(no subject)

[lionblade]

[ the thing is, he's not mad at shiro. maybe he should be, but he's not, because he understands that going from ace pilot with promising space exploration career to prisoner of war to leader of a ten thousand year old resistance faction doesn't leave a lot of room for the smaller, interpersonal problems. pidge is the one with a real cause for a grudge, anyway, and shiro is so painfully, obviously, trying his best to be the leader they need. he doesn't deserve keith hunting him down in the middle of the night to talk about the fact that they had toed the fraternization line uncomfortably close during keith's academy days, and then he thought shiro was dead, and then he started getting weird fucking dreams about alien energies and maybe shiro not being dead, and then... everything else.

shiro is treating him like one of the guys and he understands why. it's easier that way. it's been years and they're both different people now, except keith still has those same dreams--not the ones that left him awake in the dark and sure that shiro was alive, sure that he was breathing somewhere, alone, needing, and so helpless that it hurt to breathe. no, these are the old academy standby, thinking of shiro leaning in close, shiro taking off his shirt for training, shiro finally turning around and seeing him looking. the kind of stupid fantasies that left him hard and wanting when he woke, frantically jerking off just so he could get up and function around shiro without popping wood.

(he still has the dreams about shiro being alone somewhere, every now and then. he gets up and paces down the hallways and brushes his hand over shiro's door, but he never hits the comm button. they have each other now, or something, he tells himself. the dreams are clearly some kind of influence from the lions, and they're all together now.)

anyway he has shiro back and there's still a fucking glass wall between them. no unnecessary touches. no late nights together in one of their rooms, even though all they had ever done was talk. it's frustrating as fuck and he gets it and he's trying really hard to be fucking understanding, trying not to push. allura had said that they might notice some influences from the lions, now that they'd all established a bond, that they might be more sensitive to each other, but keith doesn't feel sensitive so much as scraped raw, holding everything back. he wants to hit something all the time. he snaps at lance and flings himself into battle when he has the chance and he thinks sometimes he can feel shiro through that link they're all supposed to have, that hint of quiet strength coupled with some sort of strapped down emotion-- loneliness? pain? --but then it's gone and he's left wondering whether he imagined it in the first place.

they'd been encouraged to go and spend time with their lions to strengthen their mystic bonds or whatever, but here keith is guiltily fucking sneaking around the wrong hangar, running his hand carefully over the black lion's sleek metal skin. that tiny little place in the back of his head where his weird impulses and gut feelings come from isn't telling him that he's unwelcome, but he knows that this is kind of suspicious. ]

Comments

[rearmaments]

[The others don't know that he spends more nights sleeping in his Lion than out of it. He's discrete, and anyway it's never more than a few hours. Sleep-- let's just say it's not the kindness it used to be. He always wakes to the dull, distant roar of cheering, sweat-soaked, heart racing so fast it feels like one constant, mechanic thrum, the taste of blood in his mouth that never seems to go away.

But they're not as bad when he's in his Lion. Its mind is a quiet place, and though their bond isn't strong (Allura tells him he's holding something back, and that it breeds distrust. He doesn't know how to tell her he doesn't know what he's holding back, or how to stop it) Shiro knows that it will wake him if there's danger. Cold comforts.

He's in the pilot's chair, has it tipped slightly back. He's staring at the ceiling, trying to will himself to break down whatever barrier is keeping them just slightly out of phase when the damn thing purrs. As far as he can tell, it's out of nowhere, and he starts. He knows the source without reading any of the external sensors, without looking. Keith.

The Lion moves without any direction from him, and bends its head down as if it were nothing more than a house-cat trying to rub up against someone's leg. The motion is precise, it stops when it touches him so as not to bowl him over. Shiro doesn't move. Barely breathes. If he holds still maybe Keith will just go away.

It's not that he doesn't want to see him. Doesn't want to talk to him. He does. But he already had to deal with the shame of Keith pulling him off that damn table, seeing him vulnerable. He's terrified of what he doesn't know of his own mind, and dragging someone else into that, no matter how well-intentioned they are-- he can't do it.

The Lion has other ideas. It all but spits him out onto the floor, and Shiro is left rubbing his head on the hard flight deck, fighting down a grimace.]

Hey.

[... awkward.]

Can't sleep?

[lionblade]

[ oh my god HAIRBALL SHIRO

he crouches down immediately, a hand going to shiro's shoulder as he automatically checks him for injuries. who knew the lions could eject a pilot like that? ]

I had a weird dream, needed to clear my head. Are you okay?

[rearmaments]

I'm fine.

[Except that fine is just slightly emphasized, and he gives his Lion a look over his shoulder.]

I think he likes you.

[He doesn't mention that dream. Doesn't want to get into it. Being around Keith is harder than being around the others individually or even in a group. He bats his hand away and stands under his own power in the meantime.]

[lionblade]

[ You used to like me. he clamps down hard on that, trying not to take it personally when shiro doesn't reach up a hand for him and stands on his own. it's ironic, really, all of them are now ~mystically bonded~ with their magic space lions but keith has never felt so out of step with shiro. shiro would've taken his hand back when keith was sixteen. shiro would have come to him to talk things out.

now they're going to talk about lions instead. ]

How can you tell? Red doesn't seem to like anything except fighting.

