Chapter Text
Lance is lounging on the couch, feet dangling from the armrest, when the door of the suite opens. He sits up, joy running to his chest, and he tries to get off the couch and run to the doorway as fast as he can in wobbly knees. He had been thrown over furniture all day — first on the bed after he woke up in the late morning, ache in all the good spots inside him and bruises marking up his skin making him smile; then on the tub, filled to the brim with pink bubbles, hot water and his favorite salts, loosening his muscles; and now on the couch, painting his nails blue and scrolling through his phone ever since lunch, the sound of some series he was not watching from the plasma TV serving as background noise to drown the sound of the heavy rain hitting the floor-to-ceiling windows in the far side of the living room.
It is no surprise he almost trips over himself after spending so much time resting, knees wobbling under his weight. He giggles, the tickling sensation in his legs reminding him of a very good orgasm, and he doesn’t stop his hurried steps across the suite, wondering if he could gain one of them tonight.
“Hi, Daddy,” he purrs just before rounding the corner, knowing very well that Lotor loves being welcomed home with an arm full of his baby, but he stops cold just before the doorway.
Lotor is there, a bit wet from the rain — inevitable, really —, and he’s looming over another person. His eyes shift over to Lance with ease, as if he wasn’t caught red handed, makes Lance crisp.
“Baby,” Lotor murmurs, shifting away from the stranger against the wall, as if he isn’t towering over that person the same way he towers over Lance.
Black hair, long and dripping wet, plastered to white skin, and a pale face with fine features and an angry red scar on the cheek is what Lance could see when Lotor moved away. Indigo eyes meet Lance’s bright blue, and the long eyelashes and pink flush on lips and cheeks makes Lance believe it’s a girl. Barely his same age, probably.
Why the fuck does Lotor bring a girl to their suite?
“Boy,” Lotor insists, voice louder, wanting Lance to rip off his gaze on the stranger and look at him.
But Lance can’t. He knows his Daddy hates when he doesn't follow his orders, but Lance can’t stop staring at this girl, dripping wet from the rain just outside and almost drowning beneath his Daddy’s coat — Daddy’s favorite coat — and standing so close to his Daddy in their doorway and-
“Who the fuck are you?”
He is shocked by his own voice, falling harsh and cold from his mouth, but he basks in the way the girl flinches, face turning down and away. He is about to snicker, pride filling out his chest, but then Lotor’s figure steps between him and the girl, hiding her from Lance’s hard gaze, shielding her from Lance’s attempt of bullying. It makes his rage just burn harder.
“Lance,” Lotor scolds, and now was his turn to flinch.
There is disappointment in his tone and Lance swallows, feeling awful. He keeps himself from looking at Lotor’s eyes pleadingly, like he mostly does to get away with his antics, but his Daddy’s voice, booming stern and not at all flexible, lets him know things weren't going to go his way.
“B-but,” Lance pouts, his lower lip trembling and a knot already forming in his throat.
“No ‘but’s,” Lotor replies, “Do not be mean to our guest.”
Lance gives her a quick look, narrowing his eyes at how she keeps close Daddy’s coat on her shoulders, and tightens his fists to keep from exploding. Throwing a tantrum right now isn’t the best he can do in this situation with such a threat standing behind Lotor.
“Fine,” he hisses between clenched teeth, and Lotor nods once, turning to the girl and offering his hand to her.
“Come here, sweetheart,” he murmurs, affectionate. It makes Lance want to comply even when the words aren’t for him. “It’s okay.”
The girl stays still for a long moment, eyeing Lotor’s offered hand, and Lance wants to snap at her for not obeying immediately, for letting his Daddy wait when he was being so good to her.
“There you go,” Lotor murmurs after turning his arm to show his forearm instead, to what she does reach, putting her hand in his forearm and letting Lotor pull her closer to him, making Lance burn in jealousy, “Let’s get you a bath running and dry clothes.”
Lance takes a deep breath, watching them walk past him and into the suite. He glares at her, catching her eyes on him, but the carefully neutral gaze from her gets him fuming rather than anything else.
