Lance (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cargopilot) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
dappered2016-11-10 01:03 pm
cargopilot) wrote in dappered2016-11-10 01:03 pm
Voltron open rp post
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VOLTRON OPEN POST - Lance
1. Leave a prompt, picture, or sceneset in the comments
2. ????
3. Profit!
~
VOLTRON OPEN POST - Lance
1. Leave a prompt, picture, or sceneset in the comments
2. ????
3. Profit!
>>Wriggleverse
Not that he's doing that by himself so much, any more.
He really wasn't expecting Lance to be quite so eager to keep helping him out, but of course, it's just that Lance likes his alien junk, for whatever reason - it's nothing more than that and maybe teenage hormones, he's pretty sure. Part of him wonders if he might have accidentally addicted Lance to his cock, but that's - that's ridiculous. A larger part of him feels like he should really try to push Lance away, because this... this whole thing can't be a good idea, he's too broken, and even if Lance likes him more than he thought, it's still - not a good idea, right? Right.
Which is why it's really annoying that it feels so good, every time.
Still, he's just going to try and ignore the fact that he's hard right now, annoyed and prickly - it's not like it's that different from how he usually is. ]
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he has a lot of weird fucking dreams, but nobody needs to hear about those. keith doesn't need to know that he wakes up with his mouth watering over the taste of that violet colored jizz, that he thinks about asking keith to stay inside him longer and longer (that's a thing happening now, lance's body adapting to the intrusion with shocking quickness), that he thinks about weird shit like going to his knees in front of everybody and just sucking keith's dick quietly while they talk over his head and ignore him, maybe for hours.
also, his nipples are sore. he'd never really noticed it before, but now there are places on his body that just light him up even when touched gently, and he's found weirdly that his refractory time seems to be decreasing. it's almost, almost like there's some bigger design going on, like he's slowly being primed to become a better sex partner, sensitive and more responsive.
but that's crazy. probably. he's a teenage boy, of course he's sex-crazed, and he's getting it on regularly with an honest to god alien tentacle penis. obviously there's no normal standard for that.
so it's not weird that the second he hears that sulky note in keith's voice during their group discussion-- which is totally different from regular sulky keith, somehow, apparently he can now tell the difference between actually annoyed keith and sexually frustrated keith that refuses to pay attention to his own body's schedule-- and starts to scent that warm cinnamon smell, he's already making some weak excuse about breaking for lunch and getting up out of his chair.
he's not lying about being hungry, or rather, he's thirsty as hell. keith won't call the stuff they do milking because keith is a vanilla fucker for someone with an amazing tentacle cock, but that's literally what it is. the day goes on, keith's balls get swollen and uncomfy, wriggle starts acting out, and lance has to roll his eyes and get to work. keith says it doesn't help if he does it himself on a set schedule and who knows, maybe he's telling the truth. all lance knows is that it keeps the peace and promotes teamwork and shit, and is also getting him more sex than he'd ever dreamed of.
shiro is giving them a suspicious look but lance just tows keith out the door like there's a fire and finds the nearest empty storage room, locking them both in. he can smell that keith's starting to get wet already, somehow, that his pants and briefs must be sticky and uncomfortable. lance is already half-hard himself in anticipation. ]
Jesus, I thought he wasn't going to buy it this time. You should really tell him you've got some kind of chronic, like, thing, maybe you have to pee all the time or something or you get leg cramps.
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It's terrible, it's embarrassing and uncomfortable, and he only feels a little relief once they're safely locked in the privacy of the storage room. He wishes he could bring himself to tell Shiro everything, but he doesn't want to see the hurt on his face as he learns another piece of who Keith used to be has been ripped away and replaced by this... this alien, needful thing. He'll need to think of something to tell him, soon.
But not either of those things, oh my god. ]
Nope. If I say I get leg cramps he'll just make me do yoga for hours, or try to give me a massage. A massage, Lance. I'll end up drowning him.
[ He's not even going to deign to address the other suggestion. He groans quietly, putting a hand down to feel himself through his trousers - ohh, yeah. He's hard, and wet already, he can feel it. ]
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[ sorry buddy he's not very sympathetic there because shiro and keith are literally a telenovela couple, they're obviously meant for each other and refuse to see it and even lance's inferiority complex over losing keith to someone better isn't enough to keep him from rolling his eyes about how stubborn they both are.
who knows, anyway. maybe if keith and shiro were having sex keith and lance could still have sex. maybe shiro would want to watch? lance could be okay with that.
he steps up behind keith, hooking his chin over his shoulder, and reaches down to help keith massage that growing bulge. they've both started carrying wipes, condoms, and extra underwear around just for occasions like these so it's less imperative to get keith out of his clothes before he makes a mess, although wriggle at full extension is never shy about literally crawling up over the top of keith's waistband.
lance cups him knowingly, rubbing him through his pants. he sets his mouth at keith's ear, murmuring. ]
Just think of how big his hands would be on you. I bet he's got rough fingers, so he'd touch you really gently.