>toebeans

[cargopilot]

[ shit finally hits the fan less than a week later-- they're all stuck on an alien planet on an alien ship without any supply of suppressants. pidge had dedicated herself so thoroughly to her cover story of a male beta that she'd gotten the implant that all but erased her scent and sex drive, so it didn't matter that she turned out to be a female alpha, but keith and lance and hunk still have their own cycles to worry about. coran promises that the atlean medical bay can probably eventually synthesize something useful that is safe for human biology, but for the moment all they've got is "standard" altean supplements in their food goo acting as a sort of all-purpose birth control and vaccines against alien diseases. it won't suppress heats or ruts.

granted, the castle of lions is pretty fuckhuge if one of them really needs absolute isolation, but separation puts a bad taste in lance's mouth for reasons he's not willing to examine too closely. he knows he's not due for his cycle just yet, so he doesn't know why he's been so restless the past couple of days, prowling around after-hours and seeking out company and then getting irritable with them and stalking back off again. keith's off on a mission to the local village and isn't supposed to be back for a few days, and it annoys him that maybe the absence of keith's scent is causing the unrest. he's more worried about the effect of keith's absence on shiro even if he'd never admit it out loud. shiro's been everything like a perfect alpha so far: strong, focused, inspiring, and infinitely patient. he hasn't once snapped at lance or hunk for not being good enough, nor has he tried to force them all into a close pack relationship by aggression and intimidation the way some alphas did. shiro only ever did the right thing for them and never thought of himself.

apparently literally, because after lance can't find him in the ship for a solid ten hours he follows the hint of a strangely sweet, burnt sugar smell to an unused room and nearly passes out from the strength of it when the door opens for him and the scent washes over him like a wave. ]

Jesus christ-- Shiro?

[toebeans]

[ In retrospect, he should have known. Nothing was ever easy and with this - with heats, with ruts, it was a thousand times harder. Add in the fact that he can't remember the last time he went into rut and doesn't know what the Galra did to him and it's enough to make his stomach twist anxiously.

Something's off. He doesn't know what it is yet or know why he is thinking it, but he can just...tell. There's something off and it's an itch under his skin that he's not able to scratch, something driving him without rhyme or reason, something he can't explain. Maybe it's just his head but he doesn't think it is. He knows better than that and knows to trust his own instincts.

He figures it out halfway through lunch, the twist in his gut, the way his eyes track every single person in the room and the way he wants to scent them, to come in close and just be involved with everything they're doing. It's not the same possessiveness that sometimes comes with a rut that's been prolonged, but something else. He doesn't bother to think about it; Coran and Allura are warned while he locks himself down in his rooms and then realizes the flaw in that plan. People will find him there - he needs to figure this out before they do.

Instead, he takes essentials to a spare room and hunkers down. The heat curling in his belly isn't a rut, he knows that, but it feels similar enough that it's frustrating. The need is still there, the heat, the intensity of everything from the sheets against his skin to the clothes he's wearing, but it's -- not.

He'll need to tell the others to avoid him til this passes. It won't be long, and there's no emergencies - if there are, he'll get it together, figure it out. Of course, of course it's not that easy. The door opens in a rush and Shiro jerks up, pupils huge despite the influx of light. ]

I'm fine. I'm fine, you should go--

[cargopilot]

[ holy shit. that's definitely shiro, and that's definitely shiro in the grip of-- rut? except it doesn't smell like a rut, it smells cloying and sweet and enticing in the opposite direction.

it smells like a heat. it really smells like a heat, like an omega heat, and it jerks him forward like someone had just yanked him on a leash, involuntarily taking a step forward into the doorway. he can feel his heart-rate immediately double, eyes going wide and dragging in a deep, dizzying breath. shiro smells stressed and anxious and amazing, and lance just wants to get closer and bury his face against his skin.

he shakes his head sharply to dispel it. he's not an alpha to go into a lust-drunk stupor at the first scent of an omega, and shiro isn't an omega. this isn't right. he swallows hard. ]

You don't smell fine. You-- is this why you sent Keith off on that mission?

[ and then immediately he's annoyed at Not Being Included, imagining that everybody else had been told, had been treated like pack, while shiro kept lance on the outside for some reason. shiro should have stayed in his own quarters, or picked out some kind of familiar, calming setting, and he should have someone with him to bring him water and food and-- and anything else he needed, he didn't have to run off and hide like this.

beta instincts. he wants to help, he wants to provide support. an alpha would want to possess and defend, an omega would want to submit and be taken care of. betas didn't bite or grab according to instinct, they attended.

if another compatible alpha walked in right now and the omega (shiro, but shiro's not an omega, what the hell) accepted them, a beta like lance would willingly service them both. normally the thought bothered him, but right now he can't believe shiro would just slink away from all of them and endanger himself by trying to ride out his cycle alone. ]

Jesus, Shiro, you can't just lock yourself up for this! You'll get heat sickness!

[toebeans]

[ Lance needs to be somewhere - anywhere else right now. He can't -- he can't be here, not when Shiro isn't certain he can control himself, not on the first day and not after having next to nothing for so long. Between the military and being captive, it's no wonder he's out of sync but the worst part is that he doesn't know what's wrong.

It doesn't feel like a rut, which is concerning all on its own but the fact that it feels like what he imagines a heat feels like is even worse. He's not an omega, he hasn't ever been one. ]

It doesn't matter.

[ Yes goes unsaid. Shiro grips the door tighter, trying to use that to ground himself and then hears the metal screech as his fingers compress it, leaving visible finger dents in it from his metal hand. Horrified, he jerks back into the room and God, he can smell himself. It smells like a heat, but it's wrongwrongwrong. ]

It can't be - I won't get heat sickness.

