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autisticlancemcclain · 10 months

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“You want us to what.”

Lance doesn’t give a flying fuck how angry he sounds. Potential diplomatic crises be damned. Hell, he wants to cause a crisis. Wants to raise some hell.

The dignitary sniffs derisively. “The beast is a dangerous pest, Blue Paladin.”

“Not the blue paladin,” Lance growls, because he isn’t, “and I am not murdering an animal in cold blood just because you can’t deal with it properly.”

“Lance,” Allura hisses, but he has no problem ignoring her.

“Can’t deal with it properly — do you hear your paladin!” the dignitary sputters, waving an angry hand in Lance’s direction.

Shiro closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, before plastering on a tight smile and visibly trying to salvage the situation. Now, usually, Lance would hate to cause Shiro any stress at all, and would do whatever he could to reduce that stress.

This time, Lance is going to dig his heels in. He is not going to let a living being be needlessly exterminated. Lance isn’t anti-animal death, or anything — he has no problem with others eating meat, or using animal products. He thinks using animals as gifts and not letting any part of them go to waste is very wise, and he has a lot of respect for people who manage to do so successfully. Sport hunters, on the other hand, or people who kill without good reason? Therein lies his problem, and he’s beyond happy to make a big stink of it.

“Could you describe the beast?” Shiro asks.

“Happily,” the dignitary grumps. “I’m eager to describe its horror to you, Oh Great Leader of Voltron.”

Shiro visibly tries very hard not to roll his eyes. Lance refuses to take any joy in the reaction, even though he would usually laugh.

“The beast is as large as half our royal castle. Its teeth are larger than our tallest soldier, and sharper than a luxite blade. Its fur is rough and coarse, enough to sand the paint clean off the walls it brushes by. Its roar shakes the very foundations of our city. It walks on four legs but stands on two, right before it rears up to smash our buildings to dust. It is a menace, a pest, and a danger besides!”

“So you have a grizzly bear problem,” Lance snaps. “Close your garbage cans at night and quit complaining.”

“Lance, please,” Hunk mutters, but Lance will not back down. Not when a life is at stake.

“Has it actually…hurt anyone?” Keith asks.

Lance shoots a grateful look at Keith.

At least someone is on his side.

“Yes!” the dignitary cries.

Keith shoots a look back at Lance — a well, I tried if Lance has ever seen one — but that is not good enough. Lance glares at him.

Traitor.

“Explain,” Lance demands.

The dignitary frowns, looking down his nose at Lance and shaking their head. “I’m not talking to you.”

“Would you mind explaining,” Pidge deadpans, barely refraining from rolling her eyes.

Lance knows Pidge well enough to know that she’s not on his side, exactly — she threw a bolt at him when he started insulting the dignitary initially — but there’s nothing that pisses her off more than someone talking down to her family. Even if she doesn’t agree with said family. She’s loyal, like that.

“Fine, since you asked so nicely,” the dignitary says, cutting a look to Lance, who makes a very crude gesture with his hands in response and ignores the four (4) tired sighs from assorted teammates and co around him.

“The beast easily and ruthlessly took down several of our soldiers as soon as they opened fire on it. And it further still injured many of our knights when we sent them to its cave! It is a mindless, killing machine, and must be exterminated immediately.”

Lance throws his hands up in exasperation. “No shit it’s defending itself! What do you expect it to do, stand there while you shoot at it?”

“If it didn’t want to be shot it shouldn’t have ventured into the city in the first place!”

“It’s an animal! How the hell is it supposed to understand city limits and boundaries?”

“That’s not my problem,” the dignitary says coldly. “It has posed a threat to our people, and so it must die. And if Voltron wishes for our signature in the Coalition, you will come to our aid, or else you can count yourself down one planet’s alliance.”

Allura stiffens. “You would really risk your people’s protection over a difference in opinion?”

“Your blue paladin —”

“I am not the blue paladin, you brainless amoeba —”

“Your blue paladin,” the dignitary repeats, pointedly and icily, “has insulted us greatly. The situation is no longer up for debate. If you wish to sign an alliance, the paladin must handle the problem himself. That is our final stipulation.”

With that, the dignitary ends the call, cutting off Shiro’s pleas for him to wait.

All eyes turn to Lance.

“I am not killing an innocent animal,” Lance snaps. “Forget it.”

Keith sighs. “Lance —”

“No.” Lance clenches his fists, glaring at his team, chin raised and shoulders set. Beside him, Mr. Snuggles spreads his fangs and hisses. The mice — currently resting on his head — scramble to their feet, presumably also tensing up. Ivy — a venomous vine he picked up on a planet a few missions back — winds up his arms. “I am not just being ridiculous. You heard that idiot. They’re provoking it. It’s not doing anything wrong.”

“Lance —” Keith tries again, but Lance is not willing to hear it.

“I will not take an innocent life to buy an alliance. And if you do, I swear to God, I will never forgive you.”

With that he stomps out of the bridge, ignoring the dozens of calls of his name and pleas to “wait a goddamn second, Lance, c’mon.”

Lance stomps all the way to his room, muttering about stupid careless dignitaries and team members who won’t listen to him and how everyone is going to make him grey early and he is not Shiro, lord above, so he can’t pull that garbage off. Ugh.

He slams his door behind him and flops on the bed, and is marginally surprised to find his tears stinging his eyes.

“This is a stupid reason to cry,” he announces to no one, voice muffled in his pillow. “Why must I cry about stupid things. Why can’t I cry about regular things. This is dumb.”

