or because it was him. “There isn’t going to be a next communication. The Kerberos mission… It’s been lost.”

“What? How could i- How do you lo- What?” Keith stuttered in barely more than a whisper.

“There was a crash. The crew… Takashi and the others are being labeled missing, presumed dead. The crash was fatal and considering how far out Kerberos is, they can’t risk launching a retrieval mission right now.”

Keith started shaking his head. “No. No! That’s no- You’re lying! He… They… No!”

“It’s true.”

“How? How’d they crash?” Keith snarled, springing to his feet.

This was the part he’d been worried about the most. “It’s being put down to pilot error.”

Keith froze. “What?”

“Kei-”

“That’s not possible! Shiro wouldn’t make a mistake like that!” Keith exploded.

“We all make mistakes,” Adam said, keeping his tone even.

“Shiro doesn’t! Not one’s like that! He’s the best.”

“He was also only human. And a sick one at that. There was a reason Sanda and Iverson -- and I -- didn’t want him on that mission.”

“He was fine! All his sim flight scores were as high as ever and the doctors cleared him!”

“Yes, but there was no way to predict how zero-g would affect his disease at this stage.”

“So what? It must have been his fault then?” Keith snorted.

Adam shook his head. “I don’t know, Keith,” he said softly. “I’m just telling you what I found out. They haven’t told me anything. I’m not even supposed to know this much, and I’m certainly not supposed to be telling you.”

“Then why are you?”

“Because they already informed the press and if it’s not being talked about on every news station and forum long before Iverson brings you and the Holts in tomorrow I’ll join Harris for drinks.”

Keith stared him down for a moment before ducking his head. “It’s true?”

“I’m sorry.”

Keith’s fists clenched and Adam thought the kid was going to start swinging. Maybe at him, maybe at the walls, maybe he’d go running down the halls to Iverson. He also thought he might start screaming again, or maybe he’d do all of the above.

He certainly didn’t expect the kid to throw himself at Adam, clinging to his chest and burying his face into Adam’s neck as he started sobbing.

After the quick bout of shock passed, he wrapped his arms around Keith and held him close. “I’m sorry,” he repeated quietly.

Keith was fuming when Adam came into the office.

“You come to lecture me too?” he growled. With his teeth bared and the low rumble filling the air, he reminded Adam of a wild cat.

Adam ignored it. “Get up and follow me.”

Thankfully he did so without a word. At least until they reached the student barracks.

“Where are we going?” Keith asked, stopping.

“Keith, let’s not do this in the middle of the hall.”

A couple girls started whispering to each other as they stared at them and Keith’s shoulders scrunched up before he pushed ahead.

He took the lead, stomping the whole way to his barrack. He slapped his hand against the scanner, sending Adam a glare.

“Here I was thinking you got expelled,” Griffin started as soon as Keith stepped inside. “What were you thinking, attacking Iverson like that? Yeah, he probably should have had more tact than to mention Shiro in front of you, even if he was just trying to remind us to be cautious, but -”

Griffin cut off as he spotted Adam behind Keith.

He jumped to his feet and saluted. “Sorry, sir, didn’t see you.”

“At ease.” Adam held the bag he was carrying out to Keith. “Pack up your things.”

“What’s going on?” Griffin asked, relaxing slightly into attention as Keith growled again and snatched the bag away before heading over to his wardrobe.

“Keith has been expelled. And he’s lucky Iverson’s not pressing charges.”

“HE HAD IT COMING!”

“Keith, this isn’t the first time you’ve gotten physical with someone on campus,” Adam glanced at Griffin, who ducked his head, “and you had a record even before that. They have every right to expel you. You’ve proven you’re a danger to students and teachers alike.”

“I barely hit him,” Keith muttered, yanking the bag closed.

“And yet his nose is broken and his ribs are bruised.”

“Commander Iverson shouldn’t have said what he did, sir,” Griffin said, cautiously.

“No, he shouldn’t have,” Adam agreed with a glare at the wall. “And he’s facing his own trouble right now, which is the only reason he’s not pressing charges.”

“He won’t get much more than a slap on the wrist,” Keith snarled.

Adam didn’t bother to voice his agreement. “Do you have everything?”

Keith shot him a look and disappeared into the bathroom.

“Is he gonna be okay?”

Adam looked over at Griffin’s quiet words.

“I just -- I mean, I know that Lt. Shirogane -- that he doesn’t have anywhere…” he trailed off with a shrug, not meeting Adam’s eyes.

“It’s been taken care of. He’ll be fine for now. As for the future, that’s up to him.”

Griffin nodded and went back to his bed, picking up the tablet he had been working on.

When Keith came out with his bag of toiletries, Adam grabbed the duffel bag and left. Keith followed after sharing a few mumbled words with Griffin. Adam led him out to the parking area and Keith’s eyes darted over to the civilian lot.

Frowning, Keith asked, “Moira isn’t here?”

“Moira?”

“My social worker. Montgomery said she was coming to pick me up. I thought you brought me out here because she was here.”

“She was,” Adam said, setting his hand on Keith’s shoulder and leading him towards the personnel lot. “I -”

“What? You offered to personally escort me to the home. Thanks, but I think I’d rather walk.”

“You’re not going to the home.”

Keith gave him a suspicious glare. “What do you mean?”

Adam unlocked his car and opened the passenger door. He set the bag inside then gestured the kid in. When Keith just crossed his arms, he sighed and leaned back against the car. “I talked to Mrs. Faulkner and she agreed to help me get custody of you.”

Keith’s jaw dropped. “You -” His eyes narrowed and he stepped back. “Why would you do that?”

“Takashi promised that you wouldn’t have to go back to the home. The least I can do to honor his memory is keep that promise.”

“No, the least you can do is stay out of it, like you’ve been doing.”

Adam nodded. “I know I’ve been… okay, distant would be an understatement.”

Keith snorted.

“It shouldn’t have taken… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to completely push you away after the break up, but I did.”

“So this is just to make you feel better about yourself then,” Keith huffed and Adam grabbed his arm before he could march off.

“It’s about making it up to you,” he said softly. “I shouldn’t have let what was going on between Takashi and I affect our relationship. Especially when he left. I wasn’t there for you then, but I will be now. I owe it to both you and him.”

Keith’s scowl relaxed and Adam took that as his cue to pull the boy closer.

“Look, I understand if you don’t want to stay with me. If it’s what you really want, I’ll take you straight to the home right now.”

Keith stared at the ground for a moment before pulling his arm free and getting into the car.

Adam sighed, but otherwise stayed quiet as he walked around to the driver’s side.

“Where are we even going?” Keith asked once they’d made it past the Garrison’s walls. “You’re apartment is on base.”

Adam didn’t realize he’d been sitting stiffly in his seat until he relaxed at Keith’s words. “It is. But you’re not exactly allowed to stay on the premises since you’re no longer a student. Takashi got away with it before because we had the room and you were about to start at the Garrison. I’ve filled out the paperwork for off-base housing, I was just waiting for your decision to put it in. We’ll only need a two bedroom apartment so it won’t take more than a few days. Until then, we’ll stay at a hotel.”

Keith nodded and slouched down in his seat.

Adam glared into the empty room as his phone buzzed in his ear.

“Adam?”

“Where are you?”

“At home.”

“I must have walked into the wrong apartment then because I don’t see you anywhere,” Adam snorted, shutting Keith’s door.

A series of Hindi curses came from the phone. “You weren’t supposed to be back until late.”

“The meeting was cancelled. Now where are you?”

“I, uh… I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I didn’t have any schoolwork to do today so I went for a walk and…”

“You got lost.”

“Kind of,” Keith said slowly.

See Takashi, this is what happens when you let him grow up in the middle of a desert. No city survival skills. “Alright, can you see any landmarks?”

“Landmarks?”

Adam grabbed his keys off the kitchen counter and headed towards the front door. “You know, street signs? Businesses? Maybe even somewhere you could go into to get an address?”

“No.”

“There’s no landmarks around you at all.”

“… There’s a big rock. And a cliff. I think I saw a coyote den a short ways back.”

Adam paused, rubbed his forehead, took a deep breath, then continued on his way to his car. “Keith, are you in the middle of the desert?”

“… I think I can see an eagle’s nest up on the cliff.”

“Where did Takashi and I go wrong with you?”

“You left when you broke up with him for wanting to go to space one last time and he went and died on me.”

Adam glared at his phone before connecting it to his car. “That was a rhetorical question, brat. Can you check the coordinates on your phone?”

“How do I do that?”

“The map app.”

“There’s a map app?” There was a few moments of static as Keith fumbled around with his phone. “Okay, it says thirty-five degrees and forty minutes north by one-thirteen degrees and 17 minutes west. You know, with this I could just -”

Adam entered the coordinates into the car’s GPS, saying, “Stay where you are. I’ll come get you. And then the two of us are going to have a long talk about wandering off out into the desert without supplies.”

“Great.”

“Keith -”

“I brought supplies this time!”

“What are you even doing out there?” Adam asked, glancing between the homemade ice tea he should be drinking and the can of soda he wanted to drink.

“I don’t know. I just feel like something’s… calling out to me. Does that sound crazy?”

“Very.” Adam grabbed the soda and closed the fridge. “It’s probably the grief.”

“I’m not going to a shrink.”

“It’d be good for you,” he hummed, laying down on the couch. “And not just because of whatever’s going on now. A psychiatrist could help with your anger issues and to work through the trauma from your time in foster care and losing your mom and two dads.”

“He wasn’t my dad; I didn’t lose my mom, she left; and I’m not seeing a shrink. I tried it before, remember?”

“We’ll get a garrison approved therapist, not some quack that calls for an exorcist just because an eight-year-old growled at him,” Adam said, rolling his eyes.

“Still not going.”

“Keith, you’re hearing voices.”

“I am not! It’s not voices, just… some sort of energy.”

“Right, that’s much better,” Adam snorted.

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Are you going to need a ride or can you actually figure out your way home this time.”

“I could have figured out my way home the last seven times. I’m surprised you’re not halfway here already.”

“Iverson caught Sam’s daughter sneaking through his computer so we all had to sit through an hour long lecture on security. I’m not in the mood to chase you around the desert today. Just get back here before curfew or I’m going to start leaving you at the Garrison daycare.”

“Pretty sure they don’t take anyone my age.”

“I’ll sign you up as a volunteer. That way you’ll get a babysitter and get punished by taking care of a handful of brats. Two birds, one stone.”

“I’ll just leave as soon as your gone.”

“You’d abandon a pack of helpless children? I thought I raised you better than that!”

“I hate you.”

Adam stared at the hovercycle blankly.

“Keith, my son, I love you, but I do hope you know I’m not going to be as forgiving about Grand Theft Auto as Takashi was.”

“Not your son and I didn’t steel it,” Keith deadpanned, not bothering to pull out of the engine compartment. “Can you hand me the spanner.”

Adam looked down at the old toolbox next to Keith feet. “No.” He shrugged when Keith’s head finally appeared, only to give him a dirty look. “I’m a pilot, not an engineer. I have no idea what a spanner is.”

“Didn’t you have to take basic mechanics?” Keith snorted, digging an adjustable wrench out of the box before disappearing back into the engine compartment.

“It’s not necessary for pilots as long as their communications officer took the course. Since most of them do, I opted for the first aid course.”

“I was supposed to the basics for that next year. Shiro said it was best for pilots to know the basics of both engineering and communications.”

“Of course he did. Takashi was an overachiever,” Adam hummed. He shoved down the melancholy feeling and leaned over to peak at Keith’s work. As far as he could tell everything was in good condition, if a bit dusty. “If you didn’t steal it, then where did it come from? Because I know you didn’t buy it.”

“It was pop’s. Found it when I decided to check out our old place. I was surprised it was still there. I figured it’d be the first thing the Davidsons would have sold off.”

Adam raised an eyebrow and took a closer look at the engine. “You’re saying this thing has been sitting out there for all these years? How’d you even get it here?”

Keith shrugged. “It seems to be okay, just needs a few tune ups. And some cleaning. Pops did a lot of custom work on it. I guess he made them to last.”

Adam didn’t think that sounded right, but what did he know about hovercycles or mechanics. “Is this thing street legal?”

“Yes?” he said slowly. “I know we used to take it into town.”

“Good. Once you’ve finished up with it then we can update the registration.”

Keith looked up at him with a smirk. “Does this mean you’ll stop calling me everytime I’m out in the desert freaking out that I’m lost?”

“Nope.”

“Pidge Gunderson.”

“Here.”

Adam briefly glanced at the student that answered before turning back to the attendance sheet.

Then he looked back up.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

He finished up the attendance and set the cadets to reading before subtly pulling out his phone and sending off a quick text.

Found her. She’s fine. Talk later.

He finished up the class as normal until the bell rang.

“Gunderson, a moment?”

“Sir?” she asked as she stopped by his desk.

“Hope you don’t mind my curiosity. I know two of your team already has flight training so I was wondering why you’re in my class,” Adam said while the rest of the class filed out.

“I already have the engineering basics down. I figure physics of flight can be useful for pretty much anything.”

Adam nodded mindlessly, watching the door shut behind the last student. He turned to the girl with a raised eyebrow. “Katie, what are you doing here?”

She froze before nervously adjusting her glasses. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Adam crossed his arms. “Katie, you look exactly like Matt, between the hair and gla-” He frowned and leaned closer. “Are you wearing his glasses?”

She fidgeted with the glasses again.

Adam sighed and straightened up. “What are you doing? You do realize you’ve been banned from the premises, right?”

The girl glared at the ground, fists clenching. “I’m going to find out what happened to my family.”

“Katie -”

“I know you guys are lying about what happened. I don’t care if you kick me out or charge me with treason or whatever. I’m going to find out what happened to them.”

Adam pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re still on this?”

“I’m never going to stop.”

What had he done to be surrounded by stubborn children?

Adam adjusted his own glasses before turning to the whiteboard. “Call your mom. She’s freaking out because you disappeared on her.”

There was a moment of quiet before Katie asked, “What?”

“She called me ear-”

“You… aren’t going to kick me out.”

“What would I need to kick you out for, Cadet Gunderson?” Adam turned to meet her eyes. “I know nothing. Call your mom and please try to keep out of jail, for her sake.”

Katie studied him for a moment before nodding. “Yessir.”

Found something. Think I’m getting closer to whatever it is I’m feeling out here.

The text came alongside a photo of a pictograph featuring a giant blue lion running amongst a herd of gazelle.

#voltron #voltron legendary defender #vld adam #vld keith #pidge #slonchcay

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mad-madam-m · 7 years

Note

Sheith for your Sweet Affectionate Moments meme, 17 or 29? :)

17. A Love Bite

“Keith, I believe we need to have a discussion about your mating bite.”

Keith spit his water halfway across the table. “You want to talk about my what?!”

Kolivan sat across from him, arms on the table and fingers linked. He didn’t so much as twitch an eye at Keith’s reaction. “Now, I understand that you are considered an adult by humans, but you are still young by Galra standards and your knowledge of our race is quite limited.”

Keith flung out his hands. “What mating bite? What are you talking about?”

Kolivan cleared his throat and pointed at the side of his neck.

With dawning horror, Keith remembered the bruise on his own neck. He’d thought his uniform came up high enough to cover it, but either it didn’t or Kolivan was somehow psychic.

“Now,” Kolivan said with the same gravity he reserved for mission debriefings, “you have to understand, mating bites are a very serious thing to the Galra. They are a pledge. A promise. A declaration of intent.”

Keith’s face was so hot he could feel a prickle of sweat forming at his hairline. Surely there was a convenient hole under this table where he could disappear and never have to finish this conversation.

If Kolivan noticed his discomfort, he gave absolutely no indication of it. “Now, it is cause for concern when one party receives a mating bite, but doesn’t give one to their partner in return. It can indicate a…capricious nature, and means perhaps that they do not intend to make their partner their mate.”

“Wait.” Keith held up his hand. “Hold on. You’re not upset because I have a…a hickey.” God, he couldn’t believe he was saying this to the leader of the Blade of Marmora. “You’re upset because I didn’t give Shiro one?”

Kolivan remained stone-faced. “It’s important that both parties are clear in their understanding of the relationship. If you aren’t taking it seriously, then–”

“I am serious!” Keith blurted out, and God, how could he make this conversation stop? “Shiro didn’t want one! Lance and Pidge would never let him live it down. The chances of them seeing mine was a lot smaller.”

Kolivan frowned. “Is he the one not taking this seriously, then? To refuse a mating bite–”

“It’s not a mating bite!” Keith argued. “It’s just…it means something different on Earth!”

Kolivan stared at him for a long moment. “You are not on Earth anymore. And if you cannot find a partner who will honor your affections, we will have to have this discussion with him.”

Keith thudded his head on the table and groaned.

***

After the most awkward conversation Keith had ever had in his life, he staggered back to his and Shiro’s room and slid down the wall with a groan.

Shiro looked up from his tablet. “Hard day of training?”

“Worse.” Keith pulled down the neck of his shirt. “Kolivan wanted to talk about this.”

Even from across the room, he could see the flush on Shiro’s cheeks. Good. Keith wouldn’t be the only one embarrassed about this.

Shiro coughed delicately. “What, uh, why did he want to talk about that?”