[ If he says it enough times, maybe he'll start to believe it. Shiro shudders out a breath, all too aware that Lance isn't leaving, he isn't stepping out and closing the door, he's just standing there and Shiro--

Shiro can't stop himself, coming in close, pressing his face into the crook of Lance's neck and inhaling, hands clenching tight on his hips to hold him there. He smells like home, like pack and it's overwhelming. ]

[cargopilot]

[ his instincts know how to react to that, even as lance's brain chooses to go offline at the abrupt, overwhelming reality of his personal hero wrapping him up in his arms, burying his face against his skin and pressing their bodies together. the scent that floods over him, the hormones instantly triggered by the touch of shiro's feverish skin prompt him to pull shiro in, a hand on the nape of his neck and another on the small of his back. shiro's hard against him and lance shivers, making some kind of humiliating squeak. he's never been with anybody in the throes of their cycle, he's never had anyone react to him like this, so it's all eager, teenage clumsiness when he straddles shiro's thigh on automatic pilot and dips his head to try and find his mouth for a gasping, clumsy kiss. he can't give an omega the knot they crave or the higher chance of successful impregnation that alphas are famous for, but betas were biologically designed to serve a pack's dominant breeding pair and care for vulnerable, pregnant omegas. shiro had no alpha, so lance would have to stand in and keep him satisfied, keep him from getting sick from the ravages of his heat.

in the back of his head there's a distress that keith should be here, keith should be with them as the pack's only viable alpha, that lance is only ever a stand-in. but he's here and keith isn't. he has to give shiro what he needs. he has to take care of him. omegas are rare and valuable and dangerous, shiro's hand had crushed that spot on the doorframe and lance still wants it on his skin, touching his aching cock, maybe spreading the slick around his hole. he wants whatever shiro will give him, alpha or omega or whatever he is now with that hint of wrongness to his scent, he wants to put his mouth on shiro's dick, he wants shiro to turn around and get on the bed and present to him on hands and knees for mounting, he wants shiro to press him down on the bed and come inside him and keep coming until his stomach is swollen with seed, until there's a baby growing in him.

shiro's fever seems infectious. lance can feel the heat on his own cheeks, the stark contrast between the cool air at his back and the heat where their bodies touch, even though their clothes. the fact that he ought to be trying to get shiro to medical, or alert the others, falls by the wayside. shiro's tongue is supposed to be in his mouth and it's not. they should be skin to skin and they're not. his fingers dig in, gripping shiro tightly. ]

You're--

[ words are hard. he stumbles, his mouth still mashed against whatever bit of shiro's face he can reach. ]

Heat, this is-- you have to. [ hold still while lance rides his thigh, apparently. ] You have to let me help you, oh god, please let me, please Shiro please let me--

[toebeans]

[ In this moment, he doesn't necessarily crave an alpha, he just wants -- something. Anything, because it's been too long and he should have known better than to just assume that it wouldn't pop up right at the time most inconvenient for all of them. He needs to lead the team - needs to fight the Galra and he can't, not like this. It's unlikely they'll attack after being so soundly defeated before but that doesn't mean it's not in the back of his head, an awful consistent presence that he can't shake. They're going to come for them sooner or later and it's Shiro's job as leader to make sure they're ready.

Nothing really matters right then, though. Not the Galra, not the fact that Keith is gone, nothing but the fact that Lance is there and he smells like he's ready, like he wants it.

Shiro breathes out a groan, the tail end of it fluttering away into a tremble that shakes his whole body because despite everything he can smell Lance's want for him. There's no mistaking it for anything else than what it is and he thinks he ought to be concerned about it but mostly it's just this awful, aching want that doesn't feel anything like a rut. Whatever the Galra did to him fucked everything up, biologically, physically. It didn't matter. ]

No. No, no, shit. [ He has to think, has to get his mind unfogged. Gently, he pries Lance away from him and every inch of him protests it because there's a beta ready and willing for him. Instead, he forces himself back and presses a hand to the curve of Lance's cheek and kisses him, long and wet and filthy. When he draws back, his head isn't any more clear but his resolve is. ] Two hours. Come down from -- this. Message me on the comms if you still - want it.

[ And before Lance can reply, Shiro's bodily moving him out of the door, depositing him and sweeping back in. It locks solidly behind him. ]

OPEN SEASON ON BLUE LIONS - LANCE

[cargopilot]

HIT ME WITH UR BEST SHOT FIRE AWAAAAAY

[autopilots]

( he doesn't take too well to the black lion, but then again the black lion is a flexible, freeing creature -- nothing like the red lion, who needed a tight grip and constant watch. the black lion recognizes what needs to be done and does it, a particular trait from an unrelenting nature to lead -- such a nature that doesn't quite become keith, but they both know that, in fact they all do, but what are their other choices? allura? she can't do everything even if she'll try and kill herself along the way. keith actually fights her on it, long and hard enough, before she pops out her hip and crosses her arms around her chest, sticking her chin out with the million dollar question.

then who will pilot the red lion?

a much more delicate bond than the rest -- a much more particular partner required to earn the beast's trust. keith finds that he misses the bond he shared with the red lion, wild and spontaneous creatures, born from the same moon rock called rebellion. he likes the black lion well enough -- he likes that the cockpit smells like shiro, that he can turn his head and smell the generic shampoo of the ship on the headrest, knowing it was once tousled in black and white locks of hair. the epitome comes down to a whole lot of emptiness and more missing the spaces in his heart that used to be occupied -- one by shiro, the other by the red lion. despite this, he swallows his pride and moves on. it's what shiro would do. for the good of the team.

