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!
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.]
no subject
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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And he wants to come back. He knows he's the only one on the ship -- the only one anywhere -- who can fully understand how the rebellious human mind and the easily-suggestible human body can war against each other when faced with the life of a concubine. Matt's the only one who can guide Lance through it.
He's done well so far, so he trusts himself to reach out, squeeze Lance's hand gently, once.] I'm not a prisoner here. I haven't been tortured or abused or terrorized. I'm...different now, as I'm sure you are. I can do different things, valuable things, and that's kept me and my dad safe.
I don't have anything to be afraid of. And you -- you're so much more valuable and important than I am. So you don't have anything to be afraid of either.
[He falters a little, eyes lowering, pulling back and absently toying with the end of the loose braid his hair is in.] ...I remember it's hard, though. At first. It's hard to accept.
But it's easier if you do. I promise.
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no one has touched him since zarkon's last visit, he realizes, and that had been short-lived: zarkon's hand firm on the nape of his neck, keeping him calm and pliant as he'd been escorted back from the quintessence baths.
that was over two weeks ago. no one had touched him since. hardly anyone had spoken to him since.
his skin tingles where matt's fingers had rested. ]
What are you talking about? You just-- you just said they’ve had you for two years, you were a prisoner--
[ but that’s not the important part. the thing he’s been trying desperately not to notice is right on the edge of his mind, whispering. the soft glow to matt’s face. the way lance can smell him, and he smells like warmth and comfort and some faint essence of home, his mom's kitchen maybe, or laundry soap she used, or the scent of her perfume without actually being any of those things. shiro, talking about the druids and their experiments. zarkon, touching his face gently. the guards that never lay a hand on him, the other galra that follow him with their eyes like they know something he doesn’t. ]
What kind of valuable things.
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The Galra homeworld became mostly uninhabitable around ten thousand years ago. Since that time, the number of females able to produce healthy kits has steadily declined to less that .01% of it's pre-war numbers. Battle mechs can make up a lot of the brute force, but there need to be new generals, commanders, strategists.
So the Druids have...improvised.
[Matt falters a little -- talking numbers and statistics is soothing now as always, but he can only talk around the subject for so long. Unconsciously, his arm moves over his stomach, protectively -- if Lance freaks out, he wants to protect his kits. Lance looks like a flailer.]
...I think you already know what I'm talking about. I think you've known for a while.
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and matt is right. some part of him had already known. it's not a shock, it's a slow crackling touch of cold horror. ]
They… you. [ his voice sounds like it's coming from far away, vague and empty. ]
You're doing that for them. They're using you for that.
[ like an incubator. like an experiment. he thinks, hysterically, of every sci-fi horror movie he's ever seen about aliens terrorizing people to put things in them only to burst out of the bloody wrecks of their bodies.
somewhere far away, he can feel blue’s sudden awareness of his complete terror, coming alive in her hangar, lifting her head and roaring furiously; he can hear an alarm begin to blare in the distance.
he might faint, he thinks blearily. good thing he's already on his ass or his knees would've buckled under him.
then the black paladin is in the lion bond with him, steadying him. it's weak at this distance but the quintessence infusions are changing his sensitivity, making him more receptive. zarkon whispers quiet to him, dismissing his fears and the images in his mind, replacing them with other fleeting pictures. nests and kits and proud mothers, protective sires. feelings of safety, security.
he might still faint, honestly. he can hear how quick his breathing is, and he must be washed unhealthily pale. ]
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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.