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He hates it when Lance compares him and Shiro to a telenovela couple, partly because it's ridiculous, and partly because it's kind of true. He feels like he's caught in the orbit of Shiro's gravitational pull, but he can't afford to get any closer, not when he's so sure that doing so will break their fragile orbit apart. He's managed, somehow, to be Shiro's boyfriend and Lance's... whatever this is - he shies away from calling it lover, but friend with specific benefits seems a little off-base - so far, but he feels like it can't last. He can't keep lying to Shiro, can't keep avoiding the question of sex with him only to slip away and have sex with Lance instead.
Maybe Shiro is the one who should be having sex with Lance. He's good at it, and he's affectionate and he's normal, not a hollowed-out shell of his former self like Keith is. He'd be good for Shiro, if Keith could let go of the surge of possessive jealousy that spikes through him at the thought.
He makes a quietly startled noise as he feels Lance step up behind him, feels his hand cupping his cock and oh, god, he needs that. He shudders out a soft moan and leans back against Lance, eyes going half-lidded as he soaks up the heat of him at his back, his cock squirming in the confines of his pants as Lance rubs him through them. ]
Lance.
[ He says it with a warning tone, but it's breathy and low - he can't deny the heat that twists through him as he imagines it, Shiro's hand on him instead of Lance's, just as warm but larger, rougher. He can feel his face getting hot, and he swallows, speaking reluctantly after a moment's pause. ]
... He's... always gentle, yeah.
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[ god only keith can make being grumpy and anti-kink adorable, mostly because he's all whiny and 'no lance that's grossssssss,' and then turns around and is cheerfully down to fuck lance's face in the supply closet. while they're on break from an important strategy meeting with keith's actual boyfriend. where they could be caught at any moment by said actual boyfriend, which only makes lance want to do it more.
yeah nobody in this weird adulterous relationship is kinky at all.
he laughs softly in keith's ear, not taking that warning tone seriously at all as he continues to massage keith through his pants. the feel of wriggle moving against his fingers is hot as fuck, and he's already hard in his own jeans, rocking minutely forward to rub himself against keith's plush ass. ]
But you wish he wasn't, right? You're not going to break. [ he punctuates the sentence with a firm squeeze, rubbing his thumb firmly against the crown of keith's dick. ] You can take a little rough handling.
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Relatively. Normal people.
He shudders slightly and sucks in a deep breath. God, the feeling of Lance rubbing against his ass makes him want to bend over and spread himself open, and that's slightly scary but he can't help it. He swallows thickly, rolling his hips into Lance's hand, letting his cock push and squirm against his palm through his trousers, which are quickly becoming too tight. ]
I... [ He makes a quiet, raw noise when Lance squeezes him. ] I can... I wish he'd stop being so gentle, just for once. I won't break, so... I want someone to be rough with me. I - I need - fuck, I need it.
[ After all, he's already broken, so it's fine. He huffs out a frustrated noise and pushes back against Lance, encouraging and needy all at once. ]
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he especially loves how responsive wriggle is, and getting keith so worked up that the tip of his cock actually squirms its way up over the edge of his waistband. it makes lance hot like a chemical fire to see that purple-pink tip peeking out of keith's clothes like it's looking for lance. ]
I got you, babe. [ he nudges keith's thighs apart and slips his leg in between them to give keith something to ride while he keeps working and squeezing wriggle, getting progressively rougher. ]
You should tell me what you want him to do to you. Push your face down into one of the tables and rub himself against your ass? Leave hickies all over your neck?
[ he bites down gently on the muscle between keith’s neck and shoulder, worrying at it and then laving over the skin with his tongue. it’s weird, but he loves the way keith tastes. his mouth, his skin, his come, it’s all completely different from lance’s own, like keith’s actual skin had been changed enough to have a sweet enticing flavor. ]
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He groans again, low and guttural, taking the hint and riding Lance's leg as soon as his thighs are nudged apart. He's so hard, his cock really isn't waiting, squirming its way up over the edge of his waistband and peeking out despite the tightness of his jeans, glistening with sticky pale purple pre-come in response to Lance squeezing him, almost like it's encouraging him to get rougher. His tentacle dick might not mind the constraining tightness of his clothes, but he does, he can feel the uncomfortable pressure and it's - kind of hot, but he's still going to fumble for his zipper, trying to nudge Lance's hand out of the way. ]
Don't call me babe. [ He says it slightly absently, almost reflexively complaining about the nickname for the sake of having something to complain about, but it's difficult to sound like he means it when he's filling up with warmth and arousal. There's something about the way Lance is treating him this time, too, something about the way he's framing things, promising to be rough with him and biting his neck, making him gasp and squirm... he really does want someone to be as rough with him as they can be, a deep hungry pit opening up inside him, making him feel slightly dizzy with need. ]
I want... fuck, I want him to do that. I want him to mark me, bite me and leave bruises all over my skin, just pin me to one of the tables and wreck me, okay, make me come just by rubbing against my ass and, and make me beg to be fucked, that... that's what I want.