they still can't form voltron, which isn't any surprise, because even if the blue lion bends and moves for allura easily, the red and black lions show their restraint. they work hard at it, under the plan of using voltron to find shiro and bring him home, fix this temporary situation and give homeostasis back to the crew -- but their hard work amounts to nothing. no one can get in the rid mindset, everyone feels the weight of shiro's absence.

he honestly thinks it's a good idea to go talk to the red lion, to get his thoughts in order, to air out his frustrations and hear the red lion say nothing, along with everything. that's how their bond works -- unlike the black lion who says nothing and nothing, who doesn't reassure in the way keith needs.

shiro --

the sound of it elicits a memory from the depths of keith's brain, a time not so long ago that keith sat on the command chair for the red lion, shiro knelt between his legs, a matching scarlet cock bobbed from the plushness of his worn lips -- he'd fucked him after, thoroughly, keith with his back arched and his hips flush against his, bouncing on his cock in haughty, hasty movements. the memory fades and keith is left with the reality, the new paladin of the red lion, lance, sitting in the chair with his uniform stuck at the middle of his thighs, his needy cock caught in the dark-skinned palm of his hand. keith's throat dries, somehow with his mouth watering at the same time, desperate for all of a second before he snaps out of it, storming over. )

What are you doing?!

( this was our place. )

[cargopilot]

[ look it is not his fault that red is such a difficult lion, and also completely opposite to everything lance had figured out while piloting blue. he's not a leg anymore, he's an arm, he's in a quick, hyper-responsive machine that sometimes seems to move even before he touches the controls. physically the red lion is much smaller, too, forcing lance to have constantly check himself and carefully watch out for the space around him, and red doesn't seem interested in helping out very much. lance can't help thinking of him (her?) as the quintessential girlfriend cat, the pet that fawns all over its owner and hisses at the well-meaning boyfriend trying his best to co-exist.

not that red was ever particularly fawning. lance had heard keith's story about how red let him get sucked out a galra airlock before deigning to lift a giant robotic paw.

allura and blue seem to get along just fine, which is both gratifying and annoying, because she'd talked about how this would change their mental bonds with the lions and with each other, and lance had thought maybe it would be a chance to get closer with her-- but no, her altean-ness, or possibly just her princess-ness keeps her out of the mental link, while every time he touches red he gets an unwanted wash of keith all over his brain.

when asked about it, allura had said blue was a very polite lion and didn't get memories all over its pilot like some kind of psychic mud clinging to it, just waiting to be rubbed off. it's sort of a compliment, maybe, except he has the feeling that she was talking about blue's own personality as being independently polite rather than it having anything to do with lance's brief ownership. red, on the other hand, has psychic keith-memory-mud like, knee deep everywhere. lance feels it whenever he sits in the chair, whenever he puts his hand on the controls. he's even wearing keith's stupid armor with keith's stupid bayard that he doesn't know how to use. the one time he'd tried to pilot red while wearing his own blue armor he'd been forcibly ejected out the lion's mouth and dumped on his ass. it sort of made sense that each lion was most compatible with their own color bayard, but blue didn't seem to give a shit what allura wore when she piloted, and pidge and hunk tried switching lions as an experiment and didn't get immediately vomited up like an unwanted hairball.

allura said, spend more time with your lion. allura said, concentrate on your bond of partnership. allura said, try focusing on memories of keith to give the lion a shared connection. except all his memories of keith now are weirdly mixed with memories of shiro, and red seems to amplify that connection, flooding him with sudden, shocking sense-memories of a mouth kissing his, a hand touching his hip, a warm, broad chest against his back as he rocked slowly down on a thick, huge cock. now he wakes up in the middle of the fucking night with come all over his stomach and thighs, a hand clapped over his mouth to muffle his noises and aching for someone who was never there in the first place. he's never been so horribly aware of his own body or how it's possible to physically feel the distance between you and another person. he just knows where keith is now, all the time, he feels the air in a room change when keith enters or exits, and it's obnoxious.

it gets worse in the actual cockpit of the red lion, apparently because all keith and shiro ever did was have sex in their lions. he gets flashes of them when he sits in the chair to the point where training sessions or meditation attempts begin or end (or both) with him having to jack off furiously, keith's red uniform shoved down to his thighs, sprawled back in the chair and his brain full of fog and half-memories. shiro's mouth on him. (lance has never been with anyone.) shiro's voice whispering his name like a lifeline. (it's not his name.) shiro with two human hands and all black hair, younger, surrounded by sunlight and looking soft and happy in a bed somewhere. shiro and keith and keith and shiro and sometimes keith alone, his face hidden in the crook of his own arm on the red lion's console, silently bringing himself off.

he legitimately doesn't sense or hear or see keith at first, his eyes half-open but glassy, and the red lion is crooning something directly in his head that sounds like a language he can't understand, and what red recognizes is the black paladin and his right to be here. lance is panting, cheeks flushed, and he turns his head blindly without really seeing, snagging keith's hand. ]

S-shiro...?