The rush from the bathtub filling echoes from the closed door in the middle of the hallway. Lance glares at it, arms crossed over his chest and half-pout, half-scowl permanent on his face. He can’t make out any word soft spoken by his Daddy, his voice barely audible due to the sound of running water, and the annoying silence from the girl tells Lance enough — she isn't answering Lotor. She’s being incredibly rude. But Lotor lets her do it, and it outrages Lance to no end.
He doesn't need to know her; he hates her already. It’s obvious why Lotor brought her home — it is the same way Lance had stepped into his life, wearing too small pass-me-down clothes with holes and rips in the edges, with a DIY haircut and dirty smudges darkening the skin of his face.
He doesn't need to be a genius to know why Lotor had brought her, to why he had been so gentle with her, to why he protected her from Lance.
And Lance is feeling fatally betrayed.
The bathroom door clicks open then, catching Lance with his guard down. Lotor pauses when he sees him in the hallway. His shirt’s sleeves had been folded up to his elbows, some splashes of water and droplets darkening the blue fabric. His white-silver hair is glistening from the steam of the hot bath, as well as the skin of his face and neck.
He looks delightfully attractive, and Lance is mad. He shouldn't look so good when Lance is mad at him.
“Lance,” Lotor sighs, closing the door behind him and attempting to cross the hallway towards him.
He doesn't, though, when Lance tightens the crossed arms over his chest and looks away, pouting at the end of the hallway instead of at the man in front of him. He knows full well he doesn't have any chance against Lotor’s charm.
“Baby.”
“No,” Lance spits out.
“‘No’?” Lotor asks, soft as ever, and Lance is so pissed.
“Who is she?” He glowers, fists tight and head boiling with anger, “Why did you bring her here?”
Lotor sighs, looking tired. Lance knows he is, after working all day, all week. Lotor’s job is exhausting. But Lance isn't going to let it go just because of it.
“Lance,” Lotor tries again, stepping closer, but Lance shuffles away from his reach, bumping his back against the wall, “Hey…”
“Answer me,” Lance hisses, nose wrinkling and scowl showing his teeth, “Why?”
“He was alone, Lance,” Lotor explains softly, hands now limp at his sides, not trying again to touch Lance — He acknowledges Lance is angry. “under the rain. And his clothes are ripped and too small and he’s hurt.”
Lance narrows his eyes at him, suspicious. He doesn't understand why Lotor is referring to the girl as a ‘he’ but there’s no way Lance is going to be easy on her, regardless of gender.
“And what?” he huffs out, eyebrows furrowed together in anger, “Now you’re going to take care of them, too? Just like you take care of me?”
Lotor blinks at him in surprise, one wild strand of his always perfectly slicked back hair sticking wetly to his forehead. Lance wants to brush it away so badly, as much as he wants to punch him.
“Oh,” Lotor breaths, tilting his head just before giving Lance a tiny smile, “you’re jealous.”
Lance scoffs, throwing his head up in indignation, and almost bonks his head against the wall.
“I’m not-” Lance gasps, face heating under Lotor’s gaze, “Jealous? Me? Of that?”
“Lance,” Lotor warns, taking half a step closer to him and making Lance shy away, “Do I have to repeat myself?”
Lance looks to the floor, ashamed. Daddy hates to repeat himself.
“Do not be mean to our guest,” Lance grumbles, mouth twitching in disagreement with his own words, “I get it.”
“Do you?” Lotor asks, finally closing the distance between them but not reaching to touch Lance. He just looms over him, eyes heavy and words heavier.
“I do,” Lance mumbles, clearer and less petulant than before.
Lotor hums, and then his fingers, still a bit wet and cold, skim over Lance’s cheek, tipping his head up for him to meet his gaze. His smile is surprising, melting Lance from inside-out, and he can’t help tilting closer to the palm cradling his face, uncaring of the wetness of it.
“I’d never take care of someone the way I take care of you, baby,” Lotor murmurs, quiet and soft. Lance shivers, “You’re my one and only, baby boy. Don’t you forget.”
