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!
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
[ '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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
[ 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!
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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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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.
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[ It’s an instant response, his mouth running on autopilot, and it’s so clearly a lie that Lance flushes before he’s even finished saying it. He’s literally clutching at the front of his robe like a scandalized woman would clutch her pearls.
Also the hair touching should be weird. He knows it should definitely be raising some alarm bells, stranger danger and all that, it shouldn’t be a comforting gesture from a complete stranger who is obviously and clearly brainwashed by the enemy, who is obviously and clearly here to persuade Lance that captivity is awesome, that getting pregnant by his captors is a good thing.
But it is comforting. He’s scared, and he hates that he’s scared, and he hates that his fear is so obvious that it would drive a stranger to offer comfort, and he’s disgustingly grateful for it, too. It’s like Zarkon being able to pick things out of his head and comprehend his needs before lance has to humiliate himself asking for anything. He’s never had to tell anyone that he was cold, or hungry, or that he was so scared he might fall down, that the quintessence infusions sometimes make him feel sick and dizzy. It’s all… understood.
He doesn’t know if that’s a Galra thing or a Paladin thing or a human captive thing. He just leans into the touch helplessly, his heart still beating hummingbird-fast, closing his eyes briefly. He’s so sickeningly grateful that he doesn’t have to protest harder against being touched, that he doesn’t have to explain himself. Matt’s just going to accept his word.
Of course his eyes fly wide open when Matt moves his hands, and oh no, ohhh no, he is not old enough to be touching that. He is definitely not old enough to be putting his hands on that chain, except his brain is literally on fire with curiosity, gently running his fingers over the fine, delicate length of the chain without exerting pressure-- not yet. He just wants to see. He sits up from the sand and comes forward on his knees a little, shaky but glad not to have someone over him, implying dominance. Matt isn’t a dominating figure, exactly, but he’s… intense. Lance’s fingers on his skin are featherlight, curious and tracing across his chest, toying oh so carefully with the little glittering nipple piercing. ]
They gave you these? The Galra?
no subject
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.
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[ thaaaat is a whole bunch of crazy talk and lance will be very concerned by it later, when he isn’t getting overwhelmed by the look of dazed pleasure on matt’s face and the way his body practically sings with it. the rational part of his brain that is very, very small right now is still screaming at him, but lance spreads both hands over the firm mound of matt’s belly and leans in and kisses him clumsily, maybe a little frantically, caving to some weird fucked up impulse to offer comfort. he licks into matt's mouth with a sort of nervous aggression, waiting to be pushed away at any second but greedy for whatever he can take.
and he can't stop from touching, even if he's not supposed to-- if he can't touch the chain, he has to rub and stroke matt's taut skin instead, helplessly fascinated by the ripples of movement he can feel under his palms. ]
Was-- the chain-- loose before? [ he pants into matt's mouth, smearing the words against his skin. an 'entertaining reaction.' he can't tell himself if he's angry or disgusted or confused or so turned on he might die, or all of those at once.
shiro nearly died for this. pidge would kill herself to rescue her brother, and this is what he's been doing-- this is what he is now, whimpering under lance's fingertips.
this is what is waiting for lance. ]
Did it get tighter, the bigger you got, pulling at you?
no subject
The touch over his stomach isn't helping much either. Matt is small, slender and delicate-boned, and the effect of his pregnancy is startling, even barely halfway through -- his small frame straining to bear the weight of the kits he carries, the squirms and movement almost visible in the bulge of his belly. Lance's hands roam freely there, if nowhere else, and Matt's panting for breath, every inhale and exhale tugging at the chain, near-torturous.
All his squirming and shifting has the robe opening wider, showing that the chain is flush with the lower curve of his belly, disappearing between the slender V of his hips, the tops of his thighs revealed, quivering and shining slickly with how aroused he is. Matt shifts backwards, propping himself up on his hands, breath heaving out of him now, his small flushed tits bouncing with the movement. It'd be so easy for Lance to pull away that last bit of cloth, to leave him completely naked, to see where that tormenting chain ends, to watch Matt come just from the piercings tugging mercilessly on each other.
He manages to nod, hair loose from the braid, sticking to his sweat-damp forehead and neck in messy coils.] I-It was...I barely noticed it before, but...god, I've never had this many, I-I've never been so full, I don't know how much longer I can stand it...
[He licks his lips, looks up hopefully at Lance, voice hoarse.] I-I...I want it all the time now. It...hurts, not to be touched, doesn't it? You know, d-don't you? It aches.
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[ lance has to kiss him again just to make him be quiet, not wanting to hear the words that ricochet inside him like a bullet in a metal room.
he could argue and say he’s not, he’s not like matt, he’s not wet and needy and desperate for touch, he’s not guiltily imagining how it would feel to see his stomach grow huge and full like matt’s, life squirming under his fingertips. he could say that, and he’d be lying, and matt knows it. it’s telegraphed in every shiver of lance’s skin, every shift in his scent.
he lies anyway. he presses matt down to the warm, soft sand in a spasm of fear-driven aggression, leaning down over him and sealing their mouths together like he can change the truth if he just keeps matt’s mouth occupied. ]
I’m not-- like you.
