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Lance didn't notice the itch, at first. His staring at Allura wasn't...uncommon. She was beautiful beyond earthly descriptions (literally!), and, flirtations aside, she was possibly one of the most gorgeous people he had ever set his eyes on. So, when he found himself staring at her longer than usual, eyes running along the curves of her curls and thick waves of her hair, he didn't register it. He let his suddenly restless fingers dance across his legs and any near surface, and he didn't think too hard about the weirdly familiar desire to be weaving, twisting, pinning, something.
Though, it was Allura who noticed for him, unfortunately. With a tired voice and a strain in her eyes, she told Lance to exhaust himself somewhere else before he could even so much as strike up a conversation with her.
"Can I braid your hair?" He blurted in response to his dismissal, and her eyes narrowed.
She turned away with a soft shake of her head. "Are you leaving alone the 'pick up lines' as you call them, finally?"
A voice like her own flooded him with guilt, settling in his stomach like a rock. They were all tired, always tired these days, it seemed, and he was probably never helping with his antics. Awareness of himself being the problem was really the worst part, but...this wasn't about edging into Allura's romantic interest. This time, at least. "No, it's just..." He stopped himself when she sighed again, quietly like she hadn’t meant to and still turned away from him, and he involuntarily stiffened. "Never mind." He was mumbling, "Sorry." And he left, running a hand through his own hair and feeling extremely dissatisfied at the sensation.
He missed his sisters. Both of his youngest ones had made sure he—with his masterfully thin fingers and creativity—could perform as an expert hair stylist before school every morning. That was before the Garrison, let alone before his big adventure in endless space. Endless space with no sisters, or nieces even—Well, there was Pidge, so that wasn't an entirely fair statement, but her hair was too short for too much pampering, and she really seemed to like biting at people who patted it—and no yarn to knit or anything able to satisfy the strange weaving itch.
Times like these, Hunk usually pulled through, but he, too, had no long hair or yarn. It was the perfect stress reliever to pick up while they were both pulling through courses in their first year at the Garrison, and admittedly a little strange for two teenage boys, but their sock and scarf knit trade had become a sort of tradition between them when one or the other or both were needing the sweet sensation of fingers being occupied. Hunk didn't have a sister or anyone really close to have the braiding experience, being an only child, but he brought friendship bracelets as his starting point and together they decided to compromise on learning knitting.
His feet had carried him to the lounge first and foremost, but as soon as he entered he spun around and exited. He could hear behind him a confused and cut off "Lance?" from his fellow right-side paladin, but he wasn't even feeling particularly antagonistic enough to keep Keith company, and his fingers had twitched hard as soon as he'd laid eyes on the mullet. That was not a train of thought that was going to lead anywhere decent. Instead, he intentionally took three turns he knew he wasn't familiar with and allowed himself to get lost. It was his favorite thing to do when particularly troubled by his demons, and provided a good escape in case he was in a certain burst-into-tears kind of mood. Saving space was rough and he figured, if nothing else, that if he wasn't able to provide as much as the other members in their team then he might as well make sure they didn't see him at his weakest.
Once he was sure he was as far as necessary to truly let loose, and nothing around him was familiar, he explored his new surroundings, trying doors and rooting around the first open one he found. Everything was eerily clean, enough to make him wonder whether the castle or Coran was that efficient despite the ten-thousand year deterrent, and most things sealed in panels opened easily at his touch. Be it a trait of becoming the Blue Paladin or what have it, Lance was some kind of glad the castle tended to open up with such ease. He felt trusted. Or something.
The first room was a bedroom, though it was smaller than even the paladin quarters (which were way too small for heroes of the universe, Altea), and it was distinctly plainer looking than even the modern and minimalistic styles of most of Altean decor and architecture. A servant’s quarter, he realized after fishing around in old drawers and finding a plain long dress. He had never even considered the existence of people serving Allura and Coran, both of them seeming so self-sufficient and able on their own. Then again, that could be due to the fact of them only really having themselves, after all.
In the end, the room made him even sadder than he was before. He did, however, find a nice hairbrush that had only two stranger's strands of hair in it, and twirled it in his fidgety hands as he moved on. While he wandered farther down, not wanting to only explore the servant’s wing for too long, he wondered if lice were a thing in space.
Keith was far more suspicious than usual of everyone's actions that day.
Pidge and Shiro worked meticulously with little holographic squares at the dining room table, and had been there since breakfast had ended that morning shooing away anybody who got near. While that was concerning for beyond a variety of reasons for Pidge's involvement alone, Shiro's presence in the blatant conspiring really sealed the suspicion right from the beginning. Hunk had spent all day in the kitchens after making a near light-speed (ha ha, space jokes) trip to a local planet and bringing back a variety of ingredients with no explanation to anyone at all. When Allura entered after him, likely to reprimand for his sudden decision to go on a solo trip without her permission or knowledge, she left the kitchen again with only a soft smile on her face. Concluding the morning, Hunk had even let Coran join him in the prep area, and the sudden cooking instruction could be heard scattered now and again through the walls when nearby.
So, frustrated and feeling bitterly excluded, Keith had retreated to the lounge area. He was perfectly fine with having a day to himself, everyone seeming relaxed if not tired, but when everyone was actively engaging in things without his knowledge, even leisurely activities like cooking or...whatever Pidge and Shiro were doing, it left him...itchy. The training room was usually his first stop when faced with free time, but he wanted to confirm his suspicions of everyone's engagement, and found himself seeking the often questionable attention of Lance, of all people, just to see if it was in his own head or not. Lance was never busy, it seemed. He handled his tasks well and found time to engage with all of them without them even realizing they needed the company most of the time, so Keith was due for an uninvited visit from the blue paladin sooner or later, but something in the air felt off.
Lance wasn't in the lounge area, and Red wasn't alert and feeding him gossip in the back of his mind, so nobody was in the hangers, but it wasn't like his right-sided team member to retreat to his room when there was so much energy going around. Especially when considering, above all, free time brought out the hyperactivity in Lance.
Then, in a "speak to the devil" moment (or however that saying went), the door swept open behind him, and Keith turned in perfect timing to see Lance's retreating figure.
"Lance?" His mouth called before his brain did, because his retreat made no sense. Nor did his lack of a reply. After the door had been closed again for a few moments and Keith had retrained his harsh scowl into a slightly less irritated one, he decided to pursue, only to find the hall completely empty. Lance's legs were way too long.
Well phased, Keith took a patient and focusing breath before stalking off to the training room. So much for deciding to be a little social and inquisitive with his team. Never mind to that.
_____
When Lance had found the dressing room, he stared at the small pedestal in the center of the room in a small daze, knowing he knew what he was looking at but unable to determine what precisely it meant. As his gaze flicked to the mirrors around the expansive room and the shelves and cabinets surrounding, he gave a muted gasp of recognition, digging around with a new vigor.
Most of the cabinets were filled with elegant gowns of all different styles, certainly looking of different origins (for different, alien, diplomatic situations, he figured), but there were a few distinctly Altean garments as well. In one cabinet off to the corner, he found all tunics and elegantly styled trousers, looking tight and similar to Coran's own consistent style of dress, and he made a mental note to return to this place very soon to scavenge officially for his wardrobe. For now, as he moved onto the vanities and shelves, he was content to look around for thicker threads than the normal sewing variety and wasn't disappointed when he found mostly hair things instead. Sure, he had no place to use them right now, but he was sure if he worded it carefully enough Pidge would take pity on him or Allura would understand. If not, he was content to reminisce and live on afterwards.
His youngest sister would be ten this year. She was always the most frustrated out of all the girls to get her hair styled, but never complained as soon as the process had started, and always looked awfully admiring at Lance when he'd completed the task despite her lack of enthusiasm to begin it. She had joked a lot about cutting off her hair whenever Lance had spoken to her on the phone, and it wouldn't have surprised him at all if she had gone through with it by now.
What had the Garrison told his family, if anything at all? If the Kerberos astronauts were dead (which they certainly weren't, obviously, but…schematics), then as far as Earth was concerned, Pidge Gunderson, Hunk, and Lance probably were, too. Pidge had never revealed much about her true identity, despite them all knowing, but Lance hoped that somewhere galaxies away her mother was of the same confidence as she was, knowing her family was alive.
They were definitely going back.
Distracted, Lance nearly sliced his finger clean open on an unexpectedly sharp hairpin, and pouted to himself, noticing how creepy and silent it was all around him so suddenly. To fill that void, he hummed, pulling out hair pieces and familiar bobby pin-like contraptions (the Altean equivalent, he guessed). Soft and endlessly stretchy hair ties were buried in a mess at the corner of one drawer, stowed away with curvy and silky scarves and thin ribbons. He faintly wondered to himself what a truly decorated Altean noble would look like, with the amount of decorations just for hair he could find that he couldn't begin to explain, but ignored those hilarious thoughts in favor of gathering as many familiar items as he could find. Bobby pins and hair ties were a staple of any home hair stylist, and when he found a hard plastic headband with a rubber-like inside, he beamed. At least Altean hair didn't seem to differ much from humankind in terms of maintenance and basics. Some things were unexpectedly universal.
Once he had organized a headscarf's worth of hair items, it hit him again that he didn't really have any hair to do, and he sighed. His fingers twitched and his eyelids felt heavy, though not of a physical exhaustion. With a lapse of defeat, he sat himself on the edge of the small pedestal in the center of the room and buried his face in his hands.
The oldest of his younger sisters used to talk about joining him at the Garrison, fighting her way to the stars like he had been doing so desperately. She would be old enough soon, if she wasn't already. The thought hit him suddenly that she might not even attend due to his disappearance, and he shuddered violently, weeping at once. Over the phone, so many months ago, he would account to her some of the most interesting piloting facts he had learned recently, and she'd tell him about how her own boring studies were going. She hated geometry and couldn't wait to move on. The week before he left, she'd told him about an essay on To Kill a Mockingbird she had to do, and how the book made her uncomfortable. He'd agreed with her expression and silently promised to reread it soon so he could remember more for her to help.
There was no To Kill a Mockingbird in space. She loved to have her hair in a thin little braid at the back of her head that she was old enough to do herself, but still allowed him to do. You have good hair fingers, she would tell him when he complained about her dependency on him in his time before the Garrison, it just feels cool when someone does it for you.
Tears still in his eyes, though he was working frantically at trying to lessen them, Lance stood woodenly, gathered his found items, and wandered with a determination to get back to the common areas. There, he was convinced would find Allura and explain himself properly, and hoped she would understand.
In the training room, Keith bored himself battling with the gladiator at its low levels, trying to warm up properly and clear his head into a fight-mode before thrusting himself to dangerously high levels, but he was growing impatient. With his earlier failures in investigating the strange behaviors of his fellow paladins, he was more lethargic than he cared to be in his subtle wallowing, and almost didn't register the doors to the training room allowing another entry.
Almost.
He fought the gladiator only half paying attention, watching the entrance and surprising himself when he saw Lance standing in the doorway, a strange...satchel of sorts of multiple prints clutched in one hand and an ornate hairbrush clutched in the other. Both hung at his side, tucked a bit as if he was trying to keep attention away from them, but Lance was all hands and gestures and the discretion was futile, making the objects more obvious and suspicious.
"What?" Keith finally grunted when he only stared at him.
Lance's lips seemed to contort a little, and with a startling clarity the red paladin realized that his eyes were rimmed red and glistening. He'd almost completely lost himself at the distraction, about to take a direct blow to the side, when Lance spoke for him, "End training sequence."
Despite his gratitude, Keith snorted at his nerve and raised his eyebrows while his bayard dispelled. "What?" He repeated, much less patiently.
"When's the last time you brushed your hair?" The question came out in a rush, and Lance inwardly cringed, not meaning to have asked such an obviously jabbing question when he was trying to get on the good side of his fellow paladin. When he had seen the training room in use, having passed it first, his fingers twitched again as if they had known it would be Keith in there.
Keith looked irritated; though no more than his norm, thankfully. As he crossed his arms, his eyes narrowed. "You stopped my training to talk about hair?" His voice was understandably disbelieving, though to be fair, Lance didn't think it was all that out of character from his ordinary interruptions.
"Well." Was all Lance said for a second, shifting his weight, and if Keith hadn't noticed his eyes earlier, he might have believed the grin the blue paladin decided to flash, but it wavered uncertainly. "That just answers my question for me. Let me do your hair."
Despite all of his suspicion and the knowledge that Lance was not in a completely normal emotional state, Keith didn't believe he had actually heard the words until Lance's expectant stare had lingered too long. What. "No—What?" Genuinely bewildered, he approached the aspiring hair stylist and tried to subtly watch his facial features for more hints. "Why?"
"It's a mess." Was all he said, but he glanced away rather than stare at the implied disaster. Keith was aware, but unconcerned.
"But why do you want to do it?"
Lance patiently scratched the side of his arm with the hand only holding the hairbrush, eyes landing on the floor. There was so much confidence lacking in his usual demeanor that Keith almost reached out in some form of contact comfort, but caught himself in time. Discomfort was an unusual look on Lance and one that in all honesty made Keith even more uneasy than he would ever be alone. "I uh..." The blue paladin started, still scratching. After blanching, he seemed to recover a spurt of confidence, at least for a moment, and finished, "I'm a certified excellent hair stylist, and I'm finally taking enough pity on you and that mullet."
Keith snorted at that, obvious disbelief written on his face. "No." He tried, really just watching the twitching of the lankier boy's fingers around the satchel.
With a sag of his shoulders, Lance nodded a little sharply and snorted. "Right. Too prideful to understand a good thing coming, I gotcha." His feet half-stepped back, moving to leave again, and Keith suddenly decided that retreat and defeat were even worse and more unfamiliar looks for the blue paladin. Where was that spurt of confidence? Where was any of his confidence?
"Fine." He spat quickly before Lance could escape fully. "Fine, but it's sweaty and you can't complain."
A careful expression met Keith's stern and flushed one before it melted into pure bliss. Lance's sudden beam was almost infectious, causing Keith's lips to twitch at the sides, and he waved his arms excitedly, weird satchel and hairbrush remaining. "Nice! Let's go sit in the lounge, 'cause I need to sit on a higher level. Cool?" Keith nodded, and they were bounding off before he even had so much as a moment to process what he was fully agreeing to.
It wasn't two steps past the door before Lance started asking all kinds of questions about what hair style he wanted, horrified equally and exhaustingly each time Keith replied that he had no idea what he was saying. They settled on braids, something Keith could actually do himself if he wanted to or could be bothered with, and Lance was almost skipping with excitement. His face looked rosier than before, happier and determined, and Keith's face felt reddened in return.
When they arrived in the lounge area, not more than two corridors down from the training room, Lance hopped over the back of the couch and patted the area in front of him, waiting for Keith to sit. The red paladin took his time, trying to calm down his suspiciously faster heartbeat from his training and his mouth feeling a little drier than it had about thirty ticks ago. He watched Lance unfurl the weird satchel, realizing it was a scarf, and almost stopped at the number of recognizable and unrecognizable trinkets that were tucked into the little bundle. They were all hair ornaments and tools, no doubt about it, but they were distinctly unfamiliar, just as sitting in-between Lance's knees was, and unfamiliar things, while fascinating to dig up and get to the bottom of, were not necessarily Keith's favorite thing.
"Have you ever had somebody do your hair?" Lance asked, humming as he tugged unceremoniously at the end of a chunk. Keith shook his head, and Lance laughed. "You're in good hands, here, Mullet. I've been told I have good hair fingers." The eyebrow wiggle was almost audible, and the red paladin snorted in response.
He was completely unprepared for the sensation of a hand in his hair and a soft run of a brush through the strands. He was equally unprepared for the shiver than ran down his spine, deep and unable to be suppressed. Above him, Lance paused for enough time to allow Keith to hold his breath and pray, and his prayers were answered by the lack of comment from the stylist. When the brush ran through again, fingers nimbly moving a section, Keith folded his own hands together almost timidly to avoid them twitching and clenching so obviously, scowl etched on his face in his determination.
Lance took his time brushing all of the unkempt locks on Keith's head, making sure to spend the extra moments taking apart any knots as carefully as possible (much, much more careful than any way Keith would have ripped at them), and letting the brush bristles dig into his scalp in a therapeutic way that added just the right amount of pressure. Keith was, for the first time in his life he thought, reeling. It was such a simple and common sensation, yet was new entirely with the addition of Lance's hand and his own not having to do anything. He felt dangerously peaceful, like something or nothing could go wrong and he was prepared for the inevitability of those odds.
When Keith was convinced Lance was just stalling on the hair brushing and was about to ask, Lance began talking instead. "I used to do this for my family, especially when they were stressed or tired. It feels great, right?" His voice was so peaceful and airy, "Just plain hair brushing feels amazing when there's somebody behind it doing it right."
"Yeah." Was all Keith mustered, face twisting into a glare at the rest of the room as his voice came out in a disgusting, hoarse whisper. He could feel the heat on his face like a fire, licking up his throat and across his cheeks and ears, but Lance didn't laugh, and something settled deep in Keith's stomach when the brush raked through his hair again and long fingers followed it closely.
A few drawn out strokes followed before everything left his head, and Keith was filled with an immeasurable sense of disappointment and anxiousness. It was only a moment before a pinkie nail scraped down the center of his head, and he almost coughed as his breath caught. Something in the back of his mind assured him it probably wasn't supposed to feel as wonderful as it did, but he ignored it solidly in favor of letting it continue to feel exactly that.
Lance's hands were careful as they tied off one side of Keith's hair, and he looked down at the red paladin in a gentle adoration for his peacefulness. It was plain to see he was unused to such ministrations, and Lance was more than happy to give him the full experience despite the slightly damp locks. There was a sense of...pride that came from being able to make him squirm a little, one he tried not to think on too heavily, and he was glad the experience was therapeutic for both of them. Or, at least, he hoped he was right in assuming so.
When Lance began sectioning and braiding half of his scalp, Keith truly thought he could die in peace, and almost struck himself at the sudden and inappropriate thought. It was just braiding hair for space's sake. There was no reason he had to be so weird and unused to the simple action, yet here he was. If the heat on his face was any tell, he was ready to erupt at any moment. The thought alone scared him, not used to feeling so nervous and jittery, and certainly not used to feeling as nauseous as he was. Briefly, he wondered if this was what Hunk felt like when he flewbefore dismissing that thought entirely. As Lance tied off the first braid and began the second, he finally thought to use his voice again for the greater good, trying to stomp out the warmth in his gut that was curling towards his upper chest. "You're good at this."
The pause Lance gave was enough to make Keith instantly regret the words, knowing compliments towards one another were a sensitive subject. Preparing to make a jab to reestablish the proper mood between them, the words died in his tongue at Lance's calm reply and soft laugh. "Well, that's something."
"What does that mean?" Is what Keith asked instead.
Lance took his sweet time answering, and Keith wondered if he realized he was being asked at all, but halfway down the braid he finally replied, "It's the least I could do for you guys. I mean, this won't really be a useful thing to anyone, but it's something I can do for somebody."
Bewildered, Keith urged him to continue, noticing how his braiding had slowed. "What does that mean?"
Again, from above the reply delayed, and Keith was growing wary and impatient of what would be said. "It's just...nice to feel like I have something I can offer, I guess." His voice was smaller, a little uncertain, and for a paladin of Voltron, for Lance, that statement was one of the most jarring things Keith had ever heard.
In said jarred state, Keith delayed in his response this time, and Lance was starting to tie off the second braid when his brain finally caught up. "Lance, what the hell?" He asked eloquently, not knowing what else to express but disbelief and wonder.
Lance snorted and ducked forward, leaning into Keith and tipping his braided head back. He planted a kiss to his forehead from behind, and both of them froze in place, eyes wide. Keith felt like a vat of lava, eyes flicking confused and uncertainly between each of Lance's frozen ones. The crown of his head where Lance was kissing felt fuzzy, and his tingling hands felt like cotton.
When Lance moved again, removing his lips from Keith's forehead, he slapped his hands on the lower's shoulders and stood on the couch quickly, clearing his throat as loud and frankly painfully as he could. "Right!" He almost screamed, "So, uh! There you go! I'll see you at dinner!"
Keith whipped around, bewildered and flushed every warm shade possible, and watched the scattered blush across Lance's cheeks deepen as he stammered. He looked absolutely mortified when he finally turned away and sprinted from the room, leaving Keith, his French-braided head, and all of the new hair accessories in his wake.
Come dinner, when they were all forced to see one another again, it was revealed that Hunk and Coran had been working diligently on an official compromise for the sacred tradition of a Paladin Feast. It was clear that Hunk's influence had made the meal edible and as delicious as it smelled, but it was Allura's general delight towards the meal and Coran's pride that implied it was equal parts Altean and Earth cuisine combined into one masterpiece.
When Keith had entered the dining hall, Lance was already sitting in his regular chair where they ate next to one another, and by his soft shock and red face, he hadn't expected the red paladin to keep the braids in. Well, they were convenient, and that was all he was going to use as a justification for the little pigtails on opposite sides of the back of his head.
Despite the team's staring, Keith didn't give any implication that he acknowledged their confusion, nor did he receive any questions, and the meal commenced. With a bit of a rush, it came to his attention (on top of his general warmth of being near Lance again that he wouldn't and really couldn't explain) that every time he ran his fingers through the few stray strands of shorter bangs that had slipped from the beginnings of the braids, Lance was watching with an intense gaze. It wasn't upset or uncomfortable, but wore enough definite shock to make Keith wonder if he'd messed up the hairstyle somehow. Even if that was the case, he wasn't going to give anyone the curious satisfaction of seeing him adjust or fix his hair.
Hunk offered each dish with an explanation and clear enthusiasm for his hard work, and everyone made sure to shower their friend in immense praise, Coran going as far as to say that Earth-styled cuisine was “not as practical, but appealing” when asked, with a twinkle in his eye. Even with some of the strange flavors, all of the included foods were diverse enough to be completely rewarding of a sensation when compared to their day-in and day-out food goo routine.
“There's going to be leftovers, right buddy?” Lance asked at some point, almost feverishly as he shoved impossible amounts of some noodle dish into his mouth. His eyes were practically sparkling. Keith could relate.
“Of course! And we can have a meal like this after every time we have a great mission, right, Coran?” Hunk's assurance took a childlike questioning to it, turning big brown eyes to their advisor.
Coran looked to Allura instead of immediately giving an answer, eyebrows raised. Allura, engrossed in the same noodles Lance had been shoving into his mouth, took a moment before she realized she was expected to answer and cleared her throat. “I don't see why it should be a problem, whenever you're up to it, Hunk. I'm very much interested in learning more about Earth's culture and traditions, such as this.” With her delicate fingers, she made a small gesture towards her own plate, swirling more noodles.
Lance jumped at the opportunity to explain for Hunk, “It's spaghetti! You have to slurp it. It's considered rude on Earth if you don't.” He followed immediately with a serious of obnoxious inhaling sounds and slurps, and half the table, Keith included, cringed.
“Lance.” Shiro warned, but Allura and Coran looked delighted.
“How do you make that sound? With your mouth or your intrikui?” Allura asked, trying to suction her lips in the same way Lance had.
The blue paladin faltered. “My what?” He asked mid-slurp, some loose noodles falling back to his plate.
Pidge, rolling her eyes from beside Keith, leaned forward to get a better look at the princess. “What is an intrikui?” By the gleam in her eyes, it was clear she was taking more language notes.
“Why, it's your secondary sighumal!” Coran cried, surprised. From the end of the table, Allura paused in her noodle sucking to give confused looks to all the paladins.
The yellow paladin broke into a laugh in the momentary pause, dropping a spoon into his paste-ish soup mixture. Not long after, Lance joined him. Pidge nodded, seeming satisfied.
“I don't think humans have those.” Shiro explained, his own amusement coming through the poke of his lips.
Lance finished his line of noodles through his giggles and finally answered, “I'm doing it with my mouth. Just let air in.”
“You don't have to slurp at all.” Pidge made sure to clarify, knowing Shiro would be reprimanding if they continued intentionally trying to make a fool of the princess in their relaxation.
“Pidge,” Lance’s groan drew out, “Let her learn.”
Despite looking as if she had the motions right, not a single sound left from Allura's lips, nor Coran's when he gave it an effort. After almost a hundred ticks of trying, it finally sparked a debate across the table on whether Alteans could even slurp or not, following naturally into the argument that slurping wasn't rude in every Earthen culture, and being physically unable hurt their diplomacy. Dishes were thrown, Hunk wept with laughter, and at some point Keith had slipped away. In the middle of his laughing along with Pidge's rebuttal to Lance's points, Lance and him had locked gazes so intensely it made him flush in realization that his hairstyle was still together, which in turn reminded him of Lance's gentle and careful hands.
So, he needed to burn off some energy, and returned to the training deck for another session before bed. His exit hadn't gone without Lance's notice, but, creeping with warmth still, the blue paladin didn't follow.
The next morning, Lance awoke to the sound of the castle's alarm system, jolting him through his headphones and starting an immediate panic in his chest, heart hammering. He was the last to arrive in the control room, as usual, and ducked away from the harsh look Allura sent him while he adjusted his arm plate and slid into the elevator that headed towards his lion, swearing all the way.
“Nice of you to join us, Lance.” Pidge's voice crackled through the radio as Lance finally silenced his personal groaning and flew from the castle. It was a casu8al tone, nothing too accusatory yet, and Lance mentally prepared himself for reprimanding anyway.
“Can I get a status? What's going on?” Lance pouted, ignoring Pidge's jab in favor of trying to focus.
Allura's voice cut through their communications, her image popping up on his control screens to his left, “We've been approached by two larger Galra vessels, their wormhole just closed.” She snapped, and Lance winced, “You need to join them and form Voltron immediately, Lance.” Her voice was almost a huff, which would have been drastically uncharacteristic if it hadn't been for her clear tire, and Lance felt a twinge of guilt at adding to her stress by his laziness.