There’s a clicking sound accompanying a gentle bump to the leg hanging off his bed. He drags his head off the pillow, sniffling, to see Mr. Snuggles sitting to the side of his bed, fangs clicking. The mice sit on his head, as they are wont to do (which, understandably considering the natural predator of mice, used to scare the shit out of Allura. But Mr. Snuggles has never been anything but gentle with them, even when they roughhouse on his back or play tag under his leg and accidentally trip him. He seems to be quite protective of them, actually. It’s very sweet. Lance thinks it might be a microhylid frog-giant tarantula situation, even though Mr. Snuggles can’t lay eggs, and it amuses him greatly). Ivy uncoils from his bed frame, wrapping a vine around his ankle and tugging carefully. Blue and Red both loudly mother him in the back of his mind.

It’s nice.

Lance sighs, wiping his tears and sitting up against his headboard.

“This sucks,” he says to his assortment of companions, all who seem to agree with him. Mr. Snuggles and the mice crawl up the leg of the bed to sit in front of him, and Ivy makes her way around his shoulders.

None of them can talk to him, obviously — how fucking cool would that be, though — but each one of them is an excellent listener (even the mice, who like to gossip, but Lance preemptively forgives them).

“It’s just —” Lance huffs, frustrated. “I get that the planet is probably tired of being lightly terrorized by a giant beast, sure, but is murder really the answer? Plus, have they even tried talking to it? Maybe it’s very reasonable! I’m sure I —”

Lance shoots up, startling poor Ivy, but holy shit.

Holy shit!

“That’s it!” he shouts, grin nearly splitting his face in two. He leans over, just barely managing to grab his holopad, and starts sketching out the plans.

“Now if I just — and it shouldn’t be too hard — I’ve done more in less time — hell yeah!”

He’s startled out of his fervour by urgent squeaks, and when he looks up, he sees the mice waving to get his attention.

“Yes?”

At his acknowledgement, they scurry into formation, laying together to make a question mark with their little bodies.

Lance snorts. He may not be able to speak their language, but they have no problems making themselves clear.

“I can’t tell you,” he scolds, “you’re going to snitch to Allura.”

They mice squeak sadly, but Lance knows better. Last time he gave in to them, Allura knew within the minute.

“I’ll be back soon, okay? Don’t wait up for me. Platt, Chulatt, Plachu, Chuchule — there’s some of that fancy grain you like in the cupboard. Mr. Snuggles — here.” He opens up space youtube, quickly opening up a horror movie reaction compilation for the fear demon. “That’ll keep you fed for a bit.” He props the holopad up on his pillow, scrambling to his feet and heading to the door. On the way out, he pulls the string on his special blue sun lamp — “That’s for you, Ivy!” — and then he’s out the door, plans in hand, to find Coran.

Luckily for Lance, he runs straight into him.

“Lance, dear, I was just coming to look for you,” Coran says, right outside his door.

Lance grins. “I can see that.”

Coran narrows his eyes. “You’re… remarkably chipper, Number Four.”

“Mhm.”

He holds up a hand for Coran to pause. He strains his ears, and smirks as he just barely picks up on the sound of near-silent footsteps behind a closed door. He makes pointed eye contact with the advisor, then inclines his head at Keith’s door.

Coran gets the point.

“Well, if you’re really feeling so much better,” Coran says loudly — too loudly, but Lance doesn’t have much in the subtlety department either, so he can’t complain — “would you mind helping me recalibrate the fabricator?”

“Absolutely,” Lance says, dragging the advisor by the hand in the opposite direction of the fabricator.

“Will you speak plainly, now?” Coran asks, once they’ve put some distance between them and Keith’s eavesdropping ass. (That is, however, probably an unfair reaction. Keith was likely listening in to try and find a way to help, in his own awkward way. If Lance wasn’t currently feeling just a smidge betrayed, he would feel touched.)

“Okay, so. I have a Plan.” Lance puts emphasis on the word so Coran knows it’s Capitalized, because this isn’t just a regular plan. This is a rescue mission. It’s espionage. A heist, even.

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes!”

Coran sighs, dragging a hand down his face.

“Lance,” he says warningly, but Lance won’t hear it.

“C’mon, Coran! You trust me, right?”

“That is a manipulative question —”

“You trust me! You said so yourself!”

“Fine, child. Yes, I trust you.”

Lance claps his hands together. “Excellent! So. I refuse to be a murderer, as you may have heard.”

“That would have been very hard for me to miss,” Coran says drily.

Lance gracefully ignores the comment. “And since I will also go apeshit if anyone else becomes a murderer, I have come up with a plan!”

“Lance. Number Four. My dear. Time is not our current luxury. Please share your plan.”

“Right. Okay.” Lance rocks back on his heels, shooting Coran a guileless smile. “How well do you think you can imitate my mannerisms?”

———

part two

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shu-box-puns · 1 year

Text

Participation Medals Of The Heart (Human!Lyle Wainfleet x Reader)

Word Count: 6827

Summary: Lyle is a terrible flirt and Reader secretly loves his ridiculous pick-up lines.

Reader uses they/them pronouns.

You can also read it here!

>_<

Lyle was a flirt, and you were hopelessly in love with him.

He was also a himbo and the squad fuck boy, with a body like Adonis and the sense of humour of a prepubescent boy. In short, he could practically get away with anything and get with anyone on base. And he definitely used it to his advantage.