Lance resists the urge to whimper, arms undwinding from his chest and holding Lotor’s forearm for dear life, not wanting him to pull away from him.
“Daddy,” Lance whispers, needy as he always is when his Daddy gives him all his attention, “Daddy-”
“Yeah, baby,” Lotor sighs, now from endearment rather than weariness, “Do not worry. Daddy’s here.”
Lance lets Lotor wrap him up in his arms, the only place he has always felt safe for the longest time. Strong. Unwavering. Unchanging. He buries his face in Lotor’s chest, basking in the breath he holds in and makes it swell, incredibly wide. Daddy’s fingers thread through Lance’s hair, short curls near his skull, and Lance practically purrs at the scratches, arching his neck to give more space for Daddy to caress him.
He is so into it he doesn't hear the rush of water stop on the other side of the closed door, as well as said door clicking open. Lotor does, though, and he half turns away from Lance, making him whimper quietly and cling to him, fluttering open his eyes to look at what had caught his Daddy’s attention when he had Lance right there.
He goes still then, watching the boy — the boy — that his Daddy had brought to their home. He’s at the doorway of the bathroom, towel tied to his hips to cover his modesty while his chest is completely naked. His hair is still dripping wet, eyes being mostly covered by it, and his pale skin is flushed from the hot bath instead from the cold rain, the steam coming from the bathroom showing that he probably finished all the hot water they had for the day. Lance bristles at the sight, completely taken aback — this boy is pretty, Lance regards with disgust, and despite how tiny he had looked beneath his Daddy’s coat, how weak he had shown he was when Lance snapped, now he looks so different. He doesn't look exactly strong, but lean muscles corded his arms and long legs, probably more for speed rather than brute force. While his ribs could be seen because of how thin heis, the lines of his abs could be appreciated, even relaxed, and the sharp features of his face under the wet mop of black hair are gorgeous. His lashes are long and curvy, eyes big and a shade Lance has never seen before, and lips plump-pink. And the scar across his right cheek, from the corner of his jaw up to his eye, just looks a bit tender and not at all gross.
He makes Lance breathless with his attractiveness. He makes him jealous with the ease he has to make Lance’s heart beat quicker and his eyes follow the lines of his body. He makes him hate even more.
“Keith,” Lotor murmurs then, voice soft enough to make Lance snap out of his daze, pain searing through his chest, “You haven’t dried properly.”
This Keith looks down at himself, at the droplets still clinging to his skin, but doesn’t move to do something about it. Lance blinks, not understanding why he just doesn’t fix what Daddy had pointed out. But suddenly Lotor is sighing and pulling away from Lance’s hands. Lance keeps himself from scrambling, from pulling Lotor back to him by his shirt, regardless of how desperate he might look.
“Here.” Lotor shows, walking closer to Keith just to reach for a dry towel from over the sink and putting it over Keith’s head, ruffling dry his hair gently.
Lance watches, enthralled, Lotor going down on one knee and continuing drying the half naked boy in front of them, brushing the soft towel across his face — his forehead, his cheeks, carefully over his scar, the slope of his nose, his mouth and his jaw — and then down to his neck, nape, collarbone and chest. Lance tightens his fists, nails digging in his palms when he sees how gentle Lotor is with Keith, drying thoroughly down his arms and between his fingers. It’s when Lotor pauses at Keith’s hipbone, hesitating, that Lance feels his heart crushing. He contains a whimper, glaring at Keith’s expressionless face, and he startles when he meets Keith’s eyes, watching him closely.
It’s daring, if Lance has anything to say about it, and it makes his ire boil up, face feeling hot at the unbothered gaze.
“Okay,” Lotor suddenly says, catching Lance’s attention with the roughness of his voice, and he stands up, giving Keith a smile while brushing away a strand of moist hair, “Let’s find you something to wear.”
Anger flares up inside Lance, the affectionate gesture too much for him to handle, and when he sees Lotor turn towards him and his bedroom, Lance snaps again, quick to step in the way and slamming his hand in the door frame.
“Lance,” Lotor scolds, but Lance contains the urge to flinch.