[ he pants it out between angry kisses, sliding his hand down helplessly to pull open the rest of matt’s robe. his fingers are trembling, adrenaline rolling through him. ]
I’m-- you don’t know-- you don’t know anything about me--
[ except then he’s staring at the reality of it, the thing between matt’s legs that is driving him to this, the thing the galra made for him. it’s slick and swollen and glistening-wet, a hungry little fluttering mouth. if he still had a cock it would be wet and warm and clinging around him and he moans like a wounded animal, need and fear cramping inside him, and instead of recoiling he cups the whole of it in his palm, wet searing warmth and a hot piece of metal from the stud pressing into his skin.
his free hand dives traitorously between his own thighs, rubbing and pressing over the top of the fabric in a horrible mirror of how he’s touching matt. he thumbs the stud in matt’s swollen clit back and forth mercilessly, wanting to watch him fall apart the way lance is falling apart, panting harshly and mouth open, eyes hot and stinging, horrified at himself and how fucking good it feels as his own fingers grope blindly between his legs. ]
T-touch me, [ he begs finally, another round of tears spilling down his cheeks. ] Show me how, I don’t, I need it, show me how, please.
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And he is, and he does, he arches up, naked and unashamed and wanting, spreading his legs and rolling his hips, trying to coax Lance's rough fingertips inside his dripping cunt. But the plea is sharp and frightened and plaintive, and even dizzy with pleasure, Matt can't deny it. He makes a soft, wordless, soothing sound, reaches up to cradle one soft hand against Lance's tear-streaked cheek, all gentleness.
His free hand moves down to the one currently buried between Lance's slim thighs, covering the desperately pumping fingers, slowing them.] Not so hard. Be gentler, go slow.
[Matt shifts a little, still lying on his back, harmless and submissive, all soft rounded curves and soft golden eyes, his whole attention focused on gently guiding Lance's hand, showing him how to slide two fingers inside himself, how to curl and work them slow and rhythmically, how to tease his own clit with his thumb. Lance is slightly different, the subtle intricacies of his body fascinating to discover, something good and almost relaxing about helping the boy discover them.
Smiling gently, shifting to prop himself up on one elbow, Matt coaxes Lance's hand to move quicker, wanting to watch him ride their entwined fingers, knowing he'll be more relaxed, more willing to learn after he's come for the first time.] See? Feels good, right? Go ahead, move your hips more, honey. Take it deeper. Show me you can.
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dicks are easy. dicks are simple. part of him wants to lift matt's trembling thighs and drape them around his waist, push his hips into that warm space and maybe drag the head of his cock over those quivering wet folds, but that's impossible for him now, he doesn't have that anymore.
the faintly hysterical thought occurs that he'll have to wear a strapon if he ever wants to do that again.
fortunately his own frenzied groping is distracting, he's afraid to do anything except touch the outside, but everything is so slick and hot and alien that he slips a finger in without meaning to and then jerks away at the alien wrongness of it, scared and gasping.
matt's hands anchor him. he tries to slow his breathing down, tries to follow instructions and be good, an impulse he's never had before. under matt's direction he penetrates himself, squirming and uncomfortable but slowly learning to tolerate it with little distracting strokes over his clit. he can't bear to look down at himself, his robe basically falling off his shoulders and pooling at his hips, but everything down there is hot and slick and aching. the stretch of having something inside him starts to feel normal, feel good, and he clenches down experimentally, hips twitching. he'd thought he wouldn't want that, he'd thought he just wanted his clit rubbed like a very small, very sensitive cock, but something in him demands the addition of penetration. ]
It does, [ he stutters, his addled brain responding to matt's rhetorical question. ]
It-- it feels good, it feels really good, nn-- oh god, oh god, mmm...
[ he pushes his hips forward on command, learning how to move them, horrified and aroused by the soft wet noises his own fingers are making, and his first orgasm sneaks up on him by surprise. he shouts, startled, yanking his hand away, hips bucking as it pulses through him like a flame, leaving him limp and gasping in the aftermath, his sex fluttering and winking, nowhere near satisfied. ]
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He also remembers that feeling of craving more, of desperately trying to ride his own fingers, as many as he could stand, as deep and hard as he could manage, sobbing and gushing wet and helpless over his own hand, chasing that fullness, that fulfillment. It wouldn't come with just the two of them, that much he knows.
But for now the chafe of sand on his back has gone from comfortable to annoying, and there's warm water just there (too warm, there's an odd overprotective concern about what the human concubines can stand, something Thace once explained, brow furrowed, as you have no fur, you must be so cold all the time). So Matt carefully wiggles free, ignoring the throb between his own legs, that ever-present hunger for more. He can wait.]
Come here? [It's not a command, more enticing, just this side of seductive. Matt's shrugged off his robe, waded in up to his waist, shivering contentedly at the lukewarm water washing away the now-unpleasant stickiness of his inner thighs. It's a bit of a shock to where he's aching and wanting, but this way Lance won't be able to see if he ever-so-casually slides his hand between his legs, soothes some of that hunger himself.