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[ lance might be more effective at dirty talk if he didn't get so turned on himself imagining the same scenario, shiro holding keith down effortlessly and sliding his dick between keith's cheeks for his own pleasure while keith writhed underneath him. he's panting in keith's ear, moving his hand so keith can tug down his zipper, but then he dives right back in, rubbing and stroking wriggle and making a loose fist for keith to fuck, if he wants. his hand is dry, maybe a little too dry to be entirely comfortable, but that's on purpose. he crowds keith forward against the wall of the supply closet, bossy, and slides his other hand up suddenly under keith's shirt, yanking it up to expose his torso and his chest to cool air. someday he'll get keith to hold the corner of his shirt up in his teeth, which he claims to hate and lance finds criminally hot. ]
He'll-- pull your shirt up like this, [ lance manages, trying to maintain the narrative even as his own breathing gets more ragged and he rubs himself helplessly against keith's ass. ]
S-so... so he can see your pretty tits... and rub them...
[ actually that's a thing that lance gets off on now that he's suddenly become so sensitive, maybe not something shiro would think of, but whatever it's a fucking dirty talk fantasy and he loves the feel of keith's nipples getting all stiff and peaked under his fingertips. ]
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I bet... he could rip it off me if he tried, but he wouldn't. [ It's just a t-shirt, and Shiro is really strong, but it's also... one of his only shirts from home, so. Yeah, there's no way he'd rip it off of him. He's also not sure that Shiro would go for his nipples that eagerly, but the thought is really, really hot, and it feels good when Lance touches his chest, rubbing eagerly and making his nipples go stiff and hard. ]
Harder... I'd have to tell him to rub harder, tease them more, that I wanted him to - to pull on them.
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SPACE CONCUBINESSSSS
he'd been expecting torture and true depravity, nearly out of his mind with terror when the guards dragged him down from the captured blue lion. zarkon had somehow taken over control of black and ejected shiro out of the cockpit, and then the infection had spread through the lion bond to the others.
allura got everybody else away, using her influence over the lions to counter zarkon's, except for him. because blue had hesitated. because lance had hesitated. and now blue wouldn't listen to him at all.
the guards don't beat him. they don't even restrain him. his hands are shaking too much to aim his bayard, and all he wants, childishly, is someone to come get him, someone to break through the fog in his brain and tell him what he needs to do to save himself, but then zarkon is standing before him lifting his chin with a single clawed finger, and lance meets his eyes helplessly, and
drowns.
he loses time. sometimes he wakes up in a place that looks like a lab, strapped down to a cold table while druids do arcane things around him, sometimes he wakes up and he is already standing in a great crowded hall like a throne room, sometimes he wakes up in the chambers of the quintessence baths with his skin on fire and every nerve singing, watching zarkon wade forward through the dark, viscous liquid into place between his spread thighs.
zarkon can calm him with a touch. zarkon gives him quintessence to drink to develop his mind and make his body more malleable for haggar's experiments. zarkon knows when he's thinking of trying something, and can freeze him in place with a glance. his body obeys. zarkon tells him not to be frightened, and slips into his mind like he belongs there, soothing down all the wild emotions that threaten to swamp him. there are days when lance prefers that, because it means he doesn't have to struggle or feel uncertain or do anything at all except listen to the black paladin, the true black paladin, whispering in his mind that lance is safe, that he is where he belongs, that the paladins of voltron all belong to zarkon. that he loves them. that he will go to the ends of the universe to make them his.
lance knows that zarkon's brand of love is about power and possession but mind to mind, he knows zarkon is telling the truth. the galra emperor cares more about voltron and the paladins that elude him than his empire and his squabbling generals.
but he can't be with the emperor all the time. a week or a month after his capture he's ushered into the harem stables, clutching his dark imperial robes close to his altered body as dozens of painted and jeweled aliens turn to stare at him. zarkon, he has learned, does not care to take slaves or concubines to his bed, at least not more than once, and instead doles them out as rewards to his favored generals and commanders. a single visit to zarkon's bedchamber is enough to secure a concubine's reputation and fortune for the rest of their life, but lance is the only slave to have had so much personal attention paid to him since the champion, and the guards and stable handlers seem to view him as a strange cross between a dangerous prisoner of war and a bride destined for a marriage of state.
they're giving him a mentor, they say. someone to teach him the galra language, and the proper etiquette forms for a concubine. they tell him that the emperor has been generous and kind to have put up with his uncouth manners and appearance so far, but now he will be made pleasing. ]
LONGEST FCKING TAG EVER JFC
"When have you ever liked anything, commander?"