“No,” Lance chokes out, glaring at the boy standing behind his Daddy, glaring at the threat his sole existence provoked, “No way.”
He relentlessly ignores the heavy, disappointed look Lotor gave him, knowing that he won’t get away with this behaviour. But he doesn't care. There is no way he will let this- thing to borrow his clothes, to take his stuff.
To steal his Daddy.
“Lance McClain,” Lotor’s voice booms over his head and Lance tries to keep from startling, but the whimper he lets out doesn’t go unnoticed by anyone, “To your room. Now.”
Lance pouts, giving his Daddy a look that he knows he’ll never say no to. But Lotor’s gaze doesn’t waver, and Lance feels himself crumble.
“Sorry,” he whispers, shrinking over himself, “I-”
“No excuses,” Lotor interrupts sternly, “Stay there until you either calm down or dinner time arrives, understood?”
Lance gulps and nods, opening the door and stepping inside his room.
“Understood,” he mutters, voice shaky.
Lotor looks away, not even sparing more than a glance to appreciate the effort Lance is making for him, and offers his hand to the other boy.
“Let’s go,” Lotor says but Keith keeps looking at Lance, and then just stares at Lotor’s open palm for a long time, almost making Lance crack again, “Oh.”
Lance frowns, watching Lotor turn his hand over and instead offer his forearm, also hunching down. Keith’s gaze softens at that, just a tiny bit, but Lance is able to catch it.
“Okay?” Lotor asks and Keith nods, hand holding onto Lotor’s forearm and letting himself be guided to the end of the hall — to Lotor's bedroom.
Lance stares at their retrieving figures, door halfway close, and finally locks himself inside, heart squeezing painfully in his chest.
You’re my one and only, baby boy. Don’t you forget.
Daddy is a liar.
The rain is already stopping falling so hard when Lance risks a step out of his room. Now it is just a quiet pat-pat-pat from outside the windows, and Lance had already calmed down with it, but he had preferred to curl up in his bed for a longer time, trying to recover his energy; his cool.
His auto-destructive thoughts had rambled about his Daddy and this new boy, prettier than Lance would ever be and with much less effort. But there is no way that kid was about to take Daddy away from Lance. It is just impossible. Yeah, he might be effortlessly pretty, but Lance had worked a lot in his beauty and that soaked stray cat would never be better than him. That is just a fact. So, after ignoring his insecurities, resting for half an hour, building up his self-esteem, and TED-talking to himself about his worth, Lance finally walks out of the room.
Dinner is about to be served, at 7 p.m. sharp, and Lance pads softly towards the kitchen, forcing himself to ignore the sound of the television showing a tasteless movie about explosions and the human-sized bundle of clothes secluded in the most far corner of the couch. Instead, he turns towards the kitchen counter, finding Lotor serving what they’d have for dinner today — fish cooked on pesto, buttery white rice and garlic-sautéed asparagus that had called Lance’s grumbling stomach with its gorgeous scent.
Lance tries not to twitch at the third plate being served.
“Behaving better, baby?” Lotor asks, voice firm but soft, and Lance nods dutifully, smiling when Lotor’s gaze met his.
“Yes, Daddy,” he answers, hands behind him while he leans forward, “I am really sorry for my behavior.”
Lotor watches him for a long minute and then he leaves the cooking pan on the turned-off stove, stepping closer to Lance.
“Thank you for apologizing, baby,” he sighs, fingers threading Lance’s hair, “I’ll let it go, but only if you apologize to Keith.”
Lance tenses, but just slightly. “Sure.”
He figures Lotor would ask him to apologize to the intruder. Lance had already predicted it, which was why he had practiced the smile he would give his Daddy, the way he would turn around to the living room and walk to the couch where Keith was sitting on wrapped around the softest blankets in the suite, and the tone he would have when apologizing.
