dappered | Voltron open rp post

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!

[Matt just barely resists the temptation to linger, to look around at the elegant decorations, the lavish accommodations afforded to Zarkon's favorites. It's simple curiosity, not envy -- because deep down he doesn't think he could personally handle being the sole target of that probing, all-knowing mind, those ageless eyes constantly fixed on him, the protective, possessive, completely all-encompassing attention. Humans can only handle so much, after all.

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.]

[ part of lance had been hoping that whoeveritwas would leave after seeing the main room empty-- that they'd only come to deliver something and it would be sitting on the desk for him to discover later. the guards don't come and make conversation with him, after all, and he doesn't speak enough galran to try. he shouldn't even want to try. maybe it's an isolation tactic to make him more amenable to learning the language or cooperating. lance isn't used to being alone, but he also doesn't want to make nice with his captors. shiro hadn't made nice with the galra. he bet shiro was defiant the whole time, never cooperating, refusing the food they put out for him, refusing to let them break his spirit.

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?

[Matt smiles, and it's inherently disarming – soft, like the rest of him, gentle in a way that has a lot to do with hormones and pheromones and biological things that he doesn't fully understand yet. It has a particular effect on the Galra, he's noted, more acute when he's in later stages of pregnancy – I'm not a threat, I'm not dangerous, I'm something to be gentle with. He doesn't yet know how it'll effect Lance. He hasn't been around other concubines enough to experiment.

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.

[ 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?

[Matt is quietly grateful that he'd been prepared for this in some capacity -- Zarkon had communicated to Thace, who'd passed it along to his anxious little bedmate that two of the five Paladins were familiar ones. He'd had time to adjust to the fact of Shiro and Katie being among the ranks of Voltron, had fretted and worried and cried over it (briefly, quietly, with only the empty bed to hear him) and had, eventually, made his peace. After all, Sam Holt was safe and well-cared-for and oblivious of his eldest's new position. Zarkon's long-coveted Paladins would doubtless have similar safety and comfort afforded them, albeit minus the obliviousness about Matt's frequent usage.

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.]

[ 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.

[Almost immediately, Matt's calm, serve expression turns to a frown of concern. Sorry? For what? He hasn't felt abandoned or forgotten -- he's been too busy, really, to think very hard about Earth. Perhaps there should be resentment or anger, but instead all he feels is empathy. He'd forgotten how hard this transition is, from fearful captive to contented, fulfilled broodmate, secure and happy in his role.

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.

[ that's. not the reaction he'd been expecting. it's not the reaction he would've expected out of pidge, who is his only frame of reference for how to deal with a holt. the confident expression he’d been trying to hold wavers and falters, melting into uncertainty.

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. ]

[Matt's always been the calmer, more sedate Holt sibling. He got all the poise and diplomacy, his younger sibling got the pure salty rage. But that comes in handy now, because a calm attitude coupled with the constant, nearly-scentless soothing hormones he's exuding from every inch is probably the only way to keep Lance from freaking out. He doesn't think he'll be invited back if he freaks Lance out.

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.

[ lance just keeps staring at him. Everything matt’s saying is in english, but his brain is refusing to process the words. he flinches slightly from the touch to his hand, not pulling back from it, just reacting to how strangely emphasized it feels.

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.

Edited 2016-11-16 04:47 (UTC)

[Oh boy, here it comes.]

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.

[ he makes himself look. it's not a trick of the light, it's not a weird effect of the shapeless robes. matt is as slender as keith, shoulders and arms and fine-boned hands, except for the distended shape of his stomach and maybe, maybe, the faint swell of his chest.

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. ]

Edited 2016-11-16 21:47 (UTC)

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

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

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

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

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

[ '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. ]

[Matt winces a little when Lance suddenly clings to him, partially out of empathy and heartache -- he's not a Paladin, he's not Zarkon, but he's tasted enough quintessence for the younger human's fear and grief to resonate almost tangibly along his veins -- and partially because he's so oversensitive right now, always is this far along in a pregnancy. It's not as noticeable with the alternating soft-coarse fur of his two masters, which tickles and rubs his soft skin raw, but isn't quite as overwhelming.

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.

[ 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!

[Matt can't help it -- he laughs, some of the feverish, worshipful, slightly-brainwashed spell broken in the face of Lance's awkward, achingly teenage-appropriate reaction. It's a bright sound, genuine and bursting out of his chest so suddenly that there's a cacophony of fluttering kicks against where Lance's hand rests on his stomach.]

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.