“Did you know Galra consider hickeys to be mating bites?”

Shiro’s eyes went comically wide, and Keith would’ve laughed if he didn’t know exactly how he felt. “They…what? Do they think we’re married?”

“Engaged, basically.” Keith frowned. “Or…pre-engaged? What was the thing Lance said his sister gave her wife when they were in high school?”

“Promise ring,” Shiro said faintly. “Kolivan thinks we’re engaged?”

“Actually, he thinks I want to be engaged to you,” Keith said. “He doesn’t think you’re serious about me because you didn’t accept my mating bite in return.”

If possible, Shiro turned even redder. “He thinks I’m not serious about you because I didn’t let you give me a hickey?”

Keith shrugged helplessly. He’d sat through the entire painful conversation and it still didn’t make sense to him. “I guess? I tried to explain that’s not what it means for humans, but he was kind of insistent.”

Shiro set his tablet aside and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Do you think I’m not serious?” he asked quietly.

Keith gaped at him. “Of course not! I know you are. And…you know I am, right?”

Shiro gave him a soft smile. “I know.”

Keith pushed himself off the floor and settled onto Shiro’s lap, straddling his legs. Shiro’s hands automatically went to his sides, pulling Keith in closer, and Keith draped his arms around his neck.

“I can’t picture my life without you in it,” Shiro said softly. “And I don’t want to.”

Keith gently traced his jawline, his nose, and the scar across his face, and watched Shiro’s eyelids flutter shut. “Me, too,” he whispered. “I don’t know if I’m ready to be engaged, but I know that you’re it for me.”

Shiro turned his head to kiss Keith’s palm, and then pulled him back down onto the bed.

Keith was more than willing to follow.

***

The next morning, Keith and Shiro walked hand in hand into the dining room for the daily briefing.

As Keith had suspected, it took about three seconds for the others to notice their necks.

“Holy quiznak!” Lance sounded both horrified and awed. “Did you guys make out with an octopus?”

Shiro rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. “Drop it, Lance.”

“I’m serious! I got hit by the gladiator’s staff and I didn’t get a bruise that big!”

From the other side of the room, Kolivan nodded approvingly. “I see you both have accepted the other’s mating bite. This is a joyous occasion.” He glared at Lance. “To belittle this moment is an offense worthy of a challenge.”

Lance snorted. “A challenge from who?”

“Either of the mates whom you have insulted,” Kolivan said. “They may decide to fight you to the death.”

Lance actually paled.

Pidge snickered. “Oooo, you’re in trouble.”

Shiro groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Nobody’s fighting anybody to the death.”

Keith squeezed his hand. He was enjoying this more than he probably should be. “We could have a little fight to the death. I mean, Lance did insult my cultural expression of love and commitment to you.”

“Cultural–you’re only part Galra!” Lance shouted.

“It is enough for the Blade,” Kolivan said.

“No fights,” Shiro said to Keith, and then turned to Lance. “And no teasing.” He pointed to Kolivan. “And so you know, I am more serious about Keith than I have been about anything or anyone in my entire life.”

Kolivan inclined his head. “Then I am honored to have you as a mate to one of our number.”

Shiro linked his fingers with Keith’s and smiled softly at him. “And I’m honored to be that mate.”

Keith’s heart flipped, and he tugged Shiro closer. “I think we might need to share another mating bite, in that case.”

He had no intention of doing it in front of everyone, but Shiro’s happy blush–and Lance’s shout of horror–was absolutely worth the bluff.

(send me an affectionate prompt)

#kalira9 #M answers #Voltron: Legendary Defender #Sheith #Shiro x Keith #M writes fic #M writes Voltron #sam meme #meme me up Scotty #established relationship #cultural misunderstandings #awkward conversations #love bite

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sp4c3-0ddity · 7 years

Text

Be Gentle

For Lance Loves Ladies Week, Day 4: Music / Makeovers

Lance and Pidge swap bodies, which totally counts as a makeover

This one beta-ed by @bouquet-roserade

Read it on Ao3 (which I would recommend because this one like 4000 words and tumblr is being weird about the italics)

Pidge did not expect to wake up in a bed, anymore than she ever expected to fall asleep at her workstation in the Green Lion's hangar.

Nor did she expect to see Lance's belongings strewn over the floor, his jacket hanging from a hook on the wall.

I'm in Lance's room. Why am I in Lance's room?

Well, that was the question she should've asked, but at the moment she was still too groggy from sleep to do much more than roll over and bury her face in a pillow.

A pillow that smelled suspiciously like Lance, piney like cologne and minty like toothpaste. She inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent far more than she would've if she was more alert, but a knock on the door interrupted her.

She jerked up, almost bumping her head on the bed's frame.

"Hey Lance, we're starting drills soon, so hurry up and do your morning hygiene routine."

Pidge relaxed. It was just Keith, there to wake up Lance in case he overslept.

Wait.

If Pidge was in here, alone in Lance's room (she glanced around quickly, making sure she was alone), then where was Lance?

Her eyes fell on the floor-length mirror in one corner of the room, and she finally caught sight of her reflection.

Lance's face stared back at her.

"What. The. Fuck."

---

Lance woke up slowly, more uncomfortable than he had ever been in his life - and yes, he included the time he almost blew himself up pushing Coran from the path of a bomb. His neck and back both ached from his awkward position of sleeping sitting up, with his head resting on a desk, and he idly wondered if he had aged several decades overnight.

He straightened, stretching and trying to work the ache from his body. He extended his arms over his head, then behind him. Rubbing his eyes, he stood, wondering why and how he fell asleep at a desk.

He heard a Lion rumble at him, and he glanced behind him. "Oh, hi Green," he said.

Then his slow morning brain processed what he said.

"Green?" he said.

The Green Lion stared at him, eyes alight with...well, Lance didn't have the same bond with her that he had with his own Lion, but he felt like they were narrowed at him with suspicion. Because he was in the Green Lion's hangar. Without Pidge.

"Why am I here?" he asked the Green Lion, as if she could answer him.

The Green Lion simply growled, and Lance was not versed enough in cat-speak - sentient robot or otherwise - to translate without the direct mind link.

"Where's Pidge?" he asked.

"Pidge!" someone called from outside.

Lance glanced up to see Hunk staring at him; when did Hunk get so tall? "Pidge isn't here, buddy," he said. "It's just me."

Hunk frowned, confusion on his face. "Yeah, and I came here to get you. Shiro's assembling us for drills." Then his frown deepened into worry. "You slept here again, didn't you?"

"What do you mean again?" Lance demanded. "I've never slept here before."

Hunk chuckled, but he still looked stern when he said, "That's a lie."

"No, seriously, I sleep in my own bed every night!"

"Please, Pidge, we both know that's not true."

"Pidge?!" And then dread curled in his gut, and Lance knew why the Green Lion eyed him like she did, and why Hunk seemed so much taller, and why he didn't remember falling asleep in the hangar.

"Oh, fuck."

---

Training drills were canceled in favor of something a little more important.

"So you are Pidge?" Allura said, pointing at Lance's body, then at Pidge's, "and you are Lance?"

"Guilty as charged," Lance - in Pidge's body - joked.

Pidge shot him a look, as if she didn't appreciate him using her voice to joke. Lance shrugged, to show her he really couldn't help this. Pidge rolled her - his - eyes and crossed her - his - arms.

Damn this was weird; and he'd only recently found out Pidge was a girl too!

Which made this whole thing even weirder. He was trapped in a girl's body!

It didn't feel much different than his own, really. His hands and feet were smaller, and he had to look up to talk to everyone, but the change was otherwise not awful.

Except Pidge had some dry skin; when they switched back, he needed to talk to her about moisturizing. Which reminded him.

"Pidge, I'm charging you to take care of my face."

Pidge turned her head to glare at him - and boy was it strange seeing her glare at him with his own two eyes. "What? Seriously? That's what you're concerned about?"

"Looks like mine - uh, yours don't take care of themselves."

Nearby, poor Shiro looked like he was having a conniption, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. Coran stroked his mustache thoughtfully, and Allura just frowned in confusion.

Keith and Hunk, however, seemed to be fighting giggles. Lance made a note to himself that, as soon as he got his own, stronger body back, he would kick both of their asses for this.

"How can you be so calm about this?" Pidge demanded. "You're in my body! I'm in yours!"

"Enjoy it while it lasts?" Lance suggested.

Pidge really looked like she wanted to smack him; she probably refrained only because she didn't want to damage her own body.

"How do we undo this, Princess?" Shiro asked.

"I honestly don't know," Allura admitted. "Perhaps we can put them in a healing pod? Or a cryopod?"

"The same cryopod," Coran said. "Like with you and the mice."

"The mice and I never exchanged bodies," Allura pointed out.

"How did this even happen?" Pidge asked. "We haven't done anything strange. No cryogenic sleep, no mind melding, no telepathy, nothing! Why is it me and Lance? Why not Keith and Hunk? Or Hunk and Lance? Or--"

"All right, we get it," Lance interrupted, rolling his eyes. "You want your own body back."

"And you don't?!"

"I do," said Lance, "but there's no point in panicking about it."

Then, Pidge grabbed him by the collar and brought his face close to hers. And though, in the deepest recesses of his mind, he imagined this sort of scenario many times - Pidge tugging him closer, their faces inches apart - he never thought he would have this perspective, in this situation. And usually he didn't mind a closeup of his own face, but knowing Pidge's mind was operating it was jarring.

It didn't help that she was taller now.

"Listen, Lance, I'm panicking because I have no idea how or why this happened!" she explained. "Which is why I'm annoyed that you're not panicking. Do you want to be trapped in someone else's body for the rest of your life?!"

Lance grabbed her - his - wrist, and she let go of him. "Okay, obviously this isn't ideal, but if I had to choose someone's I wouldn't mind having Shiro's."

Nearby, Keith snorted, Hunk snickered, and Shiro rubbed his face as if exhausted.

Pidge rolled her eyes. "But do you see my point now?"

Lance sighed. "Yes, I see your point."

"Good." Pidge stepped away from him, crossing her arms. "Now we find out how this happened."

---

Coran's first idea was to have them 'strengthen their telepathic bond' with the mind-sharing headset.

Pidge fidgeted as she put it on, the device tangling uncomfortably in hair that was even shorter than her own. She wanted to tell everyone that wasn't directly involved to leave the room, since for some reason they all insisted on lingering.

But in truth, if she heard either Keith or Hunk laugh or even heard the suggestion of a laugh from one of them, she would make use of Lance's physical strength and kick them.

"So yesterday everything was as it should be, yes?" Coran asked, looking between Pidge and Lance.

"If you mean I was sleeping in my own body, yes," Pidge agreed. She glared at Lance, who glared back, seeming to say, This isn't my fault!

"Now, before we begin, can either of you think of some way your minds might have crossed?" Coran wondered.

"Whenever we form Voltron," Lance said, shrugging.

"Then if that's the case, why have only you two been affected?" Hunk said. "Shouldn't we all...I don't know...have rotated bodies or something?"

"That reminds me," Allura input thoughtfully, "we don't know how long this will last, so once we're done here we'll have to verify you can still pilot your Lions."

Great. Not only could Pidge not 'pilot' her own body, but she might not be able to pilot Green either.

"Uh, if it helps," Lance said, putting a hand up as if he was answering a question in a classroom, "the Green Lion didn't seem to like me very much this morning."

"I don't like you much either right now," Pidge said, crossing her arms.

"Again, not my fault, Pidge," Lance retorted.

"Guys, let's not argue," Shiro said, staring them both down. Pidge shrunk under his gaze, and she saw Lance do the same from the corner of her eye. "I think it's obvious that neither of you wants this."

"Yeah," Lance muttered under his breath, "if I wanted to be stuck in a girl's body this isn't how I would've chosen to do it."

Pidge's face heated up, angry and embarrassed, and before she could stop herself she struck out at Lance, socking him in the shoulder.

"What was that for?!" he demanded, rubbing his arm.

At the moment, Pidge didn't care that she might've left a bruise on her own damn body. "I heard that," she hissed. "And I'd better not hear it again."

Shiro sighed, and Hunk and Keith seemed to decide - finally - that they would rather be anywhere else than there. They left, leaving Pidge and Lance alone with people who were, functionally, the only adults aboard the Castle.

"Well, Number Five, or should I say Number Three," said Coran, glancing once more at Pidge, "let's have you think of the last thing you remember before falling asleep in your own body, shall we?"

Pidge rolled her eyes but agreed, considering the task she was intent on the night before. She closed her eyes, and her brother's face flashed in her mind, broadcast for everyone in the room to see. It was the grainy image she'd found of his escape on Beta Traz, but it flickered into the photo of them together she still had in her room.

I'll get you back, Matt, Pidge thought, you and Dad both. Only Lance would be able to hear that though.

She cracked her eyelids, and sure enough Lance stared at her, frowning. It was strange seeing sympathy for her on her own face...though doubtless it was an expression that Lance still somehow managed to make his own.

"All right, your turn new Number Five," Coran told Lance.

"Okay, that nickname is kind of demeaning, Coran," Lance complained. But he closed his eyes, and Pidge saw herself in the midst of a huge family, ranging in age from baby to ancient. Everyone as far as she could tell smiled, and some of them smiled just like Lance did.

"Oh," she said. The sigh slipped out of her before she could stop herself, and her chest ached.

"So what do we think is the through-line?" Coran wondered.

"We both miss our families," Pidge said quietly.

Lance only grunted.

At least you know yours is safe, Pidge thought along the link.

I know, Lance replied. His internal voice sounded like his usual external one. But I still miss them.

I know, Pidge said. My mother must be safe, but I miss her just as much as I miss my father and brother. Heat pricked her eyes, and she reached up to wipe the tears before they fell between the gaps in her eyelids. She even heard Lance sniff.

Blindly she reached forward, only for Lance to meet her halfway. The hug was a little awkward, since Pidge was used to being the smaller one, but somehow she managed to tuck Lance into her arms, his chin on her shoulder.

Crying while being held was cathartic. Maybe they should've done this sooner.

She felt Lance's amusement at her thought; it was not unlike her sensing the Green Lion's feelings and impressions, nor was it entirely unwelcome.

A hand fell on her shoulder, and Pidge opened her eyes to see Allura patting her awkwardly, a frown on her face, probably attempting to comfort her. Shiro seemed to be doing the same for Lance.

"You're still Pidge then?" Allura asked.

Pidge nodded, wiping her face. She and Lance disentangled their limbs carefully and looked up at Coran, waiting.

"I am, as you Paladins say, stumped," Coran admitted. He stroked his mustache.

Disappointment coiled in her gut. "If there's nothing we can do now, I'd like to go work on something."

"Of course, Pidge," said Allura. "We'll let you know if we have anymore ideas."

"Thank you," said Pidge. She stood up and walked out of the room, Lance's eyes following her out.

She still felt them on her back even when she stood before her Lion.

---

Lance found Hunk in the kitchen, drawing designs of some kind on a tablet.

He looked up. "Pidge?" he asked cautiously.

Lance shook his - or Pidge's, really - head. "Nope," he said, scowling, "still Lance."

"That sucks," he said.

Lance sat in the chair across from Hunk and propped his chin in his hand. "So do you have any idea how this might've happened?"

"Can't say I do," said Hunk. "It's kind of weird though."

"What is?" Lance wondered.

Hunk, attention diverted from the tablet in front of him, explained, "Well, before we shot into space in the Blue Lion, I never thought magic was real, you know? And yet here we are, and it turns out magic is real. Sort of."

"Uh, okay?"

"But magic isn't really reasonable," Hunk said, clasping his hands together on the table. "We don't understand its laws like we do with physics."

"I'm not sure what you're getting at, buddy," Lance admitted.

"What I'm saying," Hunk said, grinning, "is that you and Pidge? Maybe what happened has nothing to do with science, or at least not with science as we understand science."

"I'm still confused."

"Maybe it's magic?"

Lance stared at Hunk, and Hunk stared right back, grin widening. Then Lance laughed. "You know, maybe you're right." Then he scowled. "But if you are, how do we fix it? Who on the Castle knows about magic?"

Hunk shrugged. "Ask the princess?"

Usually Lance would jump at the opportunity to speak with Allura, especially for a reason that wasn't frivolous, but this body swap seemed too intimate, something shared only between him and Pidge. Even now he felt a little uncomfortable confiding in Hunk.

"I don't know, Hunk," said Lance. "She seems like the wrong pers--" An idea struck him, and it was so perfect he wished he'd thought of it before. He stood, his chair falling over with the vigor of his excitement. "I'm going to talk to Blue."

Hunk blinked at him. "That's actually brilliant."

"What can I say?" Lance said, smirking at him over his shoulder. "Maybe Pidge has rubbed off on me."

"You can only wish, dude."

---

The Green Lion had opened up for Pidge easily enough, so that was a load off her mind (and off Allura's too; she would have to tell the princess the 'good news'). But sitting slumped in the pilot's chair and avoiding her reflection wasn't doing her any good.

Neither was staring at her hands - Lance's hands, and imagining them holding her real, tiny ones. She tugged the gray hood of Lance's jacket over her head, and was glad that, at least, she had a reason to be wearing it that wasn't contrived.

The console in front of her lit up green, and Pidge straightened, wondering what the Green Lion was telling her. "What's wrong, girl?" she asked.