The string of obscenities that Sendak spews from the bed to the couch is enough to make Matt press his lips together to hide the amused smile. Though a force of power, control and utter domination outside the bedroom, inside it the Galra commander is nothing short of petulant, especially when faced with Thace's dry, flat commentary. Still, it's bad manners for a concubine to laugh at their master -- which makes it doubly difficult when one has two.
And Matt is nothing if not well-behaved. He's had over a year to become so, guided and shaped into the perfect image of submission, grace, obedience and seduction, pristine etiquette masking unabashed sexual gratification. Druids shaped his body, the harem honed his manner and quintessence sharpened his mind into something worthy of Zarkon's best and brightest. Yes, in the beginning he'd resisted, had entertained thoughts of escape, of vengeance. Of Earth, his home, his family.
(Of Shiro, always, always of Shiro.)
His requisite one night with the Emperor had cured whatever the Druids and his rigorous training could not, however. Matt is well-versed in the myriad ways Galra approach sex -- with Thace it is a near-holy act, slow and lingering and reverent, with Sendak it's rough and animalistic and single-minded. With Zarkon it was absolutely shattering, body and mind effectively taken to pieces with a word, a look, a touch.
However, something had resisted, had remained, some uniquely human resilience present in no other species. For, long after the point where all other concubines were rendered mindless with pleasure, Matt had retained enough to pick up on the ancient Galra leader's thoughts, disjointed and vague. He wasn't a Paladin (he understood that now, having studied and learned enough about that unique mental and spiritual bond), so it wasn't as clear or coherent, more impressions than actual words. Zarkon had been thinking about who he'd bribe with Matt -- a tactical genius, a war adviser, not a commander or a battlemaster, but someone whose allegiance he needed nonetheless, the impression of features and form that Matt would later recognize as Thace.
And then, a passing thought, clear as if it had been spoken -- these humans are so like Alteans -- before Zarkon had become aware that the concubine he was enjoying was aware of his mind. Matt had tensed beneath the Emperor, anticipating anger and violence, drawing back physically, even though his every nerve ending craved touch, longed for it. But Zarkon had been amused, almost intrigued, scales warm with indulgence as he neither stopped nor slowed fucking Matt into the tangled sheets of his bed. "You have a keen mind, little one," he'd said simply, and left it at that.
That had been months before, and Matt had assumed he'd been forgotten, like any other concubine. True, his first pregnancy had been successful, the sole kit a product of that heated evening with the Emperor, healthy and strong and astounding every Druid who'd examined her. There had been no word that Zarkon was aware of this offspring, but he must have been, must have given his approval for the three following litters, all Thace's, all just as uniquely intelligent and strong.
The fifth one, the one Matt carried at that moment, nestled against Thace on the low silken couch, was both the strategist's and Sendak's -- a consolation prize, it was rumored, for the commander's unpleasant interaction with the only other humans present beyond Earth. Sendak's rage at the Paladins had shown itself in how roughly he'd taken Matt that initial breeding, snarling and relentless, brutally pounding into the much smaller human, pinning him down and forcing him to take the unfamiliar knot of a high-ranking Galra into his helpless, aching cunt.
And yet Sendak stayed. Stayed and added a third kit to the litter Matt had inside him now, stayed and snarled his objection to his concubines newest assignment. As he himself had been mentored and guided, Matt would now pass his extensive knowledge -- clever human mind having retained every Galra word, every nuance of the harem, every bit of history he read -- to the second-ever Earthling concubine.
"If he touches what's mine," Sendak was grumbling now, mechanical hand making ribbons of the bedsheets. "I'll tear his face off."]
That wasn't what I was led to believe will happen. [Matt spoke for the first time, quietly, looking down at his datapad, rather than at the more volatile of his masters, emboldened by Thace's presence at his side. Sendak wouldn't dare raise a claw to the mother of his kits, but it was still against social niceties for Matt to speak at all without being directly addressed. Thace was unique in that he encouraged it, had taught much of the conversational Galra that Matt knew, had quizzed him on history, science, technology, art. Thace had an "alien fetish" (according to Sendak), but it meant that Matt got opportunities and privileges most concubines wouldn't even dream of.