I-- mm--

[ 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. ]

[Matt manages a laugh, breathless and indulgent and comforting, hand moving back up to stroke at the side of Lance's cheek, thumbing away his tears, kissing him again and again, little quick presses of lips to lips.] Okay, okay, sweetheart, whatever you say. [He murmurs it, shifting down a little -- Lance is taller than he is, even altered like this, and Matt regrettably has to pull away from his cute babbling mouth in order to move like he wants to. But once down, he can work his thigh in between Lance's legs, casually, giving the younger boy something to grind against, if he so chooses to.

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.

[ holy shit. holy shit holy shit holy shit, that was-- exactly what it felt like, that was matt coming for him, wet around his thigh, and just from the slightest touch to his nipple. even lance knows that's not how sex works, and he stares at matt with a stunned expression.

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. ]

Shh, shh, shhh, it's okay. [Matt's still breathless, a tiny part of him exhausted and ready to curl up and rest, a much much bigger part aware that this is just the beginning. He'd lost count of how many times he came the first time Thace took him, in a big ornate bed much like the one in the adjoining room, but he knows it was much more than the average human could. It left him drained, spent, the last few climaxes wrung out almost painfully, making him sob aloud while strangely gentle furred claws stroked over his still-flat stomach and murmured of new life, new purpose.

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?

[ lance's eyes go absolutely saucer-huge at the sight of the little gold chain and he whimpers involuntarily, his turn to press his thighs together against the hot spark of heat in his belly and the accompanying little spurt of slick. his hands at matt's waist twitch, wanting to investigate, wanting to get back on matt's swollen tits or his full, round stomach, but he recoils at the offer to be touched himself, tugging his robe more tightly closed even as his instincts shriek at him to say yes. ]

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. ]

[God, he smells amazing, and Matt is trying so hard to be good. Two years of thoughtless impulse-driven hedonism meeting one awkward, blushing, probably-not-virginal-but-damn-near-close teenager's stubborn embarrassment. Like a freight train into a brick wall.

Still, it's a brick wall that he's been solemnly tasked with caring for, introducing gently to this exciting new world (key word: gently), so with only a minor whine of frustration, Matt nods. He doesn't really need to force the smile, it's genuine, indulgent if exasperated, one hand gently smoothing back Lance's hair. It's a nearly maternal gesture, which just adds another layer of weird fucked-up-ness to the whole thing, likely.] All right. It's all right, you don't need to be scared. There's nothing to be scared of.

[There's everything to be scared of, but Matt's gently disentangling himself, sitting back on his heels with a shaky exhale, carefully pulling Lance's hands free from where they're clutched in the fabric of the robe and guiding them back to freckled, overheated skin -- one to Matt's chest again, one to the chain attached to the piercing. Despite everything, he's almost laughing, visibly, tangibly enjoying himself, encouraging and so damn happy.] Go ahead. I'm not going to break, I promise.

I’m not scared.

[ 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?

[The response is so quick, so youthfully defensive that it actually makes Matt wince a little, though he covers it carefully. There's that sudden ache of sympathy, tenderness -- Lance is so very human that it's almost physically painful to think about it, how young and headstrong and stubborn he is when compared to the enormous, complex world he's been thrust headfirst into.

But that's why Matt's here, right? To make it easier. And if that means sitting back on his heels -- properly, back straight, shoulders squared, toes pressing into the sand, the position automatic by now, the line of his body arranged to best show off his most alluring attributes -- and letting Lance touch, then that's what he'll do. He even sets both hands on his knees, deferentially, no longer the aggressor. Lance doesn't know, he can't know, not yet, but Matt's assuming the submissive waiting position of an obedient pleasure slave, shivering but not pulling away from the touches over his heated skin.]

Yes. [He almost teases, almost says "I didn't get them on Earth, did I?", but that type of joking might not go over well. So Matt just breathes out slowly, trembling under the soft fingers tracing over the piercings, his own hands curling into fists as he rides out the dizzying wave of pleasure each touch gives him.] M-My idea, though. Humans have...different erogenous zones...

[There's another shaky breath, more of a gasp, and Matt squirms a little, unconsciously rounding his shoulders, pushing his peaked, aroused nipples into Lance's roughened fingertips. His thighs are soaked, pressed together, and he wants so desperately to shift and get friction, to come again.

He makes himself wait, gulping in air, eyes fluttering closed, words slurring a little.] I-I thought that...with c-concentrated pressure and weight and perpetual stimuli...a-and if connected for easier access they might...produce an entert-taining reaction--

[Matt shifts too abruptly, the chain draws tight over his swollen belly, a taut golden line disappearing under his robe and he lets out a moaning gasp, hands flying up to cover Lance's, to halt them, because he can't take it, the tiny stud in his throbbing clit tugged with every one of the younger boy's clumsy, searching touches.] --just. Just a. A moment.

oh lance wow

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