#hurt hunk

[autisticlancemcclain]

For all that Keith easily sees the strength in others, he struggles to accept just how much value he holds. He’s not like Lance, of course — Lance sees the good in every person he meets because as much as he hates to admit it, he’s gullible. But Keith looks at every person he meets and easily identifies their strength. Sometimes it’s with fondness, sometimes with wariness, but he is completely certain that everyone in the universe has a value to them.

He, however, struggles to see how he is valued by others.

It’s not that he thinks he’s useless. He knows he isn’t. He knows he’s skilled. But Lance has always observed Keith in any way he could, and that didn’t stop when they got married. Lance knows his husband can’t quite understand why he is loved as much as he is. He’s happy to explain why he values everyone else, from earnestly explaining to Allura that she’s the spirit of Voltron and fondly telling Lance to leave the math to Pidge — he loves metaphors, that husband of Lance’s, because heaven forbid he just says what he wants to say — but vehemently denies that he might be held in just as high regard.

But Lance knows. Quietly, proved over and over again through the years, he knows that Keith is who people turn to when they need someone. Keith is reliable, he’s dependable, he’s strong — a little tactless, sure, but when you’re scared and vulnerable and you don’t know what to do or who to rely on? You turn to Keith. Lance did it himself, years and years ago, when there were five lions and six paladins and he didn’t know where to go from there. The war may be behind them, but that didn’t stop their team from needing their leader.

1. Pidge

Lance really starts to clue in when Keith’s phone goes off, late at night, when they’re cuddling and watching a movie (but mostly cuddling).

“Sorry,” Keith mutters sheepishly. Lance just rolls his eyes fondly and digs around for the remote to pause the movie (he is not going to have Keith talk over Legally Blonde. That’s a sin). Remote search or no, though, Lance refuses to move even one inch away from his own personal space heater, so he feels it when said personal space heater tenses up.

Here we go.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Just — don’t hang up. I’m coming, okay?”

Keith puts his hand over the base of his phone, looking at Lance urgently.

“It’s Pidge.”

“Is she okay? Does she need Voltron?”

“Not all of us,” he says, hushed. “She’s just — she messed around in the wrong server and got herself arrested in the Delrn quadrant. She needs someone to go get her.”

Lance exhales, shoulders slumping. That’s not — that’s not good, obviously, but after years of Pidge needs help meaning Pidge is being ambushed by dozens of armed soldiers, it’s a lot less scary.

“You need my help?”

Keith shakes his head. “No, you stay here. I’ve got it. It shouldn’t take too long. Don’t wait up though, okay?”

He presses a kiss to Lance’s cheek before untangling himself from the blankets, walking over to the front door and sliding on his boots.

“I’m coming now, Pidge, okay? Keep on, I’ll transfer your line to my ship in a minute.”

“Text me when she’s safe,” Lance calls as Keith unlocks the door.

“Will do.” He shoots a rueful smile in Lance’s direction. “Sorry for ditching movie night.”

Lance shakes his head fondly, waving him away. “Go, Oh Mighty Black Paladin. I’ll see you when you get home.”

Keith grins at him one more time before he ducks into the garage, locking the door behind him. Lance sighs, turning off the T.V. and folding the blanket, heading over to the kitchen to make himself a coffee. He won’t be able to sleep until he knows Pidge is home safe, anyway. (And, he’ll be honest, there’s a snowball’s chance in hell that he’ll be able to sleep without Keith’s constant snores.)

By the time Keith gets home, Lance has finished three (3) coffees and has sewn the lining of the current project he’s working on. It’s something like 4 in the morning, but Lance stopped looking at the clock a couple hours ago.

“I thought I told you not to wait up,” Keith says, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to Lance’s lips.

“Mm,” Lance mumbles, grabbing Keith’s shirt and keeping him right where he is (pressed close close closely to Lance, where Lance has selfishly and unashamedly decided he belongs). “Can’t sleep without you. I’ve unfortunately fallen victim to your conditioning, Pavlov.”

Keith snorts, kissing him one last time before fully scooping him up in his arms.

Lance, whipped as he is, does not protest.

“I think you’re maybe just in love with me,” he says, smirking.

Lance pretends to think about it. “I dunno. There’s this really hot guy, maybe you’ve heard of him. Leader of Voltron? Ex-Blade? He’s got this dreamy mullet. I kind of have a thing for him.”

Keith rolls his eyes, fully throwing him on the bed and crawling in after him, ignoring Lance’s indignant yelp.

“He sounds like a dork,” he says drily.

Lance grins. “He is.”