And it meant he was the logical choice to teach one of Zarkon's beloved Paladins. Which was exactly what his quiet comment was meant to remind Sendak of -- this wasn't any of their choices to make. The Emperor had commanded that Matt be the one to mentor the other human, and that was that.
Sendak snarled more elaborate curses (really, Matt needed to write those down, trace the etymology of them, keep them in mind for the next time one of the lower Galra grunts was too bold with a favored plaything of a commander and tactician), but did not speak further. Thace had his face turned into Matt's hair -- it was kept just above his shoulders, since Sendak liked pulling it and Thace preferred it short, a compromise between the two -- and his chuckle was tangible and his big hands were wandering over the soft swell of Matt's stomach and it was tempting to stay put.
But despite all his experience, despite his genuine affection for the two fathers of his kits, Matt could remember vividly his own fear and anxiety during the first few weeks in the harem. So with a parting nuzzle for Thace and a deferential near-bow for Sendak, he set out towards the lavishly decorated rooms ringing the quintessence baths, where Zarkon kept his myriad slaves and concubines.
He hadn't dressed up, hadn't followed any of the traditional rules for clothing or painting or jewels, choosing to have their first meeting be as two humans. He'd even chosen a baggy, shapeless robe, so the first thing the captured Paladin saw wasn't his swollen stomach -- that might add unnecessary pressure. Taking a slow breath, Matt came to a stop in front of the heavily guarded door (mercifully Zarkon must have communicated that he wasn't to be hindered; otherwise he likely would've been shot down several yards before) and, lifting one hand, knocked gently.]
IT'S BEAUTIFUL
he doesn't know why. the guards that look in on him every now and then and bring him his meals hadn't stopped him or seemed surprised, which horrifies him into thinking that maybe it's a galra thing he's doing.
they hadn't stolen his armor, either. in fact he'd been gifted a custom set of galra armor by the emperor, all black and purple and scarlet. it's arranged on a stand next to his paladin armor, which has been polished and restored.
they're not worried about him putting on either set of armor and trying to escape. they're not worried about locking the doors here, or chaining him, or drugging his food to keep him asleep, or anything that he might've expected. they're not worried about anything he might try, apparently, and that simple thought is more demoralizing than any heavy restraints they could have slapped on him. he's even got servants of his own, or would if he ever pressed the button on the console to summon them. nobody else has come into his room uninvited, although he's 100% sure he can't actually lock anyone out.
he doesn't feel like a prisoner. he feels like a traitor, huddling in soft robes that have been tailored to his exact measurements and living in a room that literally changed colors for him when it noticed his preferences and hesitantly eating tiny bites of delicious food. zarkon had even given him access to an adjoining set of rooms that looked like something out of a fantasy: pools of hot and cold water in a faux-realistic environment, rocks and ferns and shit, trickling waterfalls, shallow pools with realistic waves, rooms that are dark and quiet with alien stars stretched above on the ceiling, as if the swimmer was out in the middle of the ocean alone with the night sky, and one chamber that completely mimics the look of a tropical beach, the walls projected with some kind of moving hologram to make it look as though he's staring into the endless distance across an ocean.
he stays in that room most of the time, digging his toes into the sand. it might even be real sand. the ground under the water feels like real ocean floor, pebbled and soft. there are sun warmed rocks to sit on and fallen palm fronds to lay on, if he wishes. they smell like palm fronds should, although they don't ever decompose. there are real fish under the turquoise wavelets, and there is nothing in the distance but empty blue sky. a fake sun rises and sets across the walls. sometimes there are drifting clouds. it's a huge room, a decadent waste of space, but he's walked the edges of it and put his hands on the places where the floor meets the walls and the illusion ends.
he knows without asking that it was built for him because he is the blue paladin, and because zarkon knows what he wants. the beach room could've been an earth beach (or a lavish terrarium to keep a wild animal in, he thinks darkly), and the saltwater is exactly the right level of salinity. he doesn't know how zarkon knows. he doesn't want to ask. would zarkon take him home if he agreed to give up blue? would zarkon spare earth if lance betrayed the team and helped him capture them? if he could sever shiro's bond with the black lion so easily, could he just make them all not paladins anymore, and let them go?
a tiny holographic console appears just above the sand next to him when matt knocks on the door to the main room, chiming an alert to let him know. lance doesn't even glance at it, just mutters the galra word granting permission to enter and wrapping his arms tighter around his knees, staring out at the false horizon. he'd stay in the ocean room all the time if he didn't have to leave for food and basic hygiene. zarkon and haggar don't knock when they come for him, so it's probably a guard, or someone he doesn't want to see, and they should know by now where to find him. ]
oh lance wow
And yet another part of him almost feels something like pity for the Emperor. Galra are single-minded beings, completely occupied with the things that take their attention -- how else would they have managed to wage war for ten millennia? -- and having the object of desire and obsession be a completely unknown, thoroughly mysterious creature? It must be frustrating, having so much passion, so much adoration and devotion to give and having no idea how to communicate it.