Voltron was organized in mere moments, taking out the Galra ships with precise plant and fire blows in a battle that seemed to be more for show than any effective battling. This wasn't unnoticed by the team, as Coran addressed it as soon as they'd landed back in the hangers, Shiro agreeing easily, but Lance's focus was elsewhere.
Keith took off his helmet almost too quickly, seeming agitated, but what had caught Lance's eye was the frizzy, loosened braids trailing off the back of his head. His bangs had almost completely come undone in little strands, but the rest of the braids looked like they hadn't been fidgeted with. He looked, admittedly, like a mess. A really cute mess with really awful hair.
“It's likely just a reminder that they're a presence we cannot forget, though I have no idea why they would think to display such a thing, considering they're the only reason we have you all together, after all!” Coran chirped, clapping one of Shiro's shoulders with his hand before leading them all back to the control room.
It was then that Lance was caught, Keith turning sharply to meet his eyes with an intensity in his gaze that made the blue paladin flinch. “What?” The red paladin asked asked, surprisingly calm despite the fire in his eyes. He was likely expecting a jab, Lance realized tiredly.
Lance allowed them to fall back a little from the group, not sure how Keith would react to the question considering the awkward outcome of the last time they'd had a firm interaction with one another, and Keith followed his lead, leaving a good fifteen feet between the two of them and the rest of the paladins. The memory of the forehead kiss was fresh in Lance's mind, and he could feel himself growing red, but pushed through to ask, “Do you...want me to re-do those?”
At the nod towards the braids, Keith paused, eyes widening and eyebrows climbing. His face slowly grew red, too, but he only looked away sharply and cleared his throat rather than seem to grow angry as Lance had suspected he might. “Sure.” He almost muttered, a gloved hand moving to tug at the end of one, an action Lance found absolutely endearing before he could stop the thought.
When they made it to the control room, Lance couldn't contain his wide grin even as Allura spoke strategy to them. At one point, he was sure he had seen Keith's head shift towards him out of the corner of his eye, only to hear a soft scoff before it moved away again.
This time, Lance had waited until Pidge and Hunk were definitely out of sight before he snuck to Keith's room, not wanting to answer questions and knowing the red paladin was expecting him. As soon as the door swished open, not bothering to knock, he was greeted with the divine view of Keith's bare back, rippling as he stretched upwards with purpose before curling down to touch his toes. Oh. Oh.
Upside-down and through his legs, Keith spotted Lance standing dumbstruck in the doorway and together they became statues. Moments long enough passed for them to become flushed and their faces to pull into twin grimaces. “Um—ha...” Lance began uncertainly.
“Do you ever knock?” Keith said at the same time, straightening sharply and turning towards his bed, where his shirt was discarded in a heap on top of the sheets. He pulled it on quickly (not turned to face Lance enough for him to get a view of obviously toned muscles) and sat on the floor against his bedframe when he was done, the other boy still stuck in the doorway all the while.
“I knock!” Lance finally mustered after Keith cleared his throat, “Just not when I know people are expecting me, mullet. What was all that anyway?” Despite his huff, his face was still clearly red, and he knew enough to try and hide that fact by moving out of Keith's vision, climbing onto the boy's bed easily and settling behind him. He rested his face in his hands for a long moment when Keith didn't respond, thinking he'd weirded his teammate out beyond compare, but when he finally looked up, Keith was just chewing on his nails and looking pretty thoughtful, if not bored.
A scoff finally came. “Stretching. I try to do some yoga because our fighting and training is so extreme without a lot of flexibility improvement, and because Shiro nags.” Keith explained. Flexibility. Training. Shiro. Right.
It was then that Lance realized he didn't have his brush or supplies, and groaned as loudly as he could, flopping backwards onto the bed that smelled distinctly like not him. The sudden intensity of the smell was enough for Lance to sit back up as soon as he had fallen, clearing his throat and not thinking of pale shoulder blades and tight muscles. Keith was looking at him expectantly over his shoulder, intense gaze in place.
“I don't know where I left the hair brush and stuff.” He explained, sighing and rubbing his palms on his knees.
“Oh.” Keith said, standing again. “I have them.”
Lance's first reaction was to get bewilderedly defensive. “What? You stole them?”
The other boy only rolled his eyes in response, pulling out the little scarf bundle and brush from one of his hidden drawer compartments. “You left them in a mess in the lounge.”
“So you stole them.”
When he turned fully towards Lance again and tossed the bundle and brush, he rolled his eyes once more to assure Lance had seen it. He sat down with only that, settling his head back easily on Lance's crossed ankles and casting an expectant glance upwards. Their meeting gazes were electric.
Lance grunted, but wasted no time in tipping the boy's head forward to pull the now messy hair gently out of its twists. They were a little bunched at the bottom from the hair tie riding strangely on the tails through being slept on and washed, but were fairly easy to untangle otherwise, and Keith gave an audible sigh as Lance's fingers carded through the first undone half. The second half came undone in the same manner, and Lance carefully worked the brush through the bottom knots, making his way to the top of the other's scalp as carefully and painlessly as he could. Whenever his fingers followed, he could practically feel the red paladin tense a little below him, but it was clear he was slowly becoming drowsy and comfortable at the sensations.
When Lance was done with the brushing, he set brush down and almost startled Keith by his immediate smack to the boy's shoulders, pushing him gently so he would inch away. “Alrighty. Wash up.”
“What?” Keith grunted, surprised and reluctant. He twisted in his seat to see Lance's single raised eyebrow.
“Your hair's all greasy from the fight this morning and training today. Go wash it if you want more braids. Also, the rest of you. You kind of smell.” The blue paladin explained flippantly, waving a hand and leaning back to get more comfortable. “I'll wait.”
Keith’s eyes narrowed but he stood anyway, running a hand through his now wavy and creased hair. A small staring contest ensued, building until the red paladin finally groaned, “Are you serious?” and started rummaging around in his drawers for other clothes.
“Hygiene is important, Keithy boy.” The lankier of the two replied effortlessly, crossing his legs and shaking one in a pattern.
The red paladin left the room practically stomping, though Lance knew it was for the greater good and refused to regret dismissing him. As soon as the door had closed behind Keith, Lance began a whistle and rolled over, burying his face shamefully into the other’s sheets.
Admittedly, they smelled a little stale compared to the fresh Keith experience, but he couldn’t even begin to explain to himself how he knew that. They smelled warm and earthy, layered with a soft cleanliness and musk and sweat. Lance noted specifically how there were a few drool marks on the pillow, and paused at the image of Keith, deeply asleep (and really probably the only time he’d ever be so relaxed) and gone from the world enough to literally ooze comfort.
Gross.
Unable to resist the twitching in his fingers, and still thinking the image strange and unsettling, Lance gave into the pool of warmth in his gut and allowed his restless fingers to grip the pillow, opting to shove his face into it and inhale deeply. This was so weird of him, and he knew it, but he couldn’t get the thought of a comfortable Keith out of his mind, bursting with warm jealousy of his ability to sleep so effectively and deeply. Keith never looked unwell rested after long battles. He never seemed to be plagued late into the night with thoughts, nor did he ever get caught wandering the castles late at night. Lance would know, he was always the one wandering, and definitely would have run into him if that were the case. Time rolled by while Lance thought, taking deep breaths into the pillow and loving the calming effects of its scent.
“What are you doing?” Keith’s voice cracked a little unexpectedly, and it was followed by a harsh clearing of his throat while Lance threw the pillow away as if it had burned him. He was wearing a new change of clothes, thank god, and rubbing his towel into his neck and the base of his hair slowly. His eyes were wide and bewildered (something Lance hoped he wasn’t mirroring), and a warm flush settled in his cheeks.
“I—Um.” Wow, this was bad, “Sorry, I got sleepy waiting for your smelly ass.” He tried for a smart look, but Keith only looked constipated in response.
The constipated face twisted into a few unrecognizable expressions before Keith finally settled on a more neutral one. “Um. You don’t have to…” His hands, notably lacking their tacky fingerless gloves, tugged at a strand of his wet hair for emphasis, “If you’re tired.”
“I know I don’t have to do anything.” Lance made sure to assert, sitting up fully and huffing while he tried to mask his red face with annoyance. “Took you long enough. I’m here because I want to be.”
Keith seemed to stiffen a little, but sat down with a grumble in his designated position, not without making sure to toss his towel straight at Lance’s face. “Right.” He noted, “Because you definitely strike me as the type of person to want to braid the—what did you call it the other day? ‘Worst 'do in space’?”
Shoving the towel onto Keith’s damp hair, Lance couldn’t help but laugh at the reminder, defenses lowering a little once more. “I told you: I’m doing you a favor. I’m trying to be generous here.”
“Right.” Keith repeated, and they both ignored how strangely smug he sounded.
Without any preamble, Lance ran his fingers upwards in Keith’s hair and shook out the strands, pausing to allow the red paladin a moment of adjusting when he froze. If his pauses meant he was uncomfortable Lance was sure he would have said something by now, never being particularly quiet about his anger or frustration, so he paid no mind to him needing his moment. When he seemed relaxed again, nimble fingers combed through the damp strands and continued to gently shake some out, following up with the towel softly rubbing into the strands in gentle but effective circles.
Back home, his youngest sister had owned a hair straightener that worked on wet hair without damaging it, and would insist he had to get the back of her hair for her because it was hard to see. More than half the time, he ended up doing her whole head for her (For consistency, she’d claim), but he never usually minded. There were no wet-to-dry straighteners in space, nor any hair dryers at all he’d found. Though, now that he thought about it, he’d never seen Allura or Coran with wet hair….
“You should talk.” Keith surprised him with the suggestion when his hands had paused for too long, and Lance felt a pang of guilt at the weird position that must have left him in, hands twisting in his hair and towel resting against the side of his head. “That’s what hairdressers do, right?”
With a soft laugh, Lance considered it. “Have you ever been to a hairdresser?” He was sure it was a silly question, knowing that most people, at some point in their lives, had been to one. Then again, this was shack-in-the-desert Keith, who had a mullet and grew up with goodness knows what other hairstyles.
“No.” His suddenly unsurprising answer came quickly.
Furrowing his brows in thought, Lance continued with, “Have you ever cut your hair?” Logically, he had to have at some point, because hair didn’t grow that slowly, but who would have cut the famous Keith’s hair if not an actual hairdresser? His parents? Did he ever talk about family? Did Shiro cut his hair?
Keith snorted, unclenching a hand at his side to swipe at his nose as Lance began working on his hair actively again. “I would slice some off when it got too long sometimes.”
“Like, with your knife?” Lance asked uncertainly, wondering how long was too long.
“With my knife.” He confirmed.
Rationally, Lance knew he shouldn’t have been nearly as surprised as he was, but the image of Keith haphazardly tugging at strands and taking care of them so…carelessly had him baffled. “How did people think you were hot at the Garrison?” He demanded quietly before he could think better of it, almost stunned.
Keith was quiet, and Lance grunted through the lack of response before beginning his braiding on the now only slightly damp hair. The missing hand returned to Keith’s side, clenched again. The first half finished quickly, but Lance was sure to take his time on the second, wondering if he could patch up the awkwardness of the situation before he was done. Sitting with Keith quietly was undeniably nice of an activity, even if it was a source of embarrassment on both of their parts.
“Talk.” Keith implored again out of the blue, almost whispering.
Lance snorted, halfway down the second braid. “If you want to hear me so badly…” He snickered and jolted when Keith turned to glare at him. He immediately scowled in return. “You can't move your head!” His voice came out a frustrated squeak, “Now I have to start over!”
With a huff, Lance slid his fingers into the loose strands of the other half of Keith's head and thrusted it forward, roughly righting the direction he faced. “Stay still.”
Keith plainly ignored the warmth in his cheeks at the tugging sensation, trying to imagine the careful fingers re-threading his hair were something less enticing. Like...knives? The nails scraping carefully on his hair were knives, and Keith knew in that instant that he was too far gone when the thought only made him warmer.
“What did you eat in the desert?” Lance sounded, almost done with the braid and surprising Keith with the question.
Keith almost didn't answer, thinking it was a joke, but when Lance brought no punchline he thought carefully on that time past. He thought about his little desert home every now and then, but never extensively. Shiro had brought him from that isolation on more than one occasion in more than one way, and it had been a place for him to be comfortable despite its loneliness when Shiro wasn't exactly there, but...past his trials in the Blade of Marmora, he had no real reason to think about that place anymore.
“Protein bars. Old canned rations. Sometimes I'd have snakes.” He finally answered, wincing at the confused noise Lance made in response.
“Have snakes? Like, as guests?”
“What?” That made no sense, “No. I ate them?”
“You ate snakes!?” Lance's voice returned to its squeak, tugging on the end of the braid as he tied it off to try and get Keith to catch his eye over his shoulder. “What the hell!?”
That was a fair reaction, he supposed. Knowing the types of people he had gone to school with at the Garrison, it wasn't farfetched to think that not many people he had ever met knew how to eat a snake. “They were...there?” A tense hand came up to make a loose shrugging gesture, noting how Lance's own hands lingered at the ending tuft of his hair.
Despite the disgusted noise Lance repeated, he asked, “What was your favorite? Did they taste different depending on what kind?”
And Keith chuckled, “I think sometimes the ones with dark spots had a different flavor, but I only ate ones I knew.”
“The ones you knew?” The cringe on Lance's face was audible. His fingers slid down Keith's neck briefly to rest at the junction between his neck and shoulders, effectively distracting the red paladin again with the softness of the touch.
“Uh...yeah.” Keith mumbled, clenching his fists tightly. “I remembered eating some when I was really young.”
A part of Keith knew that it was rather unusual for him to share so much so easily, especially with Lance being notorious for finding the most inane things to make fun of Keith for, but something about this situation they were both in made all caution dissolve. It was too soft, the two of them sitting together in a quiet moment hurtling through space on their quest to end a ten-thousand year old war. It was more intimate than anything Keith had gone through, and Lance in this moment was too genuine and subdued (despite his loud horror of Keith’s habits) to seem a threat or source of irritation. They were finally getting along, but the stirring in Keith's stomach at Lance's touch was making him nervously aware of that fact. The thought of his soft lips to Keith's forehead came to mind again, and he choked.
“My brother had a pet snake.” Lance divulged, still sounding a little sick and curious. “A super long corn snake he named Fresa.”
“Cool.” Keith said automatically, taking a breath as the pads of Lance's fingers brushed along Keith's throat. He inclined his head at the touch, eyes automatically casting upwards to see the little tufts of Lance's own hair just coming slightly into his view. “What does that mean?”
Lance grinned, tipping forward and more into Keith's line of vision to plant another kiss on the crown of his head before speaking again. “Strawberry. It was a really red corn snake.”
Stricken, Keith glued his eyes to Lance's own until the other boy realized what he had done again. It seemed to come in pieces, first his mouth dropping, then his eyes widening, then his expression crumbling completely as his gaze danced away.
Without warning Keith began to think on Lance's family, piecing together everything he'd heard about them over their time together like a conspiracy in his mind, connections trailing to tidbits of information. He made instant connections and added names where he thought they fit, racing to remember anything Hunk had mentioned as well. Lance was the first to speak again.
“My bad.” He sounded pointedly miserable and caught in a moment of weakness, “But uh...It's a force of habit.”
That made a lot of sense. Even in Keith's pure flustered state, red in the face and frozen solid with thought, he knew that made a lot of sense. Lance seemed like an affectionate person, it wouldn't be farfetched to think that, after sessions of taking care of his sisters' hair for them, he would do such a thing.
And Keith noted such an understanding as best he could with a short and sharp nod.
After sucking in a breath, Lance wasted no time in dismissing himself, gathering up his hairbrush and accessories properly then and slipping past Keith with the faintest of touches to his shoulder. When he departed from the room, looking nervous and defensive, Keith waited for the door to close properly before letting out a pathetic mixture of a whimper and a long groan, barely understanding the need to do so in the first place.
With the braids still in Keith's hair the next morning, a little frizzy with sleep, Lance avoided him much more plainly and extensively. They barely lasted through the tense breakfast before the blue paladin had dismissed himself, the others slowly trickling off into their own sections of activity afterwards. Keith was one of the last to leave after Allura, heading naturally to the training deck, but Lance had headed towards the control room.
When Allura entered the control area, Shiro in tow, they were both surprised at the blue paladin's already lingering presence, though neither were unwelcoming. Shiro smiled kindly, and Allura busied herself with setting up a few maps she wanted to look over.
“Did you need something, Lance?” Their leader's voice came, waiting for Allura to be prepared so he could help. There was a pleasantness to his voice so early in the morning that Lance couldn't help but admire.
“I had a question for Allura.” He grinned in reply, not allowing himself to dim when Allura seemed to let her shoulders sag at the implication.
Despite her minor reluctance, she seemed humoring, meeting Lance's gaze out of the corner of her eye with a small smile. “Yes?”
“Do you have nail polish? Did Alteans do their nails?” With the fiasco repetition last night had become, Lance knew he would need to find another outlet, and painting his fingernails could be his ticket to peaceful reminiscing in his free time. He didn't want to keep putting his team members in awkward positions like Keith had been subjected to twice, no matter their heated rivalry or general tension.
Allura's beautiful gaze flicked to her own nails as she swiped at holographic screens, flexing her fingers instinctively. “We did. I have clear glosses, but it might take me a bit to find some colored polishes for you. I don't exactly have a lot of free time.”
Lance brightened past his grin at the assurance. “That's fine, princess. We're all pretty busy, I get it. If you find some, though, just pass them along.” With his giddiness rising, he threw a set of fingerguns at the princess and danced a little to the edge of the room, departing with an enthusiastic wish of luck and wave.
After he had gone, Allura met Shiro's gaze with a mild confusion. “You told me it was unusual for human males to engage in beauty routines like your makeup.” She accused lightly, widening a screen and moving aside at the controls to open room for the black paladin.
Shiro chuckled, immediately moving to point out the section on the map they should pay attention to first and foremost. “It sort of is. Lance likes beauty, though. He's always worrying about his skin and hair, remember?”
Allura did, but pursed her lips a little, remembering how uncommon it had been on Altea to worry about looks so extensively. Beauty was relative, and seeing so many planets and different cultures had rendered any specific definition to the concept futile. “It seems excessive to worry about in the midst of our war against Zarkon.”
“Yes, but why are your nails painted?” With his robotic hand, Shiro pointed out the shine on her fingernails, still amused.
Well, he had her there.
A few days later, Allura found Lance in the common room, carrying a few boxes for him as she approached. His eyes lit up immediately at her presence for a different reason than usual, and he practically bounced to her when she laughed.
“The top box is all simple ones, the blue one is filled with little embellishment things I found and more complicated types of polishes, and the bottom box has things I thought you'd be interested in.” She explained, handing them over as he outstretched his hands.
Lance rocked on the balls of his feet. “Thank you, Allura.” He collapsed into a seat to the side of the room that was attached to a table, immediately pulling things out of the boxes to examine everything. “Is this makeup?”
Allura laughed, lingering next to him at the table but not taking the opposite seat. “Yes. It sounded like something you would like to have, with your beauty routines. If you need help with anything, you can ask myself or Coran. I know some of those bottles can be quite confusing, even to myself. Diplomats always sent the strangest concoctions...” Her delicate fingers plucked up a swirling bottle of reds and yellows, shaking it a little and giving a muted laugh at the violent buzzing it returned. “It is also ten-thousand years old, so I would be wary of some of the mixtures.”
“You have got to let me do your makeup sometime.” He suddenly implored, excited eyes meeting the princess's and making her pause.
It was only a moment's hesitation before she conceded, smiling down at the seated blue paladin and nodding. “Sure. Next time we both have a free moment, perhaps after our next touchdown for supplies....But that can be arranged.”
They traded kind smiles, and Allura dismissed herself, leaving Lance to crack open some of the normal polishes excitedly.
He started on his thumb with a deep purple polish that dried almost as soon as he had stroked it on, looking black unless angled properly in the light. To his pointer finger he applied a gold he found, his middle finger a sparkley-orangish red, his ring finger an olive green, and his pinkie a suspiciously glowing blue. They were all relatively quick to dry, and he snickered to himself at his handiness, but jumped when he heard someone speak a few feet away.
“What are you doing?” Keith seemed to be asking Lance that a lot lately.
His immediate reaction was to wave his hand into the air for viewing, showing off his art. “Look! It's Voltron!” He grinned enough for it to be infectious, and Keith found his own lips quirking in response.
“Shouldn't all the fingers be red then? Because it's your right hand?” Keith countered, sitting at the chair opposite of his fellow paladin and looking at the items splayed out on the table surface.
Lance scoffed. “You'd like that, wouldn't you?”
Yes, but Keith couldn't explain why, and so he didn't answer. Thankfully, Lance didn't seem to actually want a real response, grinning as he watched Keith and continuing on with another question. “Want me to do yours?”
Keith's hands, relaxed and crossed, twitched. Suddenly, he was hyper-aware of how accustomed to the taste of his fingernails he was, feeling the rough edges of them dig into his own arms as he thought on it. They were chewed down to nubs, almost, not much left at all to actually paint if he wanted to, but Lance seemed undeterred by this fact. He was already offering a hand to receive one in return.
That was a whole new curious desire. Keith eyed Lance's own hand and mentally prepared himself for them to connect, feeling a clench below his ribcage as those more-familiar-than-ever long fingers slipped around Keith's wrist and tugged his hesitant hand across the table.
“What color do you want?” Lance asked giddily, not waiting for a proper yes or no from the more reserved paladin.
Keith shrugged uselessly in response, eyes fixated on the contrast between their hands. His were marred by tears and little wounds, calloused at the pads and knuckles by years of use and hard work. Before Keith could stop him, Lance was peeling off his glove. He was careful even with his general disdain for them, as if he didn't want to disrespect the garment. Lance's hands were fine and soft, clearly knowing the feel of moisturizer and the only callouses coming in just recently, where his fingers laid on a trigger. Keith liked the feel of them, clumsy as they could be in motions not for show, and liked feeling them on his own or in his hair or nearby in general.
It was a strange time to feel immeasurable trust for the blue paladin, but the surge came through Keith nonetheless, even as he watched those trusted hands grab a bottle of murky blue polish.
“You're painting them blue?” Keith asked in fascination as the bottle was unscrewed by those beautiful hands and the liquid dripped with a glow rather than as dull as it had looked inside the bottle.
Lance gave a soft hum of affirmation, “You get the best paladin colors if you don't give a real answer.” There was a sharp grin pulling at his lips as he forced Keith's own palm to the table and spread his fingers for him. “You have a tan line from those dumb gloves.” He pointed out, poking at the soft contrast from Keith's wrist to his hand. A second later, he stroked the glowing polish fluidly down the center of Keith's thumb nail, and the red paladin was stricken by the fondness and peace that came when his companion's smile softened at the action.
“I don't think I can have a tan anything.” Keith managed, still staring at the unguarded expression on Lance and feeling his hand being turned as his fingers were painted.
Lance snorted, soft lips quirking more. “That's fair. You'd think somebody who lived in the desert forever would be able to tan more than lobster it up.”
“You seem really fixated on my desert life.”
“Shhh. I worry about how you're adjusting out here in space, Keith. Are the other space kids treating you nice? Anybody making fun of you?”
Keith barked a laugh, dissolving as soon as it had started by his free hand smothering it. “You sound like Shiro.” He groaned, leaning back, “Like five years ago.” Lance seemed to burn brighter at the comparison, letting out his own laugh and pausing in his nail-painting to rock a little with it. “I'd also like to point out that you do most of the teasing here.” Keith nodded, wiggling his fingers in Lance's hand so he'd get appropriately back on task.
The latter pursed his lips though, pouting a little. “Is Shiro going to beat me up for bullying his little brother?” He, as per his fashion, teased.
“Bullying implies I'm harmed by your actions.” Dark brows raised in Lance’s direction as he paused before going back to his painting, starting on the first nail before having to reapply polish to his brush.
Lance snorted after a delay of a moment, “Are you saying my teasing doesn't affect you? I'm hurt.”
Really, Keith was put out by the ease of which he was talking to Lance. Since the first hair dressing he had received, the teasing had ceased almost entirely from the usual angry insults and goading, and all that was left from the blue paladin was little snickers to provoke him and the occasional “mullet” and similar...pet names, he guessed. It was almost disorienting, leaving Keith as much defensive as he was relaxed.
Lance, in turn, couldn't fully explain his sudden dependence on Keith's company, but he knew that anything that kept the two of them from fighting too much in general wouldn't be frowned upon. It wasn't hard to see that Keith never received the particular kinds of treatment Lance specialized in, and so it was no trouble or extra work to shower him in all the easy pampering he could. His family had taught him how to spoil well, and he would be damned if he let that knowledge go to waste.
“Nah, don't worry.” Keith snorted, flexing his fingers a little when Lance finished them and rolling his eyes at the other boy's squawk of protest. “You always affect me.”
Lance, midway to snatch Keith's hand back, froze and furrowed his eyebrows deeply at Keith, his face reddening quickly. Before either of them could react to the slip, Lance grumbled and grabbed Keith's wrist again, pulling the hand to his face. “You can't risk smudging my hard work, mullet.” He benevolently ignored Keith's comment, but his blush only deepened as he blew softly on the tips of the red paladin's fingers for him.
“Uh.” Keith said.
“Take your other glove off.” Was all Lance replied.
Missing the mobility of one of his hands, Keith's teeth sunk into the soft leather of his still-remaining glove, but his eyes never left their post. He watched Lance cautiously, using the leather between his teeth as a focus for his tension at the feeling of the puffs of air brushing across his fingertips and knuckles. That was horribly, horribly distracting, stirring something violent in Keith's stomach as Lance's eyelashes fluttered on his cheeks every few breaths. Finally, he realized he had to actually remove the glove to avoid looking suspicious, and peeled it off slowly, still never letting his eyes stray.
