[ 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--