...not that he's subtle. He's ducked down so the water's up to his shoulders, where his hair is falling loose and tangled from the braid, floating around him, clinging in soft rings to the subtle swell of his breasts when he straightens up a little and beckons, smiling.] You look like you need to cool down a little.
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[ probably he ought to be more freaked out at this point. probably he ought to be finding it strange that he can come and then crave more, a single, easy orgasm no longer the finish line at the end of a wank session. even the cascading feeling is different, something fundamentally changed from how he used to experience sex.
he should be tired, and he's not. he should want to wait out the over-sensitivity but all he can think of is being touched again, whimpering at how strange it feels to crave something he's never had before. matt's fingers, his fingers, moving inside him and touching and stroking and making his nervous system light up in ways it's not meant to, that it never has before. his flushed cheeks are wet with tears he hadn't even noticed shedding.
it feels like the first nail in the coffin that's been built around him. it feels good. it feels so, so good, and he wants more, a hungry chasm opened up inside him that maybe, maybe he could have ignored before, if he'd never touched himself, if he'd never opened his legs, but now he can't ignore it. the thing between his legs throbs and he has to fight the urge to stroke a finger down there, rub himself, go right into the next round.
matt, apparently, sees no reason to fight that impulse. matt beckons him into the water, looking gorgeous with his skin shining wetly and his piercings glinting under the false sun and the waves lapping around his swollen stomach and his wrist disappearing under the water, leaving no doubt as to where his hand is. the sight of his breasts and belly look almost natural now. it's the way he should look, some tiny part of lance decides traitorously. lovely and happy and pregnant, and lance gathers his feet under himself shakily, abandoning his robe to step out into the replicated surf. letting matt look at him, if he wants; how unattractively skinny and angular lance's body is in comparison. there's no softness in the sharp juts of lance's hips and elbows and ankles and he'd never really let himself dwell on it before, that it makes him look unfinished, juvenile.
he shivers at the first touch of the water to his sex and wades over to matt, that awful fire of want still burning in the pit of his stomach, leeching into his voice. he sounds greedy. he sounds like someone else, eager and lusting, his fingers drifting unconsciously to matt's belly under the water to stroke and pet it. ]
Can we do it again?
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(Matt doesn't talk about those, doesn't share those brief glimmers of happiness with anyone. Let everyone assume he's thoroughly brainwashed. Let everyone think there aren't any moments of downtime, of being exhausted and sated and curled up close to an alien body, where he should by rights be afraid and uncomfortable, but is instead happy and content.)
At any rate, the question is so shameless, so wonderfully earth-like -- never enough time, never a wasted moment, just rushing rushing rushing to the next interesting thing, chasing that next exciting moment or pleasurable high. Matt wonders sometimes how much of this insatiable longing is engineered by the Druids and how much of it was always present, hidden inside human genes. So he laughs, drops his forehead to Lance's shoulder, reaches out under the water to thumb the sharp angles of his hipbones, his giggles melting into a soft, almost-sympathetic sound. Logically he knows Lance is perfectly fit, but he seems too bony, too angular, hard and bony where he should be soft, full, ripe curves. Like Matt is.
A quiet hum, and Matt's nuzzling up the line of Lance's neck, letting the water lift them both, take some of the heavy weight he's carrying around. The gentle rhythmic motion of the waves soothes both him and the kits shifting around under his skin, calms the restless movements, lulls them to only occasional flutters under Lance's curious rough hands. Matt wonders vaguely if the repeated rocking is similar enough to the steady rhythm of one of his masters idly spending an hour or two with him, of the long, slow, lazy motion they take when they have time to waste, time to make him squirm, make him beg. It's more arousing than it should be to think the Galra young inside him are so used to feeling him being fucked that it's soothing to them.
He shakes the thoughts away, pulls Lance a little closer, softening the angles of the boy's body with his own, warm and beaded with water, the metal of the chain he wears cool and dripping as he rises up to claim Lance's mouth with his.]
We can. [Another kiss, this one slower, firmer, reclaiming some of the control he relinquished back on the shore. Craving a traditionally submissive role hasn't made Matt any less sure of himself, it seems. He's still got one hand at Lance's waist, finding that he misses the customary jewelry all other concubines wear. It'd give him something to grab onto, at least.
His free hand is practiced, fingers sliding down to coax Lance's thighs apart, gentle without being hesitant as he ghosts fingertips over the swollen, parted flesh, cupping his palm and teasing penetration without actually giving it. Matt's eyes are still closed when he says, quietly:] You can pretend I'm someone else, if you'd like.
[It's not bitter, and there's something very like his younger sibling in the set of his mouth, the way he glances up through long eyelashes at Lance. It's a gift, an offer of escape, however temporary. It's realistic.
And then, with a trace of that previous teasing, Matt dips his index finger back inside, where Lance is hot and tight, tangibly throbbing from his last orgasm, where he's slick enough to invite Matt in deep, deeper than before. Voice going softer, knowing, almost wicked:] My hands aren't quite big enough to be Shiro's, but...you can imagine, right?
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