Maybe that makes him a traitor, to his planet, his species, to everything he used to hold dear. But Matt's been places and done things no other human has. He's had a Galra touch him with so much tenderness, so much gentleness that it brought him to tears, he's brought a warlike being to their knees at the idea that he's carrying their child inside him, he's been treated like an irreplaceable, precious thing by an alien race he once believed capable of only cruelty.
It might be only biology, implanted hormones and new anatomy, pleasure receptors and pheromones, but the second Matt saw his first helpless, beautiful, tiny kit, the day he was given to Thace as his own personal concubine, he gave up any desire of returning to Earth. He accepted his new life, his new role, and surviving became thriving became something akin to happiness.
He's confident, leaning against the doorway, quietly watching simulated waves roll out to a simulated horizon, that this newcomer, the Paladin -- Lance, his name is -- will do the same. He just needs someone to help him through it.]
Excuse the intrusion. [There we go, good manners from the start, set a good example. After all, technically Lance outranks Matt, as far as hierarchies go. The words aren't Galran, though -- they're English, sounding clumsy in Matt's mouth after so many months.]
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he knows, logically, that shiro did cooperate, that shiro ate their food and played by their rules and fought in their arenas, or else he wouldn't be alive, but he can't imagine shiro sitting alone and miserable in a room like this, speaking to no one and feeling like a child sulking in his room while the adults all wait patiently for him to come to his senses. maybe lance should be trying to talk to the guards. shiro would've been making an escape plan. if he did anything, it would've been certain and confident.
he finds himself wishing zarkon would come see him. at least then it wouldn't be his choice, it would be something happening to him that's out of his control, and for a couple hours at least the uncertainty would stop.
but the newcomer isn't galra. the newcomer speaks english, and lance's head whips up quickly, eyes widening. ]
Pidge...?
[ no, not pidge. older than pidge, older than him, too tall, too-- soft-looking, somehow, longer hair. no paladin armor either. he swallows down the painful surge of hope that this had been a rescue. a rescuer wouldn't knock on the damn door.
warily, ]
Who the hell are you?
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But he's keenly aware of the effect Lance is having on him – the younger boy is radiating discomfort, anxiety, fear, and everything inside Matt is screaming at him to comfort, to reassure, to get his hands on Lance as soon as possible and make it better-- by any means necessary, preferably not involving clothing. It isn't lust, he knows what lust feels like, he still drowns in it every time he sees Thace or Sendak (or, when they're occupied and he's bored, pretty much any Galra grunt who happens to be passing by and filling the air with virility and interest). This is something else entirely. Physical comfort as a form of emotional comfort. Unique to parents, to mothers. Lance isn't there yet – Zarkon must be taking his time before getting a litter in him, wanting to make sure he's thoroughly comfortable -- but Matt can recognize him for what he is from the moment they're in the same room.
All this instinctive awareness happens in a split second, and it's all Matt can do to hold onto the reassuring smile, keep his arms crossed loosely over his midsection and not lunge across the length of the room to wrap Lance up in his arms.]
I'm Matt. Nice to meet you.
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[ holy crow. this has to be pidge’s brother, shiro’s missing crewmate from the kerberos mission. lance knew rationally that he was still possibly a galra prisoner somewhere, but they’d seen galra mines and galra work camps for slaves, and nobody wanted to say it, but they seemed like places where small fragile humans might not last very long.
matt doesn’t look like he’s been toiling in a mine. he looks healthy and well-fed and even kinda weirdly… radiant? it’s something that tickles in the back of lance’s head as familiar, something he remembers from earth. the way matt holds his arms across his body like that, the way those loose robes fall in odd folds from slender shoulders-- but lance shies away from that rabbit-hole the same way he shies away from the changes in his own body. the other reason he spends so much time in this ocean habitat is that there aren’t any mirrors.
the scent of saltwater and manufactured sea air is prevalent here but lance does get a few whiffs of something that smells warm, if a smell could be warm. it pushes at him to uncurl a little bit, letting go of his knees and planting a hand down on the sand to carefully push himself up to his feet. walking is a brand new uncomfortable experience these days.