“Whatever, you butthead. Get over here so we can sleep.”

Without a moment of hesitation, Lance flops into Keith’s open arms, snaking his arms around his husband’s waist and tangling their legs together. He holds him closely, head over his heart, listening to it beat.

“Pidge okay?” he asks softly.

Keith hums, running his hands through Lance’s hair. “Yeah. Pretending to be less shaken up than she is. She got cocky and got caught and it freaked her out, so she started running her mouth. You know her.”

Lance laughs quietly. Sounds like Pidge.

“But it wasn’t that big of a deal. I went to the station and talked them out of pressing charges for spying. She’s banned from the quadrant for life, but nothing else. Dunno why she called me to help. Coran probably would have been more helpful.”

Privately, Lance thinks he knows exactly why Pidge called Keith. Why, when she was scared and alone and knew she had fucked up, she immediately called the one person who would drop everything to make sure she’s okay. Who has done it for her before and will do it again. Who respects her as a grown woman, now, who doesn’t need his guidance, but who will never stop providing his support.

“Bet she thought the big bad Black Paladin would win her some intimidation points,” he says instead, because he knows his husband isn’t yet ready to hear it.

They’ll get there.

2. Hunk

It’s not that Keith gets these calls often. Hell, definitely no more than once every five or six months. Few and far between, really. Staggered enough that the pattern might skip most people’s notice.

But Lance knows better.

So when Keith’s phone rings — and of course it actually rings, because Keith is the only person Lance knows who never, ever turns his ringer off, because even though he might not realise it he is constantly ready to help and would never put himself in a position where he can’t — in the middle of their mortgage meeting with the bank, Lance ducks his head to hide his smile.

He figured that might happen.

“Fuck,” Keith mutters, digging around in his pocket. “Sorry. I have to take this.”

The bank teller — a very serious-looking woman in her late sixties — does not look amused. She mutters something about professionalism.

Lance does her a favour and does not point out that Keith is one of five reasons that Earth is not currently a pile of space dust, and she should perhaps provide some lenience.

“Keith?” comes a nervous, teary voice from Keith’s phone (the bank teller’s office is real small, and there’s no room for privacy).

“Yeah, Hunk. You okay?”

“Um, sorry to bother you. You’re probably busy. But, uh. My car broke down? I tried fixing it myself but I don’t have the parts I need, and triple A says they can’t send a tow because of all the snow, and I’m wearing a coat but I don’t really want to be here for hours so —“

“Hunk,” Keith interrupts, “breathe, buddy.”

Hunk does, deep and noisy enough to be heard through the phone.

(Lance thinks back to the first time he can remember that Hunk’s anxiety made itself known around Keith. He remembers seeing Keith, eighteen and still bitter and unsure but desperate to be part of a family, with wide panicked eyes and stuttering advice about ‘not worrying about it’, trying to calm Hunk down to no avail. It’s certainly something, he’s thinks, that Keith can now calm Hunk effortlessly through the phone.)

“I’m leaving now to come pick you up. We’ll come back later to get your car, yeah?”

“I don’t want to put you out —“

“Hunk,” Keith says firmly, “chill out. Or, er, don’t, I guess, since that’s the problem. Um, stay in your car so you’ll stay warm. I’ll be there soon. Okay?”

“…Okay.”

Keith hangs up, and looks apologetically at Lance.

“I’m sorry, babe, I know this is important —”

Lance squeezes his hand. “Go. I got this.”

Keith quickly gets up from the stuffy chair, presses a kiss to Lance’s temple, and rushes out without a word.

The bank teller sniffs. “High demand, your husband. Can’t even make time for one appointment. That doesn’t inspire confidence, you know.”

“Family emergency, ma’am,” Lance says with great amusement. “Besides, we’re nearly finished. I’ll make sure to relay everything you say to him when he gets home.”

Lance decides to walk home after the meeting, since Keith has their car. It’s nice. Despite the mishap, the meeting had gone rather smoothly, and there’s no reason why they shouldn’t get approved for their mortgage within the week. That’ll keep things going nicely. Lance will miss their quiet little apartment, but he’s excited for what they’re going to build together next.

Besides, he thinks, when Keith gets home several hours later with a sheepish Hunk in tow, it’ll be nice to have a couple guest bedrooms.

He’s sure they’ll need them.

3. Romelle

The ring of the doorbell makes them both panic.

“Is that the social worker?”

“She’s not supposed to be here for another hour,” Lance hisses, three steps away from freaking out. Keith is not far behind him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Can we ignore it?”

“No, we can’t ignore it! It’s a home visit! We need to be home!”