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[ 'but we aren't just human anymore.'
it feels like all the air has gone out of the room at that, leaving him gasping in a vacuum. it's true. it's been true ever since a giant alien robot lion purred inside his mind, before he left earth, before he was ever coaxed down, step by step, into a pool of quintessence that lit his blood on fire. whoever he used to be back on earth is gone now; who would recognize him in his paladin armor? who would recognize him with the hungry, aching empty thing they've put between his legs?
the protest he wants to make comes out as a choked off little gasp instead, nearly a sob. matt smells so good, and he's so warm, and he's soft and comforting and right there, and it takes no thought at all to cling right back, deliberately pressing his skinny shivering self against matt's warmth. he can feel the firm mound of matt's pregnant belly against him, dispelling any possible doubt of this all being some fucked up nightmare or hallucination. that's a baby squirming inside matt, or more than one baby, the same fluttering motions he's felt before from a million female relatives, looking radiant and proud of themselves, inviting him to feel the life moving inside.
and he is lonely. he is empty. he wants hands on his skin and warmth wrapped around him, he wants to feel safe and protected and cared for, and there has been no one here to do that for him, like a fledgling pushed out of the nest. he has blue, still pacing uneasily in his mind after his freak out, but the rest of the lions are dark spaces where his pride-mates should be blazing presences. zarkon's attention has already withdrawn, leaving him isolated, and none of the other paladins are here with him like they should be. ]
I want to go home, [ is what his mouth says, but his body curls around matt's like he's trying to cling as close as possible. the beach room is warm and tropical under the false sun but right now lance feels like he's frozen in his thin robes, and all he wants is warm skin. ]
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Lance is warm, he's warm and soft and trembling against Matt's achingly tender chest, and his breath catches in his throat, overwhelmed with the need to comfort, to soothe, to console. He makes a soft, anxious sound, low in his throat, reaches down and cradles Lance's face in both his soft hands, thumbing, then kissing away the tears on his young, terrified face.]
I know, I know, you've been so brave. [He murmurs it, almost purring it, the same tone and cadence he'd use with a frightened kit, coaxing Lance closer to his warm body, soft and vulnerable, smelling of soothing things, milky-sweet and reassuring.] You've been so brave for so, so long, sweetheart, and you don't have to be anymore. Okay? You don't have to keep trying so hard to be strong.
[Matt nuzzles against Lance's cheek, breathing out, almost in awe --] Don't you realize how important you are? How special and precious and beloved? He's waited for you for ten thousand years, Lance. He's longed for you every second. He'd tear the universe apart before he'd let anything happen to you.
[His voice drops again, kissing over the younger human's cheeks, his nose, his forehead, coming to his lips, tasting his innocence and fear and longing for comfort in every hesitant movement. Blood is quicker for bonding, breeding the strongest, but that's not for them. For who and what they are, Matt's tongue teasing open Lance's lips, his hand reaching down to guide one shaky hand to rest on his swollen stomach, feel the soft flutters of life, of the most beautiful, perfect thing in the whole galaxy, murmuring against his mouth --] He wants to make you like this because he loves you.
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[ there’s a lot of alarming shit going on with that speech, a lot of things that make alarm bells go off in the back of lance’s mind as he’s listening-- but he’s not protesting, too caught up in the rush of relief at being handled gently, being together with instead of alone. maybe it’s a result of the druid experiments or maybe it’s a paladin thing that he can’t tolerate being alone anymore, the way he thinks used to be normal. human. before, he would never have had tears sliding silently down his cheeks over someone pulling him into a hug or touching his bare skin, or telling him that he’d been brave during isolation as if that was its own punishment.
before, he wouldn’t have been enveloped in a cloud of scent just by getting close to another person like this-- he can smell, somehow, how far along matt is in his pregnancy, that his milk is coming in, the information populating in lance’s brain from a set of pheromone cues too subtle for him to register consciously. his mind keeps trying to label matt as… something like a sibling, an older, experienced packmate, an experienced mother, the perfect individual to help look after him if he can’t have the other paladins near. it feels completely natural to open his mouth for matt’s tongue and to flatten his palm over matt’s pregnant belly, stroking it lightly through the fabric of the robe.
later he’ll freak out over the prospect of zarkon and him and love, and the implication that zarkon wants to breed him and change his body further. for the moment it’s all he can do to whimper against matt’s mouth, a little overwhelmed but hungry for everything. the words are just words, the touches are real, lighting up his nerves and starting a slow-burning fire in the pit of his stomach. he wants-- he wants to press matt down in the sand, or maybe let matt press him down, even though he’s never done anything like this with another person. he’s made out with other kids his age back at garrison, he knows what to do with a dick (hunk’s, anyway), and he’s spent a lot of time fantasizing about shiro’s fucking tree trunk thighs and magnificent pecs, but he and keith and their furtive handjobs or reciprocal blowies in the dark can’t hold a candle to what he’s prepared to let matt do right now to soothe the needy thing inside him.
