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❧
Here's the thing: Lance is comfortable with who he is. He's not just telling himself that. He's not saying he knows everything about himself, and sure he has moments where his own not-knowing eclipses him—but come on, that happens to everyone, doesn't it? Whenever he does happen to get a little lost, he always finds his way again. He knows who he is, and he knows what he is. Team sharpshooter? Yes, obviously. Razzle-dazzle charmer? Sure it's his surface, but it goes deeper; it's not an act. He is a genuinely charming guy. Always has been, always will be. He smiles to himself. He can't see his own smile, of course, but he feels it as he walks down the Castle halls to the beat of his own footsteps.
Back at the Garrison—a million years ago, it feels like, and who knows how many millions of miles away by now. He hasn't done the math from their present coordinates; he doesn't even know where home is from here.
Home. He's not sure if the others think of the Castle as their home now or what. Home is where the heart is, right? Well, Lance's heart is where it's always been: with his family, in Cuba, on Earth. That's another true thing he knows about himself.
Not that he doesn't think of the others as his family now too. He does; of course he does. He just doesn't necessarily have a one hundred percent familial type feeling towards all of them...
Anyhow: the Garrison. Back at the Garrison, one night during his first year, they watched this super old movie and right from the start, from that opening sequence and the way Tony Manero had moved his feet as he strutted down the sidewalk to music only he could hear, Lance had seen himself. Some of the other cadets had laughed and Lance had seen the nudges, the looks his way, and he'd known they thought they saw him. But Lance hadn't cared, because he'd seen himself. He plays the music again in his head right now, and even though he might be misremembering the lyrics, his feet don't really care about that part: they just want the beat, they just want the rhythm, and he sends it to them.
He sends the rhythm down through his hips, swaggers himself along the corridor, slowing only as he approaches the hangar—and then stopping entirely. At this time of what he thinks of as night, he thought he'd be alone here. Well, not fully alone, because of the Lions; that's the reason he came. And, it looks like from the way Shiro is standing there, the reason he did too.
Lance looks on without moving for a moment. It's not déjà vu, not exactly; but it's not entirely unfamiliar.
Exhaling the breath as deliberately as he took it in just now, he walks over to the base of the Black Lion. He's not sure if Shiro knows he's there but Lance doesn't want to do anything lame like clear his throat to announce his presence. Not around Shiro. He also doesn't want to do anything creepy like stare at someone who doesn't know he's there. Especially not when that someone is Shiro.
It's not like Lance doesn't know they're teammates and all. It's just that Shiro is Shiro, you know? Shiro might say they're equals—in fact, Lance is positive he would and probably already has, not just about the two of them but about all the Paladins. And Allura and Coran. And probably all their allies. He probably said that about everyone at the Garrison too, and probably about everyone he ever met before that. Shiro doesn't think he's any better than anyone. But, you know—he's Shiro.
Lance gazes up at Black too. It doesn't look like Black can read what he's thinking. Doesn't look like Black cares he's there—
"Lance."
Lance shoves his hands into his front pockets, pushing the edges of his jacket back, turning his startled tilt onto his toes into a step forwards, and then another. "Hey, Shiro." He comes to stand beside Shiro, wanting to glance at him, letting his own gaze follow Shiro's up again instead.
They stand there gazing up in silence. Not the kind of silence where you can hear your own heartbeat. It's just quiet.
He can't hear Shiro's heartbeat either, but he hears the deeper breath Shiro draws. When Lance looks at him, Shiro is still gazing up at Black.
"I'm not," Shiro starts, and Lance wants to tell him that's wrong: he is, whatever it is. Shiro sighs. "I'm not the Black Paladin anymore."
Oh. Well. Yeah. That's—yeah, there's nothing Lance or anyone, not even Keith—maybe especially not Keith—can say to that.
"When I saw Voltron out there," Shiro says, running his hands through his hair as he looks down, his fingers curling in the shock of white. "Some part of me knew that someone else was piloting Black—someone had to be—and I hoped it was Keith. But."
Shiro's words cut off. Lance doesn't need words, he gets it: Shiro wasn't thinking it all the way through out there, when he was on maybe his last breath. He couldn't afford to think it all the way through then. He can now; he has to now. Shiro gazes up at Black again and Lance doesn't have to look to know Black isn't gazing back.
"I did everything I could to get back to you," Shiro says, and even though he's looking at Black, Lance thinks he also means them, the Paladins as well as the Lions. "I even." Shiro takes another breath. One that makes Lance catch his own, because he thinks he might know the words that are coming, but he didn't know Shiro has been thinking them too. He's surprised by the steadiness of the slow breath Shiro takes, but he's not surprised by the words that follow: "I might have even died to get back."