When Lance looked up to catch the intense and confused gaze of Keith, he nearly faltered, but used all of his determination to keep this situation as normal as possible, not wanting to lose the ability to do it in the future. Pushing through that gaze as if it wasn't as scary as it was, the blue paladin summoned all of his Defender of the Universe confidence and grabbed Keith's other hand, just departed from its glove.
The second hand almost flew by, no more idle conversation to keep the two distracted enough from the electricity between their small touches. Lance thought long and hard on Keith's fingers as he painted them, noting the scars littering the knuckles and the raw edges of his nails particularly. Keith used all of his willpower to keep himself from standing and leaving, heart thumping hard whenever Lance's tongue poked out between his lips as he concentrated on his polish strokes.
“You've never done this before, right?” Lance asked before blowing lightly on the fresh coat.
Keith let out a long and quiet breath, forcing himself to calm more. “Right.” He finally snorted, drumming his free hand and watching the polish on its nails glint in the light.
When Lance was finished drying the other hand manually, he didn't let go of it, opting to pull a little at the fingers instead. “Do you want to do this more often? The hair, too?” Keith nearly choked, and Lance took note of the look that twisted onto the red paladins face, but he wouldn't be deterred by initial reactions. Keith, by every indication, was closed off and just as stressed as the rest of them, and any stressed person in their right mind needed some form of physical pampering, no matter how unused to it they were. Just as some people could de-stress just as much by being the one to pamper. Lance was sure, with the way they had already worked out those roles in their last few strange meetings, that this could work, and that by doing this he would not only be doing something that benefited the team, but benefited himself...and benefited Keith.
That was just too good of an opportunity to let go of.
“We'll see.” Keith's voice, thankfully, didn't convey how truly nervous and jittery he was at the prospect, but it did come out a little quieter than he intended. When Lance's eyes flicked up to meet his own, Keith smiled lazily without a moment's hesitation, and Lance beamed.
“Finish mine?”
And suddenly Keith's nervousness showed in his every movement, twitching away from Lance's hand and squaring his shoulders. “What.” He said immediately, eyebrows raising and eyes widening as Lance's left hand was suddenly across the table, splaying its fingers neatly and expectantly.
Lance looked positively cheeky, wiggling his fingers individually. “Finish mine. You've got to play fair here, Keith. Might as well get some practice in of your own if this is going to be a thing.”
His logic was sound, but Keith didn't recall fully agreeing to letting it be a 'thing,' and so he couldn’t help but sweat a little as his eyes evaluated the little bottles and boxes littered around on the table. Before he could even think of picking one, Lance's laughter cut him off from his thought process. “Dude, just pick a color. It's not rocket science. You're getting that battle look on your face.”
“I don't have a battle look.” Keith immediately soured, pursing his lips and snatching a bottle of sparkly red polish up.
“You definitely do. Eyes as sharp as that dumb knife.” Lance's grin was as sharp as that knife as well, Keith thought privately as he huffed and opened the bottle. Inexperienced and not particularly a perfectionist about anything in this variety of work, Keith plopped a blob of polish straight onto Lance's nail and spread it in awkward pushing movements. “Are you serious?” He heard Lance whisper, and ignored him.
When he attempted to do the same thing for the second nail, Lance recoiled, and Keith scowled at him. “You told me to do it, let me do it.”
“I know you've never done this,” Lance started, suspiciously taking on the tone one would assume when approaching a defensive animal, “But please at least follow the grain.” Cautiously, he placed his hand back down on the table and kept his eyes level with Keith's own squinting ones.
“Grain?”
“Of the nail. The nail grain.” When it was clear by Keith's continued squint that he had no idea what Lance was talking about, the blue paladin groaned and poked at one of his free nails, launching into a brief but important explanation about the terms and definitions of nail care. Keith, at least, seemed to absorb the teachings with a morbid fascination (admittedly, it was more for Lance's intensity in his knowledge, but the confusion was easy to make), following the nail-painting instructions much more carefully than Lance expected him to when he resumed the task.
When he seemed to be finished, Keith looked...upset, if anything. He scowled down harder at the nails, blocking them primarily from Lance's view with his own hand, but Lance hadn't noticed anything strange after Keith had started painting them correctly, instead opting to stare at Keith's determined and focused face while he worked. When the bottle was sealed again with Keith's free hand, and the blocking one still hadn't moved, Lance wondered a little hesitantly what the worst that could happen would be. The polishes he had used before on his own hand and Keith's hadn't seemed to cause any damage, and Lance didn't feel anything particularly strange about the way the polish was sitting on his left fingernails, but...it was alien, and he was wary.
“Keith. Buddy.” He finally asked when Keith let out a personal little huff, “What happened?” He couldn't mask the wince in his tone, wondering if his fingertips were now green or growing tentacles or other strange oddities that could have come from the foreign substances.
Keith's intense eyes met Lance's cautious ones, a beat passed, and he let out a long sigh before moving to show Lance his fingers again. “They didn't come out...right.”
“It is my left hand.” Lance quipped immediately, yanking his hand back and releasing a sigh of his own once they looked normal. “What are you talking about? Other than that ugly first one they look fine.”
“They were supposed to be red.” The fellow right-sided paladin barely mumbled, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. His gaze was averted, an act of indifference painted as poorly as Lance's nails.
They were not, in fact, red. Lance glanced to the bottle Keith had put away, smirking when he saw the red sparkles sitting in the thin tube. His own fingers were looking bruised, some of the red sparkles dulling harshly into different shades of purple. When they were fully dry, he suspected they would be completely purple, which wasn't a bad thing at all, but Lance could see the frustration of the difference. This paint, dried, was definitely a little chalky and strange at the touch, but Lance was not deterred far from his enthusiasm.
“Neat.” He cooed, poking at one experimentally and throwing a grin at Keith. “I mean, it's still your color if you were trying to get back at me for the blue.”
When their eyes met again, Keith laughed softly, a sound that Lance felt hum through his entire body. The broodier of the two leaned forward and propped his head onto his hand, staring forward to Lance's nails as he blew air onto them himself. “True, but the sparkles were pretty important. They seemed to suit you.”
“Thank you for trying to channel my dazzling personality into my nails,” Lance grinned, leaning forward himself once he was done airing his hand, “But dry purple is definitely a better reminder of you.”
Neither of them spoke for a few moments after that, gazing contently at one another and seeming to invade each other's space more on the small table. Underneath, Lance's restless bouncing leg knocked into Keith's knee, and his only retaliation was to tap the toes of his boots into Lance's sneaker. It was comfortable and airy, but when Lance's hand met Keith's wrist again, the red paladin involuntarily tensed.
“Can I paint your toes?” Lance asked before Keith could relax at the touch, his eyebrows creased so deep it was almost concerning. Keith, confused and a little unsettled at the strength in Lance's gaze (not having left from where his hand was still brushed against Keith's own wrist) found himself nodding a little hesitantly.
Keith was not prepared for his own hesitation in taking off his boots. As soon as they had sat down on the floor for better access, Keith had ran through a mental time-table of when the last time he had removed his boots was. He did so to shower, yes, but he also wore them almost every available moment outside of the shower and his paladin armor. More than half the time, he didn't even take of them off to sleep—something he knew would horrify Lance the second he thought about it. When the thought of Lance finding out and screaming amused Keith into finally pulling them off, he had to actively avoid those thoughts continuing into ones of Lance being near his bed in the first place, let alone under his covers.
“Honestly, I expected your shoes to reek.” Lance admitted, yanking Keith's sock off for him while he unlaced his other boot. Keith didn't voice his earlier thoughts, instead only grunting, and so Lance took the time to prod at the boy's toes while he stripped his feet. “Are you not ticklish?” A soft thumb ran down the sole of his foot.
“No.” Keith huffed, shaking his head with a little smile and setting his shoes aside.
Lance gaped a little, disbelieving. His family—his ginormous and loud family—had not a single member that was free from tickling at any given moment. It was practically early sibling code, being able to know precisely where to jab or prod. “No way.” He squinted, running his other thumb to meet his first down Keith's foot with determination.
Keith snorted, shifting his position a little so his legs were more comfortable. “I'm not.”
Lance did not believe him. His eyes stayed narrowed, thumbs pressing into Keith's heel and crawling upwards into the base of his sole. Keith's composure was flawless, not realizing the position they were encroaching towards until Lance's thumbs dug deeper, and an involuntary soft breath left his lips.
Though Keith froze at the sound, Lance continued, starting to pump his thumbs at a steady pace into the muscles of Keith's foot and seeming completely unaffected by the reaction that came. He wasn't going to laugh and this obviously wasn't tickling, so what exactly was Lance trying to do here?
“Uh.” Keith started eloquently, shaking his own head and sucking in a breath when Lance seemed to hit a sore spot Keith didn't even know was there, “My toes?”
The thumbs moved to the base of Keith's toes, pressing into the arches of their joints, and Keith's breath came out a little broken. That was not what he meant.
“My toe nails. You were going to paint them?”
A part of Lance's awareness seemed to visibly return, his thumbs pausing just a little before pressing in again. “Does this feel okay? This is better, right?” He asked, only a slight edge of teasing in his voice.
Keith faltered, taking another breath as one of his joints popped. “I mean, yeah.” He admitted, not seeing any point in lying when he was blatantly affected by the massage. “Why?”
“It's fine.” Lance hummed a little, not meeting Keith's flustered gaze and seeming to hide a small smile to himself as his thumbs played at the arch now.
The point of the nail painting, Keith knew, was to bring Lance a vague sense of familiarity, maybe easing homesickness in the process. Keith recalled him mentioning his sisters while he braided Keith's hair and that only solidified the fact, but Lance's actions here could have no ulterior motive towards reminiscing. Keith wasn't exactly hip with the sibling trends and Shiro was a terrible example of model sibling relationships between the two of them, but he was pretty sure foot massages were not a norm of familial exchanges.
Keith slumped a little as Lance grabbed his other foot, thumbs no less magical as they broke into the tension residing there. When the blue paladin's glance flickered upwards for just a second, Keith caught it with his own and realized with a strange start that this was something Lance was not doing for himself. There was nothing to gain from this situation from the lankier boy, simply trying to ease Keith's tensions. Keith's painted nails, at his side, tapped against the floor once before curling into fists on either side.
Before the boulder in Keith's gut could settle too hard or he could fully call Lance out on his strange behavior, the lounge doors flew open, and Shiro was in the doorway blinking and raising his brows.
“You're late for training, Keith.” He said too casually at the same time as Lance's absolute gibberish of a scream echoed while he flung himself away from Keith's feet.
Keith, as professionally as he could muster through his red face and bare feet, nodded stiffly and stood. “I'll be there in a second.” He tried innocently.
Shiro gave him an unsettlingly knowing smirk before giving him a thumbs up and walking off.
“Okay.” Keith said as soon as the doors swooshed closed again. “That was weird.” His face still felt uncomfortably warm, and his feet and hands were so much colder than they needed to be, but he tried to level Lance with his most casual and indifferent gaze, knowing he was only hitting half of the mark.
Lance gaped a little, rubbing his face and looking scandalized. It was enough of a display for Keith to roll his eyes before Lance could even open his mouth again.
“Not bad weird, but weird. Stop trying to get me to relax.” He tried to keep his tone from being accusatory, but it was hard and probably failing. His hands, uncurling from fists, felt the table for his gloves, and he worked at pulling those on without looking away from his fellow paladin.
Lance's defenses went up immediately, his shoulders tensing and jaw squaring as he met Keith's look with a hard one. “I'm not. Not everything's about you.” He hissed.
Keith visibly recoiled, taking a deep breath and trying to recollect himself before it got out of hand. “You are. You just rubbed my feet, Lance.”
“You need it!” He huffed, looking almost distraught as he threw his arms into the air. “Your nails are bitten down to nubs! You spend all your time on the training deck! We're in a very stressful situation, all of us need to relax!”
Bristling, Keith shot back, “I don't relax by having a spa day! I'm not you!” His own voice came out a little questioning, but he pushed past the strange tone to get his point across, “We all need to be constantly trained, constantly staying alert! Zarkon could attack at any minute! We all know that!” Once his gloves were back where they belonged, he worked at snatching up his socks and pulling them on with more force than necessary, “You're the only one who doesn't seem to get that. You relax enough for all of us combined.”
Something cooled in Lance's eyes, his face stilling a moment, and it was enough of a whiplash for Keith to fumble and drop his boot, immediate re-evaluation of his words firing through his brain. “Yeah. Okay. Yeah.” Lance spat, “I get it. We need to be strong and focused.” Keith was backtracking mentally, but said nothing, overly uncomfortable with Lance's new tone. The blue paladin looked ready to launch into something, but his face shifted fractionally, and his tone was back to its petty fighting, burying whatever had just appeared somewhere else. “Maybe if somebody wasn't always hogging the training deck...” He hissed, “Some of us could get some different sorts of practice in. We can't get much practice in outside of required when you're in there slashing stuff up.”
“We work as a team...!” Keith gaped, yanking a boot on and tying the laces expertly. “You can't seriously use me being in there as an excuse, no matter how much you hate me!”
Lance threw his hands over his face, groaning, and Keith pulled his other boot on just as quickly, huffing to himself when he realized he was wondering what sorts of expression shifts were happening again behind those tan fingers. “That's not...”
“Just train with me!” Keith snapped before Lance could finish his hiss, “I'll let you braid my mullet all you want if you actually put some training in.”
Two hard gazes met one another. Admittedly, Keith didn't want to lose the comfort of Lance's small touches at all, no matter how much his entire chest lurched at the reality of that thought, but if Lance wasn't being constructive with all that energy and effort what good was it?
A full minute passed and finally Lance folded a little in on himself. “Fine.” He said, but it was strange and his gaze had left Keith's.
Their sparring picked up within the next few days, and they fell into a tense routine. After lunch, when not running the occasional mission or negotiating relations, Lance and Keith occupied the training deck until dinner rolled around. The habit was established: eat, shower, and meet in Keith's room to do his hair. Lance pretended he didn’t feel worthless when thrown across a room by Keith eight times a day, Keith in turn pretended he didn't hear some of the worst of things Lance muttered to himself during training, and Lance's brush raked through his dark locks each night while he thought on them anyway. Sometimes Shiro decided to join them in training, but it became a token element of their own relationship quickly, and most of the team relied on finding them there when neither seemed to be around.
Usually, the second or third time Keith would overstep Lance's defenses was when Lance started to crumble. He drew himself in quickly, in those moments, but Keith actively paid more attention as soon as he caught them. He tuned his ears in to try and catch more than snippets of Lance's mutterings, and was always disappointed by what he heard, to the point of personal frustration. The only times Keith allowed the two to break their routine of hours of sparring were when Lance looked positively broken. Keith, not personable or comforting in any sense of the words, had no idea how to approach the subject, but tried whenever he could.
“You need to pay attention to what I'm doing more.” Never went over well, but Keith would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the little thrill Lance's consistent reply of “I always pay attention to you!” gave him. When Lance's eyes watered, he claimed Keith's punches had been too hard. Keith acted along, despite knowing full well he had been pulling his fists back, and claimed in response that the Galra would never go easy on them.
Weeks into this routine of fighting and grooming, Lance stayed down when he hit the ground and said, almost pitifully, “I need a minute.”
Keith, knowing full well this day would come with the vague levels of self-depreciation he had been picking up on constantly in the room, only sat beside him in response. Despite wanting to reach out, the red paladin had no idea how to approach such a thing as per usual, and his intention of comforting Lance by simply sitting down as well when up in flames when Lance tensed beside him.
“What, you're sitting down, too?” His voice, a hiss more than usual in the room, came out muffled through his arm.
Keith scoffed. “Am I not allowed to? I'm literally pulling your weight. It's only fair.”
Lance muttered something, but stood again, surprising Keith. “I know. Let's go.” His voice was firm despite the clear pain on his face, but Keith wasn't able to pinpoint what the most concerning part of the situation was.
“If you need to rest, it's fine.” The red paladin assured, staying seated.
“No.” Lance implored, voice serious and sad, “I have to get this right. Get up.”
The next day, Allura blew up. Lance, only feet outside of Blue's hanger, received the brunt of the verbal assault before he had even been away from the Galra fight they had just encountered more than fifteen ticks. The other paladins, save for Shiro, gathered quietly at a distance, watching the cringe and bend of Lance's composure.
The battle was simple, thankfully, but they had disbanded twice when Voltron was almost formed, and the blue paladin's performance (while definitely trying) was more lackluster than called for. The Altean princess, connected to the lions through her spirit, was livid with her bewilderment. She demanded to know who would be taking care of the damages on the castle due to the suspended use of the particle barrier, who would account for the injuries sustained by Hunk (who had taken a hard shake from a direct blast the first time Voltron was unsuccessful in its formation), who would apologize to the team for the stress of the drawn out battle, and who would personally assist the local population on their current docked planet with the count of the lost and wounded.
Lance, haunted looking and staring at Allura with wide eyes, was the answer to all of her questions. When she had reached the last one, Shiro stepped forward, an arm between them to draw back the angry energy and try to mollify the issue with as little traumatizing as possible.
“The Blue Lion is confused.” Allura decided on when she and Shiro had completed a small staring contest.
Hunk, from the sidelines, took two large steps towards his best friend before Pidge's arm, not strong but certainly surprising enough, drew him back. Lance's head whipped around to the hanger doors behind him, eyes suddenly wet and even more frightened than before. He looked terrified. When Pidge was busy sharing looks with Hunk, Keith stepped forward instead, but stopped as well when Lance spoke.
“I'm sorry.” His voice cracked, his shoulders hunched no matter how he tried to square them, and he couldn't look Allura in the eye. “I don't—I didn't...”
“You will train until the issue is rectified.” She implored, stern but not entirely unkind. “We cannot be making novice mistakes anymore, Lance. You need to focus.”
Shiro stepped fully in front of Allura then, sending her a small nod and waiting until the princess had taken a deep breath and walked away before speaking himself. “I know it's hard on all of us, with everything we're going through, and it's easy to get distracted with so much happening, but you need to put more of yourself into training, Lance.” Shiro's words in comparison to Allura's shouts were like little suggestions, but they stung nonetheless. “I'll schedule longer group training for us, I admit we haven't had as much bonding between all of us as we should, and then we can all increase our efforts in the training room. Okay, guys?”
Hunk and Pidge seemed to startle a second as they were officially acknowledged, but Keith stepped closer. “Lance is in the training room almost every day. He's putting a lot of time in there.” He defended without thinking, pulling off his paladin helmet finally and shaking away his bangs to meet Shiro's gaze fully with his own determined one. His braided hair brushed against his neck, solidifying his defense with the sensation.
“I don't doubt that, Keith.” Shiro said a little too carefully, glancing between the two a moment. “But I think we should switch it up for a bit to maximize our training styles and reduce distractions.”
Lance was uncharacteristically silent, eyes still shining and wide, mouth still drawn in a thin and uneasy line.
“I'll train with you after lunch for a while, Lance, just to check on how things are going.” Shiro settled on, still watching Keith as the red paladin began to fume. “You all are dismissed. Take the rest of the day to relax, because training starting tomorrow is going to be a bit different.”
When Shiro turned away to walk after where Allura had gone, Hunk tried to rush towards his friend again, but Lance's long legs aided him in his immediate sprint out of the wing.
“He'll be in the observation deck tonight, probably, Hunk.” Pidge said very softly, rubbing her arm and removing her gauntlets once she was finished with the insecure action.
Hunk frowned deeply, pulling off his helmet and running a hand through his bangs. “Yeah. Yeah. I know he needs some time, but that was...really harsh.”
Keith, bad at time and waiting in general, only stalked off, scowling and headed to the same exit.
He found Lance almost an hour later, in a part of the castle he had never been to in all of his time on board. Lance, in a sense, did have a point in saying Keith was only ever in the training deck. The room he could hear soft whistling coming from looked like a sort of dressing room, but it was clear that it was either ransacked or a frequent visiting spot of Lance's by the number of garments and trinkets tossed around the room.
When Lance turned with a dress in his hand and saw Keith, he screamed. Keith almost laughed, having stalked the hallways for so long in seething worry, only to find the blue paladin whistling and twirling with a dress, but he kept his expression neutral as he leaned on the doorframe.
As soon as his fright had passed, Lance seemed to remember himself and frowned deeply. “I'm sorry.” And apologies, no matter how appropriate, sounded so wrong on Lance's lips to Keith. “I should have had better control. I'm trying in training, I really am.” The dress, a soft pink with splatters on it that looked suspiciously like blood, was set back in the closet as Lance plopped down on the base of the pedestal in the center of the room. “I shouldn't even be in here right now. I should go back and train more. I should go talk to Blue. God, how could I make her confused? Blue always knows what to do.”
“I know you are.” Keith said, responding to almost everything he had said with casual edging into the room. He had known Lance was growing frustrated in his training sessions with him, but to see the blue paladin so shaken up was more uncomfortable than anything that could have happened in a Galra battle.
When Keith was just a few feet away from joining Lance on the pedestal, Lance spoke again. “I don't know what I'm doing wrong.” His voice was so soft and vulnerable, and Keith closed the distance between them with a new wave of determination. He sat himself down in front of Lance's legs without ceremony, leaning back so Lance would get the hint.
“Braid my hair.” Keith said when he didn't.
From behind him, Lance made a choked noise but moved to comply. His long fingers dug into Keith's scalp as he moved to start unweaving and separating his hair, but instead of completing the action, he tugged on the locks until Keith's head was leaning back a little so they could meet eyes. After a moment of the eye contact, Lance leaned forward and rested his chin on top of Keith's hair, sighing.
At the contact, Keith felt a flush warm his cheeks, but was determined to get Lance at least a little calmer. “Braid it.” He urged, proud of his own tone not wavering.
“We didn't train today. You don't have to humor me, Keith.” The fingers twisted around Keith's dark locks, ignoring how damp they were with a battle's worth of sweat in favor of curling them idly.
Keith, face twisting at the feeling of Lance tugging his hair, almost growled, settling on an unamused huff instead. “I never humor you.” He pointed out, relaxing his shoulders against the inside of Lance's calves. “This cheers you up, right? Just do it.”
Lance's fingers stilled at the command, and Keith looked down instead of trying to strain his eyes to see Lance's any longer. A sniffle came, and both of them ignored Lance's involuntary response as he lifted his head. His fingers actually went to work sectioning Keith's hair, just one braid this time, and Keith closed his eyes as his bangs were swept back from his forehead, the tan hand responsible for the action lingering just a bit at the hairline.
Keith didn't have to remind him to talk this time, the words pouring out the second the first few links in the braid had been weaved. “I know Blue chose me, before I say anything else, and I know you're not Hunk so most of this will be in one ear and out the other,” Keith took great offense to Lance's latter words, not liking the implication that he wouldn't be listening to what the blue paladin had to say, but didn't object in favor of letting him continue, “but I really don't know what I can do for the team. I'm trying. You told Shiro that, thank you, but I know I need to find something better than try and it's not working. I know there are things I'm doing, but I still feel like I'm not giving enough.”
If Keith didn't have the reassurance of Lance's good hair fingers behind him as an anchor of reality, he would have guessed it wasn't Lance at all speaking, the voice being too doubting and quietly thoughtful. Keith could tell that Lance genuinely was at a loss, but he was just as confused. “Why do you feel like you need to find something?” In a way, the red paladin was almost proud of himself for thinking of what seemed to be a good question in Lance's personal evaluation.
Lance snorted, “Um, buddy, I'm not exactly pulling the most weight here.” Well, that was something, but still just as confusing.
“That's not the point of—” Keith tried, narrowing his eyes when Lance cut him off.
“The point of Voltron is that we all carry an equal part of a whole. We all work together and connect with one another for the greater good, I get that, but we can't always connect if I'm falling behind, or I'm not carrying my share.” The reasoning was sound, unfortunately, and much more mature than anything Keith would have initially expected Lance to utter, but in these more-frequent-than-ever quiet moments he couldn’t find himself surprised at the words, no matter how he disagreed.
“So…you think you’re not giving enough.” Keith concluded, tipping his head a little more forward as he felt Lance’s fingers reach the nape of his neck, “What are you not giving enough of? Yourself?”
“Yeah.” Lance said simply, even quieter and sounding primarily like he was focusing elsewhere. When his braiding reached the ends of Keith’s hair, he didn’t tie off the section, opting to twist the little ending curl in one of his skinny fingers instead.
The silence and general unease settled over the two of them, and Keith had a sinking feeling this was just one of the roots of Lance’s quiet self-deprecating comments in the training room. “You don’t have to…” He tried quietly, ultimately trailing off and sighing when Lance spoke up instead.
“Have you ever worn a dress? Or, like, any fancy clothes? Garrison uniform doesn’t count.” He asked, tying off the braid if the tug at the end of Keith’s hair was any indicator.
The red paladin grunted, suspicious of the question, and rolled his eyes when Lance mocked the sound. “No. Why would I have?”
“It’s fun.” Lance spoke the words with no ounce of disbelief or questioning, raising from the pedestal to walk across the room and gather up the dress he had been looking at before Keith had arrived. “Fashion show?” His voice was a song of delight as he held up the garment towards Keith, eyebrows wiggling in a promise the other wasn’t entirely inclined to see the outcome of.
“You want me to wear a dress.” Keith huffed, staring at his bright eyes with only a little heat in his cheeks, still able to think enough through the mild fluster to question his own decisions.
Lance beamed, and Keith swallowed. “I’ll wear one, too. I think there’s tunics and stuff over in the far cabinet there, if you’re going to be a chicken about it, though.” A lazy finger pointed down the wall, but Keith was already standing.
“I’m not chicken!” He hissed, grabbing the dress from Lance and shrugging off one of the shoulders to his jacket. “What are you wearing?”