“I’m truly sorry,” he tells him, regret hanging from his voice, “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
Keith gives him a look, his indigo eyes just fleetingly looking away from the noisy screen to look at Lance. His wound has been wrapped up, Lance can smell the slight odor of the salve Lotor has for that type of burns. Lance is about to comment on it, maybe tell him he’s lucky Lotor helped him out, but almost instantly, Keith turns his attention back to the television again. Lance’s eye ticks, but he takes a deep breath and gives his best smile.
“I’m Lance,” he introduces himself instead, “Nice to meet you.”
He offers his hand maybe a bit too cheery and Keith flinches, looking like he’s about to run away or punch Lance in the gut. He doesn't move though, giving Lance a wary glance over, and Lance pulls his hand away like he got burned
“Sorry,” he blurts out, frowning slightly at how honest that apology went out, “I didn't mean-”
He goes silent, not knowing how to continue the phrase, and Keith just watches him, eyes narrowed and hands tightly fisted beneath the blanket. Lance catches the almost imperceptible tremble from Keith’s shoulders.
“Time for dinner,” Lotor calls them right then, the clink of the plates against the wooden table in the open space the dining room is, echoing back to them in the living room, “Let’s eat before it gets cold.”
Lance is quick to oblige, gracefully turning towards the dining room to take a seat on his favorite chair — on the right to where Lotor always seats
“Keith,” Lotor calls for the boy again, before sitting down, though, the bunch of blankets unmoving from the couch, “You need to eat.”
He’s slow, but finally Keith stands up, leaving the blankets in a mess over the couch and shuffling closer to the table. It is then that Lance notices the clothes he is wearing — a dark red button-up that is just too long and baggy to be his size and a pair of sweatpants Lance had only seen when Lotor is on holiday and doesn't have to wear his suits for a few days. They are Lotor’s clothes, and Lance doesn't know if that was better than letting the boy borrow his clothes or just worse.
Lotor pulls the chair out for him to sit down on, just at the opposite side of the table from where Lance is seated, and waits until Keith dropped his weight on the chair to push the chair closer to the table.
Lance watches Keith closely, Keith’s gaze lingering on the plate of goods in front of him but never even sparing him a glance. Almost as if uninterested. As if Lance didn't snap at him two times already and they just met.
They eat in silence, Lance trying hard to not lose his manners, and when his fish is halfway done, he turns to Lotor, smiling at him when his gaze catches his.
“How was your day, Daddy?” He asks, propping his chin on his hand.
“It was okay, baby,” Lotor answers, giving him back a smile, “Very tiring.”
Lance hums, considering, and throws a look over to Keith, silently eating.
“You work too hard,” Lance pouts, head tilting to a side in a playful manner, “You should relax every once in a while.”
Lotor pauses at that, knowing exactly what Lance meant with that phrasing.
“Not for today, I’m afraid,” Lotor replies, giving him an apologetic look, “Thank you for looking after me, baby.”
Lance smiles but he knows it looks forced. There had only been a handful of times Lotor had rejected a play with Lance — two of them were because Lance was on finals and once because Lance was about to go down with a fever. The other two were times where both of them had been depressed, only having each other, and Lance had thought maybe a play would help them get the steam off. Lotor had known better, though, and he had explained to Lance as much, that having a play in that state would get them worse instead of helping out.
“Okay, Daddy,” Lance lets it go, but his eyes instinctively fall on Keith across the table.
Your fault, he thinks bitterly, Your fault Daddy doesn't want to touch me.
“Is the food alright?” Lotor asks a minute later to Keith, finally making him look up from his barely-touched plate, “You haven't eaten much.”
Keith shrugs, gaze falling to the plate once again. Lance wrinkles his nose at him, and then beams a smile towards Lotor.
“It’s delicious, Daddy,” he compliments without doubt but Lotor just offers back a smile.
“Thank you, Lance,” he appreciates fleetingly, and then turns towards Keith again, “Is it too condimented? Do you need more water?”
Keith shrugs again and Lance resisted the urge to scream until his lungs exploded.
“Tell me if you need anything,” he tells Keith easily, always so attentive, and Keith just nodded, continuing picking on the food.