“Fuck! Okay! I’m gonna answer the door, fix your hair!”

Lance does, frantically trying to pat it down so it doesn’t look like he’s been nervously running his hands through it for four hours (he has) or that he just had sex (he hasn’t). (Well. Not since this morning.)

“Here, let me —” Lance practically melts at Keith’s touch, his gentle hands through the knots in Lance’s un-straightened hair, even though it’s certainly not a new sensation.

But he always appreciates Keith’s hands on him.

“We’ll be okay,” Keith says, dropping a kiss on Lance’s forehead before stepping away. “I mean, if we fail we can just be assholes and pull the saviours-of-the-universe card, right?”

Lance flicks him on the forehead, unable to fight back a smile. “We’re supposed to be responsible now, Mullet.”

Keith grins, curling one hand in Lance’s and one around the doorknob. “Whatever you say, Kogane. You ready?”

Lance nods, squeezing Keith’s hand.

They’ve got this.

“Hi,” says someone who is decidedly not the social worker, looking at them nervously from their front door.

Keith and Lance blink at her, and then each other, shocked.

Well. At least this is better than Mrs. Kreft coming early, at least.

“Romelle? What are you doing here?”

The Altean’s face crumples, and she throws herself at Keith.

“I don’t know what I’m doing with my life,” she wails.

Lance sighs fondly, shaking his head.

He should have known.

“I’ll call Mrs. Kreft,” Lance says as Keith guides the sobbing woman to their couch. Keith nods gratefully, then turns his attention back to Romelle, so Lance heads to the kitchen to give them some privacy.

He quickly dials the social worker’s number, resting his hip on the counter and fiddling with a random pen he found.

“Lance! I’m about to leave for your place now. Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” he reassures. “Keith’s sister popped by unexpectedly, though. She’ll probably stay for a couple weeks. I was wondering if you could maybe do one of our character evaluations at the same time as the home visit? Two birds with one stone, you know.”

If there’s one thing Lance is good at, it’s rolling with the punches. He’ll handle this.

“You caught me at a good time, then,” Mrs. Kreft says jovially. “I’ll get the right paperwork. Is Keith’s sister prepared for the interview process? She’s not really meant to rehearse or anything — she’s supposed to provide an honest and timely assessment of your caregiving abilities — but it would be best if she knew it was coming.”

“I’ll make sure to brief her. Thank you, Mrs. Kreft. We really appreciate it.”

“Of course, Lance. I’m rooting for you two. I’ll see you in about forty-five minutes.”

“Alright, thanks. Bye.”

Keith walks in to the kitchen just as she hangs up.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes,” Lance says, reaching over to rest his hand on the side of Keith’s neck. He rubs his thumb over the tense muscles there, tracing over his clenched jaw and pursed lips. “I handled it, baby. She’s going to do a character interview with Romelle at the same time, so this worked out.”

Keith sighs in relief, tilting forward to rest his head on Lance’s shoulder. Lance shifts so he’s comfortable, running his hands through Keith’s hair.

“Oh, thank God.”

Lance hums. “Told you it would be fine.”

“I know. It’s just — I feel like every time we try and do something for our future, something happens and you end up picking up my mess on your own. We’re about to — we’re trying to be parents, Lance. I want us to be on equal grounds.”

“Hey.” Lance tugs gently on his husband’s hair. “Look at me.”

Keith does, looking down at him with a furrowed brow and frustrated pout. Lance reaches up to smooth the line between his eyebrows.

“Do you think I walked into this unprepared?” he asks sternly. “I know you, sweetheart. I knew exactly what I signed up for when I agreed to be your right hand. Do you think that stopped when the war was won? Do you think I didn’t know that were were going to be doing this leading schtick our whole lives? I knew who you were when I married you, baby. This is not a surprise. You’re not leaving me to clean up after you. We’re a team, cielo. And sometimes a team means I stay home and hold the fort while you’re picking up our dumbass friends from a holding cell, or calling the social worker as you make sure everything’s okay. Okay?”

Keith exhales, pressing his forehead to Lance’s.

“Okay. Thank you, Lance. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Lance presses a quick kiss to his lips before stepping away, grabbing a box of tissues and filling up a glass of water. “Okay, Samurai. Fill me in. What’s up with Romelle?”

“She’s worried she’s got no future. She’s been kind of drifting around between New Altea and the Rebels and the Blades, doesn’t feel like she fits in anywhere.”

“So she’s going through the emo Keith phase,” Lance teases.

Keith scowls. “Whatever. Technically.”

