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!

[ 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.

[ 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?

[It's getting more and more difficult for Matt to keep from reaching out, from grabbing at Lance. He's gotten so close, he's breathing not-so-innocent questions into overheated freckled skin, he smells like curiosity and youth and longing and Matt sways forward, eyes half-closed, breath coming harsh and ragged.

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.

[ 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.

[And realistically Matt should be falling apart, should be rendered absolutely incoherent from the clumsy, desperate, rough way Lance is moving his hand over the most sensitive, aching parts of him. He should be completely useless, out of his mind with pleasure, his whole world narrowing down to how the younger human's thumb rubs over his pierced clit again and again, making Matt's soaked thighs jerk and tremble helplessly.

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.

[ he's too scared to try and move his fingers inside matt, obsessing instead on the external-- and easily located-- jeweled piercing, feverishly wondering what it feels like, if it would feel good on his own body. the way matt writhes and arches from the stimulation, the answer is probably 'yes.' he can see the way matt's sex responds to pleasure, shining wetly and so flushed, swollen, the outer lips almost pulling apart on their own. it's beautiful and terrifying, and it doesn't help that he's never seen one before in person.

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. ]

[There's a quiet, barely audible laugh at Lance's startled reaction, like Matt literally didn't just come from the barest touch. But he doesn't tease aloud, just slips his fingers free, slower, stroking at the inside of Lance's thigh, gentle and soothing, murmuring quiet nonsense, remembering how intense and overwhelming that first climax is with new anatomy, new sensations.

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.

[ 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?

[In his most normal, human gesture yet, Lance's question prompts Matt to burst into laughter -- genuine laughter, not the least bit constrained by manners or propriety. It's the kind of loud, borderline-obnoxious laughter that wouldn't quite fit anywhere else, save for secret, private moments.

(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?

[ the rhythm of the surf is calming for lance as well, something inside him soothed by the gentle motion of the water. he'd never really put much stock in allura's brief explanations of the lions and their elemental affinities before, mostly because he's always liked the beach and the ocean, always felt comforted by the sound of waves. his body is still throbbing urgently with need but he feels inexplicably safer in the water, like nothing could happen to him here that might happen to him on dry land. matt's laughter doesn't feel mocking or his kisses too aggressive, they just seem natural, and lance threads his arms around matt's shoulders, trusting. matt's skin is silky wet and warm under his fingertips and he explores like he's never felt anything like it, entranced. ]

You're so warm, [ he murmurs inanely, feeling the wet chain clinging to matt's swollen belly rub against him as they press together.

he likes being kissed, he's realizing. he likes being touched, he even likes being teased between his legs, and he can't remember why he hasn't done this with all of the other paladins-- why had they been wasting time trying to bond mentally without bonding physically? it seems entirely obvious that this is what's been missing, trading eager kisses and eager touches with another warm, willing body, exploring each other, making each other feel good. it could be keith here with him in the water, heavy-lidded and dripping, or hunk, and lance groans at the thought of hunk's fat cock teasing between his legs.

for a second he does want them there. his teammates, his friends, his found-family, so that he could show them how good it feels, so that he could share this with them. it's a dangerous, fleeting thought, there and gone, lost when matt cups him and lance pushes his hips forward on instinct, trying to rub himself against matt's fingers. ]

S-shiro wouldn't-- Shiro doesn't want--

[ but he rocks forward on matt's finger to push him deeper, a breathless noise escaping. it honestly doesn't occur to him that maybe he shouldn't be discussing shiro like this, that it's dangerous. ]

He's so fucking-- gentle, holds back in training, he'd never let himself, he could have any of us, he could have all of us--

[ he breaks off on a moan, tossing his head, clearly caught up in the mental image. ]

[Matt hums quietly at Lance's initial protests, ducking forward to kiss at the side of his neck, slow and gentle, careful not to leave any marks. He's more than a little relieved that the younger boy has gotten over his initial skittishness, has opened his mind to the idea that being close and affectionate can be good. Because it is, it's soothing and nice, half-floating in the almost-warm water, nuzzling over Lance's soft skin, loving the distinct human taste of it, salty and sunkissed and perfect.

He feels perfect too, created and shaped with the utmost care to respond so sweetly to Matt's fingers inside him, no longer hesitant but opening eagerly to the skillful, practiced penetration. Matt's been with other concubines, and most anatomy is universal -- it makes it easier to breed, to carry and deliver without complications -- but there are things that are uniquely human, uniquely Lance. He's tighter than Matt, he alternately tenses and bucks his narrow hips for more, his body is tangibly hungry for more, and Matt murmurs his wordless apology for not being able to give it. There are some things he's no longer able to provide.

But he knows -- knew, knew very well -- Shiro, and though the memories are laced with heartache, they're sweet all the same. So Matt moves his other arm to lace around Lance's slim waist, pulls him closer, bites where his neck and shoulder meet and murmurs, all while thrusting two, then three fingers inside him:] I remember. I remember that control. That noble self-sacrificing leadership.

[He pauses, thumbs at Lance's clit, harder than before, relentless, whispering:] I remember what he got like when he let go of it. It's just like you imagine, Lance -- his hands, his mouth. He could take you to pieces with them. All without even taking his clothes off.

Oh god.