Lance finishes first, just as every night because Lotor takes his time to steadily enjoy the food. Right now though, he seems troubled while he eats, giving careful glances towards Keith, who is still picking the fish with the fork. At least he already ate the asparagus, Lance wouldn’t have forgiven him if he didn’t eat those.
“Is it too much?” Lotor asks, concern furrowing his brow, “If you’re full, it’s okay to leave it. I wouldn’t want you to get sick if your stomach can’t handle it.”
Keith goes still for a second, eyes fleeting to the rice instead of staring at the fish.
“You can eat just the rice, too,” Lotor says, so very flexible, “It’s okay.”
Keith nods, just a tiny bit, and then starts picking on the rice, taking only a few bites. Lotor finishes eating, almost reluctant, and he sighs when he sees Keith has only eaten barely one fourth of the whole meal.
“It’s okay,” he reassures with a tight smile, hand threading through Keith’s now dried hair, “You don’t have to finish it, okay? I just want you to regain some of your energy, but if you don’t feel able to eat it, it’s okay.”
Keith puts the fork down and nods. Lotor sighs again and Lance feels so fucking tense and angry. Daddy cooked that food for them. Daddy went out of his way to provide them. Why is this boy so damned ungrateful?
“Lance, pick the plates up, please,” Lotor requests softly, attention still on Keith, “Keith’s food can be saved in the fridge.”
Lance nods and quickly obligues, bringing the empty plates to the sink and putting the food Keith didn’t eat inside a tupperware to be stored in the fridge. He turns the water on to wash the dishes, as he does every night dutifully, and glances off to the dining room, hands tightening on the plates at how Keith doesn’t look at Lotor, not even when he’s carefully threading his hair with his fingers. His eyes are still glued to the table, to where his plate used to be, and it’s so fucking infuriating.
He has all of Daddy’s attention and he fucking ignores it.
“I am done, Daddy,” Lance announces after he finishes washing and drying the dishes.
“Thank you, baby,” Lotor says, “Go and change for the night, yeah?”
Lance nods, frowning, but doesn’t make a comment, too many emotions already bottled up inside him.
“Okay, Daddy.”
He pauses on the hallway, though, on his way to his bedroom. Lotor hasn’t made a move to stand up from the table, neither has Keith, and the fact that they’re staying in the living room for a while longer has Lance a bit more at ease, not actually worried that they’ll do something when they’re not in a bedroom.
Still, he’s quick to change to his pajama — some short shorts and a soft-to-the-touch shirt Lotor bought him a few months ago. He slips on his blue lion slippers and hesitates to take the blue headband he uses to wash his face. He doesn’t know if he’d have the time for his night routine, considering that soon enough Lotor will guide Keith to the guest room — Lance hopes, though, it is to the guest room and not to Lotor’s own.
He opts to throw a glance out of his bedroom, over to the dining room, and he frowns. Lotor and Keith are still seated at the table, in complete silence, and while it gives Lance the perfect opportunity to go and do his night routine, although not as thorough as he is, the image makes Lance feel worried. He shouldn’t be feeling worried, though — he doesn’t know Keith. If anything, he should still be mad at him for catering all of his Daddy’s attention. But there’s just something about him that doesn’t let him rest. Something deeper than ripped, soaked-through clothes and a burning scar on his cheek.
He shakes the thoughts off, focusing on getting into the bathroom and making his night routine as quick as possible without being careless with it. He is meticulous enough, and by the time he washes off the salts and eucalyptus soap from his face, he just spent ten minutes on his night routine, almost half of what he normally does.
He steps out of the bathroom, now feeling more refreshed and calmed down, and when he looks over to the dining room, he freezes, realizing there’s no one there. Lance flinches to action, swiveling his head towards Lotor’s room, but the door is open and there is no one inside.
“You can sleep here,” Lance suddenly hears from beside the bathroom, and he turns towards where the guest room is open, light on, “The sheets are clean and I can bring you more pillows if you want.”
Lance sneaks some steps closer, peeking through the doorway. Keith is standing beside the bed, looking down at it the same distant way he was looking at his plate and at the television, while Lotor shuffles gracefully across the room, going back and forth to fix up the curtains on his window, the closet doors, the blankets on the bed.