[autopilots]

( there's a physical recoil to the name, although he doesn't step far enough to break their hold -- the touch inspires a specific memory, probably the one lance is remembering right now, of shiro moaning his name and keith coming on the spot, too thoroughly in love with him to not react to the husky sounds of his voice telling him that he's good, i love you, keith. as if stuck in a trance of the memories the red lion refuses to let go ( keith refuses too, but he doesn't share them ), keith snaps himself out of it, bubbled up emotions striking the surface. his face reads it, if lance can tell, some heartbreak on top of desperation and longing, some fury hidden behind the obvious desire of wanting to feel what lance is feeling -- even for a short time, even if it hurts more in the long run. he misses shiro more than he misses earth.

his dick is still out, which shudders keith at an alarming rate when he looks down to see it, swollen and red at the wet tip, beading pearls out on lance's fingers. the hot flush of embarrassment follows steadily on his cheeks, and he wriggles his hand from lance's grip, stretching his fingers out. )

It's Keith. ( he should sound angrier, not as blown out aroused. he's ignoring the tent at the front of his jeans, blaming his age more than any actual attraction. he keeps his gaze intent, eyebrows furrowed -- though it doesn't really seem like he's angry with lance anymore. ) Lance ...

[cargopilot]

[ even that doesn't break the spell immediately, as lance looks thoroughly confused and just repeats his own name in a way that suggests he can't fathom why it's being spoken.

then the memory spits him out and lance is staring at keith in the cockpit of his former lion, dick in hand and keith looking like someone just stabbed him through the heart. lance shrieks and scrabbles for the nearest something-- his jacket-- and clutches it over him like a woman would clutch a bedsheet, legs drawn up comically into the command chair. ]

What the hell man, this is private lion time, can't you fucking-- knock or something?! Jesus! And you! [ he turns his head to yell directly at the console, meaning the red lion itself. ] What the fuck? What the fucking fuck was that, you made me call him Shiro!

> shklance????? lmao sex gladiators idk

[cargopilot]

[ so then there was that time where keith and shiro stole a shuttle from the castle and went down to the surface of a galra controlled planet against allura’s orders, all because there’d been some sketchy rumors of other humans having been seen. allura declares it’s too risky to send the lions when they still can’t form voltron (Red and Black still have their days when they won’t move for lance and keith no matter what they try), and the others reluctantly agree that they can’t afford to lose anyone again by drawing galra attention. it took them six long months just to find each other across the far fucking regions of an unfriendly universe and they’ve all got scars to show for it. they can’t be careless with each other anymore, trusting to luck and the invincibility of youth.

keith does his best, of course, but he’s the one who wants shiro back the most. sometimes he clicks the way that shiro did effortlessly, knowing intuitively what the rest of them all need, but keith is still more used to locking himself down than reaching out. he and allura don’t always agree, and he and lance are… whatever they are now.

lance knew the minute that keith decided to go to the planet on his own. he’d felt it like it was his own thought, hot and guilty, and he didn’t look at keith and keith didn’t look at him, but keith wasn’t surprised at all when lance had shown up in the middle of the fucking night in the hangar with his gear stuffed in a go-bag and a deep scowl.

they’ve been in the palace now for two weeks. the guards have learned not to try and separate them and they fight their matches in the arena as a pair, efficient and deadly. lance had actually figured it out first that it’s more performance than combat skill that counts. fights that last too long become boring, fights that are over too quickly aren’t interesting. he and keith only move in sync when they’re fucking or fighting but when the connection flows between them it’s like the easiest thing in the world to know what keith knows and see what he sees, and even pull memories from their lions. shiro had fought in these kinds of matches. shiro had won these matches for a year. keith moves like him sometimes, forgetting he doesn’t have a cyborg arm, and lance has had to catch him before he shattered his hand.

lance has had to catch him a lot. In the cells at night they curl around each other, sometimes able to sink deep into each other’s heads and find some kind of peace pretending that they’re both other people. sometimes they just fuck furiously until they’re tired enough to sleep, and they don’t talk at all for fear of snapping at and turning on each other. everything in keith is still calling out for shiro, still holds out hope that they’re going to find him here among the prisoners, and his fucking faith is infectious, making lance want to hope, too.

what neither of them had known was that the gladiator matches weren’t the only things required of captives. the more they won they more attention they garnered, until some of the higher ranked galra asked for private shows that had nothing to do with combat. in this, too, they won’t perform without the other, even if one is kept chained in the background as a spectator while the other… serves. apparently it’s some kind of mark of distinction to have powerful or popular gladiators collared and leashed like pets to be admired and displayed. the galra find keith exotic and defiant so he’s the favorite, whereas lance doesn’t bare his teeth every time he’s touched. what they like to watch is lance making keith forget where they are, make him honest in his pleasure and vice versa. ]

trying not to use shiro's name is a fucking mess UGH. also sry about novel & lmk if you want edits

[toebeans]

[ It's never the same dream, but maybe it would be easier if it were.

This time, it's a crash. It's the (ship?) shuddering around him, being jostled and smacked around, his head protected by his helmet but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt like a sonuvabitch when he's jerked forward and smashes on the console.

Comms are down, he has no way to contact the others - no idea if they're even on the same planet. They work with long distances so either something's fried internally or they're too far to reach. He's not sure which option is worse, really. He doesn't know who he's trying to contact, but in a dream it doesn't matter. He starts saying names into the comms, hoping someone will answer, correct him and tell him who he's looking for or at least direct him to someone who will but no one answers.

Sometimes, he thinks he gets it. His mouth forms around part of the word, tongue touching the roof of his mouth and it's familiar but it's always gone when he wakes up.