T-that’s crazy. [ zarkon, conqueror of the galaxy, waiting for him. lance castillo, the spare pilot that barely scraped by in his entrance exams, as anybody’s special precious beloved anything. he kisses matt harder as if in protest, trembling. ]
I’m not-- any of that, I haven’t been--
[ brave. ]
He just wants my lion, he doesn’t want-- why would he need-- [ and, high and stupid and shrill, ]
I’m too young to get pregnant, my mamá would kill me!
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You're cute. [He says it approvingly, pushing forward, surprising strength hidden under the gentle, soft curves of his reformed body. He's easily able to press Lance onto his back in the sand, kneeling over him, braid sliding over one shoulder, laid bare by a robe that's already coming loose, as if in response to their actions. Matt's skin is silky-soft, freckled and pale and sunkissed somehow, even in the middle of space, and there's a red-hued bite mark where neck and shoulder meet. The tooth marks are too sharp to be humanoid, but they haven't drawn blood, suggesting that their owner was careful, gentle when they used their teeth on Matt.
Shifting so his knees are on either side of Lance's waist, hands on his shoulders, Matt pauses to catch his breath, even that short motion enough to leave him winded. It's more noticeable now that he's completely naked under the robe, which slides open enough in the front to show the soft swell of his chest, rides up on his thighs which are bare and heated, gripping to Lance's hips. He exhales, reaching up and pushing a curl out of his face.] You're so young, but you're so cute.
[Then he's ducking down for another kiss, this one slow, lingering, teeth and tongue coaxing at Lance's lower lip, drawing it into the older boy's mouth to suck at.] Try and tell me you haven't thought about it. [He murmurs this, one hand sliding down to where Lance's stomach is still flat, lean.] Tell me you don't ache for it.
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[ how is he supposed to think about anything when he's being pressed down to the warm sand, straddled, and kissed like this? his hands move like magnets to the round weight of matt's stomach, flattening and stroking in some kind of hindbrain fascination. he can't stop touching, even when he also wants to slide his palm up that tempting inch of bared thigh, or tease open the top of matt's robes. the tiny peeping hints of rose-colored nipples above him are driving him insane, the promise of breasts swollen with milk.
he whimpers into matt's mouth instead, as if that might communicate the roil of competing instincts, alien and familiar. he can feel himself squirming helplessly under matt's weight, enjoying it, lifting his hips in supplication. the hungry thing between his legs aches fiercely and he knows if either of them reached down they'd find the front of lance's thin robe soaked. ]
I don't, [ he pants, lying. ] I don't want anything, they did this to me, it's not me.
[ it's not him cupping and petting matt's distended belly with eager admiration. it's not him arching his back to let his own robes fall open further, it's not him reaching up finally to cup the weight of a milk-swollen breast, stroking his thumb tenderly over the nipple. ]
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Which he will, soon enough, because the thin gauzy fabric is clinging to the inside of Lance's thighs and outlining every perfect Druid-crafted crease and fold of him and Matt's aching to touch, pressing up to rub his bare leg against the slippery-wet cloth of the robe. And then Lance's warm wonderful hands are finally moving inside the open neck of Matt's robe, curious and gentle over his throbbing, heavy tits. He's small, he'll always be small, fitting easily into Lance's long-fingered hands, tiny chips of topaz-amber gems glittering where they're set into the studs he has on each nipple. There are more piercings hidden, where they'll tease and pleasurably torment all those vulnerable soft human parts, but it's the brush of Lance's thumb over the one in Matt's milk-sore breast that sends a pulse of overwhelming need right down his spine.