Pidge's own face appeared on the console. "Hi, Pidge," said Lance, waving at her from the screen.

"Hi Lance," she said, leaning in. "You're in the Blue Lion?"

"Yep." Lance smirked, the expression interesting on her face; Pidge wondered if she looked like that when she smirked. "Seems we had the same idea."

"How did you know I was in my Lion?"

"Blue told me." Off-screen, the Blue Lion purred.

Pidge scowled, and she felt the slightest hint of an apology from Green; doubtlessly she had informed the Blue Lion.

"So Blue, at least, doesn't care what I look like," Lance said, smiling.

"Why would she?" Pidge said.

"Well, I can't say I look as handsome as usual at the moment," Lance said, stretching.

Pidge scowled at him. "Gee, thanks."

"I mean, you're pretty, Pidge, don't get me wrong, but I miss my body, you know?"

"Yeah," Pidge said, though her mind was replaying the way Lance said, You're pretty, Pidge. She shook her head, dismissing the thought; what was wrong with her?

"So Hunk had an idea," Lance continued.

"What's that?"

"That magic had something to do with our dilemma."

Pidge hummed, considering; so many strange things had happened to them since they'd first formed Voltron that magic being the cause of all this wouldn't be surprising. But it was still too ambiguous for her liking. "Anything more specific?" she wondered.

"Nope," said Lance, "but I did come to ask Blue about it. Not talk to you, sad to say."

"I'm crushed," Pidge quipped.

"I know, I know," Lance said, laughing. "Conversations with me are treasures to be coveted."

Pidge didn't like how much she was blushing today. "You have no idea," she said.

Lance narrowed his eyes at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Pidge shrugged. "Nothing," she said, "but I'm cutting you off to talk to Green, like you suggested."

"Sure, whatever." Lance saluted her, and she ended the transmission with a single cue with her mind.

Then she slouched in her chair, huffing. "Green," she said, "what do you think happened?"

---

"An unfortunate side effect of getting shot through with quintessence?" Lance summarized as Blue fed him information. At an affirmative from his Lion, he tapped his chin. "That doesn't explain why it only affected me and Pidge though?"

Blue passed on more images and impressions, and Lance felt himself blushing. "That's not--what?" He rested his face in his hand. "You're saying it's because I was more concerned about Pidge at the time than I was about myself?" When Blue agreed, Lance said, "So what? And I call bull, because Shiro was plenty concerned about the rest of us!"

An image of Zarkon. Lance wrinkled his nose. "Okay, so Shiro was preoccupied with Zarkon and keeping the Black Lion away from him. This doesn't explain why Pidge and I are the only ones affected."

Not to my satisfaction anyway. For the first time he understood how Pidge felt about science and data.

Blue purred, sounding amused, and Lance grimaced, frustrated. "So if I had been more concerned about, say, Hunk than about myself, I would have swapped bodies with him?"

A negative.

"Uh, why not?"

A new image, that of a strong link, a connection, running two ways.

"I see...so Pidge was just as concerned for me as I was for her?"

Blue rumbled her agreement.

Lance cursed under his breath, words that his mother would've swatted him for uttering. "And how do we fix it?"

---

"So according to the Green Lion," Pidge explained to Allura, Shiro, and Coran, "Lance and I need to spend some time in the cryopods while wearing the headsets."

"How long?" Shiro asked.

Pidge shrugged, rubbing her arm. "I think for as long as our minds have been...swapped." She hugged herself; she didn't fancy spending twenty-four hours in a small enclosed space, whether or not she was aware of it. Thanks to her unwanted familiarity with the Castle's ventilation system, she found herself dreading any time spent in tight quarters.

"I'm curious how the Lions know the solution," Coran said contemplatively.

"According to Green it happened to two past Paladins."

Allura and Coran looked at each other, surprised, before they faced Pidge again. "That's certainly interesting," Allura said.

"Yes," said Coran. "Did your Lion know how this came about?"

Pidge blushed. "Yes," she said.

When she didn't explain, Allura pressed, "How?"

"I don't think--"

"Pidge, we need to know so we can keep it from happening again," said Allura.

Usually, Pidge, scientific mind that she was, would agree, would be more than happy to share what she knew, but this was simply too personal, too private. It was bad enough that Lance must know at this point.

Shiro, however, seemed to sense her discomfort. He rested a hand on her shoulder and said, "I'm sure that can wait, Princess. Let's find Lance and set up cryopods."

Allura frowned but agreed. She spoke a few quiet words to the mice on her shoulder and they scurried away, presumably to retrieve Lance, but he walked through the door before they got far.

"I know how to fix this!" he said, grinning.

"So do we," Pidge told him, a hint of smugness in her voice.

"Aw, you beat me?"

"What can I say?" Pidge said, smirking. "My Lion loves me more."

Lance pouted but didn't retort.

A cold, sinking feeling lay in Pidge's gut then when she remembered how, exactly, the mind swap came to be. She looked away from Lance and wordlessly followed Allura into the hall lined with cryopods.

Coran fixed them once more with the headsets, while Allura set up the cryopods. "We'll have you sleep for ten vargas," she explained. "I think that should be long enough, and we can't afford to be waylaid any longer if we require Voltron."

"Of course, Princess," said Lance without a hint of flirtation.

Pidge peered at him suspiciously, but he wouldn't look at her either. In fact, even through the activated mental link between them, he seemed to be keeping his mind carefully blank.

Pidge stared at the pod. She didn't want to go in.

"If it's anything like the healing pods, you won't even notice."

Pidge glanced to the side, at Lance. He smiled reassuringly at her, and Pidge realized that of course he must have sensed her reluctance. "I know," she said, "but it still..."

Lance reached out and grasped her hand. It was all backwards, her hand should've been the smaller and paler, but the gesture was comforting and warm nonetheless. "Don't worry, Pidge," he told her, "I'll be right here when you wake up."

Pidge then nodded, shoving aside her apprehension, and extracted her hand - too big, too dark - from Lance's - too small, too fair. "I'll hold you to that," she promised.

She stepped into the pod, grateful for the reassurance that he broadcast across their mind link even if it didn't do much to make her more comfortable. The pod closed, and she shivered as the temperature inside fell.

The last thing Pidge knew before she slept was Lance's warm presence in the back of her mind.

---

Lance blinked and flinched at the sudden warmth that flooded the pod as it slid open. He stepped forward on weak legs, falling bonelessly into someone's waiting arms.

"Ugh, I hate this part," he complained, voice muffled by a muscular arm.

"Lance, buddy?" said Hunk. "That you?"

Lance lazily raised his hand and offered a thumbs up. He followed the motion, and recognized the hand as his own. He smiled. "Well, that's a relief." Then he frowned, straightening as feeling returned to his limbs. "Where's Pidge?"

Hunk helped him turn to where Keith held Pidge up. He had one of her arms slung across his shoulders while she rubbed sleep from her eyes with her other hand.

Lance felt the all too familiar, all too unpleasant sting of jealousy in his stomach. "Aw, I wanted to catch her when she came out of the pod," he whined.

"Dude, you couldn't even catch yourself," Hunk reminded him.

"Details," he mumbled, burying his face in Hunk's shoulder.

Hunk removed the mind-linking headset from his head and patted him on the back, and he instantly missed the low, sleepy rumble in his mind that he knew to be Pidge. "You remind me of when my brother had his wisdom teeth taken out."

"Why's that?" Lance wondered.

"Because it's like you're on anesthesia, since you're being more honest than you normally would be."

"I'm plenty honest, Hunk."

"Not about everything," Hunk pointed. "Now do you want food first, or sleep?" He helped Lance out of the hall of pods and towards the Castle's main wing, Keith and Pidge stumbling along ahead of them.

"Pidge," said Lance, "I want to talk to Pidge."

"How about when you're not slurring your words?" Hunk suggested.

Lance just grunted, allowing Hunk to lead him to the kitchen. Halfway there, he managed to start walking on his own power, but he still almost tripped over his feet a few times, Hunk reaching out to grab his arm before he fell. And thanks to the return of his own height - and his longer legs - they caught up to Pidge and Keith right outside the kitchen doors.

Pidge glanced at him over her shoulder; she blushed slightly, and then Lance remembered why they swapped bodies in the first place.

"We should probably...talk," Lance said lamely.

Pidge eyed him suspiciously, but nodded. "Yeah, we probably should."

Nearby, Keith asked Hunk, "What are they talking about?"

Hunk patted Keith on the shoulder, a gesture that was one part comforting and one part condescending. "I'm sure we'll find out eventually."

---

Out of sight and hearing of the others (she had even gone so far as to check the vents for Allura's mice), Pidge sat on the floor of Lance's bedroom, her back against his bed. Her stomach was comfortably full of green goo, and she kept yawning even as Lance paced the entire length of his tiny room in front of her.

"So...you like me?" Lance said.

Pidge started to regret her meal. "Yes."

"Like, romantically?"

"Yes," Pidge snapped, rolling her eyes. Why him? she asked herself not for the first time.

Lance laughed, sitting beside her on the floor. He tried to hold her hand, but she snatched it away. "What?" he asked.

"I may have romantic feelings for you, Lance," she said, looking at anything but him, "but I also have enough self-respect to not want attention from a guy that likes someone else."

"Oh," said Lance. To Pidge's ears, a single syllable never sounded so disappointed. "What if I told you that I...don't?"

"I wouldn't believe you."

"Why not?"

Pidge shrugged and scowled at the floor. "I have no reason to. You've given me no reason to."

Lance squirmed, and Pidge fancied she knew him well enough by now to know he was ashamed. "You're right, except for the whole...justification."

"Of course." Pidge rolled her eyes.

"Look, our Lions told us there's a reason that we swapped and no one else did."

"And you think it's enough justification to put the moves on me?" Pidge said. Her heart pounded painfully, and even though she wanted nothing more than to lean into him, she still slid away, putting some space between them.

"No, no, that's not what--" Lance cut himself off and sighed, rubbing his face. "Listen, just... Pidge."

"What."

"I have feelings for you too, okay?" Lance said, and before Pidge could comment, before she could feel anything but blood rushing to her face, he continued, "And I think I have for a while now. Maybe it took something as extreme as exchanging bodies for me to realize it, but I do. I like you."

Pidge exhaled, then she turned her body to face his. She still refused to get closer, at least for the moment. "Prove it," she said.

Lance blinked at her; she half-expected him to scoff, or worse, to refuse or claim he already had. But instead he leaned towards her, smiling. "Tell me how."

Pidge smirked, a plan forming in her head. "It's easy," she said, trying a flirtatious tone. She wasn't sure it was convincing, but then she saw the way Lance blushed. She inched just a bit closer to him. "Don't just tell me how you feel; show me."

He moved a little closer. "And how do I do that?"

They were now seated so closely together that she could feel his warm breath on his face. "You're smart enough to figure it out yourself."

"Heh, you finally admit I'm sm--"

"Oh, just kiss me, stupid!"

And he did.

It wasn't all the proof Pidge needed, but it was good enough for now, feeling his soft lips on hers and his nose brushing her own.

Lance pulled away first, but any disappointment Pidge felt dissipated when he peered at her through half-lidded eyes.

"No offense Pidge," said Lance as he took her small hand in his large one, "I have nothing against your face and something really good did come of all this, but that was the worst makeover I've ever had."

#lance loves ladies week #plance #pidgance #flirtyrobot #the bodyswap au no one really asked for #but i couldn't resist writing #voltron #technically it's still the third day my time but i'm excited and also nervous about posting this #so here have at it #reem writes fic

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theolddarkmachine · 7 years

Text

I’ll Take The Blame, You Take My Conscience- Ch. 6

“You love him.”

It wasn’t a question. Panic burned the back of Shiro’s throat as his eyes widened at the statement. He had known his feelings for Keith for some time now, but he knew better than to act on it, aware that he was nothing more than a friend in his best friend’s eyes. It was better for everyone if he just kept it to himself. At least, that’s what he had thought. Then he’d started noticing small things, like how sometimes Keith would let his hands linger on his skin for a fraction longer than he needed to, or how he could feel his gaze tracing the long line of his body when he thought Shiro wouldn’t notice. He’d been planning on telling Keith how he felt at the party. It was amazing how quickly things could change.

“Let him go, Shiro. He’ll need a tool, not a lover. And your love will only make him weak.”

AKA the one where Keith is the leader of a Yakuza clan, Shiro is his ever loyal tool, and they’re caught in a gang war.

Amazing commission by prllnce!

MASTER LIST

AO3

When I started this updated, I thought I would need to combine two chapters to make it long enough. Then it ended up being the longest chapter so far without the help. Typical. Also, I’m doing a 12 Days of Christmas prompt fill! I’m gifting fics to my readers, and all you need to do is send in a prompt! Check out the rules HERE! (Basically, I’ll do pretty much anything minus non-con, underage and the extreme fetishes. Does NOT need to be holiday themed!) Due date is 10/31. There are only five slots left, so get yours today!

Please also note that I am going to be taking a wee writing break next week. Next update will most likely come 10/19-10/20 time.

**********************************************

Blood was rushing in Keith’s ears and the acrid taste of adrenaline and bile mingled at the top of his throat and coated the back of his tongue as a constant reminder of the worry that had coursed through him. The van he and his waka gashira had piled into hit a pot hole, throwing his shoulder into Pidge’s and cutting her words off as the impact rattled her teeth. Metallic rust filled her mouth as her teeth sunk into her tongue. A small squeak of pain escaped her as she rubbed a hand over her mouth.

“Sorry guys!” Hunk called over his shoulder, eyes never leaving the road as they sped over the Shuto Expressway towards the Yokohama port.

Everything had passed in a blur after Pidge had made her way into his room with news that she’d found Shiro. Almost as soon as the words fell from her mouth, he was out of the room, hand curled around her small bicep as he dragged her through the halls towards Hunk and Lance’s room, shooting rapid fire questions at her the entire way. After informing them of the new development, Keith’s words clipped at the edges and only giving as much as was necessary, they’d grabbed their weapons and piled into one of the clan’s vans that was used specifically for transporting smuggled weapons and the occasional body. Silence had filled the van for the first few minutes of the drive as the only sound any of them made was the mottled, heavy rasps of their breathing.

Or maybe they’d spoken, but Keith had already retreated so far in on himself, clutching to the buoy of hope from those three words that he missed any conversation completely.

I found him.

He’d guarded the words, holding them closely against his chest as he looked over the images Pidge had printed of Zarkon and Sendak pulling Shiro between them as they slipped into the large industrial doors of an empty warehouse. As she’d finally started to speak, Keith barely registered the coordinates she was listing off that she’d managed to pull from the camera that had supplied the grainy greyscale image. He felt his eyes dragging down the sharp line of Shiro’s cheekbone as if he could pull some sort of evidence that he was still alive from the black and white photo. Without color, he couldn’t be sure of the exact hue of the bruise that was pixelated over the high bone, but it was dark enough to register as inky black in the photo. His wine stained gaze traveled further still over the photo, locking onto the fabric that was tied around Shiro’s right arm, covering the stump that ended prematurely about mid-bicep. An even darker blemish dirtied the light cloth with what he knew to be his blood. Keith’s fingers trembled as he caressed the photo, breathing poison laced curses to himself.

“Keith?” Lance’s voice was a near shout that broke him of his reverie. Pulling his hand away from the image as if it had burned him, the oyabun turned his attention to the sharp shooter, a gruff growl rolling around his mouth in acknowledgement.

“We’re 15 minutes out,” the brunette said, crystalline eyes boring into Keith from where he sat in the passenger seat. “Is there a plan?”

A plan. He knew he should have one, but all his mind could focus on was the black ink bruise on Shiro’s cheek and the bloodied stump that had once been his arm. Shiro was within their grasp, and his skin was itching with the need to have him back safely in their hands. Keith hadn’t thought much further than that. He didn’t need a thought out plan, he just needed to get to where Shiro was. Once there, he would do whatever it took to save him. Wasn’t that plan enough?

“The plan is to get Shiro out alive, and kill everyone we need to to do it,” he finally said, his voice burning with malice as he looked out the window. Sunlight was glinting off the water of the Tokyo Bay and he let it momentarily blind him. A thick quiet fell over the four Raion as they ruminated on his words. A tentative hand settled on his bicep.

“I think we need more of a plan than that,” Pidge’s voice was soft as she looked up at him from the seat to his left. “We need you to be a leader right now.” She paused as she chose her next words.

“Shiro is going to need you to be a leader.”

A small bubble of hysteria welled up in his chest at the words that had once been Shiro’s. Pushing it down deep within himself, Keith brought a hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Breathing deeply, he settled the angry pitching in his stomach.

“You’ll stay with the van, Pidge.” His voice was brusque with authority as he laid out his orders, dropping his hand back to his side and fixing his mauve eyes on her. “Since you won’t be in our ears this time around, it will be up to you to send out a signal if things start to go to shit outside the warehouse. Three honks, got it?”

It wasn’t ideal, but they would need to make due with what they had. There hadn’t been time to set up their usual communications when they’d left, or rather, he didn’t let there be time. We can regret that later, he thought to himself as he eyed Pidge, waiting for her confirmation. Her head bobbed in acknowledgement before she turned away from him to look out the window. He tried to ignore the way her shoulders were tensed under the green fabric of her shirt.

