[This time Matt doesn't overthink it -- he sees the slow paling of terror, hears the frantic breathing and he just acts. His hands are very gentle on either side of Lance's face, palms resting against his cheeks, their foreheads pressed together just slightly. His voice is soft, gentle, those reassuring almost-smells much more acute up close.]

Lance, Lance, it's not what you're thinking. They didn't force me. I'm not being used. This was my choice. Every time, it's been my choice.

[Granted, it's a little more dubious than that -- the choice was between accepting or going out of his mind with desire and heated, frustrated procreative need. But he doesn't regret it. He can't regret it, not after what he's seen, what he's felt. What he feels even now, low in his stomach, reacting to his quickened heartbeat, his anxiety.

One hand drops down, rests reassuringly over the soft swell of his belly, rubs absently where Thace and Sendak's kits are restless. His voice is even softer, overflowing with those same emotions that Zarkon is transmitting to Lance -- protective, loving, content.] I know it's strange. I know it's new. And it's...not something humans have ever been able to wrap their minds around.

[Matt's hand stills, gaze still cast down, remembering.] ...but we aren't just human anymore, are we? And it's so lonely right now, isn't it? Empty and lonely and awful.