“I don’t know yet.” Lance shrugged, allowing Keith to take the dress and turning on his heel to look back into the cabinet he had retrieved it from originally. “I think I want to pull out some of this really extra alien stuff. Go the whole nine yards. Nothing screams diplomacy more than wearing foreign dresses from ten-thousand years ago.” As Keith tugged off his shirt and unbuckled his pants, Lance seemed to stiffen a little, peeking over his shoulder.
“This thing is probably made for like Allura or somebody who can shapeshift. I don’t have the boobs to fill out this front part.” Keith remarked casually, not noticing Lance’s gaze and dropping his pants like standing in just his boxers wasn’t a concern. “Also, I think it would be cultural appropriation to pull out ancient dress replicas of foreign places and parade around in them like you do. I doubt you’d wear half of them right.”
Lance half-laughed, turning despite his very red face and crossing his arms. “Excuse you, I’d wear all this alien junk amazingly.” He defended easily, watching as Keith shoved a leg into the dress and stumbled a little.
When Keith looked up through his struggle he stumbled again, realizing Lance’s eyes were on him and flushing at the attention. “Whatever. Just pick a dress.” His lips came to an uncharacteristic pout at the angle rather than looking like his usual scowl, and Lance was positively endeared.
“What if I get a tunic? Don’t tell me what to do.” He felt more than he saw Keith’s eye roll in return.
“Just pick something, I’m not going to be the only one dressing up here.”
Lance moved to finally turn away completely, shoving himself into a closet to root around. “Fine, fiiiine.” He drew out, rolling his eyes to himself in the dim inner lighting. “Do you think I'm more of a true blue or cornflower?” As soon as he heard a small rip behind him, he was back to watching Keith.
The red paladin was frowning as he tried to shove his bicep into the small cap sleeve of the dress, visibly growing more agitated and tense the longer it took. “What does that mean?” He huffed, not realizing he was being watched in his efforts. When a small tear sounded again, he winced, his nose scrunching up as if reluctant to harm the garment any more than they had.
Something furled deep in Lance's chest, watching Keith so determined to get the strange clear and puffy dress on, and so he moved forward to help with no hesitation. It wasn't until he was seizing the bulk of Keith's muscular arms that he started thinking about it, and pushed through the action despite their collective red faces. He couldn’t afford to lose Keith’s comfort just because he was suddenly aware of how much the red paladin lifted, no matter how great the swell of muscle felt under his own thin hands. With a muted swallow and a little wiggling, Lance managed to squeeze the rest of the arm into the sleeve for Keith and moved to help him with the other, pointedly ignoring the flushed gaze Keith kept so steady on him.
“What does that mean?” Keith repeated, seemingly giving the both of them an easy out to the warm tension between them.
Lance was thankful for the chance, laughing as he got the other sleeve and moving to try and fasten the dress for him. “They’re different kinds of blues.”
“Cornflower?”
He didn’t need to look up to know Keith’s nose was scrunching in confusion as it tended to, instead busying himself with the strange buttons that seemed to be flexible with pressure but hold stiff once folded over. It was getting a little tight around the waist, but Lance couldn’t even find it in himself to make fun of Keith for it, knowing it was all toned muscle that prevented the perfect fit rather than an ounce of body fat. “Yeah, trust me. It’s a type of flower, that’s why the same blue is named after it.”
Keith’s arms were stiff at his sides as Lance reached the top of the fastenings, only able to pull them towards one another minimally before giving up and sparing the already strained seams of the dress. From his slight bent position, Lance knew he was breathing awkwardly all over Keith’s shoulders as he fiddled with the back of the dress, but when he glanced up over his teammate’s shoulders, he was surprised to find his expression…soft, in the mirror, rather than glaring or uncomfortable.
The dress was undeniably laughable in its shape, swelling and pulling in awkwardly at the bottom of the skirt in a way that could never be any shape of flattering for a humanoid figure, but the bodice…left Lance with other thoughts. Even with the strange emptiness in the top where more traditionally humanoid feminine weight would sit, it flattered both Keith’s complexion and tapered figure, and while he wasn’t exactly the picture of grace, he looked easier and more refined in a way that Lance hadn’t recognized him in before.
“Pretty.” The blue paladin concluded without filter, lips quirking as Keith’s face darkened. Before the dressed of the two had the chance to turn and hiss at him, Lance slipped his hands under Keith’s arms—the sleeves digging into the red paladin's shoulders in protest as he raised them fractionally to accommodate—and wrapped them securely around his torso. He pressed a palm to each of the empty cups, flattening them against Keith’s hard chest and craning his neck a little to see.
Keith looked absolutely murderous, but when his mouth fell ajar and his eyes met Lance’s own amused and bright ones, he made no protest.
Hours later, after a lengthy amount of wardrobe changes into a wide variety of gowns, Keith convinced Lance to talk to Allura. He agreed in the end with more pout and gaze aversion than Keith was particularly at ease with, but it was decided that as soon as the princess seemed calmed down enough to approach, Lance would take his opportunity for the good of the team.
It took more than a few days before Lance finally felt like Allura’s gazes towards him were no longer laced with stern disdain for his conduct. He was pointedly excluded from two diplomatic meetings (something Pidge seemed very uncomfortable covering him for) before their princess and leader seemed to calm down enough for his approach, but that didn’t mean he was any more prepared for when it would happen.
Standing in the control room alone was an intimidating reminder of his role in the castle, but standing with Allura as the only other occupant in the room was like being slapped in the face with the reality of their struggles and cause. He had no idea how to approach his own problem, miniscule in the grand scheme of hers, but he knew he had to express something in resemblance to acknowledgement of his mistakes, no matter how difficult.
Allura spoke for him. “I do not mean to offend you when I express my concerns for your connections and behavior, Lance.” Her brilliant eyes were trained ahead, hands on the pedestals that she channeled her connection to the ship through and working to lift from the planet they had temporarily docked on to do a quick check of the castle systems while stationary.
Lance flinched, wishing he could control the bottomless pit of dread in his stomach from swirling so much. “I know.” He assured her, eyes trained on her profile naturally and admiring her responsibility in the situation. “I didn’t mean to cause so many problems. I—you know I’m trying.”
Her head inclined, but her eyes did not follow its direction, still watching the expanse of the shrinking planet. “Of course I do, but I know you are doubting yourself, too. The Blue Lion practically screams as much in your connection. A connection I would defend as one of the strongest in the castle if asked, but filled with confusion nonetheless.” Her voice was evening into a tad softer of a tone, growing comfortable by his side again.
“I can’t help it.” He tried, continuing only when she tutted to herself. “I’m giving as much as I think I can, and I know it’s not enough. I don’t think, sometimes, that I was ever really meant to get on Blue.”
His gaze averted as her own came finally. “Excuse me?” The calmness was gone as soon as it had been registered, and Allura seemed to be just as defensive as Lance likened himself to being on the subject. “The Blue Lion did not make a mistake.”
“An exception?”
When he chanced a glance back up, her eyebrows were furrowed, almost scowling in a perfect intensity to match the red paladin’s, which was no easy feat. “No. You are meant to be here. The Blue Lion did not decide on you as her paladin—after ten-thousand years of rest, mind you—for convenience sake. It is your destiny to be here on this ship.”
Lance chuckled at her stern reassurance, grateful but feeling his dread swell up to bitterness. “I wish destiny would have given me a heads up then, honestly. Kind of harsh to hurl a dude into space on a giant cat without at least a phone call home.” He regretted the words as he had finished, but he knew Allura wouldn’t take them too personally.
“Destiny is not fair, and tricky to try and predict. Believe me when I say I didn’t expect to be piloting my home through space fighting an enemy I was unconscious to see come to power over most of the known universe.” Her eyes flicked back out to the observation view, and Lance felt his shoulders relax as she smiled softly, “You miss Earth, I know you all do, and I wish I give to you what I cannot do for myself by taking you there, but I don’t need to explain to you why that is not a good idea.”
“Yeah.” Lance agreed, heaving a soft sigh as he followed suit of her gaze and remembered Coran’s similar sentiment so many months ago. “I guess this stuff has been getting to me lately, but I can’t let it affect the team like it has been, and I’m sorry.”
“It is okay, Lance.” Her voice was soft again, “I won’t fault you for inner turmoil on the quest you’re all fated to. I just want you to be aware of where your faults and strengths lie. I want you to grow stronger as much as the rest of the team, and I know you all will.”
Her words, oddly, settled his nerves and negative feelings tremendously, and he felt his lips perking up again even with the soft thought in the back of his head reminding him of the absence of any strengths. “I don’t know what to do to help around here besides throw myself at things.”
“Then do anything you can. You started braiding Keith’s hair, yes? Very odd, might I say, in comparison to the Altean braiding fashion, but I digress.” Once they were far enough from the planet and past its atmosphere, she shifted her weight into a more relaxed stance and flicked a hand up, monitors appearing before her and listing a million different Altean-worded diagnostics.
“I—uh, yeah?” Lance snorted, scratching the back of his neck and shrugging a little. “That’s just…It helps me think of home, and I think it relaxes Keith a little bit too, so it’s a win-win.”
“Keep looking for…win-wins, you called it? I’m sure there are more things you could find to ease the tensions of the crew and yourself, you certainly know us all best.” Her voice was light as she skimmed through a reading on one of the screens before her, growing a little distracted as she scanned further.
He glanced back at her, smiling wider and watching her work fondly. “Thanks, Allura.” He said sincerely. When she nodded in return with a small smile of her own, he finally asked, “Can I do your makeup?”
Her skimming paused, and she seemed to take a moment to re-consider what she had said before she glanced at him. “Well,” she considered, “I don’t see how that benefits both you and the team, but I did promise.”
“Earth-style. It’s a diplomatic lesson.” He tried, wiggling his eyebrows and shifting his weight to punctuate the finger guns he was giving her. “Plus, you’ll look amazing wherever we land next.”
Her lips quirked wider, “Very well. I don’t see how I could possibly go without immersing myself in Earth culture, for future diplomacy reasons, of course. I will have to show you some time in the training room in return, though. Altea-style. As a diplomatic lesson.”
Lance swallowed, fear immediately replacing his soft excitement, but didn’t back down from her offer of exchange. “Fine, but I'm bringing backup. The training room rat's on my side.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll all enjoy the lesson.” She was laughing, then, and Lance felt a lurch of pride in his ribs at being able to bring such a peace to her intensity. “I would not dream of keeping any of you from learning.”
“Stop twitching, I’m almost done.” Lance groaned, patting a dark blue as neatly as he could in a thin line across the edge of Allura’s lashes.
“It is not my fault! You are pushing too hard!” The mice on her shoulder looped around her neck and poised themselves on top of one another to get a better look.
Lance rolled his eyes, giving a pointed glance to the rodents to see if they shared his exasperation. “I’m not even using the weird pencil thing anymore, you’re just psyching yourself out.”
The princess squirmed in her seat, huffing once more and raising a hand to catch one of the mice instinctively as it slipped a bit. “I am not.” She argued indignantly, holding her breath as she felt Lance pull away. Lance, privately, knew she had no idea what his slang meant.
“You are. You were a princess! You probably got all dolled up all the time and you can’t even handle a little powder line!” He huffed, swiping the line just a fraction to add a soft smudge.
“Altean makeup fads had much less…prodding.”
Lance’s eyes rolled again. “It doesn’t matter. I’m done and you look great.” It was an unfamiliar routine of bickering between them, but he couldn’t help but like the feel of the nonsensical argumentative tone between them. Casual bickering put him at ease, bringing comfort and familiarity he would normally associate with his own family but was quickly learning to associate with all the important family to him out in space.
“Then I can open my eyes?” The princess asked, edge still on her words but lacing with hesitation. She had felt the different sweeps and strokes of Lance’s fingers and what brushes he could find applying all the different sorts of makeup she had let him borrow, but she had no idea what to expect from Earth customs.
“Yes, you old baby. Let’s go.” A smirk pulled at Lance’s face as she did as he said, her eyes widening as soon as they had roved over to the mirror.
“Oh.” Allura breathed, shifting her seat a little to get a better look. “That is interesting. What did you do to my valkhudd?” Her fingers traced the pink streaks below her eyes curiously as her eyebrows rose.
His smile softened as he saw that Allura wasn’t completely appalled by his work. A little uncertainly, he had traced the outline of the pink marks with a bit of a darker tint he had found to get them to pop out, always having admired the strange and unique marking of the Alteans. “Don’t mess it up.” He instructed automatically, “I just highlighted them.”
When her gaze moved on to the other aspects of her look, Lance beamed at her little assuring smile of approval. “It is very nice. It almost looks like you’ve sharpened my features, but without any shape shifting necessary. All earthlings do this?” Her fingers hovered over the bloom of her cheeks, admiring the soft touches of what blush Lance had made do with there.
“Well, no.” He smiled, “Because a lot of people think makeup is really time consuming, and Earth has complicated relationships with gender roles sometimes. I know how to do it because I loved watching my mama do her own until she taught me how, but I’m not sure everyone would know as much as I do.” He imagined his teammates all dolled up for diplomacy meetings they had every once in a while and sighed a little wistfully to himself, imagining the elegance they could enhance with little touches such as what Allura was sporting then. With them in mind, something occurred to him, and he thought to add, “Well, maybe Shiro. He does eyeliner but it’s always there so I’m almost convinced it’s a tattoo or something. How does he even do eyeliner?” His thought ended quietly, a little self-reflecting and wondering if he’d been seeing things after so long in space, but the more he imagined it, the more he was certain he had never seen their leader not look put together. Strange.
“Why would they think it time consuming? It seems quick and useful enough in relaxation if you are used to it and have someone with an affinity for it helping.” Allura sounded put out, but hummed thoughtfully, “If we get more time, I would like to do your own makeup how I remember it from Altea. I am sure Coran would love to have input as well.”
“Since you guys were amazing diplomats and all, why did you have makeup trends at all? With all the shapeshifting?” Lance wondered, sitting beside Allura on the little bench in front of her vanity she was occupying.
She seemed surprised at the question and smiled a little proudly, pulling her hair from the headband Lance had pushed into it to let it cascade back into place. “Alteans were known to be very fashionable. We care very much about appearances for the exact purpose of diplomacy. While we can shape shift, it is important to reflect your own cultural standards and practices when connecting with a different population.” Dazzling eyes glanced at him in the mirror as he prodded at strange bottles on the surface of her vanity. “I’m sure you can understand the want to represent yourself. You certainly let a lot of people know about human customs.”
“Oh,” Lance noted with ease, “I’m usually just making stuff up because it’s funny.”
A pause came, followed by her hiss of his name. “Lance. You are our best diplomatic figure under myself and Coran, you would do well to take that seriously.”
“What?” He choked, laughing a little, “What about Shiro? Hunk? No way, come on.”
She huffed, blinking her eyes at her own reflection slowly to see the colors on her lids as they shimmered at the action. “Shiro is a very good diplomat as well, as is Hunk, but neither are as charismatic as you. Don’t let that inflate your ‘ego,’ as Pidge says, but you are very accomplished in diffusing tensions.”
Surprised by her genuine words, Lance’s eyes caught on his messily painted nails, chipping a little by now, and he took a breath of silence for himself.
“Okay.” He eventually said, feeling her gaze on him. “That’s fair, I guess. I mean, I definitely don’t hate people as much as Pidge and Keith, so that’s something.”
“Well,” She drawled a little, pausing as somebody knocked on her door.
“Allura!” Pidge called through the door, “It’s me!”
“Oh,” Allura was up without a moment of hesitation, throwing the door open and smiling kindly down at their youngest paladin in an instant. “What can I help you with, Pidge?”
From a little ways back in the room, Lance could see Pidge’s eyes widen fractionally behind her thick frames as she glanced up from her tablet screen at Allura. “Oh, nice. Shiro and I made something cool, if you want to meet us in the dining room.”
“Something ‘cool’?” Allura wondered, moving aside and straightening her skirts to prepare for her departure.
“Yeah, you’ll see. Nice makeup, by the way.” Lance busied himself with what looked like sludge perfume in a test tube. “I didn’t know Alteans did makeup.”
Allura laughed softly, “Why, thank you. Lance did it for me.”
“Oh, have you seen him? I went to get him first, but he wasn’t in his room.”
The princess moved aside in the doorway to keep from blocking the smaller girl’s view, and Lance stood to meet them at the doorway with a wave. “You and Shiro made something?” He clarified, curious, “Not Hunk?”
The corners of Pidge’s lips upturned a little crookedly, and she repeated, “Nah, you’ll see.”
Shiro sat at the head of the dining room where Allura usually positioned herself, and the change was significant enough for them all to exchange curious glances as Pidge, Allura, and Lance filtered in. Everyone else was already seated, Hunk looking giddy and impatient as he pointed at the empty chair between him and Keith. “They made cards!” He was the first to exclaim, pausing blatantly as he caught sight of Allura.
“Hunk!” Pidge scolded, her grin falling only fractionally at the lack of preamble to their surprise.
Allura sat between Shiro and Coran, glancing between them. “Cards?”
“Playing cards?” Lance cried, diving to his assigned seat beside his best friend.
“Yup.” Pidge said proudly. “Shiro saw me playing solitaire on my laptop, and I remembered Matt always talking about how disgusting he was at poker against Shiro, and now we’re all going to witness it and team build. Right, Shiro?” Pidge sat at Hunk’s other side, grinning and setting her tablet to the space beside her.
Shiro was staring at Pidge, slowly shuffling the little holographic discs in his hand like an afterthought. “Right.” He cleared his throat and said, glancing at the table and meeting their well-measured amused looks with a careful one of his own. Letting the tension bleed away with a chuckle, he continued, “I know how to play well, don’t think it’ll be as easy to beat me, Pidge’s brother is just much better.”
“What are cards?” Coran piped up when Allura and he shared another glance, amusement clear in his voice and broad smile.
“What kinds of games do Alteans even play?” Keith asked, waving a hand to punctuate his question, only to have it lost in the excitement.
“Playing cards are like little scraps of paper that have all different kinds of symbols and numbers on them that mean different things in different games. They can be used to play, like, hundreds of games.” Lance explained excitedly, elbowing Hunk and eyeing the stack in Shiro’s hands.
Pidge gave half a sigh, though she was still excited. “We probably shouldn’t start with poker if they don’t even have cards.” She pointed out, shrugging and glancing at Hunk and Lance out of the corner of her eye. “We could start with something easier. Like, I don’t know, Go—“
“GO FISH!” Hunk and Lance cried with much more enthusiasm. Lance was almost standing in his chair, and the excitement emanating off the both of them was equally infectious and surprising.
“Lance and I are Go Fish champs.” Hunk explained, grinning broadly and practically bouncing.
“How?” Keith asked doubtfully, voicing both his and Shiro’s question.
Pidge snickered into her hand. “They count cards.”
“We do not!” Lance exclaimed, slapping his hand down on the table, “We are psychic. Connected in the brain to process matches at high speed.”
“Are we going somewhere for this fish?” Coran asked, glancing around in the midst of the argument.
“Besides,” Hunk continued for Lance, “Card counting makes no sense, that’s for blackjack and betting games.”
“No, I mean,” Pidge clarified, snorting, “I’ve seen you two. You do the weird eye-contact thing and you figure out where every card is.”
“Why would you need to be so good and intense at going fishing?” Allura tried, confused.
Shiro explained, “We’re not going anywhere, Coran.”
“I don’t see how you can be that good at Go Fish even if you’re keeping a good track of the cards. They get shuffled.” Keith said suspiciously.
“Psychic.” Lance said.
“The shuffle probability equation Pidge and I made up.” Hunk clarified.
“So you were in on this Go Fish mastering?” Shiro asked Pidge. “I still would have helped you even if it wasn’t for poker.”
Pidge waved her hand dismissively, “I know, but this wasn’t actually my plan, I just thought it would be way funnier when I realized it.”
“Why did you and Pidge think of a shuffling probability equation?” Keith tried, wanting to get to the real facts of this conversation that was spiraling out of control.
“To win, Keith, come on.” Hunk laughed, high fiving both of his Garrison companions.
Something nagged at the back of Keith’s mind. “I did hear something about a card ring, but I heard it was stopped.” Shiro voiced thoughtfully instead.
“Poker was stopped because Pidge was crazy good at it,” Lance explained, bright as a sun and grinning wide, “but we had other games.”
“You guys were part of that Go Fish ring? What the hell?” Keith finally realized, throwing his hands into the air. In the back of his mind, there was the vaguest memory of rejecting an offer of invitation from a fellow classmate, but that was the most he had heard of that subject.
“We played a lot of games, actually.” Pidge nudged her glasses up with a single knuckle, “We were the best at Go Fish and War, but War was only because Lance was really good at distracting people while he slighted his cards.”
“Hunk,” Allura tried, but Hunk would not meet her gaze, blinking and glancing frantically away as fast as his eyes had made contact. “What types of rings were involved in cards?”
“Pass them out, Shiro! Let’s go! Fish Squad is back!” Lance hollered, definitely standing on his chair now. Pidge, from the other side of Hunk, was grinning like a fool and whooping along.
Shiro laughed, giving everyone five slates of the thin holographic plastic. Coran and Allura peered at theirs curiously, still not quite sure of what was going on.
Instead of explaining right away, Shiro glanced at Allura and Coran for the briefest of seconds and asked, “There’s a few hours—dobashes?—before we reach that planet you wanted to check out, right, princess?”
“Well, yes.” She pursed her lips, a little displeased towards the confusion all around them, “The castle will give an alert in the event of any encounters with the Galra or hailing ships….”
“Fish Squad?” Keith asked incredulously after a delay.
Lance ignored him, practically giggling as he sat back down and shuffled his little slates.
Coran seemed off-put by the little squares, examining them carefully and pursing his lips beneath his mustache at the little pictures they depicted.
“So, Go Fish,” Pidge finally presented to the two aliens, “Is a matching game where you ask other players in the game if they have a card with the same number as a card you have. You want to make pairs of two or a full set of four. In cards, there are four suits with an ace, a king, a queen, a jack, and the numbers two through ten.”
“Suits? Costumes?” Allura wondered, flicking her glance down to the antsy Hunk and Lance.
“Suits are just what the types of cards are called. They’re usually little shapes, but since Pidge was making them I told her she had to make her own suits, too.” Shiro explained, “And her little doodles are nice, so she made her own kings and queens, too.”
“I’m not even sorry.” When she heard Keith choke as he finally looked down at his cards. Two familiar face cards stared up at him from the hard squares. Allura the king and Lance the ace, artistic as they were in Pidge’s doodling, were distinguishable.
“Did you make jokers? So we can play Old Maid?” Lance asked excitedly, smile from ear to ear.
Pidge nodded, “You’re the joker.” And ignored Lance’s pout.
“Old Maid?” Coran asked, eyebrows raising.
“One thing at a time.” Keith cut them off. “Okay so, since Shiro shuffled normally you would go first, Allura, but since it’s your first time we’re just going to go the other way around and let Pidge go.”
“Good leadership, Keith.” Shiro pointed out.
He groaned, “Shut up.”
“Do you have any sevens, Keith?” Pidge broke in, smirking when she and Hunk’s gaze met.
“Go fish.”
Allura leaned over the table to ask, a little softly, “Is he instructing her to leave or is this where the game gets its name?”
The black paladin muffled a laugh, sliding the deck of cards as close to the center as he could reach from his position at the head. “It’s part of the game. By fish he means take another card. When the person you ask doesn’t have a card you want, you get to grab one from the deck—that pile of extra cards there—and it goes to the next person’s turn.”
“Why, this reminds me of Grickli Bickli!” Coran cried, a little surprised and endeared.
Allura paused a moment, tilting her head before letting out a long, “Ooooh. That makes much more sense, thank you, Coran.”
“Grickli Bickli?” Pidge asked.
“Shiro, do you have any fours?” Hunk asked at the same time.
“It seems like it was a similar concept, but we played with swords and daggers.” Coran explained, smiling.
“That doesn’t sound similar.” Lance pointed out, beating his hands excitedly on the table, his cards face-down between them. Shiro, from the end of the table, slid a card towards Hunk.
“Keith, do you have any fives?” Hunk continued, smile as bright as the sun.
“Why is he going again?” Allura made a small confused noise and Hunk, in a moment of weakness, glanced fully at her, only to stop and give her a softened stare.
Lance grinned wickedly from beside him, sharing a glance with Keith instinctively to catch him snorting, a gleam in his eye. Shiro valiantly tried to hide his amusement when he noticed, Pidge did not.
Coran eventually piped in, a stern amusement in his voice, “Hunk, my boy, why are you going again?”
Hunk seemed to straighten awkwardly in his seat, pointedly looking away again and shaking his head as if he'd broken a daze. “If the person you ask has the card you want, you get to ask somebody again.” He explained, rubbing a hand over his reddening face.
“Oh,” Allura said, only slightly off-put by his strange look. After a second, she seemed to giggle a little, glancing at Coran to say, “Imagine if had played this game against any of the Huvir. They were infamous for their mind reading and neck flexibility, after all.”
Coran's mustache twitched as a chuckle filled with pure mirth broke free. “Quite right, I do remember how interesting those diplomacy meetings would go. I wonder if they're still around.” His tone ended fondly, if not a little sad.
Hunk would not be deterred, however, restating, “Keith. Fives.”
“Ugh.” And Keith passed a card over. “It's the first round, how do you even know that?”
The blue paladin raised half out of his seat again, sweeping a hand towards Hunk in a grand introducing gesture. “Hunk is the luckiest and happiest man alive.” He pointed out sagely, “He was blessed by the card gods because of his sunny disposition to always guess cards correctly. That's why he's the best partner.”
“There are no card gods.” Pidge explained before Coran could ask, noticing his already-poised finger.
“Allura. Any sevens?” Hunk continued, grinning at Lance's broadcast and trying to move past the warmth in his cheeks.
The princess's lips screwed up a fraction, confused as she gazed down at her cards. “I quite forget what the seven looks like for you earthlings.” She hummed, “Is it with the flat top or one of the squiggly ones?”