We can regret that later.

“Hunk, Lance,” he nearly barked. Lance turned back to face him as Hunk hummed an affirmation.

“You’ll both come with me. Usual rules stand, use blades until you can’t, or until someone else fires first.” Lance’s face faltered slightly as he nodded. “We don’t know how many will be there, and we don’t want to give our position away too early. If they have too much time they could--”

They could kill Shiro.

The words hung like gallows between them as Keith struggled to get them out of his throat. It was just a fact, one that would have been true for any Raion that was captured by their rivals. How many times had he spoken of the chance of death for one of his clansmen in the past? For all they knew, he was already dead, the photos capturing the transport of a corpse. The air grew thick with the implication as the words didn’t come, instead creating a burning lump in his throat.

“They could get him out of there and we’d lose him again,” Hunk’s voice hid the lie well beneath its confident tone. Lance’s electric gaze flashed towards the weapon specialist before he nodded.

“Got it?” Keith asked, voice weak as he swallowed the stone that had been sitting on his vocal chords.

“Got it,” they said in unison, their voices wrapping around each other the way only Hunk and Lance’s did. A small pang of jealousy shuddered through his chest.

“Good. There’s your plan.” His words were flat and lifeless as he ignored the look his two waka gashira shared before Lance turned back to look out at the road ahead of them. Keith shifted his attention to the window beside him, eyes fixed on the fire that danced over the Tokyo Bay as it drew ever closer.

***

Pidge sat in the deserted silence of the van that now seemed far too large without the other three Raion with her. Her job was simple: Wait in the van and be prepared to get them the hell out of there when they came back with Shiro.

“I will bring him back,” Keith had said sharply, his voice barely disguising the feeling of desperation that she shared. They needed to find Shiro here, she knew it and he knew it, but they left the words unsaid. If Shiro wasn’t there, they most likely wouldn’t find him. If they did, he wouldn’t be alive. This was their only chance of getting the saiko-komon back from the Akuma. Pidge sent a silent prayer to the heavens that they would find him., and find him alive.

Not just for Shiro’s sake, but for Keith’s.

A handgun sat in her lap, the weight of it keeping her grounded as she let her gaze wander over the warehouse and the pier that it sat on.

“Stay safe,” Hunk had said as he’d handed it to her. Lance stood over his shoulder, a small sad smile on his face as he nodded in agreement.

“I’m not the one you have to worry about,” had been her response as her honey gaze flickered toward Keith, who had already pulled his daggers from his thigh sheath as he glared at the large sheet metal doors that stood between them and the bowels of the building.

“We’ll make sure he’s okay,” Lance had said before they left her alone in the van and disappeared into the storehouse.

It had probably been no more than 10 minutes since they left, but those minutes seemed to stretch into an eternity as she waited in the quiet. The hair on her arms stood against a constant chill that was running marathons over her spine. Something had felt wrong, but she hadn’t been able to put her finger on it. But she could feel it. It was the kind of feeling that preceded a storm or any other natural disaster.

As her eyes scanned the area, a pair of shadows appeared in the distance. Though they only stood far off, she could feel their twin gazes burning through the windshield as they appraised the van that was sitting outside of the seemingly empty warehouse. Her heart stuttered as she fixed them with her own questioning gaze, the pair too distant for her to make anything out aside from the direction of their stares.

The cold steel of the gun weighed heavily against her thigh as Pidge watched them, slowly counting her breathes in a vain attempt at slowing her heart rate. Her fingers thrummed nervously against the cracked leather of the steering wheel that lay against her palms, slightly slick with her sweat.

“Calm down, Pidge.” She ignored the way her voice trembled as she continued to keep her amber gaze fixed on the pair as they eyed her in return. “For all you know, they’re just some dock workers.”

The lie was bitter on her tongue as she said it. If there was anything she knew, it was that the only people that would be in the vicinity of the warehouse would be Akuma. They weren’t sloppy enough to leave bystanders around them, especially when they were in Raion territory and had their saiko-komon hidden somewhere inside. While they sometimes grew complacent sitting atop the throne of death that they’d built in order to become the number one clan in the Yamaguchi-gumi, they hardly ever let themselves be sloppy.

Unless it was intentional.

Air was dragged from her lungs in a loud gasp as the realization hit her. Tearing her eyes away from the figures that had started to walk towards the van, she stretched herself around the driver’s seat and reached for the pile of papers that lay alone in the seat behind her. Ignoring the sharp sting of the paper’s edge slicing across the skin of her fingers, she flipped through the pages until she found the photo again. Shiro’s head had fallen forward, limp with his chin tucked into his chest with the weight that his neck couldn’t support. Holding onto his left arm, with the back of his head towards the camera was the Akuma oyabun. If the sword that obediently sat on his side didn’t give it away, his hulking frame would have. That wasn’t what had made her blood run cold though.

Her golden eyes moved towards the last man in the photo. With his large hands clutching what was left of the arm they’d sent to the temple, Sendak stood with his body angled inwards towards Shiro, and thus towards the camera. His head was turned just enough that upon first, and even second, look it appeared that he was looking down at the man that hung limply between the two of them. As Pidge leaned closer, she felt her lungs start to burn with the breath she’d begun to hold as her gaze locked onto that of Sendak’s captured one. It was barely perceptible given the angle and the graininess from the cheap technology, but his glare burnt upwards as it locked onto the gaze of the lense.

Drawing them out had been their intention all along.

Glass sprayed across her face, shards of the driver side window cutting across her cheek as one of the Akuma she’d been keeping an eye on broke the window in with a crowbar. Strong fingers closed around her throat, choking her of oxygen as it pulled her towards the now gaping hole. The gun in her lap slid from her thigh and caught between the door and the seat.

“What’s a cute little thing like you doing here?” A deep voice hissed against her ear, the heat of the yakuza’s breath raising goosebumps over her skin. Warm liquid began to stain her shirt where the jagged teeth of the window were cutting into her arm and chest as he pulled her further out the opening. Pidge’s breath rasped as she tried to retort, the heavy hand effectively catching the words in her throat.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was here for a friend.” The second voice sounded bored and she could just barely see him leaning against the van with his arms crossed as he eyed the scene. Black spots of unconsciousness and a sinister smile filled her vision as she reached a hand toward the gun that sat precariously perched just beneath her fingertips. She felt the smooth metal brush against her skin.

It was so close.

“We were told to kill all the Raion, but I think we could find some use for you,” her captor smarmed before he cut his dark glance towards his companion. The slight nod of his head was nearly blocked by the large black stain eating away at her sight. Blood was roaring in her ears and a gasp rattled in her lungs. She extended her arm ever so slightly further, the cool metal touching just past the tips of her fingers now.

“I’m sure we could get a great price for her. She does look very young, and you know the young ones always sell well.” It felt as if a knife was twisted in her chest, just above her heart as the words sunk in. Though they were dripping with disinterest, they unlocked a primal fear that gripped her limbs. Images started to melt into the darkness that had nearly taken over her eyesight. Her brother’s smiling face as he laughed at something she’d said. Her father’s hazel eyes that twinkled as he ruffled her hair.

Their blood smeared across the wall of their living room.

Dread was what pushed her hand that final inch between the crevice where the gun had fallen, her fingers blindly finding the grip. The Akuma’s words were a distant thrum as she pulled the pistol up, pointed it towards the direction of the window and pulled the trigger.

All sound slipped away as the shot rang out, replaced instead by a high pitched scream that filled her ears from the proximity of the gunshot. Air rushed into Pidge’s lungs as the hand was wrenched from her throat, finally allowing her to breathe. Pushing herself further into the van and onto the passenger seat, away from the broken window, she gasped greedily at the air as her lungs screamed at her with each shaking breath she took. The black spots started to shrink and the sunlight filled her vision as she saw the man that had choked her holding his hands over his ears as he bent at the waist in pain. His partner had pushed away from the van and was fiddling at his side for his own pistol, eyes wide with surprise.

With a shaking hand and unsteady wheezes, Pidge aimed the nozzle of the pistol at the fumbling man, only taking a moment to say a silent prayer for the family these men had taken from her before she pulled the trigger again. Glass rained down in a shimmering cascade of sunlit crystal as the bullet tore through the window and into the man’s chest.

The shrill keen in her ears persisted as she watched his mouth open and close, forming soundless words as he gaped at her, crimson blossoming like a deadly rose over his shirt before he crumpled to the ground. A twisted grimace obscured her attacker’s face when he noticed his partner on the ground, blood staining the pavement beneath him. One hand went to the gun on his hip as the other clutched the door, ignoring the glass that cut into his palm, red trails spilling over the edge as he glared at her. With one final breath, her lungs finally wrapping around the air she took in comfortably, Pidge held his dark gaze as she pointed the gun at him and fired. The impact at such a short range sent him flying back through a red mist punctuated by jagged pieces of skull.

A beat passed as she breathed evenly in an attempt to quiet the deafening shriek that was muddling the rest of her senses. Then she dropped the gun, only slightly aware of the way it bounced against the carpeted floor of the van. Turning her hands towards her, the palms slick with sweat and their small shape quaking, she inspected them.

It was the first time she’d ever killed anyone.

Pidge’s head began to spin as she stared at her own skin, half expecting her hands to warp and twist with the blood that was now on her hands. The high pitched squeal subsided slightly, the sound of the outside world returning, though it sounded as if it were being strained through cotton balls. A boat in the next pier blared its horn, and a bird landed on the van’s roof, all sounding distant but all producing sound nonetheless.

“Now isn’t the time to panic,” she admonished herself, letting her hands fall into her lap and ignoring the way they still shook against her thighs. Taking another breath so large, her small chest strained against the fabric of her button up, she turned her attention to the warehouse. They’d undoubtedly heard her gunfire. If the Akuma were unaware that they’d yet arrived, they would know now thanks to her panic.

Eyeing the building, she began to count the seconds. No one had run out yet after hearing the sound, which could very well mean they’d already entered into battles of their own. She refused to think about any other reason they may not have returned to check on things outside.

I should sound the signal, she thought to herself as her amber gaze flickered from the industrial doors to the steering wheel that lay between her and them. But we’re so close.

Turning her attention to the clock on the dash, she counted the tick marks. She would give them 10 minutes before she honked the horn that would call Keith and his other waka gashira back out to the van.

“Please find him, Keith.” Her voice was a whisper as she looked back at the building.

Letting her gaze fall from the metal sheeted walls of the warehouse, Pidge leant over to grab the gun from the floor. Carefully setting it back on her lap, she waited, her eyes flickering every couple of seconds back towards the clock.

Nine minutes.

***

Hunk’s tentative footsteps bounced off the metal walls of the hall as he drove further into the warehouse. When they’d pushed into the building, they’d expected to be greeted with a large open space, but were instead met with a long corridor that branched out into two separate paths. Tension had rolled off of Keith in nauseating waves when he’d seen it as he had tried to calculate the amount of time it would take for the three of them to investigate both routes. Hunk saw the way his eyes deadened as he realized that staying together would only increase Shiro’s chances of being killed.

“I’ll take the left,” he’d heard himself say before he’d even known he was going to say anything at all. It had been the obvious choice for him to be the one to go alone. They couldn’t afford to let Keith be overcome by the enemy, and Lance was the next in line after Shiro. So it had only made sense when he offered to go on alone further into the eerie calm of the warehouse. That hadn’t stopped Lance from shooting him an ultramarine glare filled with betrayal and concern.

Shaking his head clear of the way the look had cut into his chest, Hunk pushed forward, eyes sweeping over the hallway that seemed to never end. Something about the walls that didn’t seem to have any doors called up an image of a rat in a maze in his mind, and it made his skin crawl. There was a wrongness about this whole thing, but he couldn’t quite figure out what it was. Why had the Akuma chosen a port right within their territory, not even a full hour away from their temple? He’d been on enough jobs to know that their rivals only stepped so far into their territory to take people for their trafficking schemes. They’d never keep a captive there. At least not unless it was a part of a bigger plan.

Foreboding froze his veins as he made his way deeper into the bowels of the endless hall as his muddled thoughts spilled over each other, clashing against each other like wild animals fighting for a piece of meat.

Tapping his thumb gently against the leather bound handle of his bowie knife that was clutched in his right fist, Hunk began to count the number of steps he took, measuring time and distance with the muffled scuffs of his soft boot soles over the warehouse ground.

Then he heard it.

Carried over the walls, the metallic enclosure amplifying the the distant murmur, was the distinct sound of hissing voices. One was filled gravel while its companion flowed like an undisrupted stream, both pouring over each other with the same musical cadence of a river over rocks.

“-- damn scum can’t keep their noses out of our business,” the hard edged voice growled as Hunk pressed himself against the cool wall. Soft rasps of fabric against metal tickled his back as he slowly dragged himself towards the curve of the hall and the voices.

“Didn’t work out in their favor though, did it. You see the number Sendak did on that one we got?” His heart stilled with the frost that chilled the words of the answering voice as they grew louder, their footsteps mingling with their conversation. Hunk’s nails bit into the flesh of his palm as he tightened his grip on the knife as he picked apart their words in his mind. A short snort from the gravel voice made him growl.

“Won’t be doing much now, will he,” he said with a sadistic chuckle. Waiting just at the turn of the hall, Hunk bit back the sour taste of anger as he listened, calculating their distance from where he stood by the sound of their voices. Their steps grew louder as they drew closer. The sharp tang of rust filled his mouth as Hunk bit his lip as he waited.

“You think they’ll fuck up the Mafia deal?” The lighter voice asked after a moment’s pause. Slowly, Hunk brought his left hand to the holster on his hip, smoothly unbuttoning the strap that kept the gun in place and pulled it from its carrier as he listened intently. Another hard peal of laughter from the man’s companion.

“How could they? Even if we don’t kill them when they come for their friend, they’d have to figure out that we’re shipping them out of the Port of Nagoya,” the sound of a hand clapping against a shoulder punctuated the air. “Showing up that far in our territory would be a suicide mission.”

Long shadows stretched past the corner Hunk hid behind, pausing at the juncture as if to suspend the moment in a solitary point of anticipation. A bead of sweat rolled lazily down Hunk’s temple, pulling a line of moisture over his tanned skin. Time stood still for a hair longer as he steadied himself before he tipped the temporal scales and threw himself around the corner. The grip of his gun struck against the back of one of the Akuma’s head as he smacked his palm against it to bring it down to meet his knee.

“Hey!” The lilting voice of the other Yakuza was cut off as Hunk thrust his elbow upward, catching him below the jaw. A sick crack of teeth smacking together erupted from his mouth as his companion crumpled to the ground in a heap as he pressed his hands to his face. Twisting around in a deadly dance, Hunk spun around the man that was still standing, catching his blue gaze long enough to tighten his jaw. They were the color of the open sky on a spring day. He was behind the man by the time he drew the comparison to another set of cerulean eyes that he knew all too well. Before he could dwell on the similarity, he brought the bowie knife up to his throat and dragged a clean line across his throat. A soft, liquid gurgle bubbled out of his throat before he landed on his knees, pausing for just a second before falling face first to the ground.

Snotty moans pulled Hunk’s attention down to the gravel voiced man on the ground who was reaching a hand to a weapon tucked into the back of his jeans. The distant crack of a gun firing gave them both pause. Air caught in Hunk’s throat as his head whipped towards the sound as if he could see straight through to its cause. Two more shots followed before quiet settled over the hall. The man started to shuffle again in a vain attempt to use the disruption to his advantage.

Hunk’s brown gaze fell back onto the Akuma, a distance dulling the shine that had been there only a moment before. He wasn’t sure how far into the warehouse he was, and how far he was from the rest of the Raion, but if they were the ones to fire those first shots, things had gone wrong. Fear gripped him and drove his arm as he aimed his pistol at the man on the ground.

“Hey man, don’t--” the man started to speak only to be cut off by two shots that caught him in the middle of his chest. Blood welled from the two holes as his head fell back, the life fading from his eyes before it’d even hit the ground. The garnet pool accumulating from both bodies spilled across the concrete and rolled idly towards Hunk, staining the soles of his boots as he stared down at the Akuma. Their gazes stared dully upwards at him, frozen forever in unending shock.

“The Port of Nagoya,” he said under his breath as he knelt down, gently running a hand over the dead men’s eyes to pull their eyelids shut. His mind raced between the gunshots that still echoed in his ears and the information he’d learned. The Akuma were planning another deal there, and from the sounds of it, it involved the American Mafia. If they made it out of the warehouse, he would need to make sure Keith and the rest of the waka gashira knew.

The Port of Nagoya.

Hunk repeated the location like a mantra, letting the cadence of the port’s name calm the worry that was rolling through his limbs. Standing slowly from his position, he tightened his grips on the blood stained bowie knife and pistol as he pressed forward.

***

Tiny sparks of electricity were tickling Lance’s palms as he followed behind Keith, his sense of duty sparring with his affection deep within his chest, leaving him bloodied and raw. He hadn’t even gotten a say in letting Hunk head off on his own, Keith stepping in with a curt nod and pulling him the opposite direction before he could try and make him change his mind. Now he stood in an empty hall, with his brooding oyabun, surrounded by painfully loud silence and unable to watch Hunk-- or any of the rest of his team’s-- backs. Lance hated being in confined spaces like the twisting metal hallway that never seemed to end.