When he does get hailed on the comms, it's none of the ghosts in his head.

Sendak rumbles orders across the comms and he takes them like a good soldier, a quick understood tossed across the line before he closes it out.

On the walk to the ship, he keeps trying to figure the names out. They were important, somehow; he's not sure exactly how or why, but there was some level of importance there and something in his chest aches quietly whenever he thinks about it. From a past life, he thinks, shaking his head. He knows he had one before the Galra; they tell him he used to lead a team and that sounds right. He's good at leading, takes to it naturally whether it's Galra or other people that were part of the Empire. He might not know all the languages but he's learning bits and pieces and that, too, is strange because some of the words come quicker to his tongue than others. He doesn't want to think about the what or the why when it comes to that.

The flight is an easy one and he makes it to the prison ship with minimal difficulty. He breezes past the Sentinels and into the main reception room, where Sendak is facing the security terminal. He goes to his knee and waits to be acknowledged. Sometimes, Sendak makes him wait for long periods of time, just to demonstrate his control over him, and sometimes it's quick but it's because he has other plans. He doesn't have time to deal with petty things like whether or not Sendak is threatened by him or his position in the Empire; he's never been a fan of playing games, he thinks.

They're going to the set of cells for Gladiators, he's told. It's nothing new, he's been there before, having worked his way up from there. He might not remember, but it seems right. The instincts are there, he's able to fight when he has to and has taken down his own fair share of Galra when they were challenging him. Zarkon is pleased with your progress and wants to give you a gift, Sendak says, and for once he doesn't sound like he's sour about this. If anything, he sounds quietly smug and he finds himself hesitating in response, not sure why his skin crawls at the idea of it.

One large hand rests on his head and he tilts it up in response, looking up at Sendak patiently. Whatever Sendak sees in his face seems to please him, because he has him rise and follow him out of there and into the hall to head to where the prisoners are kept. Some of the races of aliens he doesn't recognize, some he does. He's never particularly liked watching the matches, but doesn't often have to. Today's different for some reason, but there's always a point to it even if it's not easily seen at first.

He takes his spot next to Sendak, leaning against the chair idly like he normally does but no, not that this time. Sendak tells him kneel. Another one of the words in Galran that he recognized early without knowing how.

It's a power play of some kind, he supposes, but he doesn't really care. It doesn't have an effect on how he does his job and the point will be revealed soon enough. What is a surprise is the fact that into the ring step two humans, one after the other. He knows better than to react but he does wait a few moments and then glance over at Sendak. Is there a point he asks, turning his attention to the two humans down there. They look familiar, but that doesn't mean much. He obviously knew humans back on earth and it's been so long since he's seen any that any of them no doubt look familiar.

Sendak's hand shifts, rests on his head again and he knows that there's a point to all of this. Maybe it's to show them that they can rise above the ring. If they're here, they've obviously done something worthy of note, but the stands aren't filled entirely so this is private for a reason.

His shoulders tense when Sendak's hand cards through his hair, faux-affectionate. That isn't how they do things and he doesn't know why he's doing it now, but the most that happens is his jaw clenches and he tenses, forcing himself to relax as much as he can because he knows this game, or a variation of it. Do you like them? Sendak asks, and his tone is idle, considering. Nothing he ever asks is without a purpose, though, but this apparently doesn't require a response because a moment later, he continues. They're yours, after the match.

He's not sure what the proper response is to that, so he waits, watching the two of them from where he kneels, frowning faintly. That pang of familiarity isn't going away. ]

breathes

[autopilots]

( the galra's colors for lust are black-purple and burgundy -- same as the shorts lance and keith are dressed in, slapped with earthy scents the galra find attractive. keith knows what this means as well as anyone, bathed for the first time since the last time, awkward cuts from previous fights healed immediately with alien technology. their bodies are invaded, stretched open. the chains on their necks are clanked tightly, black metal with surges of red energy pulsating out the sides, bringing them forward and giving them shocks if they stop or look up -- regardless, keith keeps the corner of his eye's gaze on the cells they pass, flickering across the features of every green skin and trunk-nosed alien. not shiro, not shiro, not shiro.

it never is.

keith doesn't allow himself to lose faith -- the team needs him now more than ever, to bring their leader back from whatever galra hole he's been dragged into. whether he's thinking about the team at all or purely of shiro is entirely debatable -- to everyone except lance who knows the real truth, the full truth, the reason why keith can't sleep at night without knowing shiro is okay, why he can't exist without tricking himself that things are fine. voltron is formed, the galra empire will be eliminated. hunk with eat space goo, pidge will hack some robot, and keith will kiss shiro's mouth until they're purple from suffocation, from bruises, from berry-stained mouths. he has to believe this -- if not now then soon, it'll be the way that it was, on the castle ship with everyone in the correct lions, fighting to save the universe. that'll be reassuring, for once.

but there are some sacrifices made in order to get there as with anything, keith keeping his head down until the collars are removed and they're forced into the center of the ring -- dusty with dirt under their bare feet, six pillars standing up in evenly marked sectors for evasive maneuvers. the stands on look the fight in ascension, so the entertainment is easy to watch at all angles.