Besides the colonel, you were the only one in his squad that had avoided his advances. He was your comrade, your friend, and you weren’t willing to allow something as stupid as feelings to ruin your relationship with him.

That being said, you wanted him. Badly.

Enough to tolerate his god awful pick up lines and allow him to practise his ‘moves’ on you before he went off to woo his next victim. You swore there were no brain cells floating around that man’s head, and yet he was the smoothest motherfucker you’d ever witnessed.

Before long however, Lyle would always find a way to remind you of his idiotic nature.

It was late. The rest of the squad had already turned in for the night and you needed to finish up some paperwork. You were the last one in the office, your desk light was the only one on in the room.

“Private.” The Colonel addressed you from the doorway of your office, making you glance up from your paperwork. Quarich looked exhausted as he leaned against the doorframe, his expression all business “Lyle’s ended up in the hospital ward again and is causing a ruckus. I need you to go retrieve him for me.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. Lyle and yourself were close, but you were not his keeper. “Why aren’t you retrieving him?” You challenged, sensing a catch, “you’re his commanding officer.”

The old man sighed taxingly before fixing you with a dead serious look. “They gave him painkillers.”

The sentence hung in the air for a moment as your face dropped and Quaritch nodded slowly, looking pained. “You’re a dick.” You groaned aloud, to which Quaritch did not correct you. “Why can’t you do it, you know what he’s like-”

With a taxing sigh, he straightened himself and fixed you with a stern look. “I’m ordering you Private,” he cut in, having had this argument with you many times before. “As your commanding officer, go pick up Lyle from the medics.”

You groaned loudly. “You owe me.” You promised, rolling your desk chair back and snatching up your army jacket from the back.

He stepped aside as you stormed out into the corridor. “I’ll give you an additional night off this week.” He promised, falling into step beside you as the pair of you made your way to the hospital wing.

You rolled your eyes. “Never thought you’d be afraid of your second, colonel.”

“I refuse to have a repeat of the last time I was the one to pick him up.” The old man promised with a badly suppressed shudder.

Quaritch walked you to Lyle’s temporary room before peeling away with the half-assed excuse that he would cover the discharge paperwork. You waved him off, taking a deep breath before letting yourself into the little room.

Lyle was sprawled out across the hospital bed, lying on top of the covers with his sock clad feet on the pillow. His boots had been discarded in the middle of the room with his jacket crumbled behind the door. There was a heart monitor tipped over on its side, whilst the leads that should’ve attached him to it were lying in a heap on the floor. Staring owlishly from the carnage to Lyle, you realised he was sporting a deep gash to the right of his temple.

“You've been doing some decorating, Corporal.” You mused by way of greeting as you let yourself in. Comically, Lyle’s head snapped up from the foot of the bed as a goofy ass grin stretched across his face.

“There’s my favourite Private!” He yelled merrily despite you being two feet away from him.

Wincing at the volume, you picked your way around his discarded items as you approached the bed. This wasn’t as bad as usual.

“How is your head?"

He grinned. "I’ve never had any complaints."

Nevermind.

You inhaled a deep, calming breath. You felt your pleasant smile drop and couldn’t help a groan slipped from between your lips. Lyle was already cackling, grabbing at your arm when you instinctively turned to leave. "Come on! That was good." He slurred.

"It was NOT." You insisted, before relenting at the pure mirth on his face. Fuck he was adorable like this, you thought.

"God, you're insufferable." You complained instead. The man in question promptly dissolved into a storm of cackles, his nose scrunching up as it usually did when he was this tickled.

Pulling yourself out of his grip, you moved to pick up his shoes and jacket. The bed creaked as he sat up, expression still amused as you approached again and began wrestling him back into his shoes. The corridors of the compound were not safe for defenceless feet.

"We both know you love it.”

You only hummed. And Lyle went quiet.

He was remarkably obedient as you rested either foot on your thighs and took the time to lace up his boots. The drugs were definitely beginning to set in then.

Once he was appropriately dressed, you grabbed his bicep and hauled him to his feet, hooking his arm around the back of your neck. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.” You curled your arm around his waist to support him further, pressing the solid warmth of him into your side.

He practically melted under your touch, eyes falling to half mast. “You’re the best, Buttercup.”

“I’m not your Buttercup.” You groaned loudly, half leading, half dragging him away from the mess of a hospital bed.

He grumbled inaudibly as his head lolled on your shoulder, before he suddenly lurched. You jumped, scrambling to keep a hold of his swaying form as he practically threw himself off balance towards the bedside table. Your knuckles were tight on the back of his bullet proof vest, arm straining to keep his massive bulk from face planting on the floor.

You deadpanned when he straightened up, brandishing his stupid sunglasses like a trophy. Tightening your hold on his waist, you focused on steering him out of the small room and into the hallway.

Lyle went easily enough. Tripping over himself and staring at everything like he’d never seen it before. As if he hadn’t spent countless years roaming the same grey halls and sharing space with the same boring people.

“Hey Buttercup-”

“Still not your Buttercup.”

“Keep these safe f’r me.” He insisted, twisting awkwardly in your grip to push his sunglasses onto your face. You clenched your eyelids tightly against his unpredictable movements, feeling the arms of the glasses drag across your eye socket before falling crookedly into place on your nose.

He grinned as if he had accomplished a great feat. When in reality you knew he’d be tearing apart his bunk tomorrow looking for these sunglasses.

“Thank you.” You bit out, fumbling to push the glasses up onto your forehead and keep Lyle from knocking into unsuspecting civilians. Despite the bright overhead lights, it was still way too dark in the base to be wandering around with the blasted things on.