And to make matters worse, he had to fight with a damn knife.

“He’ll be fine, you know.” Keith’s voice was so low, he wondered if he’d imagined it before the leader threw a look over his shoulder, amethyst eyes fixing on him in a fleeting glance.

“I get it,” he continued, voice thin with a vulnerable softness as he turned back to face forward, his steps carrying him further into the building. “But he’s always been able to take care of himself.” Lance did his best to ignore the small voice in the back of his mind that bitterly pointed out that Shiro had also always been able to take care of himself, until he couldn’t. The eeriness of the seemingly empty building was working his nerves, he told himself as he continued to watch Keith’s back as they pressed onward.

His grip on his tantō felt wrong, and it felt too light as he tried to adjust the way he held it. Without a gun he felt completely useless. Growing up, Keith had always been the one that was better at hand-to-hand combat and knives. The jealousy had eaten away at him until he found out he could shoot ten targets in ten seconds from 100 feet away, and that was without a scope. Walking through the hall, the walls seemingly closing in around them as the silence playing tricks with his mind, Lance felt like that kid again that just couldn’t catch up to his future leader.

“Do you think we’re close?” He asked in an attempt to brush away the quiet that was trying to tempt him into dwelling on Hunk’s position. The answer he received came in the form of a hiss and a hand that stood up in the universal sign for “stop.” He bristled at the gesture. Ears straining to hear whatever discreet noice that had alerted Keith, he nearly ran into his back, stopping himself just short of his tensed shoulders.

“Did you hear something?” Lance’s voice was stiff after several seconds passed without any sounds. Keith lifted a single finger up to his lips as he turned his head just enough for him to see the gesture before he started to pad slowly forward. It wasn’t until he saw the black outlines of shadows against the wall ahead of them that he picked up the barely there whisper of rubber soles against the stone ground. His fingers curled tighter over the hilt of his blade as he tried to recall what little knife training he had, his heart thumping a hummingbird’s beat against his sternum. Keith continued to push forward, his steps quickening as he rushed to meet the Akuma ahead of them.

Then the all too familiar pop of gunfire rang over their heads. The sound rolled over his skin, dragging away his insecurities and leaving a completely different animal in its place. No matter the circumstance of that first shot, it meant his guns were now fair play. Though a bloom of fear burned in his chest as his mind raced to try and pinpoint where exactly they had come from, his blood raced as he dropped his tantō to the ground. Excitement and frustration blazed together, lighting his eyes as he pulled the uzis from the tan holsters that hung just under his arms. He barely registered Keith’s movement as he whipped his own handgun from its holster as he readied himself.

The steps were louder now, the sound multiplying as they sped up, and three Akuma rounded the corner just seconds later. Lance’s first shot caught the one closest in the knee, knocking him down for the second shot that caught him between the eyes. The next shot wasn’t his own as a bullet rushed past his face, the air splitting around it and blowing against his face as it landed somewhere behind him.

Another trio curled around the corner as Keith promptly shot the tallest of the group, the lead from his gun knocking him back as it hit his shoulder. Dodging the metal rain that was descending upon them, the two Raion moved around each other, one water and one smoke as they returned the gunfire. For each rival clansman that fell, another rounded the corner to take his place. It was the kind of set up that meant they were close. Lance felt the heavy determination emanating off Keith in waves as he came to the same realization.

“Keith!” He yelled over the metallic crashing around them.

Another shot and another spray of blood.

“What?” The oyabun yelled back, eyes not leaving the crowd ahead of them as he hit another in the stomach. Lance’s aim caught another in the hand, disrupting the shot he’d been lining up for the man beside him.

“Go on ahead, I’ll take care of these guys!” He felt the hesitation as Keith weighed his options. “I’ve got this, buddy. Shiro needs you.”

The words were steadier than he felt as he tried to reassure his leader. His purple gaze fell on him as he looked away from the Akuma ahead them for the first time. The steel in them had softened and turned pliant with an appreciation that Lance hoped would go unsaid. There would be a time to be thankful, and that time wouldn’t be until they completed their mission. With a small nod of his head as if to offer one final affirmation for Keith to go on without him, he aimed back for the crowd that had thinned out to just five. As he sprayed them with a slew of bullets, Keith ran towards them, hugging the wall until the exact moment Lance pulled his finger off the trigger.

The diversion had caused enough confusion that the oyabun was able to push past them, disappearing around the corner before they’d even had time to register what was happening. He wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline, but Lance could have sworn he saw everything in slow motion as the Akuma puzzled over the disappearance of one of their enemies. One turned to follow, only to be pushed to the ground with the force of the bullet that caught him in the spine.

“Oh no, friends,” Lance said as he widened his stance and brought both of his guns upwards to point toward the four that were left. “I’m not done with you yet.”

***

A sense of knowing was digging deep into Keith’s bones as he walked alone towards where Shiro had to be. He was so close, he could feel it deep within his gut in the form of a gnawing sensation that picked at his insides like a buzzard. Loud shouts and the sound of gunshots ricocheted around him from where Lance had hung back to allow Keith a chance to explore further. Keith suspected it was more so the sharpshooter could run to check on Hunk once he’d cleared the Akuma from the hall. He’d seen the worry that had sharpened the steel in his blue eyes, and no matter how he’d tried to hide it behind a dulled mask of loyalty, it was there staring back at him like a beast waiting to be unleashed.

If Keith looked long enough, the beast twisted into something all too familiar to him.

Another crack bounced around him as he adjusted his grip on his handgun before rounding a sharp corner. A spasm rolled through his chest as his eyes landed on a a pair of imposing doors that interrupted the unending wall of dull metal. Choking back a gasp, he stumbled over himself as he made his way to them, shoulder igniting with pain as he shoved it against the heavy metal and pushed the door open.

The room was dark, lit only by stray rays of sunlight that streamed through a single window that sat in the middle of the wall opposite of him. Golden beams cast an ethereal glow over the otherwise mundane and empty room, the reach of its warming light stopping short of the figure that lay in a heap of limbs and bloodied clothing in the shadows to the far right of the room. Chunks of ice broke off in his veins as he stepped further into the deserted space, drawn towards the unmoving body as if pulled by an invisible string.

His gaze flickered over Shiro, taking inventory of each wound that stood stark against his skin and tracing the line of his side in search of any sign of the rise and fall of breathing. A tremor reverberated through his legs as he finally stood in front of him, knocking them from beneath him as he fell before Shiro’s frame, dropping his gun to the floor with a sharp, metallic clatter. The saiko-komon’s eyelids fluttered and though his breath was shallow, it was there as it tickled over the skin of Keith’s wrist as he ghosted a hand down his cheek. Blood had long stained the white of his bangs to a deep rust, the thick crust of coagulation matting it together. The bruise from the image was a mottled black and purple with sickly green feathering its edges.

Keith’s heart squeezed as his eyes dragged down towards the stump that was trapped between Shiro’s side and the cold ground, the weight of the loss settling onto his shoulders and turning his stomach. Heat climbed up his chest as it gagged him, the sound of his dry heaves filling the room.

“Sendak does great work, doesn’t he?”

The voice twisted with a calm malice as it spoke, sending a thrill of vehemence through Keith as a feral snarl tore from his lips. Grabbing his handgun from the ground, he flipped his position around, still crouching protectively in front of Shiro as he pointed the muzzle at the intruder.

“You’ve got yourself a strong one.” Zarkon sauntered forward from the shadowed corner he had been waiting in, the tip of his sword scraping along the ground as he moved closer. His teeth gleamed with the sunlight as he smiled at Keith, looking down at him over his nose. Keith’s finger twitched over the trigger. “Even after Sendak sawed his arm off, he still wouldn’t tell us anything about you, little lion.”

The harsh rasp of metal against concrete subsided as Zarkon stopped his advance, stopping in the middle of the room, obsidian eyes boring through Keith.

“Maybe I’ll keep him for myself.”

Keith pulled the trigger, the loud explosion of the gun firing filling the air. Onyx held amethyst as Zarkon’s glare stayed trained on the Raion as the bullet flew past him and buried itself in the wall behind him with the deafening clang of iron against steel. In a flash of metal and sunlight, he lunged forward, sword raised above his head. Keith pushed off the ground, using the energy of his coiled muscled to throw himself forward. Meeting Zarkon in the space between them, he thrust his shoulder into the older man’s stomach and wrapped his arms around his middle as they crashed to the ground. As soon as he felt the impact of the Akuma’s back, Keith scrambled upward, grasping a handful of his black shirt within his left fist as he threw the right towards his face. The sound of bone crunched satisfyingly beneath the force of the gun that was still clutched in his hand.

Zarkon grunted with the impact, quickly retaliating by thrusting the butt of his sword’s hilt into Keith’s temple, knocking away his senses and throwing him off his chest and onto the ground. The room spun around him as Keith pushed himself up again, not allowing himself to linger. Sardonic laughter darted around him, the sound wet with the blood that was spilling over Zarkon’s lips from his shattered nose.

“I touched a nerve,” he spat, blood splashing over the grey ground as he sat up. A single strand of inky black hair fell from the slicked back plane atop his head and curved over his eyes. They were practically glowing as he stared at the younger leader, their intensity like that of a wolf setting its sight on its prey. Sunlight glinted against the tip of the sword as he pointed at Keith. “I’ll enjoy killing you, Kogane.”

A sharp smile pulled the corners of Keith’s mouth up, baring his teeth.

“Likewise.”

Leveling the gun, he fired another shot, growling as Zarkon swiftly dodged the bullet by rolling forward and quickly getting to his feet, advancing towards Keith. He fired again before the metal slipped from his fingers as Zarkon pushed against him, the flat of his sword pressing against the Raion’s chest as he was pushed into the wall. The impact stole the air from his lungs as the back of his head smacked the metal with an angry crack. His bruisde ribs screamed against the pressure as he pressed into him. Stars ate away his vision as he blindly grabbed for the sword that was crushing against his chest. Hot breath brushed the bridge of his nose as Zarkon pushed closer. The blade bit into Keith’s left palm, blood spilling between his fingers as he grasped it. His right found the hilt, the sudden change in momentum catching Zarkon by surprise as he wrenched it from his grasp.

It clattered noisily as it skittered over the ground. Taking advantage of the moment, Keith brought his hands up behind the Akuma’s neck and pulled him down as he thrust his knee upwards into his chest. Stumbling backwards with a small gasp, Zarkon’s eyes were wild with an inhuman fury. Fixing him with matching acrimony, Keith’s fist caught the older leader’s jaw before he spun, throwing the force of it into a kick square to the Akuma’s chest. The power behind it sent him stumbling backwards, only stopping once his back landed heavily against the wall behind him.

Three sharp honks tore through the symphony of gasping breaths as Zarkon and Keith glared at each other from opposite ends of the room. A liquid warmth was spilling down his temple, painting his light skin a haunting crimson as his mauve gaze burned holes into the elder oyabun’s flesh. Time stretched between them as Keith’s fingers twitched over his push daggers, his handgun lying abandoned on the ground about six feet from where he stood. It felt as if a spell had fallen over the room as silence settled over the space. He could kill Zarkon now and be done with it. The end of this bloody war between their clans was within his grasp, all he had to do was reach out and grab it. His fingers trembled at the sheath again as he dragged in a calming breath.

Now was his chance.

Then one word shattered the trance over the room into a million jagged pieces.

“Keith.”

It was a whispered exhalation, a barely there utterance that dealt more damage than any of the blows Zarkon had landed. With just one murmur, Shiro had pulled Keith back down from his bloodthirsty rage. Lightning quick, the oyabun’s fingers closed over the three daggers on his thigh, each handle slotting neatly between them. The first he threw buried itself deep within the flesh of Zarkon’s thigh, eliciting nothing more than a pained grunt from the man. Keith let loose the second dagger almost as soon as the first had made its mark, this one tearing through the top of his shoulder and pinning the fabric of his shirt to the wall behind him. With one final flick of his wrist, the third dagger twisted through the air and landed in the wall just to the right of the Akuma leader’s face, cutting a jagged line into his cheek and ear as it passed. A seamless veil of garnet rolled down Zarkon’s cheek.

Turning on his heel, Keith faced where Shiro lay against the ground, his eyes still shut and his eyebrows drawn together as he grimaced. Another breath carried his name over the full ridge of his saiko-komon’s lips.

“Do you not intend to kill me, lion?” Zarkon’s voice was filled with black humor as he watched Keith shove his hands under Shiro’s armpits so he could pull him up into a seated position. Ignoring the taunt and the fire it ignited in his chest, Keith knelt next to his best friend’s unconscious body and pulled his left arm over his shoulders so he could use the strength of his legs to push them both up. Grasping the arm with his left hand, ignoring the sting from the deep cut in his palm, and wrapping his right arm around his waist, he supported his weight as he slowly made his way to the door.

“You’re a coward,” the Akuma roared as Keith got to the doorway, reveling in the way the Raion oyabun paused. “Just like your father.”

Turning just enough to fix Zarkon with a glare brimming with disaster and ruin, Keith’s face twisted into a look of unadulterated fury. A beat passed filled with nothing but their labored breathing as wars waged in the silence between them. Keith was the first to speak.

“I’ll be back for those,” he spat before he turned back towards the exit, Shiro leaning heavily into his side, his head pressing into the crook of his neck and his labored breaths tickling his skin.

It wasn’t just a threat, but a promise. Acid twisted in his stomach as he dragged them both through the twisting hall towards the van that would finally take them home.

He would make good on his word. They weren’t finished yet.

**************************

#sheith #takashi shirogane #keith kogane #voltron #shiro x keith #voltron fanfic #pidge gunderson #hunk garrett #lance mcclain #EVERYONE GETS A CHANCE TO SHINE AGAIN!#lol but don't get used to it the next update is gonna be just keith and shiro cuz i missed shiro a lot #the amount of action in this REALLY worked my writing chops #ACTION IS HARD Y'ALL #IT'S SO FACKIN HARD #waaaaaah this one only has 4 chapters left #why am i taking a break you ask?#partially because i wrote over 60k words last month and need a bit of a breather #partially because im tryna give this fic's artist time to fill its commission #AND PARTIALLY BECAUSE S4 HAPPENS NEXT FRIDAY DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT

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samsylviasmoustache · 7 years

Text

The Boxer

Sam, Ruth, a dive bar and a lot of self-loathing.

“Here you go.”

He slides a measure of bourbon over to her; sets his own down on the scarred and sticky table. She smiles and raises her glass to his.

Cheers, neither of them says.

“I think it was good tonight,” she ventures, wincing at the burn of the cheap liquor. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t sold on the whole riding in on a white horse thing when you first described it…”

“Told ya.” He drains the whiskey in a practiced gulp, looking back over at the bar rather than her. Onto the next fix. He remembers himself enough to raise a quizzical eyebrow at least: another?

She shakes her head. “I’ll let this one… settle first.”

Damned if she’s going to watch him at the bar like she has nothing better to do. Instead, her eye roves the rest of the dive-bar they’ve found. Somewhere—elsewhere—the rest of the GLOW crew are celebrating another successful week. She imagines it is more cheerful than this, with bottles of Budweiser and a jukebox playing synth-pop rather than fuzzing death-metal. She isn’t quite sure why they’re here instead. Debbie, maybe. There’s still an unspoken rule of avoidance in play there; maybe there always will be.

She suspects it’s more than that. Debbie has probably already gone home to Randy. Maybe it’s about staying in character. Zoya doesn’t have friends, only allies she hasn’t betrayed yet. Can’t be too close; can’t know all the stories and share all the jokes or she’ll lose her grip on that.

She finishes the bourbon; fire in her belly.

Maybe it’s not about Zoya at all – there’s another character in the ring here, after all. Plain old Ruth. She’s here because Sam is the only other person she knows who fucked up every good thing in his life without thinking too.

She frowns, spinning the glass in her hands. That’s not right either. They think. Think too much, perhaps, about the wrong things. The job, the story. Both of them so busy chasing a dream, a narrative, that they miss out on the flow of their own lives—

“Hey, I know you.”

“Hmm?” She glances up, half-smiling out of genial habit, at the slurring voice.

“Yeah. You’re her aren’t you? The Commie bitch from that wrestling show.”

Ruth cringes inwardly, shrinking away from the drunk. He’s tall and well-built, running to fat, sweating and bald. He’s every unwanted hand on her body in a club, every cat-call she’s ever shrugged off in the street. Ruth cringes away, but on the other side of a see-saw, Zoya rises up.

And Zoya has never cringed in her life.

“Da,” she affirms, as Ruth looks out from behind her icy eyes. “Commie bitch Zoya, that me. Who’s bitch are you?”

It takes a second for him to process. “The fuck you say to me?” he spits, and the horrible sticky table is flying before she even has time to flinch.

Time warps, glacier-slow. The table wasn’t for show; he was clearing a path. His fist swings back, unstoppable as a planet, and she’s frozen. Detached, almost. Watching dispassionately from somewhere else as her head is about to get punched clean off her shoulders. And like a magic lantern show flickering up to speed the scene unfolds, but not as she expects.

Something, someone, launches at her assailant with a yell. Half his size, but with a bantam-weight fury that takes the bully off guard; knocking him back a step.