[ that’s it, that’s all it takes, matt’s words painting a filthy picture that’s already too close to some of lance’s dirtier fantasies, and he clenches hard on the fingers stretching him, clinging to matt’s shoulders as that feeling takes control of his body again and orgasm crashes over him in a wave. his overactive imagination puts shiro there in the water with him, with them, broad and muscular and dark-eyed, intense, and even the awful realization that shiro and matt were lost lovers isn’t enough to keep lance from coming again, moaning brokenly and writhing his hips when matt finds and strokes his swollen, throbbing clit.

he’s gasping and sensitive when it’s done, shivering against matt, nuzzling him mindlessly. the wash of the water carries away any nasty, sticky residue, so he’s neither overheated nor unpleasantly damp with his own come, although he can feel how much natural slick he’s producing from the way matt’s fingers glide so easily inside him. ]

I want him, [ he whispers blindly, confessing. it feels good to confess. ] I want him here, I want him to come here and be with us.

[ his clumsy, groping fingers find the chain clinging to matt’s swollen belly and he plucks at it, gentle but relentless, following it like a guide rope down between matt’s thighs. ]

[Matt murmurs sweet nonsense against Lance's ear, one arm still around him, stroking up and down his shivering back, tracing the line of his spine, waiting for the aftershocks to abate before he moves his fingers again. He knows from experience that Lance can go again, that every climax will make him want more, crave it on a bone-deep, instinctive level, until he's mindlessly helpless at the mercy of his own desire. Perhaps it's wrong, morally, objectively, to get him addicted like this.

Then again, Matt gave up morals a while back. Instead he presses closer, letting Lance feel the curve of his body, the heaviness of his stomach, his chest, the warmth and softness that beckons for touching, exploration. He thumbs over Lance's clit again, softer, a whisper of sensation to undercut his words:] You've wanted him for a while, haven't you? I know, I remember how it is. Have you imagined being underneath him, in his lap, riding him? Have you imagined those hands on you, that voice in your ear?

[He presses a line of kisses along Lance's heated skin, down his neck to his shoulder, starts moving his hand again, wanting to make this sweet, helpless boy come at his touch again.] Have you imagined him fucking you, Lance?

[ lance shudders and trembles under matt's attentions, hips rolling into it, already learning the right rhythm and force to fuck himself on someone else's fingers. the idea that he can come again, and again, and again after that has already started to normalize, he wants it, all he wants is to drown in pleasure until he's too tired to move. the fact that he's a captive, that matt's a captive, that they're both locked away inside the heart of an imperial fleet doesn't even matter right now, and already the skittishness he'd shown when matt first arrived is fading to a faint memory. it was ridiculous to be afraid of this. this is what he is, this is what he's built for, and there's no point in denying how being touched makes him feel. ]

Yes, yes, [ he moans, tilting his head to give matt access, loving the way his warm mouth feels. ]

I have, I do, I want him to fuck me, I want to sit on his cock, please, please.

[ the feel of matt's heavy belly pressed against him is driving him crazy, the tempting weight of his soft, milk-heavy breasts and the flashing little studs in their nipples right there to be teased and fondled. he cups one, squeezing, his other hand still fumbling between matt's thighs, trying to reciprocate what matt is doing to him. ]

[Lance is inexpert, all eager fumbling and shaky hands, but the fingers squeezing at Matt's tender, aching breast makes him whine, high and pleading, crooking his fingers just so, wanting to feel Lance shudder apart again. The hand between his legs doesn't matter as much, not when he can part his thighs and shift forward, prompting and guiding silently, even slicker than Lance is, coaxing his trembling fingers where they need to be.

He's absolutely shameless, arching his back, moaning softly whenever Lance's rough fingers stray too close to the tiny jeweled studs, whimpering sweetly:] God, god, yes, play with them, play with my tits, sweetheart, go ahead.

[Another shaky gasp, and he slows his movements suddenly, thumbing teasingly over where Lance is soaked and swollen and sore, not nearly enough. There's a teasing note in his voice when he whispers, leaning in, wet tangled hair falling over his shoulder:] Say it. Tell me where you want it, where you want Shiro's cock. Tell me.

I-- I--!

[ he comes again instead of saying it, riding matt's fingers and wailing, pushed over by the thought of having shiro's heavy cock inside him. he kneads matt's breast fitfully and then lowers his head in a spasm of unthinking impulse to kiss and suck the soft flesh around the stud, mounding matt's tit, and finally closing his lips over the pierced nipple to nurse. bending himself down like that means putting a little distance between them, matt's fingers sliding free with a tangible squelch. the absence is awful and immediate but he keeps his own trembling fingers inside matt, rubbing and searching, concentrating on him. ]

I want it inside me, [ he whispers, hiding his face against matt's lovely tits, licking the sea spray off them. ]

I want his cock in me, I want it in my-- my p-pussy.

[It isn't easy to say -- Matt remembers, he remembers with a regret and a sorrow that anyone else has to struggle through that adjustment, that Lance feels he has to fight against what his whole body clearly wants. So he rewards it immediately, stroking his fingers through the younger boy's soft, damp hair, gentle on the nape of his neck, petting at the ridge of his spine the way he would for a restless, fretful kit. The feeling of that hot, wet mouth against the pierced nub of his breast makes him shiver luxuriously, rocking his hips gently, cunt gripping tight around Lance's long fingers.

Despite the cool water, Matt's shoulders are slippery with sweat, heart thudding quick and eager in his chest, pulse thrumming through his body and prompting the kits inside his body to shift restlessly, tangible where he's pressed close to Lance's shivering body. Another soft moan and the pressure in his sore breast eases slightly under the searching tongue and lips, the jeweled stud beaded suddenly with milk. A gentle laugh, relieved.]

See? Not so hard, right? [He smooths the tangled wet hair from Lance's face, half indulgent affection at the surrender, half barely-repressed longing to see someone -- Shiro, Zarkon, a nameless Galra stud -- give Lance what he so desperately needs. Matt's hands and mouth are well-practiced, but this sweet, vulnerable newcomer needs more, needs to be bred the way his body is craving.] You're okay. It's okay.

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