The colonel was at the entrance to the hospital wing where he’d left you. He smiled tightly at the pair of you as you dragged Wainfleet along.

“Miles!” He sang, making a clumsy grab for the colonel who was quick to dart out of reach. The corporal only smiled wider, seeming to think the encounter was a fun game, and tried to throw himself at Quaritch like he had at his sunglasses. You barely managed to keep him from throwing himself to the floor.

Quaritch politely tried to keep his amusement concealed. “You’re all signed out Wainfleet. I wanna see you bright eyed and bushy tailed in the morning.”

“Yessiirrrr.” He slurred, making a jerky salute that was a finger's length away from smacking you across the forehead.

“As you were Private.” Quaritch said calmly, to which you rolled your eyes just to make sure he knew how unhappy you were.

From there, it was just a matter of keeping Lyle awake long enough to get him back to the barracks.

Your squad mates were getting ready for bed when you hauled the half-conscious man into the large room. As you dragged him towards his bunk bed, he received several backpacks from Z-Dog and Fike, the latter of which was smiling like he was the cat who got the canary.

“Fike! You ASS!” Lyle slurred, making a grab at the grinning man who was quick to clamber up the ladder to his top bunk. “I’m gonna kill ya.”

“What did you do?” You sighed, glancing from Lyle’s lopsided glare to Fike who was barely concealing a laugh.

“Nothing.” He lied.

Lyle raised his hand that wasn’t wrapped around your neck and pointed accusingly up at the man. Sounding more like a toddler than a corporal. “That asshole kicked me down the stairs!” Z-Dog barely suppressed a snort.

“You tried to grab my feet!”

“You slapped cheese on my head!”

“And I’d do it again!”

Lyle yelled something inaudible, and Z-Dog finally stepped in, clapping her hands. “Alright kids, bedtime. You can fight it out in training tomorrow morning.”

Lyle was already shaking his head before she had finished talking. And judging by the way he was staring at the ladder up to Fike’s bunk, the pain meds were telling him it was a very good idea to finish this now. Thankfully, Z-Dog distracted him before he could act on any impulsive thoughts.

“Corporal, Y/n looks exhausted. They need to go to bed.”

He swayed in play, thinking hard. Then snapped his head to you. You jumped in place under that scrutinising gaze. “Alright.” He finally agreed, taking a heavy step towards his own bunk only for his leg to buckle threateningly.

You grunted, bracing your knees under his weight and hauling him back up.

“You got him Private?” Z-Dog mused, to which you waved her off.

In the past, you’ve had to lug this heavy idiot - wounded - through treacherous rainforests. In comparison, hauling his loopy ass to his bunk should be a walk in the park.

As you sat him down on his bed, you silently praised the gods that he'd claimed a bottom bunk, since there was no way in hell you were gonna be able to haul this sack of muscle up a ladder. He still had his thinking face on as you unceremoniously stripped him of his bullet proof vest, removed his belt and neatly set his boots on the floor by the headboard. His head was flopping about comically now, slouched on the bed as his eyes barely followed your movements.

Carefully, you coaxed him into laying down; making sure he had his head on the pillow this time. Reaching down to grab the covers, you uttered a quiet, “good night Lyle.”

His head rolled towards you, smiling so softly that for a moment, it punched the air from your lungs. You pulled the cover up and tucked it around him. Meanwhile, his hand had strayed from his side and risen to cup your cheek. You stilled, eyes widening as you found his gaze in the soft darkness of the room.

“Night Buttercup.” He whispered in a tone that made your knees weak. So quiet that there was no way anyone else in the room had heard. The lights were dimmed now, soft breathes from the other bunks indicating that the others had slipped into sleep.

You expected him to pass out on the spot.

And he did.

But not before that arm looped around your shoulders and dragged you down into bed with him.

You squawked, pulling at his solid arms as you were bodily yanked into bed and held there by his strong embrace. Wiggling was futile. He had you, and by the sound of it, was dead asleep against your back.

“You have got to be kidding me.” You groaned to the still room as you silently resigned yourself to being a stuffed animal for the night. Your belt buckle was pressing uncomfortably into your stomach, whilst your army jacket was bunched weirdly under your armpits. You’d think the thick material would be too rough against Lyle’s cheek, but he didn’t seem to give a shit and only cuddled closer.

His stupid sunglasses were still sitting crooked on your brow and were now digging into the side of your head.

“Z-Dog?”

No response.

“Fike?”

Not even the creak of someone turning over.

“For fuck sake Lyle.”

>_<

There was a bright light shining behind your eyelid. Scrunching up your nose, you clumsily reached up for the stupid sunglasses and yanked them down over your eyes.

Someone snorted.

Your mind came to a screeching halt as you struggled to find your bearings.

People were whispering inaudibly, your groggy mind struggling to catch what was being said.

That blasted light passed behind your eyes again, and you grumpily peeled open your eyes to find Mansk leaning over you, a pocket torch in hand. His own sunglasses were on his forehead for once, eyes catching your scowl as his face split into an amused grin. "Just checking everyone is following the rule, Private." He said simply, referencing the main rule of the compound that had had to be implemented because of Lyle's thirsty ass.

"What's-?" You slurred, stretching and groaning as you registered a heavy weight pressing down on your chest. At some point in the night, you’d rolled onto your back.

Unexpectedly, Fike popped into view, blocking out the sunlight peering in through a gap in the curtains. "Don't worry Private. You've both got stuff on below the belt."