“Flat top, straight side.” Pidge provided again.
“There you are, Hunk.” Twin dazzling smiles met one another, and Allura didn't seem the least phased to hand over a card.
“Thank you, Allura.” The yellow paladin made sure to comment, moving on, “Keith—whoa, don't give me that look—I'll take your six, too.”
“What six?” Keith countered dangerously, the smallest of smirks poking up his lips.
Allura leaned forward, sliding her cards between one another and rearranging them so she could keep track of the numbers better, not quite used to how they were written for the earthlings yet. “Six is the one that helps make the 'frowny with a tongue', as Lance said, correct?”
Hunk replied, “Yes. The frowny right in your hand, Keith.”
“Go. Fish.”
With a grunt from Hunk, Lance sat fully back down in his chair and asked, “Ace, Pidge?”
She squawked, “We're on the same team!”
“Garrison's over, birdy.” Lance replied, giving a small tsk as he reached for the card.
“Oh man, is this me!? You drew me on a card?” Lance cooed, demeanor softened.
“There are no teams in Go Fish.” Hunk pointed out at the same time, blatantly passing Lance a card from his own hand he realized the other would need.
After the discovery that a planet they would be visiting soon was largely into Olympian-style displays of courage, the paladins all had agreed to a few more training sessions to sharpen their senses, keeping the thoughts of old gladiator legends from Earth in mind. Allura and Coran were not exactly familiar with the tales, but they understood the concept once presented. Each paladin gave suggestions for training sessions to improve on, but most were paused at Lance’s own thought. They were still at the dining table, cleaning up the cards after giving up on Go Fish finally. Coran and Allura seemed to have the concept down, however trivial they thought the exercise, and the rest of the team was silently confident that they would get to poker someday.
“If we need to impress them, we should spend time loosening up for their games.” Lance said, though the explanation wasn't entirely needed, “I say pool day. We've got to fix that stupid Altean pool and have a pool day to train.”
“Excuse me?” Coran asked, a smidge of offense in his tone on behalf of the castle.
“To train.” Hunk repeated, gesturing to Lance with mirth in his smile to emphasize his suggestion. Shiro seemed to be mentally weighing the actual training benefits before Keith cut in.
“It would probably be good to practice if we're going to be thrown into some trials.” The red paladin pointed out, shrugging and pointedly not meeting Lance's gaze, knowing the blue paladin would look dumbly touched at the support.
Pidge seemed conflicted at his side, but nudged her glasses up silently.
Their leader shrugged, looking towards Allura. “How long until we arrive at the planet?” He asked.
“A quintant or two, at most. It would hardly be a full pool 'day', as you've said.” The princess informed, glancing at her tablet on the table beside her and clucking a little to herself as she pressed at a few controls. “Though I'm afraid I won't be able to join you, nor will Coran. It seems we've encountered a separate planet not listed on our records. We'll have to be on a bit of an alert.” Despite being the most responsible of the bunch by far, Allura seemed a little disappointed at the distraction.
“Are you sure you don't need us in the controls with you?” Shiro asked, glancing at Coran with his eyebrows raised.
She gave a firm nod in return. “No, I am sure it shall be fine, I'll just have to manually add the planet to the database with Coran's help. Perhaps it is time we find a way to update our navigation systems…” Her voice trailed off a little to herself.
“Who's going to fix the pool then?” Lance, noting the important question, asked.
Coran and Allura shared a glance before the older of the two spoke up. “Now what might be the problem with it?”
“It's upside-down.” Keith groaned, remembering the fight to get there in the first place.
Pidge could not swim, but that was only the first of her problems. She was beyond pleased to find out the holographic tablets they used were fine in water, but that was where her satisfaction ended. Hunk had noticed Shiro coaxing Pidge to prepare to learn and her reluctance to ready any part of herself for the water, and had asked to see her tablet for a quick second. The second it touched his hands he sent it soaring to the center of the pool, jogging off away from Pidge's startled squawk as soon as the splash sounded.
“I'm not putting those on, Shiro. Come on.” She groaned, rubbing her mouth and staring at the...water wings...their leader held. Not able to bring herself to get snappy with the man, she couldn't fully deny the offer with as much vengeance as she wished.
Keith seemed to be letting confusion slip through his heavy disinterest. “I don't see how you can't swim. The Garrison does training the first year.” He pointed out, shifting the towel around his shoulders a little as he strode towards the now-righted poolside.
“I was only in first year when we got abducted by the Blue Lion.” Pidge hissed, grabbing one of the water wings Shiro was still offering and blinking at the weight. They were not the inflatable wings of Earth, noted for their buoyancy. If anything, she thought they would probably drown her more with the heavy stone material. A little involuntarily, she looked excitedly down at the thing and thought of what strange material they could possibly be made of.
Lance snickered from the side. “She never got that far. A good thing, too, because imagine how that locker room session would go, gremlin.”
She huffed at the name. “I had a plan.” Her tone was defensive, but Lance was grinning at her and it was borderline infectious, so she couldn't help but quirk her lips a little at the thought. She was still a little flat chested, but that was definitely something she wasn't excited about trying hide if the time rolled around at the Garrison. There was no real way to avoid it, unless you happened to be kidnapped by a giant metal lion. In fact, even in her own closet in the castle she had only found a pair of swim trunks in a signature green. If not for the generosity of the blue paladin, she wouldn't have a wrinkly tee to use in their swimming adventures. She'd have to ask Allura or Coran later for proper extra clothing. She doubted all the past paladins were all male, so she didn't question whether they would have a full green bathing suit somewhere or not.
When she thought about it, though, she didn't really care if she was stuck with just the trunks and t-shirts for any future swimming. Tight clothes, swimsuits included, were weird. Even their flight suits tended to give her an uncomfortable itch whenever she first put them on. It was entirely on her own paranoia, probably, accustomed to hiding from obvious tells of femininity and anything that may give away hints to her moving identity early on.
“Pidge.” Hunk returned when it looked safe and called her from her train of thought, “What are those made of? Oh man.” The yellow paladin, much stronger than her, could lift the strange water wing much easier, but he wasn't immune to the surprising weight.
Having moved to the other side of the pool, Lance and Keith bickered pleasantly.
“I bet you can't even swim, you were just trying to get under my skin by following me to the pool.” Lance teased, dancing along the edge of the water.
Keith gave a hard snort, “Are you telling me you never saw me in swim testing? You seemed pretty preoccupied with me in the Garrison, so I find that hard to believe.”
Though he looked affronted (and very red in the face?), Lance continued boldly, “I bet I could swim circles around you, dropout.”
“Let's go then.” Keith, wanting to end the preamble, was tired of letting his gaze flick distractedly around Lance's bare shoulders and chest. While he couldn't help his amusement at their banter, the staring was going to get noticed sooner or later, and he figured the best way to stop it was to move on with their stupid debate in the first place
He was wrong. The second the both of them emerged from the first dive into the water, Keith's eyes were drawn again to the blue paladin, every drop of water unable to be ignored. The slick of wet hair pushed back off of Lance's forehead made Keith lick his lips involuntarily, eyes hardening as the other went under again and emerged a second later, eyes still shut.
“Why are you glaring at me?” The blue paladin barked a laugh when his eyes, blue as the water all around them, popped open to see Keith wading less than a foot from him.
Keith hackles raised immediately, but didn't back away. “I'm not.” He defended easily, voice coming out a little strained as he glared at the little stream of water trailing down the side of Lance's face. “How many laps are we racing?”
Even at his tone and glare, Lance's smile grew, “Two. I'll even tell you right now that you can quit before you embarrass yourself. I won't hold it against you for being a coward, I promise.” Tan hands cut through the water beside him, drawing them closer in his teasing and keeping him afloat while Keith sunk lower.
“Too bad I'm not backing out.” He snorted again, his own hand poking Lance's side to hear his squeak of protest. Ticklish. Despite Lance’s earlier disbelief of Keith’s inability to be tickled, it was somehow surprising to the red paladin that Lance would be so easily jumpy at touches.
Lance distanced himself with a hiss before turning to put himself at the edge of the pool and ready for their race. “You ever hear the phrase 'live to fight another day'? You've got to let things go sometimes so you don't come out a sore loser.” Despite the lack of base in his words, the blue paladin looked smug explaining his teasing.
“Why would I want to let things go if I'm going to win?” Keith challenged, readying himself beside Lance on the pool wall.
“Cute, mullet.” Lance shot back, snickering and counting down from five.
Keith gave a fraction of a smirk. “You know what, I think it is, too.” As he shot off from the wall of the pool, he reveled in the sound of Lance choking behind him before his head was submerged.
Like with most events between the two, Lance was disgruntled to discover Keith to be a capable man, but he refused to be bested at one of his best fortes. Some children are made for the sea, his abuela would say fondly while she tried to get him to dry off before running inside her beach home, but the sea is not made for my home, so you’re not bringing it in.
Keith emerged halfway through his second lap, knowing he was behind, just to catch Lance finishing his up. Across the water, Pidge was reluctantly pulling on what looked like boulders on each arm and swearing loudly at a prodding Hunk, but the red paladin was fixed on the shot of tan under the water shooting through. When he emerged, water glistening off of him in the bright lighting of the castle interior, he barely gave a pant, grinning and looking for Keith in the water. Their eyes met, and Keith couldn’t help but be drawn in again, floating towards the lankier boy casually and waiting for the inevitable teasing.
“Did you give up, Billy Ray? That’s not like you.” Using a soft hand to wipe at his face, Lance looked like he couldn’t stop the giddiness in his expression even if he wanted to.
Keith was both dazzled and softened, though he managed a snort for posterity’s sake. “Does it really make sense to make fun of my 'mullet' all the time still when you love braiding it?”
“It’s a term of endearment.” Lance defended easily, beaming as he hauled himself over the edge of the pool and turned away. If Keith looked hard enough, he swore he could make out a faint muddy red on Lance’s cheeks, but Lance was intentionally preoccupying himself before Keith could protest his sentiment, “Hunk! Cannonballs!”
Hunk whooped, leaving Pidge alone finally and taking a running start to the pool. From the side of the pool, Shiro called out a short, “No running poolside!” It was lost to the boys, Lance immediately hauling himself out of the water to throw himself back in at Hunk’s lead.
After they had gone through the routine a few times, Keith was finally convinced to join, and Shiro took Pidge to the other side of the pool to give her some time to adjustment to the strange weights that kept her afloat. There was no shallow end to the pool, unfortunately, and Keith wasn’t entirely sure he could find a bottom anyway, but he didn’t think too hard about it in favor of watching Lance’s peaceful smile and the way he pulled out of the water after each dive, just as excited as the time before.
A part of Allura, deep down, recognized Lance’s strive for familiarity he had given her a glimpse at, and she was happy to oblige him in his homesickness however and whenever they could afford to. She looked to Coran in her own times of homesickness, able to reminisce with him about Altea for hours when they got in the mood, but Lance was only slowly starting to reveal parts of Earth that were laced with more emotion than his fibs to help him get through diplomatic missions. Somewhere along the line, Allura had assumed the paladins found comfort in one another during their war struggles, but looking at the way they bonded now, growing stronger and stronger as a team faster than ever before despite hiccups, she realized she had been in error to assume they had and would handle their emotional turmoil well. Perhaps, in a way, it was her own avoidance of the topic that had brought her to assume such, but at least now they seemed to be connecting on new levels, peeling back another layer every day not just for two to share, but for the team to.
The exploration of the uncharted planet was a spur of the moment decision on Allura’s part, recognizing the foliage and wanting to inspect it closer. Coran, not surprisingly, had been agreeable to the thought of taking notes and studies on the local life forms for future reference, and they touched down without much warning to the paladins.
Two dobashes were given to them before Allura connected the intercom to the pool and informed them that they had touched down, asking them to get suited up and report to the main entry way to explore the new local terrain as a group. The gladiator planet could be delayed, a benefit of sudden Voltron diplomacy.
The ground was purple, the foliage startling reds, and the sky blue, all which delighted the paladins as they looked around. Coran, beside Allura, quietly commented with amusement, “They do seem to never get tired of seeing interesting colors on planets.” Allura was inclined to agree, far too used to range of strange planets she had seen in her lifetime to blink at a tree with red leaves, but the paladins tended to try and make everything interesting and exciting, at least for themselves.
Hunk was the first one to venture further from the group, surprising them. When he jogged off, having stopped mid-sentence during a conversation with Shiro, his only explanation had been to yell, “Coran! Can we test edibility without sacrifices?!”
Coran said yes, but Hunk was already pulling something off of the trees he had spotted. Lance, only a few paces behind him, gave the fruit one hard look before digging his thumbs in and ripping it in half by the flesh. After a blink of recognition and a quick sniff, he whooped in delight, holding up the punctured sphere like a trophy as the others moved to catch up to the two. “They’re oranges!”
Pidge grabbed one from a low branch as they approached, taking a deep whiff of its flesh before nodding along with Lance’s further exclamations, a grin poking out on her own lips as well.
Coran began, “Well, I’m certain we can definitely test them to assure they’re safe…to consume.” Lance was already eating the one he had broken, shoving the other half at Hunk and making insistent noises.
“Okay,” Shiro rationalized, holding his hands up, “Let’s be careful here. Like Coran said, we should properly test them if we can, and we can’t rush our systems with too much solid food while we’ve been eating goo for so long. Those paladin meals come at a price, and I know none of you stop to remember that.”
Allura shot Coran a confused look, who passed it to Shiro. “Rush your systems?”
Keith used his knife to slice another fruit as Pidge passed hers to him, blinking when she told him she’d only wanted it peeled. Shiro turned away as they began a debate about slicing the fruit versus peeling it, and met Coran’s question without a blink, getting used to the bodily confusion between the Earthlings and Alteans. “Most humans have a mixture of foods of different consistency. If we have too much of a liquid diet or, in this case, goo diet, we can run the risk of shocking our systems if we have too much solid food suddenly. That’s why we’re a little careful with our formal dining.”
When Allura’s nose scrunched, he laughed and continued, “I’m guessing that wasn’t an issue with Alteans?”
They were happy to inform him that it was not, and Coran launched into a discussion of human dietary nature with Shiro to gather more information on healthy feeding for their paladins while the group began to pick the fruit in earnest. At some point, they volunteered Keith to run back to the castle and grab sacks to pack some in. Shiro, the voice of reason, made sure to relay that they couldn’t rely on storing so much of it because of the chance of it expiring, emphasizing why food goo was ideal in the first place, but the remaining paladins didn’t seem as concerned, snacking as much as they harvested.
Three sacks of oranges went into the castle, and Hunk was the first to insist they continue exploring to find more possibly edible foods. Pidge was on her fourth orange, sighing a little to herself as she checked the scanners in her gauntlet. “I hated oranges on Earth. They’re my least favorite fruit. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had solid food without goo somehow attached.”
“Oh, Hunk,” Lance practically moaned, sucking on the remains of oranges from his slices, “Remember the mermaid food? Oh, man that was good.” A few times he had turned to flash the team a grin covered in the red peel of the oranges, but Allura and Coran had only watched him in confusion.
Hunk made a whimpering sound before stopping with a starkness. “Oh, dude,” He blanched a little, “We were eating the dragon thing, remember?”
Lance paused then, too, taking a moment before gagging violently and spitting out his orange peel. “You can’t just ruin the last good meal we had!” He cried, rubbing his face and letting out a long groan, “We need to go back and visit Queen Luxia. I’m sure she’d treat us right.”
“I’m sure the food would be just as good.” Hunk tried, sighing a little miserably.
Keith looked between the two, squinting, “You guys ate a dragon?”
“Better than a snake, I’m sure.” Lance jabbed immediately, laughing at Keith’s scowl.
“The dragon thing was also…a garden. Kind of.” Hunk explained, rubbing his neck, “I don’t actually remember a lot of it, Lance mostly took care of it all.”
Lance’s ears turned pink, but he clapped Hunk’s shoulder and jostled him a little in response. “Not even, give yourself some credit, bro, I couldn’t have finished up without you.”
Hunk looked embarrassed, but he squinted at Lance a little more fiercely than the team tended to know him for. Lance avoided the gaze, but Pidge noted it enough to know what it meant.
“Hey,” She started, staring at Lance as well, “Why don’t you guys tell us what happened on that planet again while I’m scanning and Hunk’s sniffing out food?”
With the glance Pidge sent to Hunk, there looked to Keith like there was weight in the request, and with Lance’s discomfort he had an inkling of what could be going on. The tone Lance took on wasn’t too different from the one he frequented those days, but that made it all the more suspicious. He barely seemed ready to brag about anything, the strangest occurrence of all.
“Yeah, Lance,” Hunk said, smiling softly again as he looked at a bush they were passing, examining it for any indication of crop life, “I want to hear your side this time. I did the debriefing, so you can definitely give more information about what happened while I was out of commission.”
They settled in a clearing that was laid out in the middle of more orange trees, and Hunk wandered the edges picking little nubby fruits from the low bushes while Lance told the beginning of the story. Keith recalled, after wondering to himself, that Lance and Hunk really hadn’t given that many details about their time separated from the rest of the team. They had been picked up while Shiro was still in the healing pods, and that had become the priority to monitor. In fact, Keith didn’t even remember the debriefing itself, and he wondered if he had attended at all.
Lance was jittery before he even began, sliding his fingers through his own hair distractedly while he recounted the tale. It began at the bottom of an ocean, Hunk and Lance together in peril (as the rest of them had been across other corners of the universe), and when Lance mentioned being the first to leave his lion after the sight of a mermaid, Keith couldn't help but scoff a soft laugh.
The glare from the blue paladin that followed had no heat, and seemed to linger on the fuzzy knotted hair on Keith's person before Lance continued with his story, fingers finding the little buds and blossoms of weeds on the strange grass beneath him. “So, we were welcomed with ceremony like the brave warriors we were,” He flourished, plucking some of the opened buds up and intertwining them in familiar motions, “They fed us, listened to our stories, and we were so, so safe and warm.”
“Please don't.” Hunk groaned a few bushes to the side, leaving the other paladins to wonder what particular inside joke they had missed. “On another note, I'm pretty sure these are blueberries, but obviously they're not blue, so...”
“Orangeberries. Nice.” Pidge crawled over on the grass, hand outstretched with her scanner and blatantly excited for another fruit snack.
In watching Pidge go over the information popping up on her holographic screen, the corners of Lance's smile turned up a little and it grew quiet, but Keith was undeterred. “Then what?” He asked, staring intensely at Lance and denying him the opportunity to weasel out of his explanation.
His shoulders bunched a second before he continued, glancing at Shiro, Allura, and Coran as they rejoined their group from where they had been falling behind. “After we ate, it's sort of hazy, but I woke up blindfolded and tied up.” By the pout in his lips, he was reluctant at the detail he had shared, probably looking for a redeeming quality of the situation.
“You were drugged?” Keith asked immediately, glancing sharply at Shiro, who blinked unknowingly in regards to whatever Keith seemed to be asking him silently.
A bark of a laugh left Lance. “Yeah, I guess we were kind of. Like two times over, man. The food, the gas, the stupid jellyfish...Ugh. It was a weird day or two. Pidge, come sit here.”
She did without glancing or asking why, scooting towards Lance while she read and slowly popped some orangeberries into her mouth. Lance took the knotted buds still in his hands and reached around Pidge while he continued on, slipping the tiny flowers across her wild bangs and ignoring her grunts.
“So, they pulled the blindfold off of me, which was a giant starfish and hurt, and uhh...I sort of blasted my way around their caves until I got distracted and they told me I was their savior or something...” Despite distracting himself with fixing Pidge's bangs with flowers, his redness had moved past just his ears and tinted his cheeks and neck.
Shiro sat nearby Keith, accepting the fruits tossed at him and breaking into an orange with interest. “Are you talking about your time with the mermaids?” He deduced, eyebrows raising when he noticed Lance's embarrassed nod and Keith's unwavering stare.
From a few feet away, Hunk paused and glanced from his berry gathering again. “Wait, they called you their savior? Was it Plaxum?” Lance's lips pulled straight to send his friend an exasperated sort of smile, and Hunk cooed, “Aww, that's so cute, Lance!”
“Soooo cute,” Lance snorted, “I helped her save her people from being imprisoned by a vore-ing sea serpent. Adorable.” Despite his dismissal, his cheeks stayed red.
Keith took a great deal of interest in Lance's reluctance to get anywhere far in the story, as well as his rejecting praise for the feats. He had heard of the mermaids off-handedly once or twice since the wormhole events, but Lance never really spoke about what had happened or how he was received, and it had been an interesting observation of Keith's to notice his rejection of glory in this specific sector of the universe. When Shiro shouldered him, he realized he was glaring, though he wasn't specifically annoyed or mad, just a little lost in thought. To be safe, he leveled Shiro with an exasperated look and sliced into another orange.
Lance's fingers abandoned Pidge's bangs finally, him plopping down a foot or two away to play with a new patch of the little flowers, weaving them around one another, and he continued. “Blumfump was the plan maker—and leader I guess? We followed his plan that he'd set up and the next day I tried to infiltrate the castle again, trying to get to my lion specifically, but they didn't believe me even though I'm a fantastic actor.”
“If they didn't believe you, you're clearly not a fantastic actor.” Pidge snorted, mouth full of blueberries.
Lance pretended she hadn't said anything, though his lip twitched and curved into a smirk. “So I was manhandled by these giant mermen, and then they handed me over to Hunk, who was super-duper mindswished.”
“Mindswished?” Allura asked, sitting regally against a tree. Coran was handed Hunk's bag of berries to continue his work as Hunk crawled closer to hear more of the story.
Lance waved a hand, “That's what they called the brainwashing thing that was happening. Anyway, I got all apprehended by Hunk and there was a show of Hunk reminding me why he's the Garrison wrestling champion. I was all, 'Hunk, I don't want to hurt you!' and my dude is strong, but I'm good at what I do so I kicked a dose of this gas stuff they gave me to get rid of the brainwashing into his face and we worked it out until we could grab the queen, who we thought was responsible for the mindswishing, and get to our lions.”
“Hunk beat you up?” Pidge looked away from her screen to glance at the larger boy, who looked timid and saddened.
Lance's head shot up from his flower weaving. “No. The Baku made Hunk try to beat me up, he wasn't able to control it.” When Hunk lifted his own gaze, Lance threw a hand into the air, “And no apologizing! I want to see some Hunk appreciation from the group here for being able to take me down and roll with the punches when I got him unswished!”
A tight gaze drifted to each member of the group, and Keith watched in incredulity as soft applause began, prompted by Pidge. “Hunk could probably deadlift all of us combined. I think only Allura could beat him.”
Allura, with the assessment, looked enthusiastically agreeing.
Though Hunk looked uncomfortable, he gave Lance a stern and grateful nod, and Lance took it upon himself to continue. “So, we get to our Lions and Plaxum helps me lasso up the queen, and we're about to...I don't even remember what the plan was at that point, but Queen Luxia sort of starts acting way less creepy, and Plaxum didn't want to believe it but I heard her out and it turns out that the Baku, the garden and weird dragon thing we were eating, was the one controlling the queen, too, and then controlling everyone else.”
“Which is super, super gross.” Hunk muttered, squishing a patch of scraggly grass underneath his foot with particular interest.
Lance's weaving hands raised to show off a loose ring of flowers, and he gazed at Keith intently for a long moment before he remembered to continue and busied himself with filling more flowers into the circle he'd created. “So, we took down the Baku, I unlocked a sonic cannon in Blue that helped us during that fight, and when it was all over Plaxum, Blumfump, and Swirn were made royal advisors and we were able to light a beacon to help guide Pidge to us.”
Pidge brushed at her bangs, pushing a flower slightly out of place as she glanced at Lance through the holographic screen she was reading. “Without that beacon sighting as an anomaly on my screen for the area it would have taken a lot longer to find you guys. We were worried you were stuck in something like Allura and Coran were.”
Coran laughed from across a patch of berries, but Allura simply grimaced. “An episode I would never like to repeat. I've never known myself to deal with uncertainties well, and that entire situation was rightly uncomfortable.”
“Speaking of Allura being uncomfortable,” Lance stood up, wandering towards Keith and failing at looking casual while he set the crown he'd created onto the dark frizzy braids, “Tell us about that time loop since we're swapping stories here.”
“You did well on the mermaid planet, you guys.” Shiro said confidently from beside Keith, who was frozen and burning red.
The praise, no matter how simple sounding and deserved, stunned the two mermaid saviors.
Hunk ducked his head with a wave and a smile, and Lance sat down next to Keith with his eyes a fraction wider than normal, looking winded. Allura began her story with a long, tired sigh at the memory.
Lance's thought process progressed rapidly when he stumbled across the bundle of soft strands, thicker than the usual Altean thread he tended to run into in the dressing rooms, in a tangle of varying colors tucked into a drawer. The plans of clothes had formed before he had the material even fully gathered in his arms, his feet shifting restlessly as if to run off without him in his excitement.
He gathered as many colors as he could find, shoving them into his long arms, and he was off like a rocket back to the center castle wings when they were full. He passed straight by the training deck and common room and swept into the hangar entrances, calling Hunk’s name as soon as he knew he was close enough for the other to hear him.
Hunk looked up from the giant piece of metal he was welding with surprise, pushing his goggles up and shutting off his glittery Altean blow-torch a little frantically the faster Lance approached. “Hunk!” He called one last time, sliding next to his best friend, “I’m a scavenger hunting master!”
The Yellow Paladin, rightfully, looked confused for a long moment before glancing down at the bundles in Lance’s arms. Warm brown eyes widened a fraction, and Lance could see the gears turn in his head before their grins matched. “Holy crow,” He said suddenly, “I thought we were going to have to ask Coran and ruin the surprise!” The blow-torch was thrown down, and Hunk outstretched his hands to receive a portion of Lance’s spoils.