Without taking time to think about what he should say, Lance says the only thing he can: "You're here now." Shiro glances at him but before he forces the smile Lance sees coming, Lance reaches out and rests a hand on his shoulder. It's not quite the way he's seen Keith and Shiro touch one another's shoulders sometimes, but it might unintentionally be a little too close to that... Lance pushes down whatever that might or might not mean as he takes his hand back to himself. He meets Shiro's eyes. "You're here now."
The way Shiro smiles this time, it's hard for Lance not to smile back—no, actually, it's probably impossible for Lance not to smile back when Shiro smiles at him like he means it.
Lance's hand falls away as Shiro turns to look at Black again. He keeps looking up as he runs his fingers through his hair this time. "I have these memories..." The words are so softly spoken Lance finds himself holding his breath.
Then Shiro says, "I used to know how to cut my hair, but somehow..." It's not what Lance was expecting, and the breath he was holding almost comes out a laugh—except Shiro isn't even smiling. His fingers are still resting on his shortened forelock. "I didn't get this right." He drops his hand to his side. "I'm not him, am I."
Lance doesn't know what to say to that. There's nothing to say to that.
He glances up at Black's impassive face. He knows that impassivity, that look. It's the look he's been getting from Blue too, ever since. You know. It's not that Lance is unhappy with Red, it's just that Blue and him—
Well, there is no Blue and him, not anymore. It's Blue and Allura now. And it's Red and him now; he does have Red. And Keith has Black. And Shiro—
Something swells in Lance's throat, but he's already decided against clearing his throat when he's around Shiro. He does swallow, and then again, and then even though the thickness in his throat is still there, he tries speaking around it, to say the only thing he can think of: "Keith never stopped looking for you."
Shiro nods. He knows that; yeah, of course he does. "I'm not sure he found what he was looking for."
He found you, Lance almost says—and then doesn't.
The thing is, Shiro knows a lot; he knows more than Lance does about most things. Not everything, though. There are some things Lance knows that, somehow, apparently, Shiro doesn't. Like, for example, "You're amazing." Half the heat Lance put into the words gets sucked back into him with his own inhale, but he doesn't look away even when that heat surfaces on his face.
Shiro's lips part as he turns to Lance and Lance gets ready to dispute Shiro's denial of the incontrovertible fact, but he doesn't get a chance to because in the next breath—his and Shiro's both—those parted lips are on him.
As soon as they touch, Shiro starts to pull back and Lance can feel the apology forming but, god, that's not what he wants from Shiro—and when his brain catches up with his quicker hands, he gets that he's cupping Shiro's face.
He's on his tiptoes, kissing Shiro.
There's this beach on the Hicacos Peninsula he used to go to when he was a kid. The water isn't just warm and wet, it's lush, and it embraces you when you plunge in, pulls you into its tug, and you float in that embrace.
Shiro's kiss is like that. It's intricate and uncomplicated, delicate and powerful, and Shiro's arms are around him, pulling him in, and yeah, Lance is already in deep and he goes deeper because he can feel how much Shiro wants this, and he doesn't know what it feels like to Shiro, but Lance doesn't want Shiro to feel like he's alone in the kiss. Lance wants it too. Oh god, he wants this.
He tries to shift, so Shiro won't feel how hard he is—but Shiro shifts too.
The kiss breaks.
"Let me go down on you," Shiro says. Says it looking right into Lance's eyes.
Lance doesn't shy away either. "I always thought I'd be the one on my knees to you."
Shiro arches an eyebrow. "You always thought that?"
Lance grins, doesn't mind the blush he feels, doesn't mind that Shiro has noticed it. "Always imagined," he says, and doesn't mind at all the way Shiro is looking at him.
The only Lion they could go into right now is Red, and Lance doesn't know whether Shiro and Keith ever—anyhow, "My room?" he comes up with, not feeling dumb when he sees the way Shiro is looking at him now.
They don't do anything weird like hold hands on the way. But they're walking pretty close to each other, and every time the back of Shiro's hand brushes him, heat sparks along Lance's skin.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Shiro asks as soon as the door shuts behind them, but Lance is already stripping out of his clothes. "Ah." A low gust of laughter. "I guess you do!"
When Lance doesn't hear Shiro undressing, he glances over and sees Shiro just standing there looking at him. Looking at his cock.
Lance grins as he turns fully. "Didn't know I was so hung, did you?"
"I didn't know your cock would be so pretty," Shiro says, and damn that gets to Lance. Not the words themselves but how smooth and sincere they are the way Shiro says them.
Lance isn't going to out-smooth or out-sincere Shiro here so, even though he would bet so, he doesn't actually say out loud that he'd bet Shiro's is prettier. Instead he goes over and watches his hands reach for Shiro.