(he remembers, or maybe he dreamed that emperor took his hand and placed it down between his legs, the strength of his mental hold on lance’s mind preventing a panic attack. he knows he’s been changed. his body feels different, off-balance. he knows that zarkon had moved their fingers, twined together, to lance’s flat stomach and whispered calm to him, that it would not happen until he asked for it.) ]
You’re Pidge’s-- you’re Katie’s brother, right? [ no lance, it’s some other captured human on a galra ship that happens to look exactly like pidge. he drags a hand through his short hair nervously. what the fuck is he supposed to do with this, he can’t rescue himself, much less anyone else right now. ]
I-- We’ve been looking for you. We’ve been looking everywhere for you, you were on the flagship the whole time?
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Point being, he doesn't flinch when Lance mentions Katie, doesn't waver in projecting that air of calm and warmth. He does, however, gingerly ease down to sit on his heels at the edge of the sand, the extra weight he bears putting a strain on his back and hips. Even with the Druidic improvements, human bodies are still fragile, soft, delicate things. Whereas many concubines are kept constantly pregnant, Matt's been allowed at least two weeks of recovery before having a new round of kits to fill his belly...though really now that Sendak is involved, he has his doubts about how strictly that rule will be enforced.
Either way, hopefully the slow, cautious way Matt carries himself doesn't tip Lance off just yet. He just barely stops himself from resting a palm over his swelling stomach, instead leaning back on his hands.] Yes, that's me. The flagship is the best guarded and the safest, so I've been here for...nearly two years.
[Since it was confirmed that the Emperor's experimental breeding had successfully taken, and Matt was carrying his kit, actually.]
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[ jesus christ, two years. lance stares at him, stricken. who knows what kind of scars or injuries are hiding beneath those baggy robes-- the galra had him for long than they’d had shiro, and they’d taken shiro’s goddamn arm. no wonder matt moves so cautiously, who knows what had been done to him during his captivity.
lance takes the meaning of the flagship being the safest as a comment on zarkon’s dedication to keep him from being rescued. of course the galra would want to hold onto a pawn like matt, brother to one paladin and close friend to another. ]
I’m so sorry, [ he says, helpless, already imagining a furious response. ‘sorry we couldn’t find you’ wasn’t enough for two years of slavery. ]
We’ll get you out of here, I promise.
[ of course, if he had the kind of close, unbreakable bond with his lion that a paladin was supposed to have, he'd already have a ride out of here for both of them. blue could have dug them both out of the ship's side, if only lance could properly connect with her. his hands ball into fists. ]
It's-- just a matter of time before I bust outta here anyway, [ he says recklessly, pretending like he believes it. ] My lion's here on this ship, and we're just waiting for our moment. You know, got to get the timing just right. I'll take you with me, of course.
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After Lance trails off, Matt is quiet for a moment. Then he reaches out, gently beckoning the younger boy closer.] You can sit. I'm not going to hurt you.
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he does sit, but gingerly, like he knows he doesn't want to hear what matt is going to say. there's no way out, maybe. there's something else going on that he doesn't know about, that he didn't take into account. ]
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CAPTURED LANCE
he'd been expecting torture and true depravity, nearly out of his mind with terror when the guards dragged him down from the captured blue lion. but the guards don't beat him. they don't even restrain him. his hands are shaking too much to aim his bayard, and all he wants, childishly, is someone to come get him, someone to break through the fog in his brain and tell him what he needs to do to save himself, but then zarkon is standing before him lifting his chin with a single clawed finger, and lance meets his eyes helplessly, and
drowns.
he loses time. sometimes he wakes up in a place that looks like a lab, strapped down to a cold table while druids do arcane things around him, sometimes he wakes up and he is already standing in a great crowded hall like a throne room, sometimes he wakes up in the chambers of the quintessence baths with his skin on fire and every nerve singing, watching zarkon wade forward through the dark, viscous liquid into place between his spread thighs.
zarkon can calm him with a touch. zarkon gives him quintessence to drink to develop his mind and make his body more malleable for haggar's experiments. zarkon knows when he's thinking of trying something, and can freeze him in place with a glance. his body obeys. zarkon tells him not to be frightened, and slips into his mind like he belongs there, soothing down all the wild emotions that threaten to swamp him. there are days when lance prefers that, because it means he doesn't have to struggle or feel uncertain or do anything at all except listen to the black paladin, the true black paladin, whispering in his mind that lance is safe, that he is where he belongs, that the paladins of voltron all belong to zarkon. that he loves them. that he will go to the ends of the universe to make them his.
lance knows that zarkon's brand of love is about power and possession but mind to mind, he knows zarkon is telling the truth. the galra emperor cares more about voltron and the paladins that elude him than his empire and his squabbling generals.