“What the fuck man?!”

Sam. The world’s most unlikely knight in scuffed leather jacket, standing between her and three hundred pounds of rock-ape, with his fists balled.

She can feel her attacker’s confusion. The math doesn’t make sense. Sam is so much smaller, older, and somehow so much angrier. Hell, the whole room can feel it. Pin-drop silence; thirty pairs of eyes locked on their tableaux. The only movement in the room is the bartender surreptitiously removing a large baseball bat from under his counter.

Some kind of animal logic turns cogs behind those piggy little eyes; the certainty of the equation unfolding. A ham-like fist draws back again. It’s a wild haymaker and slow enough for Sam to duck. She expects him to drop, roll, run. Not to come up under the man’s guard and scrape together every bit of strength he has into a fierce uppercut. Rock-ape’s head is flung back and he staggers once again. One, two, three seconds of muzzy incomprehension. In her mind’s ear Keith counts down to victory.

Then he lands a return blow like the meteor-strike that killed the dinosaurs, and Sam goes flying. The rest of the room seems to fly with him; descending into a maelstrom of punching, kicking, testosterone fury.

She ignores the chaos, the stray kicks and knocks, scrambling to find him on the floor. He is curled around his stomach, unmoving. She drags him by the labels of his leather jacket through the door. He can barely stand; she can barely carry him. They are limping away by inches in the neon-lit mizzling rain, a cut-scene ripped straight from Blade Runner. At least until the body goes crashing through the bar window, crunching onto the sidewalk in an explosion of shattered glass and blood, and the fresh shot of adrenaline sends them both running.

She manages to pilot him to collapse on his couch, still clutching at his ribs like he’s been stabbed.

“We should get you to a hospital—” she tries.

“No,” he rasps. “I’ll be fine.”

“Harry Houdini died—”

“From a blow to the stomach,” he finishes. “I know.”

Of course he does. She puts her head on one side, trying to puzzle this out. “You’re ashamed?”

“What? He had a hundred pounds on me—”

“Yeah, I saw. And about two decades less,” she shoots back.

He almost laughs at this, but thinks better of it. “Nice to see you extending your talent for making friends outside of the ring.”

“Well, what can I say? I’ve got a great mentor.”

He raises his hand in mock surrender, wincing at the pain. “You gonna stand there insulting me all night or—?”

“Or?”

He swallows, on the back foot now. “Fuck, I don’t know. Comfort me? I just took a pretty big punch for you.”

“Why?”

He blinks, like the question doesn’t make sense. “What do you mean, why?” Realising she’s serious, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Christ, Ruth. You’re more fucked up than I am. You make me laugh, and life feels less shitty when we hang around together. You need more than that?”

The conversation has pivoted once again back on her. She sighs dissent through her nose and goes to find ice in his kitchen, returning with a bag of sorry frozen peas and a wet flannel instead. “Here.” She folds his bruised hand around the freezer veg, tucks it back against his ribs. The wet flannel she uses to dab away blood in his eyebrow, cool an already purpling cheek.

It’s fine until she catches his eyes. Then the intimacy of the moment suddenly strikes her, stomach contracting sharply.

“You make me feel less… shitty too,” she admits, because she has to say something.

He nods. “Good. Um.” He makes a face. “You’ve got dirt on your…”

“Oh, um…”

There is an awkward moment of gesticulation, until he solves the problem by reaching up, brushing his thumb across her cheek.

“Thanks,” she creaks. As if this is all completely normal. As if his fingers haven’t stalled in the stray hair by her ear; as if her flannel hasn’t stilled in its busy work.

He breaks the spell. “This is… this is a bad idea.” It half sounds like a question.

“Yeah,” she agrees, nodding like a fucking car ornament.

His moustache twitches with the wry grin underneath. “I mean, I’d only fuck this up. And people would talk…”

“It’d be a shame to ruin a friendship,” she adds.

“Yeah, yeah. I wouldn’t want people to think… you know… it wasn’t all earned through talent.”

“And after Rhonda—”

He flinches. “What?! Why the fuck would you bring her up?”

“I’m sorry! I thought we were doing reason why we shouldn’t—?”

“Well, yeah, but you know… nicely.”

She bites her lip in effort not to laugh in his face. “Nicely?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Nice reasons not to.” He catches her giggle, and immediately regrets it, wincing hard at the stab of pain from his ribs. “Fuck.”

Her smile twists in sympathy. “Can I see?”

“I thought we were agreeing not to take any clothes off?” he grumbles, but lets her pull his shirt up.

“Fuck,” she echoes, at the blooming flower of black and blue. She reapplies the sad bag of peas. “Thank you?” she tries.

“Yeah.” He lays back into the sofa. “I think you’re welcome.”

#netflix glow #fanfiction #sam sylvia #ruth wilder #sam/ruth #swilder #ust

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magmawrites · 7 years

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The Times They Remembered Pidge Was a Girl

Summary: The stuff you have to deal with while being a girl doesn't change just because you're up in space. At least you have four guys, five lions, and two aliens on your side.

One-Shot 1: Apparently Mother Nature Visits in Space

(FF | | AO3)

Pidge centric. Female pronouns for Pidge. Just an exploration of situations Pidge can find herself in. Family dynamics ftw.

"You want what?" Hunk asked, staring at the youngest paladin with a quirked brow.

"You know, those smooth disk things you made that one time," Pidge said, flattening her hands together in a circular motion. "We used it to teleport-"

"I know what you're talking about," Hunk said, putting his hands on his hips. "But I didn't think you liked those cookies."

Pidge shuffled her feet nervously, pushing up her glasses with a finger. "Uh, well I don't exactly…" At Hunk's crestfallen expression the green paladin quickly shook her head, laughing nervously. "I mean- but I really want them now!"

Hunk didn't exactly believe her but he did catch her shoveling some of the green goop into her mouth late last night when he ventured into the kitchen for a midnight snack. He also remembered thinking whether or not it was actually midnight. Altean time measurements use 20 vargas in a day so technically it was ten at night?

Hunk rubbed his temple. Space math.

"Earth to Hunk," Pidge said, tip toeing to wave her hand in front of his face.

"Technically we're in space so I can't Earth," Hunk said, holding his chin in his hand. "Would it be space to Hunk?" "Hunk!" Pidge exclaimed, barely stopping herself from stomping her foot. "Focus! I'm starving."

"Now you know how I feel all the time," Hunk said happily.

Pidge narrowed her eyes, pouting. "I'm not throwing up though am I?"

"Harsh," Hunk said with a chuckle. "Maybe I shouldn't make you cookies. How about that?" The yellow paladin was surprised to see the eyes of the youngest member of the team go glassy as her lower lip trembled. Oh no. He made her cry. He was making Pidge cry. Holy crow- he's the worst friend to ever friend. "Uh…Pidge…are you going to-"

"No!" she exclaimed, ears heating up at the tip. "I'm just-" She groaned, frustrated. "I'll be in my room," she grumbled, storming out of the kitchen.

Hunk watched her go, confusion creeping its way into him. He heard someone greet her happily and Shiro ventured into the room a frown on his face.

"Hunk, did you make Pidge cry?" he asked, genuinely confused.

There was no malice in his tone, no anger hidden beneath the words and yet-

"Oh quiznak!" the large paladin blubbered and Shiro was left patting his back.

Pidge found stacks of cookies as tall as herself outside her door that night.

If there was one thing they all knew about Pidge was that she was strong. Not once did they falter in their belief or worry about her not being able to withstand any missions they set for her.

There was only one time Keith's confidence in that wavered and it was mostly because he was confused.

It wasn't often he found Pidge on the training deck. He liked to come there to clear his head and get a few rounds of practice in. He certainly didn't expect to find her sprawled on her side at the edge of the training room, face towards the wall. Now it wasn't odd to find the green paladin asleep in random places throughout the castleship. She often dozed off because she lost track of time tinkering with some new piece of technology she found. But seeing her here-

"Pidge!" Keith exclaimed, running towards her and sliding onto his knees. He placed a hand on her shoulder, rolling her to her back. "Are you hurt?" He immediately thought about the time the training system malfunctioned and how dangerous that ended up being. Maybe Pidge picked one level too high-

"I'm fine," she said through gritted teeth. She had her hands wrapped around her abdomen and she rolled back onto her side, hiding her face from him.

"Do you want me to get Coran?" Keith prodded. "He can put you in the healing pod-"

"I'm fine," she repeated adamantly. "Just go on and train. I'll be here."

"In the corner." Keith stated pointedly.

"Yes."

Keith stood hesitantly, eyeing her warily before making his way to the center of the room. Obviously he knew something was wrong but he didn't see any bruises or blood so he tried to shrug the concern away.

Unsuccessfully.

"Exercise is supposed to help," he heard her mutter about fifteen minutes into training.

"Help with what?"

Silence.

Pidge had to tell someone. Being sucked into space without any preparation all that time ago meant she was short on a couple necessities. Allura was really nice about it. She didn't quite understand because her Altean body was different than Pidge's own.

One little thing she wasn't expecting though- Coran overheard. The older man burst into the room exclaiming that if Number Five was in need of any assistance he would be there to help. He stared at her, bent at the hip, twirling his mustache.

"Please stop looking at me like that," Pidge said, leaning back.

"Like what?" the man asked. "Human bodies are quite similar to ours-"

"Allura can change her appearance-"

"Perhaps we can come up with an antidote to stop the bleeding," Coran continued, tapping a finger on his chin as he thought of all the different hormones and processes that need to be accounted for. "I may need to run some diagnoses-"

Pidge slumped into her seat. "Not what I meant."

When Shiro spotted a little bit of red on Pidge's shorts he got mad. They just finished fighting some hostile aliens and though everyone was bruised and aching he didn't know she had received any type of wound that pierced her skin.

Pidge was the first to change out of her suit. It had started to malfunction and because of some exposed wires he insisted she change as soon as possible. He'd rather not have their resident techy short circuit.

Pidge felt Shiro's eyes on her and turned to see his eyebrows knit together in anger, fists clenched around the helmet he held.

"Uh, are you okay Shiro?" she asked.

"Katie, which one of them hurt you?"

"What?" Pidge questioned, tilting her head. When Shiro used her real name she knew things were serious.

"You're bleeding," he pointed out.

Pidge glanced over her shoulder, grabbing the hem of her shorts before blushing bright red. "Oh that. That's nothing."

"What do you mean nothing?" Shiro asked. His voice was calm but she could sense a storm brewing inside of him. "I knew things were getting hectic and we had to fight outside of our lions but-" He pinched the bridge of his nose. None of it really made a difference but sometimes… He couldn't help it. He wouldn't let what happened to Matt happen to her. Sometimes he could forget just how young Pidge was. And small. Shiro's waist was practically as wide as her whole body.

"Shiro, relax." Pidge said. "Really it's nothing. And even if it was we've had worse injuries. Remember Lance?"

"Remember me what?"

Lance walked into the room, hands stuffed into his jacket.

"Shiro's freaking out over a little bit of bleeding." Pidge said with a shrug.

"Who's bleeding? Shiro I thought you could take a beating," Lance said, throwing fake punches into the air. "Champion and all-"

"Pidge is bleeding," Shiro said, stopping Lances fists in his hands.

Pidge rolled her eyes. "I'm going to go change."

That's when Lance noticed the red too.

"Oh," he mumbled. He looked at Shiro, a sly grin forming on his face. "Really? I was the last one to figure out she's a girl but really?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Shiro exclaimed. "Our fellow paladin was hurt. That's the only issue. She was paired with me. I should have helped more."

Lance snorted. "Believe me you can't really do much about this."

Lance was acting surprisingly nice to her.

That's not to say he wasn't nice. But he was just being extra…careful.

"So, I'm going to take a trip to the space mall," Lance said, crouching down beside the green paladin, blocking her view of her laptop. Now normally he wouldn't expect Pidge to be interested in coming shopping with him but he had an inkling this time would be different.

Pidge adjusted her glasses. "When're you going?"

"Now, want to come?" Lance said, standing and stretching. "I'm going to go weasel some money out of Coran first."

Pidge looked hesitant so Lance decided to draw her in with curiosity. "Hey, but if you do come I got rules this time. What I'm going to buy is top secret so I'll give you half of whatever money Coran gives me and you go buy whatever you want while I do my super secretive shopping, okay?"

There. Lance was proud of himself. Now she could go buy whatever things she needed for her monthly situation without feeling shy about it.

"You're so weird," Pidge said, straightening up. "I'll meet you in five."

When they arrived at the mall (in normal clothing and not as pirates) Lance handed Pidge a couple of space bills. "Hey, I lived with a lot of girls-"

"And yet every time you see one you start drooling," Pidge said, the corner of her lip turned upwards.

Lance shoved her shoulder. "I'm trying to have a moment with you!"

"You ruined your moment with Keith," Pidge said, eyes twinkling. "Guess it's my turn."

Lance crossed her arms and grumbled under his breath before feeling a small hand on his sleeve. "Thank you," Pidge said, smiling sincerely.

"Yeah, whatever!" Lance called out as he watched her disappear into the crowd. "Not like I care what a little half pint like you gets yourself into!"

The next day Pidge stuck the sticky part of a new pad onto Lances back and he walked around the castleship and no one said a thing.

Authors Note:

I plan on adding a lot more situations Pidge can encounter. If you have any ideas feel free to share!

-Magma

#voltron #vld #pidge #voltron legendary defender #vld fanfic #pidge has a crush and protective teammates? yessir coming up next #magma writes #my writing #voltron fanfic #hunk #shiro #keith #lance #allura #coran #space family #magma speaks #the times they remembered pidge was a girl #pls feel free to send me more ideas if you have

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iris-writes-things · 7 years

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A Day At The Races chapter 1: Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge

Read on AO3, FF.net or under the cut, or read the illustrated version on my Patreon!

This fan fiction contains internalized racism, internalized homophobia and heavily prejudiced characters. If you are sensitive to any of the above, proceed with caution or not at all.

The year is 1952. Keith had been picked on ever since the war began, street races became his outlet. Pidge and Hunk gladly help him win from his bully and rival Jimmy Parker.

Chapter 1 of 6 Completed 1437 words Romance/historical

“I fucking hate white people.” Keith huffed as he stormed in, sitting down on a stool at the counter in the only diner in the small New Mexico town, a hand covering his left eye to hide a nasty bruise. Funny how things could go. A group of jocks had ganged up on him, and yet, he was the only one who had to go to detention. He was fuming, he was angry, he was sore. “You wouldn’t happen to have a bag of ice somewhere in that freezer, would you Shiro?”

e older man on the other side of the counter sighed. “Keith, your dad is a white guy. I’m not giving you the ice unless you tell me exactly what happened.” He said, rummaging around in the freezing compartment beneath the countertop.

That earned him a groan from Keith. “That’s mean.”

“No, this is me being mean.” He told him before dangling the bag of ice in front of his face, almost out of the boy’s reach, and chuckled. “It’s for your own good, Keith.”

Keith rolled his eyes and snatched the bag from his hand, sighing in relief as he held it against his still swelling, still darkening eye. “It’s Jimmy Parker. You know, the guy from my class who is everything that’s wrong with society in a neat little package?”

“What did he do this time?”

“Take a wild guess.” Keith snapped, removing the bag from his eye, showing Shiro his swollen face. Yeah, that was a mean bruise. “I tried to fight back; to defend myself, you know? What else was I supposed to do? But then his friends ganged up on me too. I couldn’t take them on all at once…”

“Why’d he do it?”

“Because apparently his brother got killed in the war… He heard somewhere that my mom is from North Korea, so he decided to take his grief out on me, probably? Or, at least, that’s what I’m guessing.”

As if they spoke of the devil, the door opened and the diner filled up with the familiar laughter of Jimmy and his friends. Shiro glanced over and noticed Keith shrinking in his seat, like he was sure Jimmy and his friends would want to go for another round and he was desperately trying to hide.

“Well, well, went crying to your big brother, didn’t you, Keith?”

“Jimmy, we’re not related. Our parents aren’t even from the same country.”

“Eh, all you chinks look the same anyway, so who cares. We’ll be taking that booth over there and we want four milkshakes. Two chocolate, one strawberry, one vanilla. Oh, and hurry up a little, we have a movie to catch.”

Oh, Keith’s face was turning red. Redder than his scarlet jacket. His knuckles, on the other hand, turned white, nails digging into his palm and drawing blood as the bag of ice against his face burst under the pressure of his grip. His voice shook in anger as he growled, “We can’t just take this, Shiro. We have to say something. We have to do something.”

With a deep sigh, Shiro put down the ice cream scoop. “Keith, no. They’re just common bullies. They’ll lose interest if you don’t react.” He told him in a futile attempt to keep him from getting into another fight. “Be the better person. Remember, patience yields—”

“Hey, cripple!” The shout came from the booth occupied by Jimmy and his friends. “If you can’t make those milkshakes yourself, get the Mexican kid in the kitchen to do it! The movie starts in twenty minutes.”

“He’s Cuban.” Keith spoke up.

“And I’m sure you smoke him like a Cuban too, Cogain.” Jimmy taunted, his friends cheering him on.