And he feels what he couldn't see: Shiro is shaking. Well, sure: he's human, isn't he? That's normal and human. Lance is shaking a little too.
He doesn't try to hide it as he starts to unfasten Shiro's clothes. He thought Shiro might try to stop him, and Shiro does touch Lance's hand, but he doesn't try to stop anything: not the unfastening, not the shaking, not the tumbling onto the bed and getting tangled up, naked and kissing, aching, a fullness to the ache, a hot, heavy, heady ache that's better than anything Lance used to fantasize at the Garrison, better than all the fantasies he's tried not to have here...
Then the kiss slips away—but Lance can still feel Shiro's mouth, as Shiro makes his way down Lance's body, and oh god, Lance didn't know Shiro was serious about that. Oh god, oh god, "Oh god," he tugs Shiro up, "I want this—" and he kisses Shiro ocean-deep.
Shiro smiles at him in the wake of the kiss. "You could have that around your cock, you know."
Lance blushes and laughs and god, he's so fucking hard right now it really hurts, but, "This," and he kisses Shiro again, and Shiro lets him, and kisses him back. And yeah, Lance's cock aches, but it's worth it.
"Will you let me touch you, then?" Shiro murmurs in his ear; Lance doesn't know what else to call it, the way Shiro's voice is all throaty and breathy, and all for him, and Lance almost comes from that—
"Yeah," he manages, and it comes out on a breath too, but not all sexy like Shiro's—but Shiro doesn't seem to mind, because he smiles and reaches down—
Lance catches him, hand around Shiro's wrist. "Use the—can you use the other one?"
Shiro's brows go up, both of them. "You...want me to use my other hand?"
Lance doesn't miss how Shiro calls it that too: his "other" hand. He nods.
Shiro kind of grins. "I figured you'd want a human touch."
Lance grins too. "Yeah, I." He feels a shrug coming on but he catches himself. He meets Shiro's gaze steadily. He looks at Shiro seriously. "I want you to know I'm not afraid of your hand."
But it turns out Shiro is the one who's afraid of it. Afraid of a lot more: "What if I'm a weapon?" He sits up, moves to the edge of the bed but doesn't get up, sits looking at his own hands in his lap; maybe looking only at the one. "What if I was sent here as a weapon of the Galran Empire..."
As Lance tries to formulate words—contrary to what some would probably say, he does actually get stuck for words at times, and this is one of those times—the air between them gets heavier with Shiro's.
"That was a mood-killer." Shiro half-grins but the smile barely stays on his face and doesn't get to his eyes at all.
Lance swallows. "My mood isn't killed."
"In that case, are you sure you don't want me to go down on you?" Shiro flashes another grin. "To keep my mouth occupied, before I say something worse."
Lance starts to ask if that's what Shiro wants—but he looks at Shiro's expression and he gets that it's not as much about want right now as it is about need: Shiro needs this.
He thinks maybe this isn't about sex: it's about belonging.
Maybe, in a way, it's about home.
He holds Shiro's gaze for another wordless moment, then lies back, hands tucked under his head. Lance meant to keep his hands like that, to let Shiro have his body, to do anything and everything he wants with it right now—but as Shiro goes down on him, as he looks down his own body and sees Shiro there between his legs, Lance can't help touching him. Just that floof of hair. He has always wanted to touch Shiro's forelock, and he does now, fingers burrowing into that soft hair.
Then, mouth still fastened snug and yeah, okay, lush around Lance's cock, Shiro reaches for Lance's other hand—touches it with the one Lance had asked him for. The metallic fingers are warm on his skin; Lance can't remember if they're always warm, or if the heat has anything to do with what they're doing right now.
Those warm fingers guide Lance's hand to Shiro's head, and as Shiro continues to suck, Lance holds him down because he really does get it, that Shiro needs weight after the weightlessness of space, and he gives Shiro all the gravity, gives Shiro all his come.
When Shiro moves up to lie beside him, Lance leans in to kiss him, but Shiro shifts back. "Are you sure that's what you want?"
Lance nods. Shiro takes a breath and Lance tries to swallow his disappointment, sure that Shiro doesn't think Lance knows what he's asking, but the lump lodges in his throat and Lance swallows again—and then Shiro kisses him, and Lance tastes himself. He licks and sighs, and Shiro swallows his exhale, and Lance sighs more, and Shiro does too as Lance reaches for him, bringing Shiro closer and closer, until Shiro arches and spills out between them, breathing into Lance open-mouthed, shifting breath into another kiss.
The kiss slows, gravity spinning and drifting...
Shiro's eyelids flicker at Lance's soft "Hey, buddy," but his eyes don't open. His chest rises and falls with an easy breath. The easiest one Lance has seen him take since Shiro got home.