“Should we make scarves or sweaters first? Should we set up a fake Christmas until Pidge gets her Earth calendar conversion working? A fake Hanukah for her?” Lance asked excitedly, pulling at the end of one of the yarn strings and marveling in the soft glimmer it gave off, feather soft to the touch.
Hunk elbowed a few pieces of equipment off of his giant worktable to set the soft yarns down, bouncing a little before he sat down and made room for Lance to sit as well. “Sweaters definitely, but we should see if there’s an Altean holiday or something similar that we can celebrate, right? I mean, we’re in an Altean castle with Alteans. So.” Hunk prattled a second, thick fingers threading through the fabric, “We need knitting needles.”
“I’ll ask Coran at dinner, but somebody else has to be paying attention if I zone out.” Lance planned carefully, sliding into the bench next to Hunk and plopping his head onto the pile of materials. “You make knitting needles, and we can do the actual knitting in Yellow or Blue, that way nobody sees us working on them.”
Hunk nodded enthusiastically, slipping his goggles back on. “Alright, I’ll draft after I finish this hull piece for Pidge’s latest pod modifications, and we can stuff all this into Blue for now, since you’ll have to start them all.”
Lance scoffed, using his lanky arms to scoop everything up once more at the light dismissal, “I’ve taught you how to start them a million times, Hunk.”
“You’re better at it.” The larger uncharacteristically whined, “Alright, back up and skedaddle so I can finish this all fast and get on those needles before tonight. Blue Lion after dinner?”
“Aww,” Lance cooed, lifting his legs over the bench and walking away with the yarn again, “It’s a date, buddy!”
When Hunk produced the knitting needles that night, Lance cooed and fawned at his best friend to levels unseen, and they curled up in the Blue Lion late into the night starting plans for everyone’s sweaters (“Keith has to have shorter sleeves because he’s clumsier than he looks,” “Pidge needs a baggier one so she can pull it over her knees,” “Color-coded, obviously,” “The mice need some.”). When Hunk looked more tired than he would admit, Lance graciously called it a night, still buzzing with excitement and talking amiably about all the Altean holidays they had learned from Coran that evening. Tomorrow morning, they were expected to finally arrive at their nearest planetary diplomatic destination (they couldn’t stall on the orange planet forever), and it seemed, for once, things were settling down peacefully with the itch in Lance’s chest.
The last planet they visited before the gladiator planet, in a way, was horrifyingly overrated by Allura’s speech beforehand. Within minutes of touching down on its surface, the nearest population of little hamster citizens had clamored recklessly towards the lions. They had been debriefed by a frantic guinea-pig looking fellow who stood a few feet below Pidge, and it was discovered there was a single, lone Galra outpost on the other side of the planet, almost nonchalantly watching over the population.
What startled Lance the most about the people they visited had to be, by far, their willingness to throw themselves towards the Voltron Alliance, though there was no doubt they were the team to be on. Word was certainly spreading well enough about them throughout the universe, and by the time they had taken down the Galra outpost it was only the early afternoon, by the castle’s timing standards. Overall, it was a sudden and weird distress signal to respond to when pursuing a strong military population, but Allura was adamant about helping anyone in need, so their stop was inevitable.
So, they accepted what gifts Allura would let them from the weasel people, left a safety communicator for the leaders of the population to utilize, and gathered in the castle to take off.
Quietly, though there was no hesitance in the statement, Pidge was the first to say, “Anyway, I’m going to set up cards for a game night, since apparently we will never arrive at Atraps.”
Halfway throughout their lift-off sequence, Allura glanced back at Pidge, but surprisingly didn’t protest. “We’ll need to get a good meal in us. I believe we’re going to stop by a few other planets within this system in the next two quintants or so, and it would do us well to be ready. Our last diplomatic achievement has made me suspicious of the surrounding planets, so it would be best that we looked into them while we’re still in the area. Then, we arrive in Atraps at last. Tomorrow, Shiro, you’ll have to be running more advanced drills to keep all of you on your seots.”
Shiro received the instruction with a firm nod. “Hear that, team? Everyone up on time tomorrow.” He instructed, looking pointedly at Lance, who chuckled offhandedly in response.
“Are we going to spend all night playing Go Fish again?” Keith muttered, not trying to sound as reluctant as his voice was betraying.
Lance and Hunk hollered in unison. “You bet!” The Yellow Paladin hooted, pumping a fist in the air as they broke the orbit of the planet and Allura began setting the course for their next mission.
“What other primitive Earthling games do you all have to show us?” Coran inquired suddenly, looking a little fascinated, “Are most card games on Earth as simple?”
Pidge, for a moment, leveled Coran was a calculating gaze at the word “primitive.” After a still few seconds, she stood up and gathered her cards from the side compartment of her seat at the control deck, shuffling the bulky discs in her hands. “Poker night.” She nodded at Shiro, who shrugged in response. Though Hunk and Lance looked saddened, they weren’t ready to object, and the card night proceeded.
Hours later, it was growing clearer and clearer that the more complicated a subject, the better Alteans became at it. While they were slow to pick up Poker in general, they were decimating even Pidge by the end of the first hour. Pidge was calling almost pleadingly for bets to begin, claiming Hunk and Lance worked better with motivation, but there was an edge of fascination to her pleading that came with the inherent ability Alteans had to succeed.
After what seemed like the eightieth fold, Hunk went to bed, and Lance groaned to follow suit, meeting Keith’s eyes awkwardly across the table before the Red Paladin thrusted his hand down onto the table and muttered, “Fold.” Himself.
They moseyed to their hall of Paladin quarters, and Hunk dismissed himself first, sensing a strange tension in the air and sending Lance a blatantly suspicious look that the Blue Paladin only waved off.
“What’s up?” Lance hummed when Hunk’s door slid closed.
Keith shuffled embarrassingly for a second before huffing. “You can braid my hair, if you want.” He opened his own door and sauntered in with the soft expectation of Lance to follow him.
The blue paladin blinked after his teammate, shuffling in himself and letting the door swish closed behind him. “We haven’t trained together in a while.” He protested lightly, already climbing onto Keith’s bed and waiting for him to sit at the edge of it.
“I know, but it gets in the way.” Keith defended easily, plopping in front of Lance and curling his hands into his lap automatically.
Lance’s hands were in Keith’s hair with no further prompt, curling around the strands and straightening them out the way he wanted them. His fingernails scratched lightly, and Keith knew Lance knew exactly what he was doing.
The braiding was quicker than normal, much to Keith’s strange dismay, and when he let out a strange breath when Lance’s hands left his hair, he sucked it right back in at the feeling of Lance’s thumbs at the juncture of his shoulders.
At first the circling of Lance’s hands felt natural, like a firm pressure and reassurance to something Keith wasn’t aware he was worrying about, but the looser and warmer he got under the tender care he was receiving, the more hyper-sensitive Keith became to the idea of Lance touching him. Lance’s hands were warmer than Keith would have expected, and his fingers moved independently down Keith’s shoulders and spine in a way that seemed to only pull soft breathy sounds from Keith’s protest-free mouth.
“Lance,” Keith finally said softly when the boy’s hands stopped at his hips, cursing at how confused he sounded to his own ears, “What’s—“
Before Keith could fully wonder aloud, Lance thudded his head into the space between Keith’s shoulder blades, groaning loudly. “Don’t worry about it.” He said, slinking his arms around Keith’s waist and refusing to pull back even when Keith stiffened at the contact.
After a sputter, Keith tried again, “What are you…” Only to be cut off by Lance groaning louder and more obnoxiously, yanking Keith down with him as he flopped onto his side on the Red Paladin’s bed.
“Don’t. Worry. About. It.” Lance huffed slowly, and Keith could feel the warming of his cheeks like a slow crawl up his face, just as he could feel Lance’s breaths puffing down his shirt.
They laid there for a long time, and when Keith finally decided Lance was being too peaceful, he turned slowly in the tan arms and froze at the sight that greeted him. Breathing softly and deeply, Lance laid still with his eyes closed, embrace still firm on Keith’s waist. As the latter watched in morbid fascination of the beautiful young man beside him, Lance made a soft sound in his apparent slumber, turning his face and burying it into Keith’s drool-stained pillow. Keith felt like he was on fire, throwing himself carefully back down on the covers and unable to loosen his muscles for what felt like hours following. Every breath of Lance’s and twitch of the fingers on his waist felt too real, too good to be true, and Keith was haunted by that fact.
Awareness came in soft waves. The lack of music was the first clue to an unusual situation, but Lance gradually checked more and more boxes off of the mental list of unusual senses all around him before he gave in and opened his eyes. No music, but the castle’s hum, so he was safe save for the strange grating sound to his left. The warm weight of another body next to him, dipping the mattress—Hunk? The thin layer of sleep grease on his face, a night without a face mask…
The strange noise, the most unsettling aspect of his waking, was getting on Lance’s nerves the most, and when he creeped open his eyes fully and turned to his left to cautiously take in the scene, he found his face inches away from Keith’s own.
His initial reaction—to fly away from the boy and screech—was cut short as he registered the slow working of Keith’s jaw. His dark lashes fluttered on his pale cheeks, disturbed at Lance’s waking perhaps, but nothing indicated he was awake himself. The crunching sound timed perfectly with the rotation of Keith’s jaw, and Lance was horrified at the intensity of the sound of grinding bones. Without hesitation, he untangled his arm from under Keith’s lax body and wiggled it between the two of them, resting his fingers gently on the firm outline of the other boy’s jaw.
The grinding teeth halted immediately, and Lance cautiously rubbed a soft circle into the skin of the sleeping boy’s lower cheek. When Keith’s lips fell open softly, a heavy, sleepy breath escaping their confines, Lance couldn’t even find the opportunity to recoil at his morning breath, as Keith’s slow opening eyes froze him in place. They were as intense and dark as ever, pulling in any shred of hope Lance really had.
“Hey…” Lance started softly, still delicately pressing into Keith’s cheek while he tried to think of an excuse as to falling asleep.
He didn’t get the chance to conjure up an explanation, as Keith’s eyes widened impossibly and Lance’s wrists were seized in a vice grip so he could be better flipped under the defensive Red Paladin.
“Holy crow,” Lance yelped, “Keith!” He wiggled intensely under his stronger teammate, and felt the hands loosen as quickly as they had brought their bruising grip.
“Lance.” Keith said simply, releasing his arms awkwardly and sitting back on Lance’s stomach.
“Yeah, it’s me, your buddy.” Lance hollered before Keith could continue, rubbing his wrists on his chest. He watched as Keith’s entire demeanor relaxed in sections, first the hands, then face, then shoulders, the rest of him following suit. A still-gloved hand reached up to his face curiously, pressing the same spot Lance had been massaging and seeming distracted.
“Get off.” Lance grunted, feeling hot very suddenly, “You’re heavy.”
Keith snorted without missing a beat, flipping over and laying back down beside Lance. “You should bench more. Why were you touching my face?”
Called out, Lance hissed at his inability to get away with anything before deciding on some soft honesty. “You were grinding your teeth. It sounded super gross.”
Keith flexed his jaw like he was contemplating, and turned to Lance with tired, half-lidded eyes. “My bad.”
A discomfort settled in Lance’s stomach at the combination of Keith’s half-assed apology and intense gaze. He flipped onto his side, dropping his wrist-rubbing to prop his head up on a fist and meet Keith’s gaze. “It’s fine.” He swallowed his pride and took note of its stiff and unforgiving composition, “Are you okay?”
Somehow, Keith’s soft bedroom eyes softened even more, and he nodded up at Lance at an angle the Blue Paladin was suddenly in love with. Both of their quiet breaths seemed to catch. Lance followed the slow bloom of red in Keith’s cheeks and neck, and Keith’s eyes followed the slow bob of Lance’s adam’s apple.
The tension rose to a break, and Lance flopped down onto the pillow at the same time that Keith dove forward, burying himself in Lance’s shoulder under his cheek. Not what either of them had intended, but comforting all the same.
“I’m going back to sleep.” Keith muttered before Lance could embarrassingly ruin the delicacy of the moment, “Goodnight.”
A mortifying squeak came out of Lance’s mouth first, and he could have cried at the lack of comment from Keith. “Goodnight.” He said on his second attempt, near silent of a whisper.
The next time Lance was caught in the ancient dressing room, he was without excuse or defense, but thankfully it wasn’t the challenging gaze of Keith that greeted him.
Startling Lance enough to shriek and drop the dresses he had been holding, Coran stood poised in the doorway, arms folded behind his back and eyebrows raised in an inherently scolding questioning at the young paladin.
“C-Coran! My man! The man!” Lance laughed, aggressively kicking the glimmering yellow cape he had laid out nearby to hide it. “What’s happenin’?”
The slow climb of his bushy ginger eyebrows became uneven as Coran entered the room further. “Well, space juice, I was doing my routine systems check for the area since Pidge had been spluttering on about the inefficiency of our unparalleled defenses spread within the castle when I noticed unusual activity in the servants wings.” He spoke in a casual rush, too many words for the nonchalance of his tone, and Lance tried to look casual as well as he leaned against the vanity nearby. “And the mice were all accounted for, so I thought it best to make sure we weren’t harboring any squatters or stowaways.”
“Nope! Haha, no uh…” Lance could feel the sweat on the back of his neck, “No squatters here. Just me. Nothing to worry about it.”
“What are you doing?” Coran, for all his ancient wisdom and suspicion, wasn’t accusatory as he circled the room picking up articles of clothing Lance hadn’t made his way to putting away yet. He was dutiful in his keeping orderly of everything in the castle, and that alone was admirable even to Lance’s nervous brain at the moment. Above all else, the royal advisor looked genuinely curious as to Lance’s antics.
Lance couldn’t lie to his favorite Altean. “I was just sort of…dressing up. Seeing how stuff fit.”
“Are you trying to expand your wardrobe? I knew you Earthlings would get tired of those awfully tacky garbs sooner or later.” Coran seemed to be breathing a sigh of relief as he organized the garments in hand through the complicatedly sorted wardrobes Lance had pulled them from. It seemed second nature, and not a thought came to the action as Coran lined the weird hangers and dresses professionally.
Lance sputtered, “Our clothes aren’t tacky.” Coran gave a surprised glance, and he continued, “Except, like, Keith. He’s tacky. And Shiro only a little bit.”
When Coran didn’t say anything aside from him curious hum, Lance fidgeted and began helping the man pick things up as well. “Yeah, I guess that’s what I’m doing, though. I wanted to see if I could figure out Altean clothes.”
Coran slid another wardrobe closed and laughed, “Well this is a remarkably terrible place to begin that, my boy! These are all emergency formal clothes kept for foreign dignitaries visiting the castle!” At Lance’s leveled uncomprehending stare, he continued, “In the event of a good old nunville stain or slime dampening, it would be easy to assure visiting castle-goers that they could keep themselves presentable and clean by sending them off with a handmaiden to get changed into our emergency wardrobe here.”
Almost tripping over the pedestal in the middle of the room, Lance blanched and gave the room a long, slow look around. “This is just an emergency outfit room?” He asked sourly, feeling almost foolish.
“Well, yes. Appearance was very fluid in Altea, but incredibly important to some of our closest allies. A very sensitive subject, that was. Why do you think the Princess and myself always look positively impeccable?” Coran picked up the sparkly yellow cape and folded it lavishly, replacing it and closing the last wardrobe.
“I just thought it was…” Lance paused and muttered his last bit, “…alien magic.”
“Magic?” Coran chuckled, leaving the room and beckoning Lance to follow him, “Well, only certain talented Alteans were blessed with the ability to hone our inherent ‘magical’ properties into manipulations and manifestations of beauty, if that’s what you mean. Most of it was just determination, however.”
Lance stumbled a little as he rounded a corner after the wiser man, “Determination? What are you even talking about? Are you saying all your beauty you and Allura have isn’t effortless?”
Coran blinked clear eyes at the paladin at his flank, clearly confused at the series of questions. “Of course the princess’s and my beauty is effortless. We are a shapeshifting people, Lance, if anything seemed off to our ancient standards it could be rectified immediately.”
“I’ve never seen you shapeshift.” The younger man pointed out excitedly, walking past Coran for a beat when he stopped.
Coran chuckled as he slid open a door to a much wider and brighter dressing room, the pedestal in the center higher and laced with stairs to lead it it’s center. “Perhaps someday, but it is rather energy consuming for even the spryest of adults. This is a typical Altean dressing room, one that someone of your status would be in use of, Lance.”
“So you’re old and it takes too much energy?” At Coran’s withering gaze, Lance sheepishly moved on and looked around the grand room, lined with even more wardrobes and mirrors. “My status?” He looked back to Coran with endearing, endlessly bright eyes.
Coran felt a deep fondness for the blue paladin as he chuckled, “You are a Paladin of Voltron, the greatest warriors known to Altea. You rank as an intergalactic hero, and just short of royalty to the Altean people.”
At the stars in Lance’s eyes, Coran took it upon himself to launch into a proper explanation of the traditional garments they would find lining the walls, and when Lance excitably asked about the coloring of their formal wear he helped the younger man pick out a suitable array of articles for each of the paladins, endeared at his enthusiasm.
“…and Coran showed me all the different levels of fancy party-wear Alteans would wear and different parts of their clothes so I could piece outfits myself. There’s hope for you yet, Mullet.”
Keith, staring down at Lance’s twitching fingers as he carefully painted a watery blue shine onto the excitable boy’s nails, paused and felt his brows furrow. “What does that mean?”
He didn’t have to glance up to feel Lance’s eye-roll, “It means we have more clothes now and I can help you pick out outfits so you don’t make a fool out of yourself.” His unpainted hand flicked towards Keith’s jacket, laying on Lance’s bed beside them and on top of Lance’s own.
Blithely, Keith set a stroke of nail polish directly over Lance’s knuckle. “Right.” He said, waiting for Lance’s squawk of protest….
It never came, and when Keith looked up suspiciously, the blue paladin was looking softly down as their touching hands. Suddenly, the fingers Keith had wrapped around the other boy’s wrist felt sweaty and stiff. Lance’s fingers, still wet with polish, turned and touched Keith’s own wrist gently, and Keith cleared his throat in a panic.
The sudden soft moment was broken, and Lance scoffed as he straightened his hand out again, wiggling the pinkie that was still awaiting its new color. “I’ve got my entire wardrobe full, you know the really giant drawers under the bed? We’re going to do the same for everyone.”
“We’re?” Keith hummed, eyebrows raising as he moved Lance’s hand upwards once the pinkie was finished and began to softly blow on the wet polish. The tan fingers wiggled towards the red paladin’s face, being purposely difficult if Lance’s grin was anything to go by. When Keith’s thumb stroked downwards to hold Lance’s hand more still, he leaned forward and pressed his chapped lips hesitantly onto the moisturized knuckles in front of his face, and slapped the hand away by the wrist before Lance could call him out on the tender gesture.
He began painting Lance’s second hand with vigor before Lance finally remembered to answer. “Yeah,” he said, voice impossibly soft, “You’re the saddest case so we’ll work on your wardrobe first, and then you can help me with everyone else as a thank you.”
Keith kept his eyes firmly trained on the hand he worked on. “Whatever you say.” He snorted, ignoring the sense of Lance leaning fractionally closer to him.
Hunk beat the knitting needles in his hands on the air drum set he envisioned idly, waiting for his ever excited best friend to get on with his thought process and decide their game plan. They sat across from one another in the yellow lion (which they both agreed was inexplicably warmer than Blue), leaning against the metal walls and both comforted by Yellow’s settled and tired purrs.
Lance chewed the end of his pencil-thing, and Hunk wondered what the Alteans called it. It definitely wasn’t exactly a pencil, with its loop towards the end and little burst of feathers spurting from the base just past the writing point, but then there was the begging question of whether a pencil was defined as such based on use or conformity to standard.
Unintentionally saving Hunk from his spiraling thoughts (that he would later bring up at dinner and debate with Pidge over), Lance waved his saliva-covered pencil end and said, “Okay, so each of these balls is about enough to be half an Earth ball,” He paused appropriately for a giggle, “and we have a ton of each and there was more in that room, so sweaters for everyone is definitely possible, as well as the mice, Slav, and Kolivan.”
“Because we have to send one to Kolivan.” Hunk mused.
“Because that’s hilarious.” Lance nodded in agreement, turning to the pile of yarn balls and beginning to drag colors out to sort.
Hunk set down his drumstick needles and hummed, “How are we starting? Pidge cause she’s the smallest out of the humanoid team or the mice for practice?”
“Coran cause he’s earned the first sweater, come on, Hunk.” The blue paladin glanced over his shoulder to level his signature pout at his best friend, and Hunk couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Fine, fine, but we have to divide it. I’ll do Allura’s, Pidge’s, Shiro’s, and yours. You can do Keith, the mice, Coran, Kolivan, and Slav.”
“And yours.” Lance hushed him, “Also, I see you giving me more, you sly dog.”
A groan left Hunk’s lips as he slumped a little against the wall behind him. “You’re better at the complicated patterns. The mice are too small and Slav has so many arms….”
Lance laughed, but Hunk could clearly see the dusty red high on his cheeks while he brushed off the compliment. “Whatever you say, man. Let’s get to it, then.”
Within the next few days, if Hunk and Lance snuck a few random hugs from the closest members of their team to double check sizing secretly, that was nothing to bat an eye at (except Keith, who looked adorably stunned a very long time afterwards). They worked in peaceful company with one another within their lions, switching whenever they could feel the sense of overstaying their welcome. The lions were sorts of best friends with them, but that didn’t mean they had to constantly put up with their company if they were resting between battles. Yellow was much more prone to kicking them out silently, opening his maw as a form of subtlety, but whenever they were within the yellow lion he was much more likely to leave them alone, whereas the blue lion excitably purred the entire time Lance kept her company with Hunk in their diligent creativities.
When Pidge approached Lance a week into their knitting sessions, he immediately tensed at the idea of being accused of sneaking around. Hunk and he were not known for their subtlety, and the mice had to definitely have said something to Allura about the weird shirts they were being put in periodically whenever Lance could convince them to stray from the two ladies in the castle. That, or they must have mentioned the yarn they spent so much time napping in whenever they were nearby Hunk or Lance.
Instead, Pidge looked up imploringly at Lance and asked, all embarrassment and withering pride, “Do you remember on Planet Orange when you braided flowers into my hair?”
A new million thoughts coasted through Lance’s mind, suspicious of Pidge’s asking. “Yes.” He said, ignoring his own hesitance, “Why?”
Pidge sighed deeply, “Do you want to…do my hair?” By the grimace on her face, she did not seem enthused to ask.
Stars danced in Lance’s eyes plainly, and Pidge rolled her own and glanced away, pushing her glasses up so they sat atop her head and pulled away her bangs. “Do you want me to do your hair, bird brain?”
“It’s awkward because it’s not short enough to not care about it but it’s not as long as it used to be, either.” Pidge grumbled, walking past Lance and expecting him to follow her deeper into their makeshift den towards the couches.
“It looks cute, don’t worry. Like a little dandelion puff whenever you take your helmet off.” Lance teased, jogging towards the couches and vaulting over the back, waiting for Pidge to make herself comfortable in front of him.
Pidge ignored his teasing, pushing open her laptop on her lap as soon as she sat and tilting her head back fractionally so Lance could reach all of her hair. He pushed her glasses back down, and she grunted when they knocked into place on the bridge of her nose. “Don’t do anything weird.”
“I don’t know, Coran’s been telling me an awful lot about Altean hair fashion…” He hummed, pulling fingers through her hair dutifully and grinning when she only snorted.
Prompted by Hunk’s pout later that night when he had seen Pidge’s new little braided headband, Lance graced him with a little hairstyle as well, relishing in the trust his friends placed in his ability to take care of at least this small part of them.
Allura called on Lance again before they landed finally on the planet Atraps. She had explained their people as a war-driven society, and had leveled Lance with a plain look when she addressed the paladins, claiming they would all have to look both warrior ready and prepared to receive such high honors as per their complicated traditions, including but not limited to a series of events that Lance could only figure were an inter-planetary replication of the Olympics. They had already been warned about trials, but it was comforting to receive more information.
Hours before touchdown, Lance found himself in Allura’s quarters, sitting at her vanity again as he brushed glittering specs of blush softly onto her cheeks. Every once in a while, a mouse chittered, and she hummed in response, but otherwise it was a quiet affair. When that quiet was interrupted by a knock at the nearby metal doors, Lance paused, wondering if Pidge was finding him for another hairstyle (she had tracked him down a couple times in the last few days, though it wasn’t nearly as much as Keith sought him out).
“Come in.” Allura waved her hand and the door responded, swooshing open to reveal Shiro, who blinked in surprise at Lance’s presence (which, frankly, seemed just a little rude of a response). When his dark eyes caught the makeup pallet Lance cradled in his free hand, he smiled softly, the way he saved particularly for Keith or Pidge.
After a moment, he cleared his throat, though he didn’t look embarrassed. “Princess,” He began formally, walking into the room as she waved her hand again, “In regards to the sporting events you were telling us about, is there any chance you know if we’ll be made to participate in them? I just want to make sure the team has a clear understanding of what we’ll be heading into, if anything is certain.”
Allura stood, humming inquisitively a moment while she searched for one of the tablets she tended to have nearby most often. After nudging aside a few bottles of lotions and potions, she flicked through the screen and said decidedly, “I would like to think not. It may be offered as an invitation of honor, but it is unlikely as we’re working on a particular timeframe and they have a select variety of citizens often represent them.”
“So they’re not even going to invite us to their discus tosses?” Lance cut in, setting the blush pallet down and rooting around the vanity top for the set of pencils he had found to use.
“I do not understand what a ‘discus tosses’ is.” Allura said distractedly, scrolling with a delicate finger on the tablet before decisively setting it down and looking to Shiro again. “Even if an offer is extended, unless our mission is on a negative precipice, I am inclined to reject on behalf of you all. I would like to clear this sector within the next few quintants….” She trailed off, and Lance glanced up to see her furrowed brows, “Are you wearing that, Shiro?”
