Chapter Text
Lance was having a bad day. It hadn’t started out bad at all; Allura had suggested they stop on a planet on the outskirts of some galaxy that was, technically, neutral territory. It was a place the Galra had only passing interest in, placing a few automated sentries at the landing ports, and mostly left to it’s own devices because there wasn’t anything particularly of use. It was small, mostly swamp, with no valuable resources and no native population, just people who'd decided to colonize it.
What it did have was an open air market the size of, according to Allura, ‘Some of your Earth cities combined’ where people came to do all manner of business. She’d insisted that if they kept a low profile and covered up their freakish ears they’d have no trouble taking one of the castle’s pod ships, landing normally, and going about their business.
Shiro and Keith had been wary about leaving the lions but giant cat robots weren’t exactly what anyone would dare to call low profile so in the end they’d agreed.
The planet was exactly how Allura had described it. Hot, muggy, smelling vaguely of sulfur, foul smelling mud that was so thick Lance was half convinced he was going to lose his boots to it. The trudge from the port to raised wooden platform that served as the sidewalk was miserable enough that Lance was seriously regretting his choices.
Things picked up once they were in the market though. Allura and Coran went off in search of supplies for the castle and it’s maintenance, Pidge spotted something shiny and melted into the crowd with little more thana distracted wave in their direction, and Hunk practically dropped to his knees and said a prayer when he found the rows and rows of outdoor stalls full of all sorts of weird looking alien foods.
Which left Lance with Shiro and Keith in a bar, watching the older Paladin hustle some guys with pig faces for their money at some card and tile game Lance could barely follow. Apparently Shiro had learned to play while being held prisoner by the Galra (“Did you think I did nothing but fight and plot my escape for a year?” Shiro asked teasingly and. Well. Yes, that was kind of what Lance had figured Shiro had done.) and had a champion poker face.
Keith sat at the end of the table, arms crossed over his chest, looking like he'd never had fun a day in his life. Lance didn't find such a thing hard to believe at all.
This was where Lance’s day started to go bad. At first everything was fine; he and Shiro were having a good time, the pig guys seemed to like them and no one had told Lance to shut up or talk less once (though Keith kept muttering about a headache coming on), the pig guys ordered drinks and food and were happy to share. The stuff wasn’t goo which made it fantastic in Lance’s opinion and, as it turned out, everything actually tasted pretty good. Or maybe Lance’s sense of taste was all messed up.
The food wasn’t the problem (at least it hadn’t started out as the problem) but the waitress was. She was petite and willowy with a sweet rabbit-like face and, Lance noticed while totally not staring at Shiro, the older paladin seemed to perk up in interest at the sight of her. She must have noticed as well because somewhere around Lance’s third refill of whatever the fruity orange colored drink he was sipping came around she’d taken up residence at Shiro’s elbow, smiling and laughing.
His mood became decidedly sour after that. Not that he cared who Shiro flirted with or anything, because he didn’t. It wasn’t like he was put out because Shiro had been teaching him the game, leaning against his shoulder and reaching over him to point at his tiles and move his cards around but stopped when the waitress was there. It also wasn’t because he had liked the closeness or anything like that.
It was just that Shiro started getting distracted, taking longer between turns and looking confused all of a sudden. It was ruining his fun; but his fourth drink he felt a headache coming on and his teeth were grinding together as he watched Shiro flirt with the waitress. Plus it seemed someone had turned up the heat because he was starting to sweat and, when he glanced towards Keith he saw the other pilot was looking foggy eyed and his hair was slick with sweat and clinging to face.
Shiro however looked fine.
And here did Shiro get off being so...charming and flirty anyway? Anytime Lance tried to pick up a cute alien he got scolded for it, usually by Shiro, or mocked as he struck out, usually by Keith, but Shiro was just sitting there, smiling and glistening with sweat, being all funny and handsome and
It wasn’t fair.
The waitress laughed at something, hand resting on Shiro’s shoulder as her nose twitched, and Lance decided he was going to be sick. ...actually. He was going to be sick . It hit him all at once, stomach lurching and the world sliding on it’s axis. He could taste something bitter, almost medicine-like, in the back of his suddenly convulsing and burning throat.
He stumbled to his feet, chair falling over behind him. Keith jumped then, groaning as if in pain, clutched his head. Lance managed to take two steps towards him and then he was falling, visioning darkening and tilting. He heard someone call his name but couldn’t do anything but fall.
He didn’t remember hitting the ground.