“She came to the right place, then. Your earnestly awkward life-coach ass will have her fixed up in no time.”

“You’re mean to me,” Keith says, pouting.

Lance laughs, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Mhm, and you’d be lost without me. Let’s go make sure you’re sister is okay.”

Intermission

To Lance’s relief, there are no interruptions on the most important day of their lives — the day everything they’ve been slowly working for comes together. The day their family grows to four — two kids, siblings, lives uprooted by the war — there are no interruptions. No one calls, no one shows up unexpectedly, no one needs their help.

It’s just them, terrified and elated at the front door, meeting Mason and Keevah for the first time.

Keith is the first to react. He squeezes Lance’s hands three times in quick succession then lets go, sitting criss-cross-applesauce on the floor, eye-level with Mason. He looks at Keith warily, untrusting.

It makes Lance’s heart ache, for this little boy who had the worst thing that could ever happen to a kid happen to him while the entire planet was falling apart, who has learned to be jaded and icy to every adult he’s met, who only barely remembers what it’s like to live in a loving home.

“Hi,” Mason says eventually.

Keith smiles slightly. “I’m Keith. My husband’s name is Lance.” Lance waves. Mason glances at him, but does not wave back. “We have a room prepared for you and your sister.”

Mason blinks, surprised. “Me and Keevah?”

Lance smiles, finally losing the battle with his tears. (He’s doing everything he can to keep the smile on his face, keep himself from openly sobbing. He keeps imagining himself in Mason’s position, losing his parents before he could talk properly and suddenly desperate to stay with your infant sister. It’s heartbreaking. He already aches for this kid, and he barely knows him.)

(Yet.)

“Yes,” he says, voice cracking. “We figured that would make the transition easier.”

Mason hesitates a moment. Lance can see the emotions warring on his face — to trust, or not to trust — and he can hear Keith’s breathing shift, slightly, like he’s remembering feeling those exact same emotions himself, years and years ago, stepping into Shiro’s apartment for the first time and wondering if it’s worth it to hope.

“Okay,” Mason says eventually. He tugs on Keevah’s hand, wrapped tightly around her big brother’s finger, other thumb in her mouth as she stares at Keith and Lance with blatant curiosity. “Let’s go, Keevah. It’s late. Time for bed.”

Lance moves to guide them to their new room, but Keith stands, placing a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“It’s the first door on your left,” he tells them. Mason nods once and walks off, superhero suitcase rolling behind him. (They hadn’t known if Mason liked superheroes, or Keevah, but Keith had been adamant that they buy a set of luggage before signing all the paperwork, quietly confiding that the worst thing about moving to a new home growing up was packing all your shit in a garbage bag, like that was all it was worth. Lance was quick to agree.)

“They’ll need time to adjust,” Keith murmurs. “I always hated the fosters that were too overbearing.”

Lance sniffles, nodding. “Good point.”

Keith’s smile is soft as he reaches over to brush the tears from Lance’s cheeks, bending down to press a kiss to his forehead.

“Everything will work out,” he murmurs. “Promise.”

The surety of his husband’s voice makes him smile. Keith’s strength is unwavering.

“I know. I trust you.”

4. Allura

By the time the fourth call comes, half a year later, Keith is starting to catch on. He’s in the middle of shoving their last duffel bag into the trunk when his phone rings, and his sigh is so heavy that Lance can hear it from the driver’s seat. He hides a smile in his hand.

Keith’s phone is connected to the car’s bluetooth, so Lance turns down the volume — high enough that he can hear, but low enough that Mason and Keevah, who are playing patty cake in the back seat, can’t.

“Allura? Everything okay?” Despite his exasperation, his voice is calm.

For a whole fifteen seconds the other end is silent, long enough that Lance would almost think that the Queen of New Altea had simply butt dialed them were it not for the faintest sounds of heavy, stressed breathing. Then Allura blurts out: “I can’t do this anymore.”

There’s another moment of silence as Keith processes that.

“Do what?” he asks hesitantly. He slides into the passenger seat, buckling up and flashing a small smile at Lance. Lance shoots him a thumbs up in acknowledgment, glancing in the rearview to make sure the kids are buckled too, before peeling out of the driveway, setting route for his parent’s house.

“Do this!” Allura cries, tears audible in her voice. “I’m — I’m quiznaking everything up! I can’t — I’m not fit to be a leader, Keith! I’m not you, I’m not Shiro, and I’m certainly not my father, and I am going to lead my entire people and our planet into a flaming pile of Weblum dung! I am the worst queen to ever be coronated! I’m a mistake!” She sobs, so loud the audio crackles with it. Lance exchanges a worried look with his husband.