That was unfair. Sure, he and Lance didn’t talk much, they didn’t speak each other’s language very well, but he was a good kid, and he sure as Hell didn’t deserve this kind of treatment. “Why, you little—”

Suddenly, a shrill scream was torn from Jimmy’s mouth, followed by childish giggling from the next booth over. None other than Katie Holt had just sacrificed her own sundae by dumping it in his neck.

“Serves you right for giving us white folk a bad name.” She said, a devilish smirk gracing her lips.

The jock whipped around, bumping foreheads with the girl half his size. “You little bitch! I’ll—I’ll—!”

“You’ll what?” came a voice from behind Katie. Jimmy looked up to find Hunk. Former high school wrestling champion who, in turn, was twice Jimmy’s size.

“Please. We’re dying to hear.”

What little color Jimmy had on his face seemed to immediately drain away upon seeing the large man stand up to him, but he tried to keep his cool nonetheless. He scoffed. “W-we’ll see. Let’s go guys, time to get out of this dump.” He called to his friends who left with him.

The David and Goliath-like figures high fived with grins on their faces. Keith smiled as he walked over to their booth to sit with them. “Thanks, guys. That might have been the single best thing I’ve seen in my entire life.”

“That might have been the single best thing I’ve done in my entire life. Just the way he screamed was worth it all on its own.” The small girl told him. “Speaking of good things, you look like you could use some good news.” She said as she used her spoon to steal a scoop from Hunk’s sundae. A dangerous endeavor for anyone else, but from Katie, he’d allow it.

“Do you have any?” Keith enquired vaguely.

“I got you a car. Fast. Italian.”

Keith choked on the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “You found a Ferrari?!” He was confused, but excited. There was no way she could have bought one from his winnings of last month.

“No, Keith…” Katie took off her glasses to pinch the bridge of her nose. “You need to win at least thirty more races to get one. No, I got a body. Fiat 500—”

Keith groaned. “Why not get me a Beetle while you’re at it!”

Shiro’s gaze snapped up from behind the counter. “What’s wrong with a Beetle?”

“Just… Everything.” Keith grumbled.

Katie hushed him. “I know it’s small and small isn’t your thing, but it’s lightweight. Lightweight means it can be fast. Really fast.”

“Of course we’ll have to weigh down the floor, with the way you tend to take corners. Wouldn’t want you to crash on the first turn.” Hunk added. “But it will be faster and more agile than Jimmy’s Chevy. And after that whole ordeal, I can imagine you want him eating your dust.”

Keith removed the ice bag to look at Katie. “How long?”

“Six weeks. Two months tops.”

Keith smirked. “Get it done. I’ll get you what you need.”

***

"Psst! Shiro!" Lance hissed from the kitchen window, gesturing for him to come closer, quickly getting the older man's attention. "Can I, uh, ask you something?" He asked in his thick accent.

Curious, Shiro stepped closer to the window. "Of course, what do you want to know?" He asked in return.

"That, uh, pretty?” He was a little uncertain of his wording, but ultimately settled on ‘pretty’. “That pretty girl who was at the counter just now... what is her name?" Lance asked. He had been admiring her from afar ever since he started working here, three months ago. He spent a larger amount of time fantasizing about talking, and possibly going on dates with her, than he was willing to admit. There wasn’t really anything else he could do behind the grill other than letting his imagination do its thing, after all. However, he had never dared to approach her. The thought that his broken English might repel her, or worse, make her laugh at him, terrified him. She seemed to be a good friend of Shiro’s, though. Maybe he could put in a good word for him?

"Pretty girl?" Shiro mumbled to himself as he quickly looked over the restaurant's patrons.

"The girl with the, uh, black hair.” The boy clarified. "The one that looked like she has been in a fight."

Then it hit Shiro. "Oh, that’s Keith. Don’t worry about it. A lot of people mistake him for a girl at first glance. I wouldn’t go around calling him a ‘pretty girl’, though, if I were you. The last person who did, didn’t enjoy what came after." He joked before going back to his job behind the counter.

"Keith..." Lance mumbled, his mind wandering to the other constantly as he flipped the burgers on the grill.

#fanfic #en #voltron #voltron: legendary defender #50s au #klance

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lykezoinks · 7 years

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[ a/n: alright, this is my last entry for @klangst-week. thanks everybody for all the likes and reblogs! it keeps me writing, and it’s just nice to see people enjoying what i’m putting out! also, the works everyone’s created have just been amazing, so keep it up, y’all! ]

title: impulse control words: 3,547 prompt: secrets/betrayal rating/genre: T for language, modern au, college au, angst & hurt/comfort with a tinge of humor trigger warning(s): mental illness (implied depression and anxiety), depersonalization, mentions of injury (bruises and blood) extra notes: keith and shiro are adoptive brothers (it’s mentioned very briefly), klance is established

Yes, he works in the most hipster coffee shop within a twenty mile radius of campus. And yes, he loves it. Sure, The Underground sounds more like a sketchy bar you’d find in an alleyway that may or may not host fight clubs every other night, and yeah, it kinda smells like pencil shavings even after he mops the floors three times at opening, but at least it has character. Most people would roll their eyes at the always pretentious shop-goer in their thrift store clothing and knit hats, but Lance can’t help but find them interesting. Not that it surprises anyone.

Lance became famous around campus after only one year of being a— totally amazing, if he may say so himself— residence hall assistant. Almost anyone who lived in Levine Hall found a friend in Lance McClain. Eager to please and even more eager to befriend, it’s no secret that he falls in love with almost every social interaction he can muster up.

So he really doesn’t mind if a customer wants to discuss their latest film project, and he’s always happy to adhere to any non-dairy milk preference. Though he doesn’t have a septum ring to match his coworkers’ and he’s a bit too smiley for the spoken poetry nights they host on the stage in the back, that doesn’t stop anyone from placing a dollar in the tip jar after he compliments their tattoos or ends a pleasant conversation with a smile and a wink.

The night shift is easy enough to work. People stop entering the cafe sometime after ten, staying their welcome to study on the couches and leaving before closing. Lance’s manager insists Lance work the front while Floyd takes on the side work. So the remainder of Lance’s shift is spent leaning his elbow against the counter and letting his fingers fall one-by-one against his cheek. He tells leaving customers to enjoy the rest of their night as they leave behind a buzz of idle chatter and a ding of the door. Once the cafe clears out, all that’s left is the sounds of Floyd sweeping the floors and an acoustic song from some band that Lance thinks should have never left their basement.

“Am I free to go, bossman?” Lance asks, drumming his hands against the counter, wiggling his hips in time with the beat as his eyes dart between Floyd and the analog clock on the wall.

“You’re good to go,” Floyd nods, sliding Lance’s wallet across the countertop.

With a happy sigh, Lance punches a few buttons on the register, pulling the drawer out and placing it in the office in the back before clocking himself out and grabbing his keys from the hook. The second he does, his phone rings from its spot in his jacket pocket. Slipping it into his palm, he drags his thumb across the screen and cradles it between his ear and his shoulder. “Perfect timing! How’s it hangin’, Pidgeotto?”

“Lance! Hey, um…” The way Pidge says ‘Lance’, high pitched and cracking, tells him he’s about to get bad news. Before he can stop her, Pidge is already stringing together a plethora of subject changers that just seem ridiculous given that the two of them weren’t on a particular subject to begin with.

“Pidge,” Lance interrupts partway through some bullshit commentary having to do with the ‘crazy weather we’ve been having.’ Lance knows that no one has to explain climate change to Pidge, given its something she rants about at least twice a day. “What’s going on?”

“Yeah, okay… Um, we’re at Black Spot… And, uh— Hunk… Hunk, would you— No, grab him! Jesus… “

“What happened?” His sigh is heavy as he closes the door behind him after giving Floyd a curt wave, already headed toward his car. The Black Spot never means anything good, ever. Why his boyfriend so loves the town’s shadiest bar is beyond Lance; he doesn’t exactly find peeling paint and stained floor boards charming. And the muscled biker guys that do nothing but take up space at the bar to glower at the assorted whiskeys along the wall and ramble about their Navy days— or something like that— don’t exactly put Lance in the partying mood.

“Lotor happened.”

“Oh, God…” Lance drags a hand down his face before pinching the bridge of his nose.

He doesn’t need context. Any instance in which Lance’s current boyfriend and Lance’s ex-boyfriend are in the same room usually results in disaster. And a night in the E.R. And, lo and behold, by some cruel twist of fate, these disasters are becoming more and more frequent in recent months. Lance is half convinced that they’re destined to kill each other, like Lotor is Tybalt and Keith is a far less flamboyant Mercutio. Lance refuses to be the Benvolio in this situation. “Just stay put. I’ll be there in a sec.”

A near collision and a half-assed parallel parking job later, Lance walks himself outside the bar, feeling exceptionally underdressed as the Winter weather dusts over his arms. He has to push himself through a crowd of people waiting to be let in by the bouncer before he sees a head of familiar wild hair. In her NASA sweatshirt and minimalist alien hat, Pidge looks like she belongs at a performance art showcase rather than a night out on the town, but Lance is too exhausted to comment on his friends’ poor fashion decisions. Even if that Hawaiian shirt is so not Hunk’s color.

Instead, his focus shifts onto his leather-clad boyfriend, and rather than point out the fact he looks like a Danny Zuko knock-off with a red beanie and black baby gauges in his ears, he steps forward with his arms crossed instead.

“Hey, Lance,” Pidge sighs, sounding somewhat relieved. Hunk is a bit busy grabbing at Keith’s shoulder every time he tries to take a step toward the street. Handling a Drunk Keith is like— as Keith would say in True Texan Spirit— herding cats.

“Hey,” Lance says briskly, marching passed Pidge to strap a hand on the collar of Keith’s jacket. “Lemme see.”

Keith huffs and turns his head, looking utterly indifferent as Lance’s eyes widen.

“Shit, Keith…” He squints a little, scanning over his boyfriend’s busted lip and the fresh patch of bruises, purples, blues, and reds bleeding from underneath one eye, across the bridge of his nose, and all the way under his other eye.

“It’s not that bad,” Keith slurs, holding up a wavering hand.

“Not that—!” Lance has to close his eyes and suck in a breath through his nose, counting to ten just like Mama McClain taught him, before he can open his eyes again. But his glare doesn’t disappear.

“Sorry, man,” Hunk all but mewls beside him, rubbing at the back of his neck in a flustered fashion. “I tried to pull them off of each other as soon as I could.”

“It’s not your fault, big guy,” Lance assures, turning to his best friend with a soft smile before glaring right back at his boyfriend. “It’s yours.”

“Why is it that all of a sudden—” Keith starts, but Lance knows better than to let him divert Lance’s attention.

“There’s no way Lotor with his pretty boy hands was the only culprit. Who the hell were you picking a fight with this time?”

Keith chews at the inside of his cheek, opting to take out his pent up anger on the ground as he fixes it with a fiery glare.

Pidge steps in for him then, pushing her circle glasses further up her nose. “The usual suspects.”

“Great,” Lance grumbles, never breaking his staring contest with Keith’s profile. “So now you wanna take on Lotor and his frat buddies. All of whom are very rich… And can hire very. Good. Attorneys.”

“Lance.” Hunk sets a hand on Lance’s back, offering a sympathetic look that makes Lance’s hunched shoulders deflate. “I know you’re mad, but do you really wanna do this out here?”

It’s then that Lance realizes he’s making a scene, the crowd of people on the street gawking in their direction. And he also realizes that it’s making Keith antsy. That’s apparent in the way he starts shifting his shoulders in every which way and pales a little in the face.

“We’re the ones who let your boyfriend off his leash,” Pidge admits, saying “your boyfriend” like he’s now completely Lance’s responsibility. Saying it like she hasn’t been Keith’s best friend since the fifth grade.

Lance fishes his car keys from his back pocket, still trying to cool off from the anger burning something fierce in his chest. “You guys enjoy the rest of your night, okay? I’m gonna take Keith back to the apartment.”

“Are you sure? We can come with you,” Hunk offers, the concern never leaving his eyes for a moment.

“No, seriously, it’s fine. Besides, I thought I saw a familiar little curly girly named Shay head into that other bar a couple blocks from here.”

Hunk reddens just a little, but nods in agreement as Pidge makes some complaint about being a third wheel. In a mess of goodbyes and repeatedly reaching for Keith’s hand— his opposition to PDA is counterproductive given that he can’t walk by himself without stumbling— Lance finally gets the chance to unlock his car and slide into the driver’s seat. Keith flops down into the passenger’s seat next to him, pulling one leg up to rest his foot on the polyester as he plays absently with the laces on his high tops.

The drive home is silent, mostly because Lance can’t think of a decent lecture that won’t end in a two-way silent treatment, something that’s proven to be agonizing given they’re the only two living in a one-bedroom apartment. After Lance parks, helps Keith climb the stairs, and fumbles with the key in the lock, Keith finds a spot in their too small kitchen, sliding down the lower cabinets to sit cross-legged on the floor. Because apparently he’s a household pet.

Lance rifles through the freezer, snagging a bag of whatever’s packaged and frozen before all but chucking it onto one of Keith’s thighs. Keith seems to get the message, picking it up and hesitantly pressing it to his multi-colored face. Lance finds the place on the floor across from his boyfriend and sits back on his thighs, staring. For a long while, the only sounds in the room are the hum of the refrigerator and their neighbor’s dog yipping through the walls.

“Are we gonna talk about this?” Lance says it more rhetorically than anything.

Keith swallows hard, trying to cover up half of his face with vegetable medley. His voice is muffled by the plastic when he says, “About what?”

Lance rolls his eyes, shaking his head. He has half the mind to storm off into the bedroom and leave Keith to tend to his own wounds. But being a middle sibling of six has taught him patience if nothing else, so he counts to ten again. “About why your face looks like a Goya painting,” he deadpans.

Keith fidgets under Lance’s gaze. His knuckles would be white if they weren’t bruised too. “You know how your asshole ex is.”

“Keith, you have got to pull your head out of the Middle Ages! I’m not some damsel in distress whose honor you have to defend.” Though Lance would admit it was hot the first time… But seeing Keith beat up with dried blood caked all over his features every other weekend is starting to look less suave and James Deany and more thoughtless.

Keith drops the bag of frozen vegetables. Then his nose twitches. To the untrained eye, it would go unnoticed, but Lance has been dating him for two years and three months. And a nose twitch means that Keith’s hiding something.

“But this has nothing to do with that, does it?”

“Lance, would you just let it go—”

“Okay, fine. You want me to let this one go? Then we can talk about last week. Or the week before that. Or the week before that.”

Keith tries for a glare then, a practiced stare that looks like flames are licking at his irises, but Lance is immune from prolonged exposure.

“And I know you’re not that drunk, so let’s not act like this was impulse alone.”

When Keith shrugs off his jacket and tosses it across the room, Lance sees that the bruises aren’t just on his face. His heart jumps up to his throat as the sound of the ice machine crunches in the background.

“Would you just tell me why you’re being more of a brooding edgelord than usual? Why do you have to be so emotionally constipated?” He places either hand on Keith’s shoulders, looking him dead in the eye. “Let me be your laxative.”

“You really have a knack for making up the world’s most disgusting metaphors.”

“It’s a gift. I’m thinking of turning it into a career path.”

“Stick to astrophysics.”

“Stop changing the subject.” It’s clear that neither of them is budging, so Lance just arches a brow and asks, “Do I have to call Shiro?”

Keith slams his back further into the cabinets with a groan. The older brother card is always the trump card. “Do not tell Shiro about this, please. I’m still getting lectures about my stupid cafeteria fights in high school.”

“Then tell me what’s going on! I thought when we said we were gonna be more open with each other, it was gonna be a two-way street. Correct me if I’m wrong.”

“Nothing’s going on, Lance, okay? I hate your ex-boyfriend and his stupid frat bro sidekicks, and I shouldn’t have had that last shot of moonshine, alright?”

While it is incredibly tempting to comment on the moonshine bit, Lance holds off. Because something else catches his eye. Crossing his arms over his chest, he refuses to break eye contact, giving Keith just a few more moments to tell him the truth. The clock ticks away, and there’s nothing. “You’re biting your lip,” he says finally.

“So?”

“So, one, stop it; it’s busted and you’re gonna hurt yourself. And two, that means you’re not telling me something.”

“Would you quit psychoanalyzing me!?”

Patience be damned. Something in Lance snaps then, something that makes his teeth grind and heat bubble in his chest. His fists tremble a little before he throws his hands out to his sides and starts getting to his feet. “Fine, you know what? Fine. Forget I asked. God forbid someone try to care about you, Keith, damn.”

He steps to leave, but as soon as he does, Keith clasps a hand onto his wrist and pulls just a little. The moment Lance turns his head, eyes sharp with ice and prickling rage, he feels his heart jump. The anger slowly trickles out of his system, sending a shiver down his spine. Keith looks a little broken, shoulders squared and eyes pleading in a way that’s so unlike him it makes something in the back of Lance’s head scream.

“I’m sorry, okay? I just… You’re gonna think I’m bat-shit.”

Lance exhales low and deep, turning fully and sitting back down across from Keith. He sets a gentle hand on Keith’s knee, trying to get him to make eye contact. “Try me.”