The black paladin paused, glancing down and smoothing his metal hand over his vest. “I was going to wear our armor. It’s what we usually wear to meetings.” He said, missing Allura’s blanch.
“No.” The princess said waving her hand at the wrist, “As I stated, you will all have to look prepared to receive high honors, it is a much decorated group of people we are preparing to meet.”
Lance watched the slight amused climb of Shiro’s brows. “Defender of the universe isn’t decorated enough?”
“Not on a smaller diplomatic standard. I thought Lance had distributed your clothing already.” Allura’s stunning gaze pinned Lance to his position on the vanity set, and he felt the odd pressure of being switched to a participant from spectator.
“Our clothes?” Shiro asked while Lance swallowed thickly.
“Uh,” Lance felt nervous though he knew it was silly, “I’ve been with Coran a few times picking out clothes for you guys…” He felt lame explaining, thinking it awkward to have done so without prompt for his team, “So we would have fuller wardrobes.” More clothes in general, really. Pidge was still lamenting about not having a proper swimsuit, Hunk wanted fuzzier pajamas, the works....
“Oh.” Their leader said simply, casually, moving further into the room, “Well, where are they? I’ll make sure we’re all formal according to Coran’s standards then. If that’s alright, Princess?”
She sat at the vanity properly again, “Yes, that seems perfect. He’s much more versed in the specifications of formal wear than myself, I was more of a participant.” When Allura’s bright eyes landed on the eyeliners Lance was rolling under his palm, she sighed heavily, “Is the sharp one necessary?”
Lance pouted, “It makes your eyes pop.” When he remembered Shiro’s initial question, he flustered a little involuntarily and turned to face the older man, “I have them in piles in my room. I was going to just sneak them in soon so you thought Coran did it.” He felt like his mouth wouldn’t quite stop moving, afraid Shiro would think the notion uncomfortable or a waste of time.
The man only nodded, flicking his white tuft of hair out from in front of his face. “Alright, I’ll send Hunk in to grab them, though don’t admit you were going to sneak into our rooms so fast.” A friendly smile bloomed, and Lance’s lips quirked in response, “You could probably get away with some of them, but I know for a fact Keith would probably jump you before you were a step into his room if he caught you.” Almost silently, he tacked on a muttered, “That kid and his knives….”
“Sure thing, Mr. Leader.” Lance beamed, giving a lazy salute. Shiro’s eyes followed the motion, and Lance realized they were tracking the eyeliner pencils. “Want one?”
Shiro blinked and smiled, hand reaching out, “Yes, actually. I haven’t gotten to wear makeup since before the Kerberos mission, it was sort of frowned on for cargo and I had other things to worry about, anyway.”
“Still kept that rad ‘do, though.” Lance pointed out, handing one of the pencils to Shiro and scooting over so he could see into the mirror while he uncapped it.
“My rad ‘do?” He laughed, leaning forward and swiping at his eyes without hesitation, creating a clear and defined line just on the row of his lashes.
“Your undercut!” Lance was quick to explain, leaning more towards Shiro’s side profile to watch him do his other eye, “How are you so good at that?”
Allura, who had moved to the other side of Shiro quickly, was just as perplexed, “You are fantastic compared to Lance’s abilities with that tool.” She said pensively.
If Lance had blinked he would have missed the smug smirk Shiro let loose for a half-tick, but it was replaced by his usual casual look as soon as it had appeared. “Steady hands are important, so the metal one helps.” He flexed the fingers and Lance remembered to quell his jealousy enough to be polite, “But there’s some tricks I could show you two.”
“Yes, please.” Lance breathed, thanking whatever space heaven there was. Allura furiously nodded, mourning her much stabbed eyelids.
For a war-loving planet, Atraps was surprisingly resistant to the idea of opposing their local Galra occupation. It took two nights for Allura to convince their king to allow Voltron to include them in the coalition and make an attempt at removing the Galra from their territory, and their joining was conditional through a series of complications only Coran and Allura seemed to fully understand.
It did not, by far, make their battle any easier. In fact, Allura’s harping of respecting the landmarks around the Galra centers and assuring they did nothing else to damage the respect of the Atrapians made the entire ordeal painfully drawn out and exhausting. It took what felt like another day and half for the battle to wind down, and when their team touched back down after the fight had drawn to a conclusion, they were met with no fanfare. No parades, Lance mourned specifically, let alone a welcoming party at all. They gathered before the castle and made their way through the palace, servants keeping their distance as they moved towards the throne room they had completed negotiations in. Something heavy was in the air, and Lance paid attention to that instead of the screaming in his lungs for rest and the fuzziness in his head (or a healing pod? Nobody was sure yet but they were all walking, and that was usually the basis for being able to wait for immediate attention).
Whispers broke out between Keith and Pidge first, and that should have been the first indication that something fuller was ready to happen, but Lance kept beside Shiro as they continued on, head swimming. Maybe he had a concussion.
When Hunk’s voice joined them, the doors were thrown open to the main chamber, and Keith suddenly exclaimed, much louder than his hushed demeanor, “How is your guys’ shitty footwork anywhere near my fault?” It was said with a hiss, and when Lance looked behind him perplexingly he found Keith giving imploring eyes to Pidge, who was squinting and already opening her mouth for a retort before Shiro could fully intervene. Hunk looked red in the face, a mix of embarrassment and frustration.
Allura’s cold gaze reached them from ahead of them all, but they didn’t cease even as they were just before the King, who sat regally on his throne and looked down on them almost casually.
“You destroyed three great monuments to our ancient city.” He spoke loudly, clearly, and the paladins all turned at least fractionally to take him in, “The Galra at least had left them alone.”
Keith bristled before Pidge even spoke, cutting off whatever nasty retort he had prepared in favor of the Green Paladin throwing him under the bus. “You can thank our swordsmaster here for never listening to anything we say.”
Mentally, Lance begged them to stop, understanding the formality needed in this situation, but all sense was thrown out at Keith’s next words.
“I only swung into that tower because Lance can’t keep his head straight when he’s doesn’t get to be the center of attention.”
“Oh, it’s my fault you can’t control your own weapon?” He spat immediately, pushing past Hunk to get closer to the red paladin. Pidge pushed at his stomach when he brushed past her too, but he ignored them in favor of meeting Keith’s heated gaze.
“Yes.” He replied without mercy, “You’re always showboating, it doesn’t matter if you thought the battle was easy, we still had to be careful.”
Shiro warned from somewhere, “Keith.”
“I’m more careful than you on any given day! Any second of any given day, you hothead! You never think about anything but winning!” Lance stabbed a finger into Keith’s chest, and a red armored wrist slapped it away violently.
Hunk tried to intercept when Lance lunged at Keith, but he alone wasn’t strong enough to hold them both back and Shiro hadn’t moved quick enough to catch Keith jumping to meet Lance’s challenge.
They rolled with their punches, but without the nice acknowledgement of the pettiness of their fight they usually had. Lance had thought they were getting closer, had thought they were becoming good friends, and here the whole time he was just as misplaced on the team as he had suspected. Was just as replaceable and untrainable and incapable as he had thought. When his hand buried in the loosened braid of Keith’s mullet, he twisted at it and grunted when Keith elbowed him in the stomach in retaliation. Strong hands (Allura’s hands?) were pulling him back, and he watched Hunk and Shiro do the same to Keith’s in front of him.
He broke down when silence came, Keith no longer shouting and Lance no longer matching him. Only their tired breaths—only Allura’s grinding teeth beside him and vice grip on his shoulders—let Lance know what he had to do. His eyes were clouding with frustrated tears, and his vision still swam from the battle, but he yanked himself out of Allura’s bruising hands (ignoring the knowledge that she could have very well broken him in that grip) and shoved Pidge aside once more to fall to his knees in front of the king just steps away.
“It was my carelessness that led to your monuments being destroyed, and I am very sorry.” Lance panted, hands clutching over the elaborately designed carpet beneath him. He kept his gaze down determinedly, swallowing when he knew he had to continue, “I am not as talented as my team members and my performance shouldn’t be a reflection of the coalition or what Voltron is capable of. We are here to help, I am still learning, and I am so sorry for the irreparable damage.” His last words came out as a crack, wracked with guilt and unable to hide that. He couldn’t even recall half the battle, let alone all of his mistakes, just then, but he knew they would come to his mind full-force whenever he was healed and left alone to his thoughts.
“Lance.” Shiro said carefully, and Lance could hear the scuffle behind him of Keith still being restrained. How was he still trying to lunge forward? How was fighting still his priority?
“Lance.” Allura echoed, suddenly much farther away sounding. Her voice was stern, and almost a warning, but Lance didn’t know what he should be heeding.
“They have a pilot for the Blue Lion of Voltron…in you?” The King’s careful voice sounded above him, and Lance kept his gaze down as he nodded. “The great Voltron’s compositional lions and the bonds they make with their pilots are legendary. Is it so easy to form that connection?”
Lance could hear the genuine confusion in his official voice, and couldn’t help but be amused by the reality of it all. “It is a mystical bond that cannot be forced.” He mimicked Allura’s old words plainly, “We have helped a lot of people and I am working every day to make this universe a better place. I know my skills do not look trustworthy or something you can depend on, but I promise we will always be here for you, your people, and your planet whenever you most need. We will never give up on a member of our coalition.”
“Skills…” The King murmured, and Lance’s head snapped up to watch him begin whispering to his nearest attendant, who went wide-eyed and understanding of whatever mystery had just passed between them.
The King met his eyes, and Lance stood when he was beckoned. He could see from the corner of his eye that his team had moved to stand beside him, even Keith as stiff as a board waiting for the King to speak. His fists flexed, and Lance wondered what was even going to happen with their suddenly dead-feeling relationship after this.
“I would like to issue a challenge to the Blue Paladin, as per the conditions of the treaty.” Allura sucked in a breath as the king spoke, and Lance felt himself nodding before she could inquire.
“Whatever you need me to do.” He replied robotically, unable to focus on the form of the king before him the longer he stood. There were two of him, then three, then two…
A ringing began lowly in his head as the King continued. “Excellent. We will issue it accordingly. For now, you are all fit to leave. You said you had a device of sorts for me, Princess?” A long hand outstretched and Allura almost hesitated in handing over the little communicators they dispersed to the members of the coalition.
Lance was being led away before he knew it, feeling like a daze was over him and not entirely paying attention to Hunk’s words so much as he relied on his friend’s support of his weight. If he was leaning a little more than usual, Hunk didn’t seem to notice, but Lance only had so much to go before he could get into a healing pod, and then his head would be fine probably. For a second, it sounded like Hunk was asking a question, and Lance turned to face him, feeling his head slosh with the movement, but Hunk continued talking and instead Lance met Keith’s eyes from over the yellow paladins shoulder.
The tenseness in Keith’s shoulders hadn’t left since their scuffle, and when he opened his mouth (no doubt to snap again), Lance turned away, stumbling and sighing through his nose at himself.
Hunk left him at the Blue Lion’s maw after giving him a firm pat to the back, and Lance checked back in long enough to see Hunk smiling reassuringly down at him and offering him a thumbs up. Lance returned it with a grin, feeling uneasy, and turned to get into his lion before he could fully take in the gazes from everyone else on the team.
Situated in the pilot seat, he had debated leaving his communicators off, hoping to rest his head a little, but Blue didn’t seem like she was in the mood to autopilot despite her rumbles, and Lance flicked them on as they took off. They were all silent anyway.
“Great time, yes or yes?” He tried, clearing his throat when he slurred a little.
Silence came for a few moments before he received a static-filled connection from Allura’s communicator. “I would rather like to wormhole right out of this quadrant. I am exhausted of everyone we have met in this system.” She sounded frustrated, but Lance couldn’t think of a better response than to just hum. He lagged slightly behind the castle and the rest of the lions, even feeling sluggish in his piloting, but paid no mind to it as the wormhole opened and they filtered in.
“Lance?” Somebody was calling, like they were worried, and Lance snapped to attention, shifting his controls and trying to filter some thoughts to Blue. She responded just as slowly, purring ceased and monitors lagging.
“Yeah?” He finally remembered to respond, thinking it was Pidge who had called.
The pause seemed like it could hold a planet between them, “My scanners are warning me about issues with your life support monitor. What does your oxygen gauge say? It’s the one on your left.”
He grunted, squinting deeply to try and get the number to focus. “Looks good to me. I’m alive. We’ll look at it later.” He tried, wanting to shut his eyes. How long was this wormhole?
“You’re drifting, Lance.” Somebody else said, voice strong. Shiro? Keith? No, probably not Keith. “Lance.” Worry was painting the tone something ugly.
The ringing in his ears somewhat drowned out the worried cries of his team members through the communicators when the blue lion fell through the rift walls.
When Lance woke up, it was with deep levels of confusion. First and foremost, he listed his favorite facts, as he had grown used to in emergency situations. Lance. Blue Paladin. Seventeen. Favorite color blue. Favorite breakfast lucky charms.
His eyes flickered open after those facts, feeling slow to do so and taking all of his energy. When he moved his limbs he felt a sharpness in his chest but ignored it, recalling the battle they had just finished (if it was even their last battle; he was always wary of losing chunks of time regarding Shiro’s experience). He had offered himself to the king, was going to be issued a challenge eventually. He probably had a concussion.
“Tell me what’s up, Blue.” He murmured as he got up from the floor beside his pilot seat, using it as a crutch the entire time. When he got no response he looked around wildly, irritating his head again but not caring enough in favor of waiting to hear from Blue.
He checked his life support gauges, just as good as they were supposed to be, and gazed out of the cockpit view. All around him, it looked as if there was an eternal winter in the middle of space. A frozen rock seemed like a great place to land, if he was asked, but in the moment it was…eerie.
He had been lost before and knew he could handle it, telling himself as soon as he sat not to panic. Pulling off his helmet, he rested his forehead in his hands carefully and massaged at where he felt the most rattled, flinching at his own hands when he hit a sore spot. His gloves came back bloodless, and he didn’t know if that was more or less concerning.
“What am I going to do?” He asked the expanse of stars over the icy horizon. “No mermaids to save and help me break through communications this time, huh?”
Turning his helmet in his hands, he fished around for a catch in the seal between the speaker of his communicator and the rest of the flush metal, huffing when he found nothing. Unable to wiggle his fingers into anything, really, he threw the helmet down in an uncharacteristic bout of frustration, relishing in the pangs throughout his head as it slammed against the cockpit floor with a sharp clatter.
“This is the worst day ever.” He mourned aloud, pursing his lips at the silence that met him and slumping in his chair as he tried to expand his mind enough to reach the unconscious Blue. “I hope you’re okay, beautiful.”
He tried meticulously to recall the details of the battle when he finally moved, perhaps hours later, and rooted through the storages in the back of his lion to try and find medications, but he kept getting distracted by the pain in his ribcage and his wandering thoughts. What if he died there? What if Blue never woke up? What if the team didn’t try and find him?
Well, he reasoned, they would need the blue lion back, if nothing else.
That was depressing.
Eventually, Lance lethargically remembered standing his ground beneath the mighty Voltron and being sideswiped by a heavy cruiser below the giant robeast they had been facing. Bad timing, cheap shots, and one monument tower falling to the swing of a sword. It actually was his fault, and that made him taking the blame for the situation a million times worse. After lost thoughts of self-pity, he fell asleep in the pilot’s chair in the cockpit, feeling like he was intruding, and woke up panicked three separate times before rest took him fully.
His communications crackled the next time he awoke fully, and he went through his facts again before getting up and searching for his helmet beneath the dashboard where it had rolled. It was tucked in there, with a bunch of space dust bunnies and weird crumbs, and it took significant wiggling for Lance to dislodge it. He hadn’t really thought he’d thrown it that hard.
The communicator crackled again, and Lance hastily shoved his helmet on to try and respond. “Hello? This is Lance of the blue lion,” Hunk would cheer somewhere, “Trying to make contact with the paladins of Voltron.”
No response.
He repeated the message.
No response.
He repeated the message, and that was how it went while Lance went back to searching for medication, feeling just as lethargic and in pain as the last time he had been awake but thinking just a little clearer then. If he could read a lick of Altean, he was sure it would all be easier, but it was a useless thought to him at the moment. The coms crackled periodically, but only once had the crackling been well timed enough for Lance to think he was actually connecting to anything. At one point, he remembered to give out his coordinates, but until Blue woke he would only be able to estimate if he knew the stars, and…he didn’t. None of the constellations were familiar to him, and while he hadn’t memorized any of the ones outside of Arus’ or Earth’s solar systems, it was still a discomforting thought to know he was so stranded.
When he swallowed a mouthful of what must have been soap or medicine blindly, he dry heaved enough to know never to try that again, and sat down to stew on his own until Blue had some sort of contact to make. When he leaned back against the wall behind the cockpit, something poked into his side, and his eyes landed on his and Hunk’s knitting projects with sudden and rapt attention.
So, he knitted. He repeated the message with no response, and when a day (presumably, he could be slightly over-accounting for time in hopes that he was closer to being rescued, but he had no way of actually telling) or so had passed, he jabbed one of Hunk’s knitting needles into the mysteriously misconnecting communicator in his helmet’s earpiece and almost cried at the shrieking sound that met him in return.
It took three more knitting needle jabs to get it to shut up, and Lance knew he had screwed up entirely by the looks of the interior of the Altean technology. Bundles of unfamiliar wiring was tightly compacted into the smooth helmet, connecting to a stray crystal or two, and Lance, with nothing to lose, took a deep breath and yanked at them in hopes of finding whatever was loose or missing. His speaker he had stabbed to death was likely beyond his own care set, but he could try for connecting the rest of it all, at least, and transmitting a message endlessly in hopes that somebody just came to his aid.
If they could hear him, though, he wondered if they were coming already. He wondered if there was any way to find him without Blue being awake, if there was any way he was worth finding if the blue lion was out of commission entirely. No lion to salvage, no need for the pilot.
He set the knitting needle down carefully, and braided the wires like he braided hair, keeping the ones he could trust out of the way and the ones that confused him another way. “This is Lance.” He began repeating when he thought he had begun fixing the device, “This is the blue lion’s paladin.” He could believe that a little longer if he could be saved.
It took two days (one? Half?) for Blue to wake up. The moon they were stranded on had no way to concept time, apparently, but Lance was fine. There were no immediate threats besides the ever growing pains ringing through his body. Blindly, he had tried eating more things he couldn’t read the ingredients of from the cabinets, and when he had found some goo he had sobbed with uncontrollable relief. Everything was intense and painful, but there was the intense comfort in the familiar.
Blue woke up the same way Lance felt, though her health and excitement was much more apparent. “Welcome back, beautiful.” He croaked as he fell into the pilot’s chair, shaking with quiet tears at the rush of her presence in his mind, “We’re in a bind but I’m trying to work on it.” He was lying but Blue didn’t seem to think it was so much of a problem. Behind him, sweaters were stacked diligently, some with a few skipped stitches but looking cohesive as a whole. Hunk might be mad he finished them, but Lance was mad he was stuck on a moon in the middle of nowhere, so they were even.
“How well do you think you can fly?”
No response, and Lance had the foresight to check his coordinates before Blue’s lights dimmed again. It was a peaceful sleep this time, at least, and Lance knew Blue was trying to get as much strength as she could up due to whatever injury she was sustaining. He wished he knew what was going on. He wished he was at the castle. He wished he was at home. Sometimes the two of those places blurred together, but they couldn’t have felt more separate than they did to Lance then.
“This is Lance.” He dropped the Blue Paladin title in his repetitions. “Looking for help. My coordinates are…” This is Lance, this is Lance, this is Lance.
Lance woke up to violent purring, and sat straighter in his seat as he took in the presence of his lion like a lifeline. “Hey,” He breathed, desperate, “Glad to see you’re up and at ‘em.”
He could tell Blue could tell he wasn’t okay, but didn’t address her inquiries to his health. “I don’t know if my communications are going through, and my speaker’s broken, so that’s the first priority if you can walk me through it.” He chuckled a little pulling off his helmet again and moving to fix at the helmet wires that were still exposed.
Blue stood, and Lance shifted in his seat in surprise, moving to grip the handles as she jostled around. Just as she seemed to stretch (a little awkward to see from a first perspective but Lance could figure out the jist of what was going on), a screen popped up before his eyes where his maps usually appeared and flooded with information.
“Lance. Lance, if you can hear me say ‘I should stop worrying all my teammates over spontaneous adventures’ into your coms twice.” Pidge’s voice flooded the cockpit of Blue, the first line of Altean writing opening to reveal a video communication. It looked pre-recorded, and Pidge looked frustrated as she typed away at the laptop below her fingers. Her helmet was beside her, and Lance could hear his own voice lowly emitting from her helmet.
“Or not. Lance we need coordinates. We can hook onto the Blue Lion’s data and your communications but we can’t do anything but communicate until something’s fully connected. How did you even mess your coms up this much?”
She looked silly talking to herself, if Lance had to be honest, but a stone of dread sat in his stomach at knowing they were all disappointed in him still, hearing the tone of Pidge’s voice. He hesitated and brought his communicator to his head, shoving his helmet on and preparing to respond finally to see if anyone was paying attention, but Pidge’s video stopped and the next one in the row started up.
It looked like the castle’s nighttime simulator, and Pidge was drinking hot goo and grimacing with every sip. “Okay, so your voice has to be getting sore by now. Maybe you’ve connected something or Blue or whatever. Say ‘I wish I was wearing ladies underwear’ if you can hear me, Lance.” When Lance only repeated the same information through her com, she frowned, and typed again at her laptop, brows furrowing.
“I wish I was wearing ladies underwear.” Lance said effortlessly into his com as the next video began.
Hunk was beside Pidge this time, still on the night cycle. “You’re sending the video communications right?” He asked carefully, looking tired and beyond stressed.
“Yes, that’s why we’re taking the video.” Pidge stressed. She picked up her helmet and fixed a strange boxy device into it before speaking again, “Lance if you can hear me say Hunk’s cooking is better than your mom’s.”
Lance’s mouth twisted into a pout as Hunk didn’t even try to hide his pride at the prospect, but he repeated the fact nonetheless. “Hunk’s cooking is better than my mom’s.”
It continued like that, with Hunk and Pidge, for almost ten videos, and by the time he reached the last one Shiro and Keith had appeared at the data table Pidge was working on, watching her hands and sending meaningful glances at one another. They were confused by Pidge’s work, and worried by her and Hunk’s lack of sleep, both of which were a norm.
“Lance.” Keith said this time when the video started and Pidge moved her hand from the lens of the video communicator, “If you’re okay and can hear us say so into the communicator.”
They all turned to the green helmet at Pidge’s side and watched it warily. After a breath longer of pause, Pidge stood slightly and reached for it quickly, but Keith clutched it faster, looking oddly imploringly down at it as Lance’s whispered, desperate voice filtered through. “Welcome back, beautiful.”
“Blue’s online!” Hunk shouted when Keith looked baffled and angry, “Blue’s beautiful, she’s online! Pidge!”
The last video featured Shiro giving an inspirational speech beginning before Pidge cut him off and told him to stop treating Lance like he was dying. The words didn’t deter Keith, however, who got his face extremely close to the camera and said, more carefully than any tone Lance would ever have recognized in the red paladin, eyes fiercely steady, “If you’re hurt and don’t make it I’ll kill you. Live to fight another day.”
And Lance’s heart soared at the words. Live to fight another day. Well, that was something oddly sweet between them now, wasn’t it? He remembered the pool, and Keith was shoved away before Lance could even actually laugh over it.
“Lance we lost your signal as soon as we managed to catch Blue, we’re waiting for coordinates or something since she’s offline again. You better be okay. If you can hear me say ‘Keith’s mullet breaks my achey-breaky heart’.”
The Altean dates on the videos made no sense to Lance, and he stared at the video feed for a few moments before sighing out a, “Keith’s mullet breaks my achey-breaky heart.” He repeated his coordinates, for good measure, and hoped Blue was okay enough to stay online for more connections with his crew. His pounding head, with all the lights around and above him then, was telling him to go back to sleep, but this was life-threateningly important, and his need to get back to them was more important than his rest right then.
He managed to stay awake for a period of time, near slurring his coordinates through his lips through his headache and fiddling more with his helmet in desperation. When another video popped up, on the day cycle of the castle and featuring every member of his space family crammed into one screen (a diligent and annoyed Pidge at the center of the camera), Lance began weeping small, barely-there tears.
“This should be live. We should be able to see him.” Pidge muttered when Hunk sent her a startled glance. She tapped furiously at her laptop and froze when, through the helmet Keith was clutching desperately in front of him, Lance’s soft voice had stopped its slurring and the small sounds of his uncontrollable gasping through tears kicked up.
“Lance.” Pidge said carefully, “If you can hear us or see us say…say, uh…” She bowed her head fractionally, looking lost and startled as Lance’s heavier breaths picked up, and Lance was stricken with the fact that he was listening to himself have a panic attack live. This week was amazing.
“Lance,” Keith’s voice said sternly at the same time as Shiro’s, but Keith continued before their leader could, “If you can hear us or see us count down from ten slowly.”
“Ten,” Lance buried his face in his hands as he began counting, “Nine, eight…”
Blue shifted underneath him and he ignored her for the time being, listening to Keith’s voice count with him as he heard his own reciting through the video feed.
“Are you in immediate danger, Lance?” Shiro asked, only to be cut off by Pidge’s excited exclamation.
“I finally locked on Blue! The coordinates didn’t make sense because he’s in a magnetic waste zone! Allura, this is where we’re going.” From the back, Allura stood on her tippy toes to look around Coran and Shiro, eyes flicking determinedly across the screen in front of Pidge.
“Lance. If you can hear us tell us if you’re in immediate danger.” Shiro tried again, clasping Hunk’s shoulder when he buried his face in his arms on the work table.