two alien boys with muscles on their muscles enter, and the fight begins. keith becomes someone else as he fights, all the willingness to obey shattered with the frustration of not being able to find shiro -- the realization that he might not even be here crawling up the back of his throat like a sickness. he is ruthless as he fights, beating in the face of one of the starved alien boys easily, fist dyed in purple blood as he screams, violently. in his mind they call him champion -- he has never been the champion of anything, except maybe shiro's heart, maybe, maybe, which doesn't really count anymore. it's his memories that find their way in keith's mind, the terrible things he's had to do -- the people beaten for no reason except that they were born on the other side of the ring. keith does this thing because it's what shiro would do -- he fights, he wins, because shiro would. ( he wouldn't, he'd sooner lose to save someone else the beating he'd earn. ) he and lance play well off each other, switching between brutality and playing with their food, putting on a good show. together, they are undefeated -- together, they win.

forced to kneel in a particular direction, keith lands close enough that his sweat stained thigh touches lance's, keeping them together as if daring someone to tear them apart. unlike before, keith keeps his gaze defiant and upward -- whoever handles him slaps him, but he doesn't care. he looks on. the galra love it.

the crowd is all dark, and keith can't make out who they've been sold to for the night -- or longer, depending. keith's teeth grit, some frustrated yelling swallowed down while he waits, keeping his gaze flickering from faces he can't see, as if sending a private i hate you, i will kill you to every single one.

they wait for awhile, knees baked in dirt. in the passage of time, keith's hand finds lance's and interlaces their fingers, dragging against open wounds from tonight's fight. he will kiss him if their buyer says as much -- he won't let lance think he wants to, even if he does. some secrets are better off unsaid. )

[cargopilot]

[ it's almost funny that lance is now the voice of reason between the two of them, because usually the things that come out of his mouth that are actually calm and sensible just sound like shiro, or at least what lance thinks shiro would say if he were here. he's trying to channel shiro and keith is trying to channel shiro and it's completely fucked up, there's a ghost hovering behind them at all times and sometimes lance has to get mad at him for making them all depend on him and then vanishing. they'd only had him for such a short time, too, lance and hunk and pidge had been a team (a shitty team, granted) for much longer before shiro pulled them all together and made them care.

keith had him and lost him and found him again and lost him again. it's personal for him, and even if he never talks about it lance can feel that rage simmering under the surface, courtesy of the bond through their lions. he grips keith's hand hard, doing his best to think calming thoughts in keith's direction. one day the thought is going rear its ugly head that maybe shiro is dead, or gone for good, and keith is going to lose it in all possible directions, and he won't listen to lance. he barely listens to lance now, which is fantastic for lance's confidence in his own abilities to be a stand-in second in command.

he can practically feel keith vibrating next to him. they're ordered at gunpoint to the slave baths, a common ritual whenever they're going to be presented to a new master for some service, and lance manages to stumble into keith as they're sluiced off under the showers, pressing himself bodily against him, using the cover of the warm water to hide everything. their hands are still tied behind their backs but lance hooks his chin over keith's shoulder, shoving a thigh in between his and doing his shitty best to blanket him in lieu of a real embrace. ]

Calm down, okay, [he murmurs into keith's wet hair.] Just fucking calm down, or they'll taze you and dump you in a cell and they'll decide it's a perfect opportunity to separate us. Whatever asshole we're being presented to tonight, it's nothing we haven't done before.

[ except that turns out not to be true. they're pulled apart and attended to, their wounds dressed, their bodies oiled and prepared, clothed by servants in gaudy costume silks and loincloths, collared, 'restrained' with fine, decorative chains strung with jewels that are more annoying than anything, and brought into some kind of private chamber. the galra commander sitting on the throne is fucking sendak, of all people, and next to him is--

now it's lance's turn to grope blindly for keith's hand, edging in close to him and grabbing his arm too, for good measure.

takashi shirogane is in the room with them, dressed like one of the galra and kneeling near the chair with sendak's claws carding casually through his hair. he doesn't look like a prisoner. the white of the cyborg arm is brighter and almost looks more extensive, possibly upgraded. he doesn't look hurt or restrained or even coerced, as far as lance's shocked gaze can tell, but sendak looks smug as hell. ]

omg i forgot to hit submit BUT IM HOME NOW or well at linds' house

[toebeans]

[ There are some things that the Galra brainwashing can't break him of. He won't kill people indiscriminately, has hard boundaries that he won't cross no matter what. Thankfully, Sendak doesn't seem to care either way, and it's rare that he actually has to answer to him in great detail. He knows that that bothers Sendak but it's not something he necessarily cares about.

There are little power-plays back and forth but he doesn't keep track of them; it serves him better not to play in to them, mostly because it infuriates Sendak.

The match happens and he pays no attention; it doesn't really matter because whatever the outcome, he doesn't think this is really going to make an effect on anything. Whatever the Galran empire wants, they'll get, he's seen that first hand. Resistance is not quite futile, but it does only delay them, not stop them.

He's heard of others who fought and were successful - can remember flickers, someone telling him that he looked an awful lot like one of them and he'd almost laughed. Yeah, he supposed that the humans didn't look a whole lot like anyone else. Of course there was someone else out there who looked like him. He never paid much mind to it.

Now, after the match is over and the other humans -- other humans like him have won, he finds himself relocated with Sendak to the receiving chamber, prompted to kneel again and waits until they're brought in. There's a special kind of smugness to Sendak's tone this whole time and he's far more aggressive with his touches, but he hasn't figured out the why, yet, which is frustrating.

Patience yields focus. He remembers saying that to someone, someone important but can't recall who. It's something else to think on later.