Your brows furrowed as you opened your mouth to ask him what the hell he was on about, only to be distracted by someone shifted on your chest. Instinctively, your cheeks heated as your gaze snapped to a half naked Lyle curled up on your chest. He was drooling on your shirt front, his cheek squished into your chest whilst his strong arms were wrapped around your waist.

And he was shirtless. Eyes cutting to the side, you realised he’d wiggled out of his tank top at some point in the night and it was now hanging onto the edge of the mattress for dear life.

“This isn’t my bunk.” You breathed dumbly.

Fuck.

Fuck!

Footsteps sounded from further in the room, drawn closer by the pair of idiots leaning into Lyle’s bunk. You turned to the noise, feeling your face drop at Z-Dog’s sudden appearance and the shit eating grin that promptly split across her face. “Well I’ll be damned.” She stated loudly, “I thought we’d all die before you two got it together.”

“What the fuck you on about?” You bit back impulsively.

“Lyle’s been trying to get in your pants for years Y/n. And you’ve been dodging him like the plague for even longer.” She laughed as your eyes narrowed. “/And/ you’ve been pinning after his ass since you first-”

You scrambled blindly for one of Lyle’s shoes and tossed it at her head with deadly accuracy. “Shut the hell up!” You snapped, heart pounding. Z-Dog barely dodged the boot in time.

“It’s true!” She sang.

“Stop winding them up.” Lyle cut in, “you’re making my pillow tense up.” He was still mostly out of it, lifting his head enough to push at your chest as one would fluff up their pillow, before he promptly burrowed back down into your warmth.

“Lyle.” You hissed, trying to shake him off before he could fall back asleep, but he ignored you. Those arms tightened around your waist, making your heart squeeze uncomfortably, before he let out a content sigh. “Corporal Wainfleet!”

He jerked. Head shooting up and snapping to glance around the room as if expecting an attack at any moment. You felt air rush into your lungs as his weight was removed from your torso. His gaze fell to his squad mates.

“What the hell do you guys want?” He stated bluntly, “get lost would you?”

“As much as I’d love to leave you to your imperative task of cuddling the life out of Y/n,” Mansk replied coolly, “the colonel assigned you two for Jungle Escort in an hour. Augustine’s group again.”

“An hour?”

“Yes sir.”

Lyle promptly flopped back down. “Understood. Now get your asses out of here.” They began to shuffle away. “And Fike, watch your back.”

The man in question returned the statement with the middle finger before following the rest of the squad out of the barracks in the direction of the cantine.

You sighed in relief as the room fell silent, head flopping back down on the pillow.

“Don’t mind them. They’ll prod at anything when they’re bored.”

“It’s not them I’m worried about.”

Lyle lifted his head from your chest again, lips pulled into a thoughtful frown as he hovered over you. You swallowed audibly, eyes flickering all over his gorgeous face and wanting more than anything for him to close the distance between you.

“Damn you look good in my shades Buttercup.”

The nickname had your stomach tightening. And then you remembered who he was, and stiffened at the realisation that the practised line had no doubt been offered to everyone else he’d dragged into bed with him.

Your cheeks flamed as you snatched them off your face and jammed them over his eyes. “Move. I can’t feel my legs.” Lyle started, head jerking back at the sudden rough treatment. With those burning eyes off you, you could breathe again.

“The hell dude?” He chuckled good naturedly, adjusting the glasses over his eyes as he titled his head cutely. “You almost took my eye out.” There was no anger in his tone, but you’d known him long enough to pick up on the worry hidden in his words. He knew something was bothering you. Too bad you didn’t have the confidence to explain yourself.

“You did the same to me last night.” You deflected before pushing at his naked shoulders. “Now move.”

“I dunno, I quite like it where I am.” He mused, your scowl reflecting back at you in the tinted lens of the sunglasses.

“This is your only warning Corporal.” You stated simply. “Roll off, or I’m getting Z-Dog to smack you back into your mother.”

“It’d have to be one hell of a hit, but I don’t want to test it.” He chuckled and true to his word, he shifted his weight to the side and flopped down on the strip of mattress to your side. You immediately felt the blood flooding back into your legs as pins and needles invaded your numb feet. You did not bother arguing with him as you finally hauled yourself out of his bed with an audible pop of your lower spine.

The bedsprings creaked as Lyle rolled into the warm patch of mattress, his eyes greedily drinking in your stretching form. “I hate it when you leave, but boy do I love watching you go.”

“Go back to bed.” You snapped out of reflex, his responding cackle chasing you across the room to your own bunk where a fresh set of clothes had already been laid out.

>_<

The samson engine was roaring loudly enough that you almost missed the complaint of one of Grace’s scientists. “Why did you drag along /two/ meatheads?” The avatar hissed, his ears flicking in your direction as Grace frowned at him.

You and Lyle exchanged unimpressed looks as you watched Dr Augustine’s avatar turn on her colleague. She did so slowly, menacingly. The size of her was enough to have the scientist shrinking in his seat.

Whilst you and Lyle acted as security out here, in reality, you were pretty sure Grace only dragged the pair of you along to keep Quaritch off her back. You knew she was more than capable of keeping herself and her team alive in these woods.

“Believe me.” She explained in a deadly serious voice. “With Wainfleet on the mission, you want someone else to hold most of his attention.” Lyle scoffed good naturedly whilst Grace rolled her eyes at him, her tail flicking behind her.

“Stand by for landing.” Trudy called from the cockpit as the samson lurched, and began to lose altitude.