He did remember, sort of, being picked up and the world shaking and voices talking. The conversation went in and out, blended together and was hard to follow or make sense of. His head was pounding and his whole body felt warm.
“You sure about these two? They’re funny looking.” It sounded like the alien he’d mentally dubbed Pig-face #1 in the bar. He was, distantly, annoyed about being called ‘funny looking’. First Allura kept on about his ears and now this.
“The little ones should get a nice price if we can find a way to get the one to keep his mouth shut.”
“Might lose money that way.” The first person laughed as they said the words. “The big one is pretty beat up. Scarred.”
A grunt of agreement and then Lance was plunged back into silence and darkness. The blackness was thick, seemed to be clinging to his body like tar and holding him in place, keeping him from being able to move and rendered him numb and deaf. When he came to again he was on something hard and chilly; he could feel it vibrating underneath him. There was shouting and shuffling, someone shouting for him to wake up and then a heavy thump near him.
“This big one is trouble, won’t stay down. Should we dose him again?”
“Do it. Double it this time.”
“That’s-”
“Do it. Worse comes to worse we cut off his hand and dump him. That hand is the prize.”
Back into the clinging darkness again but this time he felt a sense of urgency telling him to fight it, to pull himself together and do something. He was in trouble. Shiro was in trouble. He couldn’t just lie down and let whatever was happening happen. He needed to-
Lance groaned as he sat up; his head felt like it was jammed full of cotton balls, fuzzy and slow to pull itself together. His mouth tasted like something he didn’t even want to dwell on, sour and clinging to his tongue, and just sitting up made his head pound. His body was aching, muscles tight.
It took him a moment to realize he was sitting on the floor of a dimly let...cell, maybe? Yeah. There were bars a few feet around, thick ones so close together he doubted he could get more than his hand and wrist through. There was another cell across from him, separated by a thin walkway and he could see what looked like a door at the end of the walkway but nothing else. He couldn't see more than a foot or two into the other cell, the rest of it was shrouded in shadow.
He reached down on instinct, first though to use his bayard to blast the bars away but found only air. He looked down, patting his pants frantically as his heart sank. The bayard was gone. The communicator Coran had made him take was gone and, in fact, pocket he’d had it clipped to had been torn off and his jeans were now sporting a considerable tear where the pocket had been. Even the ration bar he’d brought along just in case was gone.
That was...not a good sign.
He turned his head to look around the cell, wincing a little as pain jolted up his neck to the base of his skull, then stopped in surprise.
“Shiro?”
The older teen was back in the corner of the cell, tucked between the wall and metal cot, bar except for a thin looking blanket lying on it. Shiro was facing the wall, head down and curled in on himself. His shirt was shredded, barely enough of it there to hang to his trembling body.
He didn’t show any sign that he’d heard Lance, not even a twitch in his direction.
His feet carried him closer to Shiro before his brain could even make the decision to. He grabbed the threadbare blanket as he went by it then dropped to his knees behind Shiro. Lance would never claim to be the most sensitive guy in the world but he knew that after a year locked up by the Galra Shiro couldn’t have been happy to be repeating the experience. Shiro didn’t look like he was in a good way, which was understandable, but if they were going to get out of here he was going to need help.
And Shiro’s super badass hand.
Especially Shiro’s hand.
“Shiro?” He said again as he scooted a little closer. “You with me here? Because I really need you to be with me here.”
Nothing, though now he was close enough to see Shiro was sweating so hard it was dripping down his back in fat droplets and had soaked the scraps of his shirt still clinging to him. He could hear him breathing, strained and reedy. He let the blanket fall away; if Shiro was sweating like that it was probably a bad idea, right?
This was all bad. He didn’t know where they were, if they were even still on planet, he didn’t have a way to contact anyone and Shiro looked like he’d totally left the building. The latter was...he hadn’t known Shiro could freak out like that. He hadn’t known Shiro could freak out at all, honestly. Get a little testy and worried on occasion but the guy had ended up with a Galra witch rattling around in his brain and still managed to more or less walk away from it in order to save Keith’s dumb ass.
This was...Lance didn’t know what this was.
“Hey, I get that this is bad and you are losing it right now and I’m not blaming you but I really need your help here Shiro.”
“...leave. Me.” The words were halting and distant, as if coming from far away instead of a few inches from him. Lance didn’t focus on that though, far too happy to have Shiro actually speaking to him to dwell on it or the words he’d said.
He sighed in relief. “Okay, that’s good. Now, how about you punch a hole in the wall or something and we get out of here?”
“Lance!” Shiro ground out. “Leave!”