“If you get hungry during the night, you can take whatever you want from the fridge and cupboards. The microwave is easy to use, but if you find it difficult you can always knock on my door and I’ll help you out, okay?” Lotor continues, throwing up the top blanket and adjusting it to the bed, “Tomorrow I have to go to work early, but once I’m finished, I’ll be back as soon as possible. If you need anything, you can ask Lance for help or call me.”
Lance startles at his name, trying to shove down his urge to jump and deny it — it’s not like he’s going to refuse helping out just because of his pride. Lance is much better than that. Still, it bothers him that he’ll have to help Keith, especially when Lotor is being so attentive with him.
“You can use the home phone or Lance’s phone, whichever is fine.” Lotor ruffles the pillow and folds the end of the blanket over it, looking at Keith then and straightening his back, looming over him, “If you want to wash up, either before going to bed or after waking up, the bathroom has lots of products you can use for your hair and skin. If your scar is acting up during the day, the first aid is under the kitchen sink, and the salve I used to reduce the itch down is in his bathroom. You’d have to ask Lance to search it for you.”
Keith stays silent, still looking at the bed, and Lance sees how Lotor holds a breath, trying not to sigh again.
“Either way, I’ll change the bandages of it when I arrive from work,” he explains, hand cautiously reaching up to brush a knuckle at the edge of the patched-up wound, “But any discomfort you have, don’t hesitate to call me.”
Keith blinks, unmoving, and Lotor gives him a smile even when he’s not looking at him, leaning over him and leaving a kiss on his hair.
“Rest, Keith,” he requests softly, “You need it.”
He pulls away then, turning towards the open door. Lance startles, quickly hiding, but Lotor doesn’t call him out for it, just closing the door behind him and sighing. The strong line of his shoulders slump down in exhaustion and Lance wants to comfort so badly.
“Daddy?” he asks, quiet and afraid.
Lotor stays still for a second too long, and then looks over to Lance, soft smile curving the corner of his lips.
“It’s okay, baby,” he assures, too sincere, “Just tired.”
Lance gives a wary look to the closed door behind Lotor, and Lotor follows his gaze, huffing quietly.
“Don’t worry, Lance. He’s just…”
He trails off, a small furrow in his brow, and somehow Lance understands then — this isn’t about him. He feels a bit stupid to just realizing it, to have spent the evening fuming and bickering at Keith when he’s probably going through so much more he doesn’t know about. Keith was brought to their home by Lotor, probably because his living situation wasn’t okay and he was in danger. Lotor had taken him in because he worried about his well-being and health, not because he’s searching for another lover to take care of the way he did- still does for Lance.
Lotor is a good person, the best Lance has ever met. He would never take advantage of someone in need, the same way he didn’t take advantage of Lance when he offered so many things in exchange for the great help he gave him and his family. He never asked for more than just Lance’s well-being, even when he did confess he was attracted to him. He never tried anything against his integrity, not even making the first move in a romantic, more sexual manner. It had been Lance who had to fight for it, reassured that he wanted it and it wasn’t a pay for what he had done for him.
Of course Lotor wouldn’t give this boy everything he needs to survive under terms and conditions. Lotor just wants him to be okay.
And Lance feels just so stupidly selfish. Maybe Keith doesn’t even understand Lance’s relationship with Lotor. How would he try to take it from him when he doesn’t know what it implies?
“Lotor,” Lance pronounces, the name a bit unfamiliar to his tongue, just because he calls him Daddy to and fro all day long. Lotor looks at him and Lance steps closer, taking his hand, “I know you’re not in the mood, but…”
He squeezes his hand, looking down at it for a second. Lotor’s hands are big, fingers long and strong, but it lays limp in Lance’s smaller hand.
“Can I sleep with you?” he asks, shy and timid, “Just cuddling. I want…”
Lotor’s fingers squeeze Lance’s back, and when Lance looks up, Lotor is smiling down at him, expression soft and tired.
“Of course, baby,” he murmurs, affectionate as always, “Thank you.”