“Not really.” Lance croaked, feeling like fire was licking throughout his head.
The response made Keith glare, but Coran cut in before the red paladin could snap. “Are you hurt, my boy? Can you tell us what happened to your communicators or Blue’s systems?”
“Yes, no. Well,” Lance tried to open his eyes a little wider to watch them all across the screen, but he hissed at the brightness of everything around him, “The knitting needle probably didn’t help my helmet, but it was broken before I broke it more.”
“The knitting needle?” Coran asked bewilderedly, glancing at Hunk, who whipped his head up.
“What did you do with our needles?” His best friend asked imploringly, voice tight.
Keith cut him off, glaring before bowing his head closer to the helmet in his arms. “That’s not important. Lance, what’s wrong? You said you’re hurt.”
“My brain.” Lance hummed as he slumped in the chair with his eyes closed, trying to communicate with Blue at the same time and feeling tears prick at his eyes at the force of the attempt. “Something’s wrong. I’m not sure.” He knew he sounded crazy, and knew he should provide better examples, but it was hard to articulate exactly what was the problem. “Hot, sharp ribs, et cetra.”
“Don’t say et cetra out loud.” Pidge shook her head as she began typing again, “Lance, we’re already on the way.” She turned to Allura and began climbing out from the center of the group. Keith took her place without missing a beat. “Keep in contact with him, see if you can fix his camera.”
Not lifting his face to meet the camera, Keith kept his gaze down towards the source of Lance’s voice. “Do you have broken ribs? What’s wrong with your brain?” At the latter question, Keith couldn’t hold back the soft snort to himself, forehead resting on the center of the top of the helmet, looking almost miserable. By the movement in Hunk’s shoulder, it looked like he was rubbing the red paladin’s back. Shiro sat next to Keith’s other side, and Coran fretted behind them.
“I think.” Lance tried, knowing the words came out much more convoluted and trying one more time on them, “I think. Sleeping a lot, lights hurt, talking to Blue hurts, it’s a whole thing.”
Before Keith could reply, Hunk cut in, “Lance, there should be a small dashboard camera type looking-thing just in front of the pilot system controls, is there anything obstructing that?”
Keith turned to Hunk like he had something to say, but finally trained his eyes on what Lance could only assume was a dark screen in front of them.
“I’ll prepare a pod.” Coran said a little quietly to Shiro before he left, and Lance rubbed his eyes harshly before lifting himself from his pilot seat to look where Hunk was implying. He found a few devices fitting the description, noticing them looking impeccable.
“They look fine.” Lance tried as he fell to his knees and groaned before crawling under the dashboard to look at where the webcams would be connected. Space dust bunnies, weird crumbs, oh. Remembering where he had dislodged his helmet from in the first place, Lance wiggled to that spot and reached around the dimly lit technology to feel behind the secured metal of the gaps in Blue’s hull. When he felt pulsing crystals, he tried to see if a single one felt aligned improperly, and yanked the farthest one he could reach when he felt its strange tilt.
“Lance!” Keith cried suddenly, startling the blue paladin into jerking his head into the underside of his control panel and swearing loudly. Everything spun.
“Lance, we can see the interior of Blue, where are you? Can you stand?” Hunk cried enthusiastically.
Lance wiggled until he could pull himself from under the controls and pulled himself into his pilot seat with great effort. Beside the screen showcasing his team, a smaller screen had appeared to show him what was being broadcasted to them in return, and Lance stared at a vision of his scuffled self for a long moment before pulling off his helmet to run his hand through his wild hair. He closed the screen showing himself, and gave the three paladins watching him a thumbs up.
“You look terrible.” Keith’s voice was frighteningly breathy, and despite the words they were said without an ounce of insult. “There’s blood on the side of your face.”
Lance furrowed his brows and closed his eyes to them, taking a deep breath and pulling his gloves off to run a hand hesitantly around his head with more care. “Yeah…” He murmured, “I guess.”
“Lance, how have you been holding up? Can you give us a rundown of these last few days?” Shiro asked carefully, eyes trained and focused ahead of him. “What all do you remember?”
Keith glanced at their leader and whispered, “He definitely has a concussion.” Though why it was so quiet and secretive of a statement was beyond Lance.
“Voltron—Well, I messed up on Atraps. Uh, my headache started up right before I started talking to the king, I think…He said he had a challenge.” Lance curled his arms around his helmet and pulled his knees into his chair, resting his armor on top of his legs and his head atop them.
“We messed up on Atraps.” Hunk emphasized, getting a hum of agreement from Shiro before the black paladin waved for Lance to continue.
Lance felt his eyes droop, his mind begging him to sleep. “I accepted, we flew out…something with the wormhole and Blue wasn’t feeling well…” At blue’s sudden and violent rumble beneath him, Lance continued, “I, also, was not feeling well.”
“You should have said something.” Keith growled, “Don’t fall asleep. Sit back up.”
Lance pouted and shook his head quickly to try and bring some wakefulness back into his head and wincing at the sensation of the movement. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think I was going to be casually stranded through the wormhole and unable to get into a healing pod, like, immediately.”
“When did you hurt yourself, Lance?” Shiro rose one of his hands before Keith could retort again, silencing the younger boy. “Did you wake up with the concussion or…?”
Shaking his head much slower, Lance intertwined his fingers and rested his chin on those instead. “Uh…the tower.” He gave a slight nod, hoping they knew what he meant.
“Are you having trouble, uh…recalling everything that happened?” Hunk asked, worry evident. “What about the tower?”
“The tower we accidentally hit?” Keith froze, running a gloveless hand through his bangs.
“You look terrible, too.” Lance slurred, finally remembering to return the jab. “You guys look like you haven’t slept.”
“Lance.” Keith snapped, free hand grasping desperately at air, “What about the tower?”
Hunk interjected with a chuckle, “We haven’t.”
“Oh.” Lance hummed, rubbing his face again, “When we lost our balance and took out that tower, it was because a smaller fighter slammed into my side and I fell from my chair. My head, like, smashed into the stupid joystick near the light operations.”
Boiling with apparent frustration, Keith’s hands grasped at air for a second before grabbing the helmet in front of him and whipping it over their video communications. A second later a clang sounded, and Lance flinched at the harshness. Before he could ask what the red paladin’s problem was, he was speaking, wet frustration practically painting every word. “You took the blame for the entire team when you weren’t even lucid! You said I don’t think anything through, and you accepted some stupid king’s challenge even though you immediately needed to be in a pod because—you even let us say it was your fault!” He’d gotten up from Pidge’s center seat and turned away from the camera, near pacing behind Shiro.
Hunk took a deep breath when Shiro turned to give Keith a mystery pacifying look. “Lance,” His best friend began carefully, but Lance cut in.
“It was my fault, and we looked like morons just fighting in front of the king, anyway. If I didn’t do anything Allura was going to murder somebody.” Lance snapped, defensiveness curling in his chest at his actions, “If I blew a major part of the mission the least I could do is let the blame fall on me.”
Keith whipped around and slammed himself back into his seat, “You being injured doesn’t make it your fault, shut up.”
“Lance, Keith.” Shiro’s authoritative tone broke in before they could dissolve further, “That’s enough. Can you tell us what else happened?”
Lance nodded and slumped in his seat. “It was like I couldn’t hear Blue, or something. Then…then, I woke up? I can’t read Altean, that’s a huge problem we should have fixed forever ago.”
“We really can’t coast on Pidge being the only one who can translate it out of all of us…” Hunk commented lightly.
“I slept a lot in and out…I stabbed my communicator because I wasn’t receiving messages, only static bursts.”
Expectedly, Keith broke in, “That sounds like a great way to handle that.” His voice had a force to it that made something flutter in Lance’s chest. He was familiar, almost intimately so, with Keith’s keep-it-cool voice, and it was in full effect here.
So Lance snorted in reply, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “I tried to take it apart like a rational person and they have—I guess it’s an alarm—something packed inside so when you open them up they try to kill your ears.” Keith sucked in a breath and Lance felt his eyebrows furrow as he continued, “So, I ruined a needle, by the way.”
He glanced up, expecting Hunk’s comment, but only saw his soft eyes imploring him silently to continue. “Uh, I rewired some stuff and tried to transmit some help signals. Found some medicine or acid, tried it and it was disgusting. Found goo, like, the fourth time I woke up? I’m not really sure. How many days has it been?”
“Since liftoff from the Atraps?” Shiro asked, waiting for Lance’s nod, “Six days.”
“Holy crow.”
“I’m going to check on Allura and Pidge for the takeoff, stay awake, Lance. You’re doing great.”
Lance felt his eyes close and gave a lethargic salute towards where the camera was, humming. Six days. He had only registered three or four by mentally calculating…was he sleeping that much?
“I finished the stuff, Hunk.” He slurred after a few moments of silence.
“Stay. Awake.” Keith hissed.
Hunk was much calmer, “Aw, that’s alright, man. You were probably super bored.”
Something about the way Hunk said it made his heart give a hard lurch in Lance’s chest, but he didn’t say anything towards the comment. Sure, he was bored, but…there was more he could have been doing, and he knew it just as well as the others.
“Lance!” Keith snapped, and Lance flinched, jolting in his seat and sitting up again.
An echo of the intercoms barely reached Lance’s ears through the communication, and Hunk and Keith both looked at the ceiling. “I’m going to watch the stats with Pidge, okay Keith?”
The red paladin nodded, and Hunk glanced back at the camera. “We’ll be there before you know it, buddy. Don’t worry.”
Lance nodded, eyes feeling wet again, and watched his best friend leave the frame. It was just him and Keith then, staring at one another through a digital connection spanning across who-knows-how-far.
“You have to say stuff if you want me to stay awake.” Lance said as he rubbed his forehead, feeling his eyelids drooping again.
Keith cleared his throat and glanced away from the camera. “I know.” His tone was gruff, and Lance rolled his eyes, “We were worried about you.”
“I mean, same.”
“No.” Keith turned back, voice thick and eyes hard, “You were worried and beating yourself up. It’s different.” Lance wasn’t sure why he sounded so desperate, but he nodded along anyway, exhausted and wanting to see a castleship more than ever. “We barely slept.”
“I missed you.” Lance slurred before his injured brain could stop him. His eyes traced the outline of Keith’s billion cowlicks, seeing how they were haphazardly pulled into some semblance of a ponytail behind him at the moment, though it was an abused hairdo and needing attention.
Keith huffed a laugh. “I missed you, too.”
“Thanks.” Lance’s voice suddenly felt clear, but he thought it might have been more attributed to Keith and him having such deep eye-contact through the screen. “Your hair looks bad.”
“I can feel the wormhole jumping now. Don’t complain, you get to braid it when you get back.” Keith chuckled.
Lance gave a long hum, slumping in his seat again. “It’s hard to talk to Blue right now, I might need Allura’s help. Do I get to sleep before I braid your hair or are you just going to assault me?”
“You can’t even talk to Blue?” The red paladin waited for Lance’s confirming hum before continuing, “You don’t get to sleep until you get in a pod. You know that, right?”
“Right.” Another hum between them. “How long?”
Keith paused and shrugged, “You should see us on a horizon in a few minutes, if even that.”
“Cool, I’m going to start stripping.” Lance began lethargically pulling himself from his wrist guards and chest plate, ignoring Keith’s immediate choked sound.
When Lance was being led by secure arms at either of his sides towards the medical bay, he heard pinches of conversation between the members of their group, Allura’s voice the clearest from behind.
“There seemed to be issues with the blue lion connecting with Lance’s quintessence, which is very strange…” She was murmuring to somebody—Pidge or Coran, likely—and seemed like she was trying to work through some information.
“Allura,” He tried to turn over his shoulder to glance at her, but was prevented by Hunk squeezing his waist from his left side, winding him a little. “Ugh, gentle my good men.”
“Sorry,” Keith muttered, not realizing it hadn’t been him. They scurried faster and Lance was reminded that he didn’t really need help walking, he only stumbled when he went too fast.
Allura was speaking again, and Lance felt his stomach drop as he strained to hear. “It’s never been an issue before, but it’s certainly possible. I’ll have to speak to her to get more information, since Lance is unable…”
“Allura.” He tried again, hands gripping Hunk and Keith’s shoulders while he steeled himself, “Is Blue rejecting me?”
A silence through their shuffling group confirmed his answer, no verbalization needed, and Lance felt like the floor was giving out from below him.
“No.” She said, surprising him but providing no comfort, “I have a suspicion about the people of Atraps being the cause of this conflict, but it’s nothing for you to worry over. Coran and I will handle contacting them.”
“That was his challenge?” Keith twisted under Lance’s arm and he stumbled slightly at both the jolt and the boy’s tone. “He could have died just so that stupid king could figure out if he was worth piloting the blue lion?”
“I guess we know how that challenge went.” Lance said before he could stop himself, freezing when he felt Keith’s tight grip lower to his hip, just below the jut of his belt.
Allura’s smile was icy when she came into Lance’s fuzzy view fully. “If you have not passed, neither have they into our coalition. It is rare when Voltron makes enemies outside of our larger goals, but not impossible to determine.” When she continued walking, she offhandedly mentioned to Coran, “I’d like to contact the Blade of Marmora over this matter depending on how our contact with Atraps follows through.”
Something cold yet boiling rolled in Lance’s stomach, and he knew he was going to vomit, though it couldn’t be attributed to his concussion.
Lance woke to the thrum of the castle, head cleared and breathing without labor. The very first decision he made in his head was to hand out the sweaters the next day with Hunk, because wow it was freezing. In retrospect, that didn’t seemed to be the most concerning thing about his situation, however. Hunk’s open arms greeted him to deter that cold, anyhow, and they went through the motions whenever any of them were out of a healing pod: hugs, food, gentle disperse.
The biggest difference, right off the bat, had to be the lingering of Keith after the rest of the group had wished Lance well and went off to their respective duties. The red paladin hung at the edge of the dining room when Lance finished up his hearty bowl of goo Coran provided, and when Lance gave him a smug glance he simply flustered in response.
He was much more patient than any usual matter, though, and Lance could give the boy credit for that. “What can I do for you, buddy?” He tried to ask casually as he threw the bowl into the advanced Altean dishwasher. The two of them rolling and throwing punches on the palace floor was fresh in his mind, and he couldn’t help but feel a slight unease over the matter.
Keith waved a lazy hand upwards, towards his still unkempt hair. “Braid it?”
“Let’s train first.” Lance took a split second before turning back to Keith and meeting him at the end of the room, gesturing for him to lead the way despite his surprised look.
Lance tried to keep calm and collected in the training room, thinking they had plenty of frustrations to get out and it would be healthy after his almost week of solitude and injury to get some firm drills in. He wasn’t entirely prepared, however, for each missed shot and blow to be so much more assaulting to his mind than ever.
He could tell Keith was trying to go easy on him unsuccessfully, which made the entire ordeal worse, and they made it through four low levels of training before Keith tried to stop, but Lance refused.
Another drill passed and Lance memorized the number of shots he missed, swearing to himself softly and trying to focus.
When the gladiator struck Lance across the side, Keith ended the training sequence before he even hit the floor, seemingly waiting for that exact moment. Lance rose his head to protest, but Keith was kneeling by him and offering a hand, looking uncomfortable. The too-bright lights from the high ceiling made Keith’s face deliciously shadowed, and Lance couldn’t restrain himself from swearing again.
“You have to stop beating yourself up.” Keith said awkwardly when Lance did take his hand.
Lance laughed, “No, that’s the gladiator, don’t worry.”
“You always do this.”
And those words made him bristle from the root of his hair to the tips of his toes, protest licking through his veins like fire. “What, mess up?” His laugh wasn’t even bitter or forced, just sad and plain and too loud for the room even despite its size, “I know, Keith. You don’t have to tell me.”
“No.” Keith yanked Lance to his feet, looking furious, “You always beat yourself up whenever we’re training and you miss a shot or lose your footing or start panting before I do, literally just anything stupid. You’re too hard on yourself.”
“You wrote the book on being hard on yourself, mullet.” Lance yanked his hand away, crossing his arms defensively and knowing he was being unfair. The words felt wrong on his tongue, and he couldn’t find it in himself to be so menacing or malicious to Keith even when his body and mind screamed for him to throw walls up.
“I didn’t? I don’t…know what that means.” Keith’s voice was quieter for a second before he pressed on, “You are, though. You mess one thing up and you act like everyone’s going to fail because of you. That’s not true.”
Lance laughed again, jumping at an opportunity he didn’t know he was waiting for. “Yes it is! What on Earth—oh, man, not even Earth—could I be adding here? I can’t get the training exercises right, I can’t get my shots right when my hands shake and they always shake because I’m scared!” He knew his voice was becoming hysterical, and his hands found his short hair to push and yank at a little, “The number of things I can even help you guys with I can count on one hand! I’m trying to get my shooting accuracy higher but I can’t! I’m not even a sharpshooter! I—I…” A shuddering breath left him when he caught Keith’s wide eyes again, “I can’t do anything for you but braid your stupid hair. Paint nails, do makeup, whatever, and that’s all garbage anyway. It doesn’t even mean anything, this is a war.”
“Lance.” Keith said suddenly, a burst of confidence to cut into Lance’s cries, “Stop.” His tone was firm and Lance met his gaze mercilessly.
When no response came, the blue paladin couldn’t help the scoff and chuckle that left his mouth, expecting Keith to have no real response to such harsh realities. He missed Keith’s sharp intake of breath at the sound, and when Keith snapped at him he almost flinched. “Do you have any idea how much this means to me? To everybody?” He thrust both pointer fingers towards his wild black locks, looking ridiculous, and Lance paused before rolling his eyes.
“I’m serious!” Keith growled, stepping towards Lance when Lance took steps back, “You’re the only one who can do this for us! You’re the only one looking out for us outside of battle.”
“Right!” Throwing his arms up, Lance took another few steps back, frustrated at Keith matching them, “I can braid your hair and make you flower crowns and get you all clothes, that’s amazing! Wow, I’m really pulling my weight here!”
“It’s not about that! It’s not the braiding and nails and everything, just shut up!” Keith hissed, surging forward to grab Lance’s shoulders before he hit the wall. His eyes were imploring despite his harsh tone, “You talk to us, and you keep us weighed down when we need to be. Pidge sleeps better when you check on her, Hunk stress bakes less when you’re helping, I—you stopped me from grinding my teeth. Shiro doesn’t get that tense look on his face whenever you crack jokes before training anymore.”
“So you all don’t hate me anymore, whatever.” Lance tried lamely, silencing when Keith pressed him gently into the wall behind him.
“You’re there for us when we don’t know we need it. You’re our lifeline to feeling human again. I don’t know how to say it. You make sure we’re not stressed. I’m not…good at explaining this.” Keith’s deep gaze flickered down, and Lance followed it.
He didn’t mean the startled squeak when Keith’s hands moved to Lance’s waist, still not meeting his eye, but the sound came nonetheless. Thankfully, Keith seemed to be content in ignoring it. “I don’t know how to explain how important you are to me—everyone.”
At the newfound softness to Keith’s tone, Lance felt his body go cold, unable to comprehend the sincerity of the words he was hearing. “I don’t know who everyone on the team would be if you weren’t here with us.” Keith, it seemed, was fine with blabbering until the right words stuck to explain his point.
Silently, Keith’s hand removed from one side of Lance’s waist and lightly touched at Lance’s wrist, trailing down to his palm. His fingers hovered for a second before gently pressing at Lance’s own. Just before they intertwined with each other, Lance flinched involuntarily, and Keith drew back like he had been burned.
“I’m going to go shower.” Keith muttered.
Lance swallowed thickly, watching Keith’s hasty retreat. “Thank you.” He said softly, looking away when Keith’s steps faltered for a half second at the words.
A facemask was the only treasure Lance had to calm himself and rationalize with all that had happened. He was opening the cap to his pamper product just as somebody knocked loudly on his door though, and Lance tried not to let new waves of nervousness take over his mind.
He groaned loudly, hoping whoever was waiting for him got the hint, but another, softer knock came, and Lance couldn’t deny such an inquisitive sound. He sauntered tiredly to the door, slapping his hand onto the panel and using his free one to push through his wet hair, still waiting to be toweled dry after his shower.
Keith’s earnest expression greeted him, and Lance blinked, eyes lazily trailing around the boy’s form before he moved aside silently. “Can you braid my hair?” Keith asked, clearly hesitant, before stepping in at Lance’s nod.
“Sure thing, bud.” Lance assured, stifling a yawn and jerking his thumb towards the bed. “I’m doing a face mask, want one?”
The red paladin faltered, nose wrinkling as he paused, and when Lance was sure he was going to reject the offer he surprised him, “Sure…” There was a clear determination in the decision, and Lance could have laughed at the extent of the internal battle he could decipher on Keith’s face.
They were quick to get settled on the bed, neither saying anything to one another even casually and both privately relishing the sensation of Lance dragging his hands through Keith’s hair as soon as it began. He braided slowly, wondering if this would still be routine despite the awkward interaction that had happened just before their showers and the fight even before that. Privately, Lance assumed they were over the fight, but in a way it still made him nervous to think on whether Keith still blamed him.
He frowned as he finished the first braid, moving to the second easily and trying to braid it a little slower even, just in case it was the last time it would be an opportunity for him. Keith’s little breaths were music to his ear, always so uncertainly comforted, and he watched the angry boy’s fists in his lap with interest as he tied off the second braid.
There was a moment of deliberation, but Lance couldn’t deny himself at the thought that this would be his last time to enjoy this interaction between them, and so he quickly tilted Keith’s head back as he had before and pressed a swift kiss to the crown of his head. His eyes were closed and they both seemed to release a deep breath at the contact, but Lance ignored it in favor of climbing over Keith to get out of bed and grab his face masks with no hesitation.
The first thing he did was launch a makeshift headband at Keith, who caught it easily and shoved it on after only a second of confusion. When Lance returned to the bed, bottle of fermented goo in hand, he smudged some onto Keith’s face and laughed at his initial recoil of disgust.
“Warn me next time.” Keith hissed, hand twitching and clearly wanting to remove the substance from his skin. Lance let his breath catch for a second before he pushed on. Next time.
With a challenging grin, Lance asked, “You doing alright there, buddy? Just a little goo.”
“I’m fine.” Keith muttered. “Do yours so I know how it’s supposed to go on.”
Before he could really think on the offer, Lance scoffed and assured, “Don’t worry, I’ll do yours for you.” He went on to rub his in carefully yet quickly, a practiced motion he was a professional in, and he tried to ignore Keith’s curiously intense eyes watching his every swipe.
When he was done he feigned one more swipe, thrusting his hand forward at the last tick and getting Keith’s nose in his mind flinch. He could see the pout trying to take over Keith’s features and grinned wickedly when the other boy said nothing, accepting the treatment.
His hands were careful, something he knew surprised Keith, and were as gentle as he could be in spreading the goo on the red paladin’s frustratingly smooth skin. Keith opened his mouth when Lance trailed his fingers under the swell of his lips, and Lance felt like he had stopped breathing.
The rest of his motions afterwards were even more delicate, watching each flutter of Keith’s lashes and the way he had barely pulled his top lip in-between his teeth at the edge of his mouth before dropping it as soon as he had started, like an afterthought.
“Keith.” Lance found himself saying as he finished but was unwilling to let go of softly touching his face. Keith’s mouth fell open again when Lance swiped a little closer to the bottom lip.
“Hm.” Keith responded easily, voice betraying all of his peaceful expression. He sounded hoarse and strained, and Lance tilted forward without hesitation, slotting their lips together when he moved his hand and feeling Keith’s entire body stiffen immediately.
He gave it a second of bravery, knowing it was sudden despite his mind telling him how much he had ruined everything. After that second, he pulled away with a calm remorse, and when Keith gave a long exhale through his nose and pressed back into Lance enthusiastically, Lance could have cried with relief.
They kissed slowly, embarrassingly hesitant with one another, and Keith’s strong hands found Lance’s legs between them, clasping innocently on the other sides of his thighs. The blue paladin tried to situate his own hands somewhere nice on Keith as well, but could do nothing but flutter them uselessly at Keith’s sides and uncertainly rest them on Keith’s elbows when Keith tilted their noses together.
Keith’s elbow jerked, and Lance grinned into the kiss when he remembered the goo still on his hands. Before their kiss could be fully broken by his goofy smile or the red paladin’s up-and-coming protests, Lance surged forward more and Keith fell below him as he rose to his knees, giving a half-lidded glare at Lance when he hit the pillow nearest to him.
Lance gave Keith another slow and soft kiss, feeling Keith’s legs slide between his own, and when the boy beneath him gave another slow and long exhale, Lance rolled onto his side and shoved his face into Keith’s neck, face mask be damned.
“This is so gross.” Keith predictably complained, shoving his foot beneath Lance’s own and using the other to push under Lance’s sheets.
Lance hummed, pressing his face into Keith’s bare skin and kissing a spot he found. “You love all this pampering.”
When Keith didn’t respond, Lance wiggled his toes against the other boy’s foot and lifted his head to take in the damage of the declaration. Keith was staring at the ceiling above them as the castle slowly shifted into its night-mode lighting mechanisms, but even the dimmed lighting couldn’t hide the soft and sincere smile that had spread onto Keith lips, eyes shining.
When Lance’s fingers slipped along Keith’s waist to spread more goo there mercilessly, Keith grunted and rolled his eyes, rubbing his face into Lance’s hair in a sad retaliation. It was hard to miss the lower boy’s deep breath once he was buried into Lance’s wet locks, though, and Lance almost laughed aloud as he spread goo into Keith’s shirt from his face.
“Yeah.” Keith finally admitted, and Lance had to think back to remember what exactly he was even responding to.
When their eyes met again, them both leaning into one another was natural and instantaneous, and their lips met as their eyes closed. Another sweet kiss was shared between them, tasting a little too much like goo to be hot or comfortable, but precious to the two of them nonetheless.