Shamelessly moaning, Matt's slim thighs grip suddenly around where Lance's leg is caught between them, humping down once, twice, whimpering needily. He knows he's there for a reason, he's there to train and teach and educate, but he also knows that he's been remade and created for a reason, and his body is more sensitive and responsive than it ever was on earth. After all, Galra commanders have enormous cocks, and they require excessive lubrication in order to successfully breed, which is why Matt's been altered to provide that.
And which is why, thighs clamping around Lance's, he's already coming, gushing at the slightest pleasurable touch, slippery and hot and dripping down the insides of his legs, puddling in the sand, the citrus-sweet scent filling the air. Matt whines again, dropping his forehead to the soft, sweat-slick hollow of Lance's throat, trying to catch his breath.]
S-Sorry about that.
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but apparently it's how things work here. he can smell that dripping wetness, familiar-sweet and alien at the same time, and it hits him like a hammer blow that he wants to taste it on his tongue. his thighs tighten around matt's leg without any conscious direction from him, and he jolts at the first sweet curl of pleasure when he rubs himself against soft, soft skin, mimicking matt's own motions.
he forces himself to stop, horrified at his own body. this is insane, he can't-- they can't just do this, even if lance is flushed and panting and wanting so badly it's almost painful. he wants to squeeze matt's breasts gently, wants to tease at the jewelry strung in his nipples (jesus christ, those piercings), he wants to put his mouth everywhere, and this is wrong, this is giving in to what their captors have done to them. ]
Did-- did I--
[ no lance someone else playing with matt's tits set him off like that. he shuts his eyes and forces his hands to dig into the sand at his sides, instead of sliding back over matt, fighting for clarity, but the loss of one sense just makes the scent of sex in the air stronger. ]
You smell so good. [ he swallows hard, dizzy and helpless and visibly beside himself with too many conflicting urges. ] I want-- I wanna--
[ he wants too many things, too many awful things that he shouldn't want, and his hands are already creeping up out of the sand, sliding back over matt's skin and pushing that robe off matt's shoulders, leaving him bare to the waist.
he wasn't prepared for it. small but visibly swollen tits, milk-heavy, strung with flashing jewels. the slenderness of him otherwise, and then the rising swell of his pregnancy, firm and heavy with kittens. lance's thighs are hot and damp already but that sight encourages another little gush of slick and he shifts his hips fitfully, mute, not knowing what to ask for. ]
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Matt can't do the same thing for Lance, can't fulfill him in that way, can't awaken him to his true nature. But he can ease this adjustment, make it good, make it overwhelming and beautiful and blissful. So, reluctantly, he shifts away, untangling his shaky legs from Lance's, slippery skin against soaking fabric. Still panting a little, Matt sits back on his heels, letting Lance get a good look at him, rolling his shoulders back to show off the piercings, the small swell of his chest, flushed dark with his aroused blush. There's a matching piercing in his navel, this one connected to a thin gold chain that disappears under the still-closed lower half of his robe, drawn tight with every shuddering breath, every near-visible squirm and shift of Galra young under his tautly-stretched skin. The way Matt's pressing his slick thighs together, wincing and shivering every time the chain is pulled leaved little doubt as to the location of the jeweled stud it's attached to.
But he manages to focus, eyes wide and bright and dark, the same color as the jewels decorating his body. He reaches out, slowly, takes Lance's hands, guides them back up over his body, encouraging.] You can touch me. I want you to touch me.
[He pauses, hands over Lance's, leading them to rest on the arch of his waist, so small Sendak can almost encircle it with one hand, his hips, wide and full under the clinging robe, every smooth curve speaking of fertility, breeding capability. He bites at his lower lip, eyes blazing on Lance's still-teary face.] Do you want me to touch you?
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I-- just you. Just let me touch you. [ he's afraid of his reaction, if he lets matt put a hand between his legs. he's afraid it'll feel so good he won't notice something he's not ready for. ]
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