By the time the two winners- though he uses that term dubiously - are brought out, his knees are starting to ache and he's bored. The gaudy jewels and chains they're paraded out in aren't really worthy of note; he's seen this before, though usually the presentation wasn't directed at him, exactly. There are introductions - they're Paladins, of some sort, or were which he doesn't give much thought to. Instead, he pulls away from Sendak and some small part of him relishes that Sendak looks pissed before he recovers, that smugness seeping into place. He can play nice for the Empire, for his Commanders when it makes sense, but if this is just another situation where they're going to make an example of humans in front of him, he doesn't want to see it. ]

You said they're mine?

[ There's no interest in his tone because he knows better. Any interest and there's danger - no comment, and they take it away, or worse, do something to make him show interest. He's learned, by now. Instead, he ambles closer and hates, hates this, but he knows how to play the game. He comes closer and stares a long moment when he sees the way the one grabs the other. They're friends, then. Maybe lovers, he's not sure. It doesn't matter. ]

How many fights have you won?

[ This, directed at the two of them. ]

LADY!KEITH + KITTENS

[lionblade]

[ so neither her earth education or her galra education had prepared her exactly for getting pregnant, apparently nobody had bothered to chart her mother's progress with a half-human infant. lance and the others make silly jokes about fuzzy kittens but keith figures it's more likely to take after the human father; she herself doesn't have purple fur or claws, after all, and her dam was a full-blooded galra.

kolivan throws a fit, of course. keith hadn't wanted to tell him, but thace and ulaz were more or less permanent fixtures on the castle ship now, acting as liaisons, and they sniffed it out as soon as her hormones started to ramp up. kolivan wants her to come back to the blades' headquarters, acting like the doting grandsire he always pretends he's not, but keith wants to have her kittens-- babies, whatever, here in the castle, here with her lion and her team. this is as close to a safe nesting ground as she's going to get.

also it's nice to have the others waiting on her hand and foot. hunk cooks for her, pidge builds helper robots, lance will massage anything she wants massaged, and allura sings altean lullabies.

most of the time, it's nice. some of the time, it's unbearable, her clothes not fitting, her armor not fitting, her fucking traitor lion refusing to fly anywhere. she aches everywhere, and she kind of wants to murder shiro for it. her temper must be prominent in the lion bond because she can't find anyone in the common room when she stomps into it, wearing a huge sweater and nothing else because she's ruined two sets of clothes already today with her sore, leaking breasts and the baby won't stop kicking and it feels like any constriction on her stomach would be unbearable, so pants are fucking out. she's only wearing panties because they had to make that a rule for lance, and she's not going to be the one that lets him get away with repealing it. ]

[toebeans]

[ As it turns out, he didn't have his existential crisis about having a kid until way later than he thought he would, but having it halfway past 6 in the morning was a little inconvenient. By the time breakfast happens he's feeling a little better about it and Coran keeps tweaking his mustache, clearly pleased about being talked to about so serious a thing.

Which, to be fair, he was really helpful. It ached a little when he realized what it meant when Coran spoke about his children, though. They were likely gone; the fact that Coran touched on the subject of them at all was a little surprising. Shiro can't imagine that hurt being an easy one to bear.

By the time he's done with his early morning routine that's just a little belated, he checks in on all of the other members of the team to see what they're up to. He finds Keith almost by accident, double-taking when he sees her. He'd half expected that he'd find her in bed or spending time with the other Galra. Thace in particular seemed pleased about it despite the obvious concerns. When Shiro thinks about that, the gut-clenching fear lessens, just a little. ]

You look cozy.

[ Hunk can wait; they saw each other for a meal and it's a day off besides. He can give himself a break, here. ]

How are you feeling?

[lionblade]

Fine, [ she snarls, meaning not fine at all, restlessly changing positions every two seconds on the couch to try and get shiro's damned kid to calm down. she massages the bulge of her stomach fitfully, annoyed at how sensitive her skin is. thace and ulaz have wisely learned to stay out of her way when she's in a mood, preferring the cowards' way out and dumping that responsibility on shiro, her mate. ]

I'm fine, everything's fine, everything's peachy. How are you.

[ don't answer that it's a trap. ]

[toebeans]

[ Ah, like that, then. Shiro circles around to her side of the couch and settles where he can sit near her legs and gently touch his fingers to her knees. ]

Are they moving around a lot today?

[ He hadn't wanted to know the sex of the child even though Coran pointed out that they could tell easily. He didn't care what they ended up being and while he wasn't sure he could keep himself from looking before it was time for Keith to have the child, right now, there was a little excitement around it, around just guessing. ]

The sweater looks better on you than it does on me.

[lionblade]

[ she knows it's mostly hormones jerking her emotions around, which makes her even angrier. she wants to be a good parent for this baby, she wants to be calm and patient and tolerant and everything that's going to make shiro a great father, but all she feels is the urge to shred the furniture with claws she doesn't have.

shiro's scent is supposed to be calming, too, hence the sweater, but she doesn't feel calm. she kind of wants to bare her teeth at him for disturbing her, except she'd just been sitting here annoyed that there wasn't anyone else around.

grumbling, ]

I'm gonna have internal bruising at this rate.

[ yeah shiro's never getting this sweater back. she curls in on herself, pulling the excess fabric around herself like a blanket. she's so much more sensitive to smells now, and part of her is constantly annoyed that shiro-- as a non-galra, or maybe just as a male-- can't seem to understand automatically when some things don't smell right for her. ]

It smells like you. Or it did, now it smells like milk.