he doesn't feel like a prisoner. he feels like a traitor, huddling in soft robes that have been tailored to his exact measurements and living in a room that literally changed colors for him when it noticed his preferences and hesitantly eating tiny bites of delicious food. zarkon had even given him access to an adjoining set of rooms that looked like something out of a fantasy: pools of hot and cold water in a faux-realistic environment, rocks and ferns and shit, trickling waterfalls, shallow pools with realistic waves, rooms that are dark and quiet with alien stars stretched above on the ceiling, as if the swimmer was out in the middle of the ocean alone with the night sky, and one chamber that completely mimics the look of a tropical beach, the walls projected with some kind of moving hologram to make it look as though he's staring into the endless distance across an ocean.
he stays in that room most of the time, digging his toes into the sand. it might even be real sand. the ground under the water feels like real ocean floor, pebbled and soft. there are sun warmed rocks to sit on and fallen palm fronds to lay on, if he wishes. they smell like palm fronds should, although they don't ever decompose. there are real fish under the turquoise wavelets, and there is nothing in the distance but empty blue sky. a fake sun rises and sets across the walls. sometimes there are drifting clouds. it's a huge room, a decadent waste of space, but he's walked the edges of it and put his hands on the places where the floor meets the walls and the illusion ends.
he knows without asking that it was built for him because he is the blue paladin, and because zarkon knows what he wants. the beach room could've been an earth beach (or a lavish terrarium to keep a wild animal in, he thinks darkly), and the saltwater is exactly the right level of salinity. he doesn't know how zarkon knows. he doesn't want to ask. would zarkon take him home if he agreed to give up blue? would zarkon spare earth if lance betrayed the team and helped him capture them? if he could interfere with shiro's bond with the black lion so easily, could he just make them all not paladins anymore, and let them go?
he tries, pathetically, to use his fledgling sensitivity to reach out through the lion bond to the absences he can feel without alerting zarkon or haggar. blue is there with him, uncertain over his uncertainty, sluggish and unresponsive, so he has to reach further, out in the blackness of space. like the 52 hertz whale, maybe, a call echoing over leagues and leagues of empty ocean and never knowing if anything would respond. ]
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It takes too long to figure out a plan to find and save him, too. They try, of course, but the first six attempts are unsuccessful and they can't get a lock on Blue. Wherever she is, Allura can't pinpoint it past feelings of maybe this direction or perhaps turn the castle that way.
Instead, they do what they can do. They save planets and free them and try to use that extended network to track down any word of where Lance might be. Months pass and Shiro finds himself snapping without justification, to the point where Keith finally pulls him aside and gives him a talking-to that Shiro would be proud of if he weren't so fucking frustrated with being able to do nothing. Keith takes him for fights that last hours, until Shiro's dripping sweat and drooping from exhaustion and then shoves him into bed and doesn't wake him up for anything but breakfast. Soon enough, Pidge starts doing it, too; not the training, but when they find him wandering the halls or up late, they drag him in to be their extra set of hands when working, until one or both of them is nodding off from exhaustion.
It's not perfect but it works. And, eventually, they do get word, Allura gets a feeling from Blue, like she's reaching out. The planning takes weeks and this time, he thinks he's got every eventuality planned in, but what he doesn't expect is that Zarkon wouldn't be on the ship. That there's no arena on this ship, but Blue is here, and that despite everything, the wing that Lance is in, isn't medical, or anything else particularly dangerous. It's in the normal suites; he was taken there once or twice as a 'reward' and it makes his stomach turn as he clears each room but there's no Lance. From over the comms, he hears Keith say there's nothing in his wing, and hears similar comments from the others.
The last door opens and Shiro goes through it, but instead of finding Lance tied down, it's a beach. Lance is there, but he doesn't look like he's panicked, he looks...comfortable, and that's the weirdest goddamn thing right now. They don't have time to think about that, though, not when they need to get out of here. ]
Lance. Come on, let's go-- we have to get out of here.
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and then shiro is there in the doorway, silhouetted against the fake horizon. lance stares at him wide-eyed for a moment, completely frozen, the sound of the waves crashing in his ears-- and then he does hear it, he hears everyone in his head, loud and cacophonous enough to make him hunch down in pain and put both hands up to his ears. all the lions are here and blue is straining for them, blue is roaring furiously in her chains while the others tear her loose. they’re escaping. they’re getting out. ]
S-shiro?
[ he can’t believe how weak his voice sounds, how rusty and disused. When was the last time he’d spoken out loud? zarkon doesn’t need his conversation. The druids keep him gagged when they do their work. he reaches out with his fragile abilities, trying to see if this is real-- if this is a trick, if this is really shiro or some hallucination or a robot or god knows what. ]