Rising from your seats, you and Lyle moved to the opposite open doors of the samson belly, guns raised and trained on the surrounding wildlife. Herds of hexapedes took off into the undergrowth as the wind of the propellers kicked up the flaura.

The great machine had barely touched down before Grace was hopping out and ordering you to stick close to the ship. There was no time to respond as she swept away into the bushes, her companions hot on her tail, leaving you alone with Lyle and Trudy. The latter of which didn’t bother to climb out of the driver's seat and instead leaned back to prop her feet up on the dashboard.

Your attention was immediately drawn to the world beyond the clear acrylic of your exo mask. Turning in a slow circle, you couldn’t help but marvel at the lush rainforest of Pandora. The green colour palette of the wild was a refreshing change from the endless greyscale of Hell’s Gate.

Movement at your side drew you attention from the forest as you turned to a smiling Lyle. His eyebrows were wiggling suggestively beneath his mask as he jutted his chin towards the bushes, “do you want to go do some exploring of our own?” Whilst yes, you wanted to do what he was insinuating AND look at the plants, you settled for another groan.

“Pack it in." You ordered, pushing at his shoulder before moving past him and into the shadow of the trees.

“All right. All right.” He mused, his booted feet following loudly. It was quiet for about a heartbeat before he opened his mouth again. You cut your gaze to him. He snapped his mouth shut with an audible click of teeth, smiling to himself and looking off to the side.

You smiled despite yourself. “Fine. Let’s hear it.”

Lyle visibly brightened. “Okay, how about this one?” He stopped walking to clear his throat. Despite your better judgement, you also slowed your footsteps and turned in place to give him your full attention. His expression could only be described as smouldering as he fixed you with strong eye contact and said smoothly, “are you a time traveler, Private? Because I see you in my future.”

You snorted despite yourself before turning to keep moving.

He chuckled, taking the motion as a sign to keep going. Lyle’s voice was silky smooth as he dropped another pick up line for you to trip over. “Your hand is looking awfully lonely. Can I hold it for you?”

You rolled your eyes, a clump of blue flowers catching your eye. “That one was too cheesy.” You laughed, glancing back at him. He was already watching you instead of the undergrowth.

Turning away, you returned your gaze to the flowers. You recognised them as sun lilies, having seen a sample back in Augustine’s lab some time ago. With your shadow falling over them and blocking out the sun, the bioluminescent elements of the plant's genetic make up began to glow. Purple lined the edges of the petals, you realised, a feature that seemed to not carry over when the plant was cut from its roots and preserved.

Lyle paused at your side, his head tilted to the side challengingly. “Alright. How about,” he paused dramatically, drawing your attention before stating confidently, “I’m not an organ donor, but I’m willing to give you my heart?”

Shaking your head, you replied honestly, “I think that was worse.”

Lyle was not deterred and immediately jumped into his next one. “The sparkle in your eyes is so bright, I bet the sun and stars must be jealous.” He’s grinning widely, at your responding groan. Lyle sidestepped when you tried to walk around him. “Have we met before? Because you look like my next partner-”

“Alright, stop there.” You cackled, pushing at his mask and forcing him back a few steps. You walked past him, keeping in mind to keep the samson in sight as you circled the clearing. “God, what poor soul are you practising for now? Mandy?” The sound of Lyle’s footsteps ceased shuffling through the undergrowth behind you. “Leo was definitely giving you the eyes when we left this morning.”

“Do you see Leo or Mandy around here?” He scoffs, looking at you like you’re the idiot.

“Corporal, I’ve caught you practising some of these in the barracks mirror before. This isn’t out of character for you.”

“Damn, tough crowd.” He laughed, more to himself than you.

Clutching your gun tightly in both hands, you were saved from responding by your earpiece crackling. Grace’s voice came over the comms, sounding amused. 'Corporal, as humorous as that display was to overhear, can you flirt off the clock. My team doesn't need to listen to your failed attempts at getting laid.'

Your head snapped back to Lyle, eyes catching on the red glow of the broadcast button at his throat. The idiot had been translating the whole conversation to the rest of the team. Your cheeks flamed as you pictured Trudy cackling away in the samson cockpit. Listening to the pickup lines and the easy conversation as if it were her own personal podcast.

“You got it doc.” Lyle replied quickly. You wanted to be mad, but at the sudden colour in his cheeks and the hurried way in which he scrambled for his throat, you realised he hadn’t done it intentionally.

'Grace!' Trudy jumped in, sounding royally put out over the comms. 'Why the hell did you do that? I was taking notes on how NOT to get laid.'

You pressed your hand to your earpiece before Augustine or anyone else could jump in. “Woah, there captain, who said anything about sex?”

“No one,” Lyle mused, recovering surprisingly fast from his fuck up. That look was back in his eye, the one he wore when he called you Buttercup. He took one, purposeful step closer. “But since you brought it up-”

Your gaze narrowed, feet instinctively stepping back at his blatant advance. “I don’t work like that Wainfleet.” You said bluntly, and his smile faltered. Something unspoken passed between you. And Lyle seemed to shrink before your eyes. His earlier bravado of flexing like a peacock and coming off as cocky had been chased from him like the smile that had been dropped from his face. He looked confused; small.

You hated that expression on him, so you turned away. This time when you turned to walk away, he did not follow.

>_<

The tension was unbearable on the ride back to Hell’s Gate. Lyle refused to meet your gaze, but he didn’t leave your side once he’d made his way back to the samson.