Keith’s mental illness has been the elephant in the room, always noticed but never talked about. Because Keith refused to talk about it. It took a full year’s convincing, mostly on Shiro’s end, just to get him to start seeing help. Some days he was a mess of the emotions he never learned how to process, and Lance would try his best to be there for him. Other days were better. Other days he was just silent and spacey and tried not to cry.

“No one knows this, okay? Not even Shiro, not even my goddamn shrink, so you can’t…” He trails off, and Lance tries to squeeze his knee in support.

“Keith… Keith, look at me…” When Keith looks up, his eyes are growing misty, pink rings already apparent on the brims of his eyes. “You know you can tell me anything.”

Offering a weak nod, Keith takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as he forces himself to speak. “I just… I thought that maybe… Y’know how sometimes people… I don’t know, I thought if I was… Fuck.” He holds up his hands before Lance can say anything, blinking away whatever tears form in his eyes before he lets out a breath and continues. “I thought if I could feel, I don’t know, pain… If I could feel anything I’d stop feeling like…” Keith clamps his teeth down on his lower lip again. Whatever tears he blinks away only come back.

Lance sighs, reaching out his thumb to slip Keith’s lip from his teeth’s grasp. “Keith, you can cry—”

“No, I can’t,” Keith starts, though his voice trembles despite himself. “Because if I start I won’t stop. And I just— Fuck, I just need to say it.” Lance can practically feel the frustration radiating off of the other in waves. With a steady breath, he takes a hand in Keith’s, holding it to his chest and letting Keith know he has Lance’s full attention. Keith hisses in another breath and tries again. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me… Lately, it’s just like, like nothing is fucking real, and I can talk and hear and touch things, but it’s like I’m not really there. Like I’m in some weird dream world, and I’m just watching myself or something. Or like everything’s not really there, or maybe it is, and I’m just not a part of it… I don’t know, it feels like I’m going insane.”

“Keith…” Lance doesn’t know where to go from there, watching his boyfriend struggle around his words with a pain sinking into Lance’s chest.

“Sometimes I don’t think I even sound like me… Like when I talk, it’s some kind of automated computer message, y’know? And I went home for Christmas. And I thought… I don’t know, I thought being home and in my own bed might make me feel normal again. But it didn’t. And nothing feels normal, nothing feels… Damn it, I’m going insane.” That’s when Keith’s face twists, twists into something that’s a punch to Lance’s gut. And Keith is squinting his eyes closed, sniffling loudly before a sob emits from his throat.

“You know… You don’t have to be so strong all the time…” Lance says in a whisper, tucking a strand of Keith’s hair behind his ear.

Keith looks up at him, eyes watery as he sobs again, pressing his face into Lance’s chest. Lance wraps his arms around him instinctively, feeling Keith shake, choking and whimpering against him. Lance can only hold him closer, shushing him tenderly as Keith claws at the back of Lance’s shirt, gripping onto the fabric like he’ll disappear if he doesn’t. Each broken little noise that leaves Keith is another twist in Lance’s heart, and he doesn’t dare let go.

“It’s okay, you’re okay…” Lance coos, pressing tender kisses on the top of Keith’s hair. “You’re okay, baby… You’re okay…”

Keith doesn’t stop weeping, not until his throat is raw and all he can do is let silent tears roll down his cheeks as he snivels and tries to breathe normally again.

By the time he leans back, sniffling and rubbing under his eyes with the back of his palm, there’s a wet patch on Lance’s T-shirt. Lance doesn’t mind, too busy trying to read Keith’s expression, setting a hand on the back of his neck.

“Do you feel any better?” Lance asks softly, ducking his head into Keith’s line of sight.

Keith nods his head slowly, wiping his nose with the white cotton of his T-shirt with another wet snivel. “Sorry about your shirt.”

Lance snorts, rolling his eyes just a little. “I have other shirts.”

“Yeah.” Keith’s breath shudders once more as he collects himself and blinks the wetness from his puffy eyes, tears caught on his eyelashes. “I’m just sorry I—”

“No. No… We agreed no more apologizing about this.”

“No, you said ‘Keith, stop apologizing every time you cry.’”

“Okay, smartass.” Lance rises to his feet, offering his hands and pulling Keith up along with him. With a steady breath, he places a gentle kiss on the corner of Keith’s lips, mindful to avoid the forming scab. “Thank you… For sharing that with me.”

Keith nods solemnly, probably thinking something snarky about how Lance is talking like his therapist. So Lance goes for a subject change, placing his hands at the base of Keith’s neck.

“How about you wash your face and pick out a movie, alright?”

They spend the rest of the night tangled up in each other, Lance refusing to move his arms from Keith’s waist even as Keith awkwardly holds an icepack to his face. Eventually, they drift to sleep, heart beats pumping in time while Lance tries his best to whisper words of comfort.

“I love you… And you’re here. Even if your mind’s playing tricks on you. You’re here, and you’re with me. And I love you…”

#klangstweek2017 #mental illness tw #depersonalisation tw #klangst #klance #voltron #my writing #look at me not abusing italics this time!!

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tuesdayandtuesday · 7 years

Text

the art of the trade

day three of @platonicvldweek - lions/bonding

2694 words, in which keith and red share a moment or three. s2 spoilers.

also available on ao3.

Red believes in equal exchange or nothing at all. Trust for trust. Joy for joy. Hope for hope. But she also deals in wrath, envy, even despair. Whatever Keith can offer her, she will match it, and needless to say, he prefers trading lighter memories, few and far between though they seem. However, Red shows no obvious interest in the memories themselves, but in the act of the trade, and when Keith settles into her cabin to think, her presence presses all around him, heavy and warm. Expectant.

At first, he ignores her needling. The dark bruise in the crook of his neck already prickles with every movement, and Red’s prodding is nothing compared to that. Truthfully, he isn’t sure what might compare to the Trials of Marmora and the assorted purple souvenirs he has returned with for its completion. So little in his life has been so grueling as Kolivan’s challenge, so little has been so exhausting.

Leaning back into the seat, Keith turns his knife over and over in his hands, returning time and again to the insignia on the hilt. He’s felt disbelief in his life before (his father gone, the Kerberos mission lost, the Blue Lion found), but the disbelief that fills him every time the blade transforms is a far different kind. This disbelief is not colored by awe or despair, or even skepticism, but a vague shade of peace mingled with the shadows of questions he is unprepared to pursue. After years of confusion and ignorance, years of pushing away the dwindling hope that he might find answers, he has them. Not all of them, of course, but more answers than he ever dreamed of seeing in this lifetime or even the next.

A wave of curiosity washes over him, a tightly checked answer to the What’s next? that he asks himself. It comes from his lion. He rests the knife across his knees. “It’s Galra,” he says. “I’m Galra.” It feels a lot like a confession.

Silence. The faint pressure lifts from his shoulders to prowl around the cabin. Even seated, he gets the sensation of pacing, tensing, and then a soft weight settles on his chest. Red, expecting more, but not taking it. Red never takes.

But just because Red never takes doesn’t mean that Keith is ready to give. Or to receive.

Sometimes he appreciates Red’s reliability, her give and take. He can count on her even when the rest of the universe is unsteady. The knife across his lap breathes hesitation into the cabin, though, and he knows that if he shares with Red tonight, she will not waver in her policy. Offering her the Trials of Marmora means offering all his anger. All his fear. And then Red will trade him anger and fear in kind.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales. He’s felt enough terror to last a lifetime. What’s a little more? So he braces himself and lets Red in, laying the Trials at her feet. The weight on his chest lifts, taking with it a sense of security, but he pushes the Trials forward through his vulnerability, waiting for his lion to take them.

And she takes them with a reluctance he has never felt from her before, as if she too dreads the pact they make and the memory she must provide in return. Red hovers over the loose, scattered offering and hesitates to draw it close.

“I’m here,” he tells her. I’m ready, I’m scared, just do it, he means. But it isn’t until he adds, “Come on, Kitty Rose,” that she pounces.

She’s never burned through his mind so quickly. He gasps despite himself, hand scrabbling for the armrest to use as an anchor. The Trials rush before his eyes in sharp relief, jerking along at breakneck speed, and even though these are his memories, he can hardly keep up. Only when Red pauses to reflect his emotions back at him does he fully comprehend where she is in his memories.

The triumph of solving the first riddle of the Trial. The terror of watching Shiro leave him alone. The aching cocktail of regret and desperation and sheer smallness of seeing his father again, losing his father again. For the sake of a greater cause, perhaps, but Keith chokes on that loss in particular. That’s a deeply personal memory, and though it’s too late to draw it back now, it’s probably closer to his heart than anything else he has ever allowed Red to see.

Curiously, she skims over the truth of his heritage with disinterest rather than surprise before drawing back, leaving Keith to steady himself with his head between his knees, knife cast aside on the floor. The cabin spins when he opens his eyes, and there’s a ringing in his ears that’s just soft enough that he only catches it during held breaths. Eventually, though, the world rights itself and Red’s composed quiet returns.

For a moment, the cabin feels lonesome, like Red has retreated. Keith slides down in his seat and puts a hand flat against the dashboard. “I did my part. Come back?” He doesn’t ask out of the desire to see Red’s memories. No, he is rethinking just how much fear he can take in his life right now. But Red has never wavered before, and if she can relive the troubling portions of his past, grounding him, then he will do the same for her. There is no caveat to this, no second-guessing. Just simple responsibility coupled with the unshakable desire to exist together. There is no turning back now. The time for that came and went in the moment he opened the airlock to earn her trust. They chose each other.

So Red comes creeping back into the cabin, filling the space with a soothing warmth that Keith reads only as an apology for what’s to come. “When you’re ready,” he says, shutting his eyes.

But instead of blitzing through again, Red eases him down slowly. She begins with a name.

Cassidia. Cass.

Then Keith is struck by a burst of pride and affection so strong that he is nearly pitched from Red’s memory. Visions flick past, blurry stills that shine with color, particularly with bright scarlet and streak of sky. He knows those colors. Every time he and Red set out for the emptiness of space, he wears them.

Red does not need to speak for Keith to understand that he is seeing a guarded glimpse of his predecessor. She is Altean, with cherry bright marks at the corners of her eyes, like Allura and Coran, and her pointed ears glitter with a row of silver studs in each lobe, little lines of starlight. In some scenes that Red supplies, Cass is loose, relaxed. Keith knows very little of Altea, but he doesn’t have to be an expert to understand that these frames show Cass with her people, wholly in love with her place among them.

There are other moments that Red provides, though, sharper moments. Flashes of the other paladins appear with their faces smudged out, their backs against Cass’s and their weapons raised against a common foe. Red’s pride takes on a fierce, even violent edge before being suddenly swept away in a wave of stuttering fear.

Here the memories coalesce into a stream. Motion and sound arrive, and though dimly aware that he is in Red’s cabin, Keith still flinches at a series of explosions that erupt behind his back, as if they can still hurt him. Red wants him to watch, though, so he steels himself. For her.

He recognizes the ship’s interior. Its structure has changed a little with the advent of better engineering and ten thousand years, but not so much that he cannot recognize the cargo bay of a Galra ship. He also recognizes the height from which he looks down at the scene; this is distinctly, immediately Red’s memory, played out through her eyes alone.

She is not moving. She tries, but a stifling ripple of magnetic interference has locked her limbs into place, making her helpless even as her paladin fights for her life below.

Cass’s fighting style strikes Keith as reckless, and he shares a faint flare of approval with his lion. The numbers of the Galra have yet to overwhelm her, and instead of fighting the group head-on, she twists between individual soldiers, using them as shields against their fellows as she works her way to the outside of the cluster. Along the way, she doesn’t touch her bayard, instead trusting in her raw Altean strength to throw her foes into one another, blocking the way. Only once free of the throng does she draw her sword and defend herself, which has its own wild abandon to it. Cass does not pause to consider her options, but slides fluidly from one strike to the next, making it up as she goes along. The life-or-death nature of the fight makes it necessary, but there’s a practiced air to her carelessness, as if she cannot fight any other way.

But even a capable warrior cannot fight numbers, and a reckless warrior rarely fares any better. For every soldier Cass cuts down, two more, three more, four more take their place. She is surrounded in half the time it took her to free herself from their midst, and no closer to Red than before. The bayard gleams, throwing up showers of sparks with every robotic limb severed, but behind the glass of her helmet, Cass has taken on a pale cast.

The scene slows. Red’s doing. Keith feels her waver, and waits for her to collect herself. They will see this through to the end, as they do.

Perhaps for Keith’s benefit, or perhaps for her own, Red skips most of the fight, skimming ahead to the worst of it all and leaving the details in the dark. Unadulterated dread rises in Keith’s throat, almost choking him, and he can barely bring himself to look at the carnage in the bay. The cargo has been destroyed, as have the soldier drones. Not a single space is free of debris save for the ring around Red’s feet, guarded by her particle barrier, which sputters from electromagnetic interference that Red still, still cannot fight. But Cass is not inside that ring.

The worst of the devastation is against the doors that lead deeper into the belly of the ship. Entire pieces of the infrastructure have been ripped out and thrown into a colossal heap of mangled metal, still smoking from whatever destroyed it. At the edge of the mountain, Cass’s hand curls around her bayard, now in its compact state, and suddenly her voice is in Keith’s head even as it crackles over the comm and into the cabin.

“Sorry about that,” she rasps, and Red’s translation is shaky; he can hear the underlying Altean in weak, jagged notes. “Thought I was clear. Can you come get me?”

They all know the answer. Paladin and lion alike are trapped. They spend some time in total silence save for Cass’s labored breathing and weak struggling. She is pinned down by the debris, her legs crushed by the weight above. Suddenly, Keith is glad that this is not Cass’s memory; he doesn’t know if he could bear sharing that pain. He doesn’t know how she does it.

Did it.

Even as he realizes that this is a memory long past, even as he remembers that Cass was the Red Paladin of Voltron, Red’s anguish catches him unawares, bringing hot tears to his eyes.

He is right. Cass is–was–reckless. She forces herself upright as far as her trapped legs will allow, and even as he follows her line of sight, she whips the bayard along it. Straight for the cracked, flickering control panel across the room. Altean strength is a marvel, because the bayard sails without slowing, and Cass’s coordination is a miracle, because the weapon hits its mark exactly. A red light comes to life overhead, blinking on and off as a precautionary alarm begins to sound. At the bay’s edge, the shuffle of locks and pistons grows into a roar. The airlock begins to open.

“Here’s the plan!” Cass shouts, though Red can hear her no matter what. “That door is gonna open and carry everything out in about ten tics. Me, you, this scrap pile, everything. And then you can come get me. We can get away from Zarkon. All right?”

Keith knows it won’t be all right, and so does Red, but there’s still a desperate hope in them both that somehow this will work. And for Cass, that hope is more than enough. She seems to sense Red’s terror and doubt in the final tics, and smiles anyway, thumbing her nose before sealing her helmet again.

“You’ll catch me. Rosie, you always do.”

The Altean is not precise, given the way that Red stammers over the translation, but Keith can hear the echoes of his nickname for her with heart-wrenching clarity. It doesn’t matter that he adopted it from Hunk, albeit in private. It doesn’t matter because it’s his name for her, Cass’s name for her, it’s a name that spans centuries and she has clung to it all this time.

And then the universe drops out from beneath him as he watches Cass get sucked into space, even as Red is held back by the magnets and her own emergency measures that can’t be overridden without her paladin. Red’s loss finds all the fragile crevices in his chest and splits them wide open, stealing his breath and setting fire to his spine. His head swims as he sees glimpses of Cass spiraling out into the void, laid over with a translucent shadow of him doing the very same thing.

There are only two differences amongst the overlapping, overwhelming grief. The first is that while this is Red’s last glimpse of Cass, it is her first glimpse of Keith.

The second is that she could only save one of them.

Just like that, the memory is gone and Keith is back in the cabin. He sucks in the deepest breath he’s ever taken, curling his hands around the armrests to keep them from shaking. He is one part human, one part Galra, but after that, he may as well be one part despair and one part rage. The fury is residual, he realizes as he waits for Red’s emotion to work through his system and fade away. It is residual, and it is inward. Red blames no one but herself for Cass’s death, and guilt-ridden, Keith silently promises to make an effort to float freely through space with far less frequency than he has been as of late.

After sharing so much, they share silence. Keith’s heart slows to a crawl, and Red’s warmth creeps back into the cabin, coloring the air with a heady mixture of apology and regret.

For the first time, these things are freely given.

Keith almost doesn’t comprehend it at first. Searching for the absence of something is harder than finding the thing itself. The sense that something is missing crawls under his skin, insistent and wary, and then it suddenly dissipates as he realizes that Red is not waiting for him to offer a memory in kind. Tonight, they’ve traded hearts, and there is nothing more they can ask of one another. Nothing more they should ask.

Still he closes his eyes and presents her with one last memory for the night. There is smallness again, this time created by the legions of stars all around, by the cold kiss of space, but there is also a touch of peace and ease as he floats by. The universe is grander than any dream he could possibly harbor, and out here, he should be scared.

But then Red’s muzzle looms before him, eyes burning, and in the scant seconds it takes for her to catch him for the very first time, he is home.

Judging by the way she drops her head to her paws, the cabin lights dimming, so is she.

#platonicvldweek #fanfiction #voltron #vld #voltron legendary defender #tuesday writes #pvld week day three

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