Lance frowned then shook his head. What was Shiro talking about? There was no way he could just leave him, even if he had a plan to get out on his own he wouldn’t leave Shiro behind. He was crazy to even suggest it.
“Shiro, we’re leaving together, so get the hell up.”
He touched the other Paladin’s shoulder lightly as he spoke, barely more than a brush of his fingertips. Shiro doubled over and screamed, entire body convulsing. The scream was strangled and thick with pain, seemed to be ripped right out of him; it made Lance’s blood run cold. He scarcely had time to pull his hand back when something hit him hard, drove all the air out of his lungs in one painful rush, and pushed him back. His head and back smacked against the hard floor and stinging pain spread over his skin. The world dimmed for a moment and when it came back into focus he pushed himself up some to find Shiro on his hands and knees, staring at him.
He looked...wrong. His eyes were dark, so dark they were like black holes and gave away nothing, and glassy. His lips were swollen, mouth slack to let out strained puffs of breath, and his hands were sliding over the floor, nails scraping against it. He seemed bigger somehow, broader and taller and...just bigger.
Shiro’s back bowed, his body stretched then shuddered against as a pained groan leaving his mouth. His Galra hand surged to life, casting strange twisting shadows around Shiro’s body with it’s purple glow. For one long heartstopping moment Lance stared, wide eyed and uncomprehending of what he was seeing. The shadows behind Shiro, all around him, seemed to be undulating, shifting and moving around like a pack of intertwined snakes. They were long, stretching in all directions, sliding against each other and spilling down to the floor to creep along it.
Towards him, actually. The shadows, which were all a strange bruised purple color, were slithering right for him.
Lance blinked rapidly in hopes it would clear his vision and make what he was seeing make sense.
Because shadows slipping across the floor towards him didn’t make sense.
Something brushed his leg. He jerked back with a (very manly) shriek and away or tried to at least. The shadow that couldn’t possibly be a shadow because shadows couldn’t touch people and didn’t move like that and what the fuck, wrapped around his ankle tightly and kept him from getting away. He yelped then reached for it, hands curving around the surface to try and pry it loose. It was hot and a little damp but didn’t feel any different from normal skin; it was also strong. He tried to get his fingers between it and his skin but found no space to work into. He dug his nails in, trying to find some purchase.
He saw a movement from the corner of his eye a second before another shadow-not shadow- darted out and attached itself to his wrist, wrapping tight. Another jumped out to grab his other arm and, with alarming strength, his hands were wrenched back and forced down to his sides. The one around his ankle pulled hard, no less strong than the others, and without his hands to catch him Lance found himself flat on his back. Again.
Another yank and his arms were pulled out and held fast, making it so he couldn’t even lift his shoulders. He struggled against it, tried to use his free leg for leverage, arched his back and twisted as he swore.
Shiro crept into his field of vision, peering down at him with eyes that seemed to have gained a sheen of purple. He cocked his head to the side, mouth pursing into an almost curious frown. Lance stopped moving and sucked in a breath, trying to command himself to calm down. This was Shiro after all. Shiro wasn’t going to hurt him.
...at least he didn’t think he was.
That said he didn’t look much like himself at the moment, what with the mass of ugly purple things swaying behind him and that strange expression on his face. And, on that note, where the hell were those things coming from? ...or maybe he didn’t want to know.
He exhaled. “Shiro, you need to let me up so we can figure out what’s wrong with you and get out of here.”
Shiro stayed silent and still, simply staring down at him him. His free leg was caught, wrapped up from ankle to knee. He grunted, trying to dig in his heel and keep his footing but the tentacle pulled hard to force his leg straight then pinned it to the ground. He swore as he mentally retracted his thought about Shiro not hurting him.
For all he knew this wasn’t Shiro at all, though the Galra hand did strongly imply otherwise.
He could feel this latest tentacle throbbing against his leg as if in time to a heartbeat, moving higher and higher as it tightened its grip. Something, another tendril of shadow, slithered over his stomach then pushed under the hem of his shirt to press against his skin. He jumped then cringed as the slick appendage slithered over him, leaving trails of slick fluid that began to heat up once the tendril had moved on.
“Hey hey, no touching. Get out of there and take your tentacle juice with you!” He snapped as he tried to move his torso away from the searching apengadge. The tendril followed him, spreading more of the slippery wetness over his stomach.
What was going on? What the hell was Shiro trying to do to him?