Grace sighed at the sad sight, leaving the pair of you in the back with her scientists as she sat on the bench closest to the pilot's seat so she could talk to Trudy instead.

“Find anything interesting?” You asked the scientist from earlier. His avatar stared at you dumbly, eyes flickering across your face as if trying to decide if you were worth talking to.

“Plants.” He replied sharply before burying himself back into his data pad. You scoffed, leaning back in your seat since it was clear there would be no decent conversation to be found there.

Leaning your head back against the buzzing metal wall, you closed your eyes and tried to ignore the warmth of Lyle’s leg pressed against your own. You’d think he’d sit in one of the vacant seats rather than putting himself right next to you.

Luckily, it wasn’t a long trip to Hell’s Gate. Eavesdropping on Trudy and Grace helped to pass the time, since between them they had gathered a fair amount of juicy gossip from both the science and military divisions. And when Trudy gave the go ahead to climb out of the samson, you were the first one out of your seat.

Jumping down neatly onto the tarmac, you strode purposefully for the hangar doors that would lead deeper into the compound. Lyle was right on your tail - as always - yelling at you to wait up. You didn’t bother slowing your pace, knowing from experience that he wasn’t above flat out printing to catch up.

“Fuck you’re fast today.” He sighed when he caught up to you in the airlock. You avoided his gaze, hands shaking slightly as you reached up for your exo pack and unclasped it from your face. Lyle mirrored the action, miming flicking his non-existent hair before placing the mask back on its hook.

You averted your gaze, doing the same before shoving open the door to the airlock and taking a sharp left.

“Buttercup.” Lyle called to your back, which only made your pace quicken. “Hey!” You didn’t respond. He ran to catch up with you. “Stop running away from me.”

“Stop following me.”

“I’m sorry, okay?” It was not okay. You were embarrassed and wanted to go crawl into a hole somewhere.

The people milling around in the halls were quick to dive out of your way as you stormed past, you face the definition of thunder.

“Look, I promise I’ll lay off with the flirting.” You didn’t acknowledge him and he struggled to keep pace. “I’ll quit it with the pick up lines.” He was looking at you, you could see him in your peripheral trying to gauge your expression. “I’ll stop calling you Buttercup.”

That last one had your heart clenching painfully, but you remained strong. This was good. Perhaps you’d finally grow a pair and be able to get over him if he put some distance between you.

Lyle grabbed your arm unexpectedly, causing you to freeze in the middle of the hallway. His gaze was intense when you turned on him, a demand on the tip of your tongue to be released. The words died in your throat at his expression. “But only if you look me in the eye right now and tell me you’re not interested.”

You tested his grip on you, he remained firm. You swallow thickly, knowing it’s now or never. Lyle was as stubborn as he was flirty. He WOULD follow you around for the rest of the day if you didn’t give him a straight answer now. You wouldn’t put it past him that he would invade your bunk if you kept tight lipped. “I am interested.” You admitted pathetically.

True to his word, he let you go. There was no humour in his low laugh this time, just pain. “You sure don’t act like it.” His hands went to his pockets, burrowing in deep as if he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. Then he paused as visibly backpedalled. “Well you do, and then I try to extend the offer and you run away. I mean, I love the chase as much as the next guy, but surely you have to be getting bored by now.”

“I am interested.” You repeated, “it’s just-” You glanced away again, realising with a deep rooted sense of relief that the hallway was practically empty. No one but Lyle would be privy to this moment.

“Are you not interested in sex?” Lyle jumped in when he assumed you wouldn’t continue. Before adding quickly, “because that’s fine. We don’t have to fuck if you’re not into that.”

“I am.”

“Are you not interested in sex with me?”

“What?” You blurted, looking at him like he’d grown a second head.

He threw up his hands in defeat. “Dude, you aren’t giving me anything here.”

“Alright fine, I’m scared.”

He blanched. “Of me?” He made it sound like that was ridiculous. “What the hell are you scared of? It’s me. Lyle!” He blurted as if you didn’t know who you were fucking talking to. Your lips thinned, the urge to smack him rising in the back of your mind like an irritating itch.

Instead of acting on that impulse, you worked hard to keep your voice even as you explained. “Exactly. And you’re always hopping from fling to fling and I can’t do that.” He was nodding along, but you could tell it wasn’t clicking yet. “Look, you’re more than a quick fuck and a pretty face to me. I’m not interested in waking up in a cold bed and pretending nothing happened between us, so yes, I have been refusing your advances because I don’t want to get hurt.”

Lyle was still nodding but his gaze was vacant as if someone had pressed the factory reset button. And then he abruptly came back to life. “Why the hell didn’t you lead with that?”

“It felt pathetic obviously.”

He shook his head, that signature grin back in place and brighter than any sun. “Fuck Buttercup. If only you’d said something before.” He complained good naturedly, squeezing your shoulder before turning away and jogging off down the hall.

You blinked at the spot he’d been standing in, before the situation caught up to you. “Where the hell are you going?” You yelled at his retreating back, “I pour my guts out to you and you decide to run off?”

“I’ve got to adjust my battle plan. See you at dinner?”

“Oh. Okay?”

>_<

There was a vase of your favourite flowers on your desk. Sun lilies to be exact. A sizable bouquet of them. All messily jammed into a vase you’d never seen before, and placed carefully in front of your desk chair. Backlit by the moon peering in through the office window, you couldn’t help but smile at the thoughtful gesture.

There was no note beside it, but you didn’t need one to know who had gotten you the flowers.

