[ It’s an instant response, his mouth running on autopilot, and it’s so clearly a lie that Lance flushes before he’s even finished saying it. He’s literally clutching at the front of his robe like a scandalized woman would clutch her pearls.
Also the hair touching should be weird. He knows it should definitely be raising some alarm bells, stranger danger and all that, it shouldn’t be a comforting gesture from a complete stranger who is obviously and clearly brainwashed by the enemy, who is obviously and clearly here to persuade Lance that captivity is awesome, that getting pregnant by his captors is a good thing.
But it is comforting. He’s scared, and he hates that he’s scared, and he hates that his fear is so obvious that it would drive a stranger to offer comfort, and he’s disgustingly grateful for it, too. It’s like Zarkon being able to pick things out of his head and comprehend his needs before lance has to humiliate himself asking for anything. He’s never had to tell anyone that he was cold, or hungry, or that he was so scared he might fall down, that the quintessence infusions sometimes make him feel sick and dizzy. It’s all… understood.
He doesn’t know if that’s a Galra thing or a Paladin thing or a human captive thing. He just leans into the touch helplessly, his heart still beating hummingbird-fast, closing his eyes briefly. He’s so sickeningly grateful that he doesn’t have to protest harder against being touched, that he doesn’t have to explain himself. Matt’s just going to accept his word.
Of course his eyes fly wide open when Matt moves his hands, and oh no, ohhh no, he is not old enough to be touching that. He is definitely not old enough to be putting his hands on that chain, except his brain is literally on fire with curiosity, gently running his fingers over the fine, delicate length of the chain without exerting pressure-- not yet. He just wants to see. He sits up from the sand and comes forward on his knees a little, shaky but glad not to have someone over him, implying dominance. Matt isn’t a dominating figure, exactly, but he’s… intense. Lance’s fingers on his skin are featherlight, curious and tracing across his chest, toying oh so carefully with the little glittering nipple piercing. ]
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[ It’s an instant response, his mouth running on autopilot, and it’s so clearly a lie that Lance flushes before he’s even finished saying it. He’s literally clutching at the front of his robe like a scandalized woman would clutch her pearls.
Also the hair touching should be weird. He knows it should definitely be raising some alarm bells, stranger danger and all that, it shouldn’t be a comforting gesture from a complete stranger who is obviously and clearly brainwashed by the enemy, who is obviously and clearly here to persuade Lance that captivity is awesome, that getting pregnant by his captors is a good thing.
But it is comforting. He’s scared, and he hates that he’s scared, and he hates that his fear is so obvious that it would drive a stranger to offer comfort, and he’s disgustingly grateful for it, too. It’s like Zarkon being able to pick things out of his head and comprehend his needs before lance has to humiliate himself asking for anything. He’s never had to tell anyone that he was cold, or hungry, or that he was so scared he might fall down, that the quintessence infusions sometimes make him feel sick and dizzy. It’s all… understood.
He doesn’t know if that’s a Galra thing or a Paladin thing or a human captive thing. He just leans into the touch helplessly, his heart still beating hummingbird-fast, closing his eyes briefly. He’s so sickeningly grateful that he doesn’t have to protest harder against being touched, that he doesn’t have to explain himself. Matt’s just going to accept his word.
Of course his eyes fly wide open when Matt moves his hands, and oh no, ohhh no, he is not old enough to be touching that. He is definitely not old enough to be putting his hands on that chain, except his brain is literally on fire with curiosity, gently running his fingers over the fine, delicate length of the chain without exerting pressure-- not yet. He just wants to see. He sits up from the sand and comes forward on his knees a little, shaky but glad not to have someone over him, implying dominance. Matt isn’t a dominating figure, exactly, but he’s… intense. Lance’s fingers on his skin are featherlight, curious and tracing across his chest, toying oh so carefully with the little glittering nipple piercing. ]
They gave you these? The Galra?