Another tendril joined that one to crawl over his skin, snaking up his chest, and yet more began to climb over his legs and arms, worming into his sleeves and up his pants legs. These ones were thinner, no wider than his pinky, but were just as hot and wet as they wriggled over his skin. They didn’t feel smooth like the ones around his arms but sort of bumpy or maybe ridged, almost rough as they trailed over him. He grunted, toes curling in his shoes, as the one invading his pants crept higher and higher. The slick fluid they were leaving in their wake made his skin tingle, like sparks of electricity going off just beneath it.
The damp tentacles had reached his thighs, wedged in tight beneath the fabric of his jeans, and the feel of them wiggling against the sensitive skin of his inner thighs made him gasp. It was like being touched, or maybe licked, by a dozen tongues at once, each claiming a different patch of skin and squirming together. His cock jumped; he flushed as he realized his body was responding to the touching and that he was starting to get hard.
He pushed his thighs together, trying to force the tendrils out; this was very quickly getting way out of hand. Not that it had been in hand at any point but...more out of hand.
“Shiro!” He shouted, wrists straining against his bonds again. “Shiro! You need to stop and wake up or snap out it or something! This is...weird and creeping me out a lot.”
A lot.
Shiro touched his face with the Galra hand, forced him to turn to the side, then bent closer. Lance tried to shrink back but even that was impossible with Shiro holding his face. Lips, oddly cool and dry, touched his own, fit against them. He went still and his brain blanked out, unable to hold onto anything coherent besides ‘Shiro is kissing me!!!!’ His lips moved against Lance’s, slid over them then parted for his teeth to bite down on and tub at his lower lip
He let out a noise of surprise and Shiro’s teeth let up to allow his tongue entry into Lance’s mouth. His tongue licked between the seam of Lance’s lips, traced them before sliding in, bringing with it the lingering taste of that fruity drink they’d had in the bar. Shiro’s tongue flicked forward to glide against his own; Lance moaned into Shiro’s mouth.
Fingers, flesh and blood ones, drifted over his leg where his pocket used to be then hooked into the hole. He tried to turn to see what Shiro was doing as the sound of fabric tearing met his ears and air touched his bared skin. A moment later a tentacle was there, one of the thicker ones similar to what was keeping him pinned, sliding into the widened hole and dragging down, ripping his pants until the leg was completely open.
Then wriggling tendrils on his chest brushed over his nipples, leaving more of the tingle causing stuff over his skin, then curled around the hardening nubs. The thin tentacles constricted tightly then pulled. This time Lance bit his lip hard enough to tate iron to muffle the noise threatening to escape his mouth.
The tentacles in his pants, thin and wiggling, were still working over his thighs, painting them in the slippery fluid they were covered in. Everything was tingling, nerves sparking. The larger tendril that had torn his pants snaked its way back up and pushed up into his boxers. There was a tug and his underwear pulled tight, the waistband digging into his skin and then snapping as they tore. He yelped at the sting then tried to push his thighs even closer together.
"What the fuck is going on?"
Shiro pulled away from him, head swiveling towards the voice and all of the movement of his tentacles stopped; for a moment he wasn't sure if he glad or upset. His entire body was tensed up, lips still between his teeth, practically vibrating against his bonds. It was like hanging from the edge of a cliff and being unsure if help or a long fall were coming. Lance tilted his head back to look across the hallway into the other cell where a very bewildered (and upside down) Keith was slumped against the bars. His brows were furrowed and a hand was pressed to his head. There was a smudge under one of his eyes that looked like the beginnings of a nasty bruise.
Lance had never been so glad to see Keith and his stupid ridiculous mullet. ...probably glad. He wasn't sure what he was, other than sort of mortified and freaked out, with Shiro's tentacles unmoving against his skin.
Keith's eyes narrowed. "What did you do to Shiro?"
Lance's mouth dropped open. What had he done? He was the one on the floor being molested, why was he assumed to be at fault here? As if Shiro was incapable of being the one to cause trouble...okay, actually, he could see where Keith was coming from here but still. The situation had to speak for itself.
Which is exactly what he would have told Keith if one of Shiro's tentacles, seemingly tired of the lull, hadn't crept up from somewhere to brush against the corner of his mouth. Lance shut his mouth so fast his teeth clinked together. Shiro turned away from Keith, the picture of disinterest.
The small tentacles surged back to life, using their newfound access to his body to swarm him, moving the ruined fabric and then crawling over his crotch to twist around his dick. They wriggled together, little ridges breaking up the slick smoothness, stroking and squeezing.
Lance shut his eyes tight as one prodded at the head of his cock then poked at the slit.
Bad day.
Worse day ever.
Fuck, that felt amazing.