They glowed softly in the dimness of the deserted office. The purple stripes lining their outer petals were still glowing despite having been cut from its food source.

When the hell had he found the time to go flower picking?

A shadow passed across the doorway to the office, before pausing. You tore your gaze away from the flowers to find Lyle leaning against the doorframe. The breath stuck in your throat at his casual attire, and the way his shirt sleeve strained to contain the strength in his arms.

“Any chance you have an extra heart?” He asked by way of greeting, startling a soft laugh out of you. “Mine’s been stolen!”

“You got me flowers Corporal?” You mused aloud instead of acknowledging the god awful pick-up line. His smile was small, almost private as he straightened and stepped fully into the room.

“Everyone likes flowers.” Lyle explained as he neared. The smell of cologne swirled in the air between you, giving you an idea of how serious he was about this, considering the man didn’t own any form of body spray, and you were pretty certain that was the colonel’s personal touch. You watched with amusement as he leant around you to pluck one of the shorter blooms from the vase. He spun the five petalled flower between his thumb and forefinger before gently tucking it behind your left ear. “You clean up nice.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” You returned easily.

“Thank Prager.” Lyle mused honestly, “I tried to leave the barracks in my usual and he dragged me back in by the dog tag.”

“I will.” You promised, greedily drinking him in.

Rolling his eyes before extending his hand to you. “Shall we?”

“Lead the way.” You said simply, placing your hand in his and allowing him to lead you out of the office and towards the roof.

The walk was short and pleasantly devoid of anyone in the hallways as Lyle dragged you to the stairs that would lead to the greenhouse. He went up first, handing you an exo pack before holding the door open for you and ordering that you close your eyes. Arching a brow at him sceptically, you felt compelled to comply, allowing him to take your arm and carefully lead you across the flat roof.

The creak of hinges and increase in humidity against your skin suggested you’d been led into the greenhouse. Your heart swelled at the thought, realising that Lyle had taken into account your fascination with the rainforest and tried to accommodate it. Plants from earth dragged along your arms as Lyle’s larger form rustled the foliage.

“And, open them.” Lyle instructed, his hand dropping from your wrist.

You did.

Your eyes caught on the fairy lights first, woven through the overhead water pipes that ran hung from the roof of the greenhouse. The soft voice of Hozier drifting between the tightly planted plant pots. It felt otherworldly. A tiny haven all to yourselves.

“I didn’t know you liked Hozier.” You mused, glancing back at him to find him already looking at you. His hand was still in yours. Gently holding on. You found that you loved the contact.

Lyle chuckled, ducking his gaze as he admitted quietly, “you’ll have to ask Fike, he gave me the playlist.”

You snort. “Did he not trust you on your own date?”

“None of them did.” He mused without a hint of hurt. His smile was bright and honest. “Mansk handled the food - which is in the fridge in the kitchens by the way. Z-Dog threatened me into letting her help put up the fairy lights. Prager fucking dressed me.”

“You did a good job.” You insist. “This is super fucking cute, and I know this isn’t within your comfort zone.”

“They didn’t want me to fuck this up.” He admitted, motioning between you.

You laughed lightly, cupping his face like he had cupped yours last night. “You think I play hard to get?” He nodded sceptically. You grinned mischievous. “Just wait until you see how dedicated I am at playing hard to get rid of.”

His returning smile reached all the way up to his eyes. His nose scrunching at the movement. “God I love you.” He breathed. The quiet, admittance sending a spark of warmth through you.

He didn’t give you a chance to respond. That soft smile turned devious as the song changed and he abruptly swept you away with the soft rhythm of the music.

You found out rather quickly that Lyle was shit at dancing. He couldn’t hold a tune to save his life and every move he tried consisted of what you could only call ‘Dad dancing’. But it was adorable and childish and had you cackling the whole time. Getting lost in the motions. Weaving between the plants. Lost in your own little world as he sang awfully off key and tried to keep in time.

You lost yourselves in the songs of the playlist. The softer, more romantic songs giving way to faster paced ballads. Making your heart pound as you sweated and struggled to keep up with Lyle’s bountiful energy.

Somewhere distant, the clock struck eleven.

The last song finally reached its end, offering a few parting notes before trailing off into the quiet rustle of the leaves brushing against your skin, and the harsh panting from such an intense workout.

Then the sprinklers came on.

Lyle cursed. Whatever magical spell had fallen on the greenhouse abruptly broke as the pair of you scrambled to shove on your exo packs and scramble out of the chilling spray. The next song started up as you broke through the glass doors and emerged onto the roof.

Lyle was soaked. His shirt sticking to him in all the right places. “I forgot about the timers.” He admitted dumbly, laughing sheepishly.

You sighed, taking up his hand again as a cheesy song from an old fantasy film started playing. Something about sailing and poetry, of time and golden rings. A duet between lovers.

You took Lyle’s hand again and led him into a slower paced dance. Something to calm your pounding hearts and allow your tired feet a moment of reprieve

Instead of the tight spaces between the potted plants, there was plenty of room out here to frolic, to get lost in the music and feel enchanted by the reflection of the stars in Lyle’s exo pack. To laugh and appreciate the glow of the forest beyond the base.

The perfect background to stare at Lyle and feel content. Light years away from everything you knew, and yet, feeling the most at home you’d ever been.

#lyle wainfleet #lyle wainfleet x reader #crack treated seriously #bad pickup lines #friends to lovers #attempt at humour #one bed trope #misunderstandings #recoms #deja blue #wainfleet

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