He’s never heard Allura so upset — not even when they were facing the end of the universe and none of them had a hail mary to fall back on.

“You’re not a mistake, Allura.” Keith’s voice is quiet, but firm, full of undeniable conviction. He leaves absolutely no room for doubt. “Don’t insult my friend that way.”

Allura chokes on another sob over the phone. For a while there are no words, just the sound of her cries, long enough that Lance feels his own heart start to hurt and chin start to tremble. He hates hearing his friends — his family — suffering.

“I don’t know what to do,” Allura chokes out. “I’m not — every choice I make is the wrong one.”

Keith reaches over and plucks one of Lance’s hands off the steering wheel, gripping it tightly. He doesn’t even seem to notice he’s done it, staring thoughtfully at his phone, like he needed to borrow Lance’s strength for a minute. He hates hearing any of them in pain, too.

Lance squeezes tightly, happy to lend it.

“What happened?”

It’s hard to make out everything she’s saying, intergalactic calls already so staticky on top of her emotions making her accent thicker than usual, but the gist is pretty obvious. Allura has been queen for half a decade, now, a little more — the honeymoon phase, so to speak, is starting to wear off. No longer are all her people just relieved to be out from Lotor’s tyranny — like with any nation, tension has arisen, and Allura is struggling to handle it all on her own. She can’t please everybody, and it’s beyond disheartening to have so many people, who were once completely happy with her and her leadership, frustrated with her.

Keith lets her vent until she finally stops for a moment to breathe. He takes a moment to gather himself, frowning deeply.

“I don’t understand why all of this is resting on your shoulders,” he says carefully.

There’s a pause.

“…Pardon?”

“You seem to be the only one putting out every single fire that’s popping up,” Keith repeats. “Where’s Coran? Or the rest of your council?”

This time the pause is much longer.

Guiltier.

“I don’t want to burden them.”

Keith sighs, but it’s not disappointed. It’s exasperated. Concerned, more than anything. Despite himself, Lance smiles; it’s the exact same sigh Lance would often heave when Keith was trying to do everything by himself, in his earliest Black Paladin days. It’s beyond a little amusing to hear it from the other end.

“Allura, that is their job. They are paid to take some of that burden from you, dude. Quite a lot of it, in fact.”

“Still,” Allura says stubbornly. “It’s not — I’m the queen. ‘Heavy is the head that wears the crown’, as you humans say.”

Keith’s indigo eyes brighten. Lance groans, barely resisting the urge to slam his head on the steering wheel — he recognises that look. That’s his husband’s I just thought of an applicable metaphor look.

Keith gleefully ignores him, bolstering right on.

“And what happens if the head is too heavy, ‘Llura?”

Lance groans louder, so Allura can hear this time. It startles a laugh out of her, which brings a smile to Lance’s face and a scowl to Keith’s.

“…You topple right over,” Allura admits begrudgingly.

Keith nods, inordinately pleased with himself. “Exactly.”

“You’re infuriating,” Allura informs him. She blows her nose. “I hate it when you’re right.”

“Well, good thing that doesn’t happen often,” Lance chimes in, because the opportunity was right there and the whole point of marriage is that he has the opportunity to mock Keith until they both finally bite it.

Allura laughs as Keith glares at him. Lance smiles primly.

“I cannot believe you two,” Keith mutters to himself. Lance kisses the tips of his fingers with an exaggerated mwah noise and presses the fingers to Keith’s forehead. Much to his own chagrin, no doubt, the action makes his lips twitch up into a smile.

“Thank you, Keith,” Allura says. “You too, Lance. I — appreciate it. And you.”

The softness bleeds back into Keith’s expression. Sap. “Of course, Allura. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

He’s quiet for a moment after she hangs up, contemplative.

“Isn’t it strange that she called me for — for leadership advice?” he questions finally, turning to face Lance. “I mean, I stumbled through every day as leader. Shiro was more of a natural. Hell, you’re better with pep talks, Mr. The Black Lion Chose You And I Trust It’s Judgement.”

The set up is there. Lance could spell it out for him now, gently explain what he’s observed over the years, what he knows to be true — Keith, even though he refuses to admit it or even let himself notice, is the cornerstone of their family, the one who grew up with so much change so constantly that he learned to find steadiness in himself.

But that’s a longer conversation. That’s a quiet conversation, for when Lance can give his husband his full attention, when they can face each other and be honest and work through the inevitable pain of Keith accepting that as truth. Not when Lance is driving, and their kids are in the back, very obviously listening in at this point.

“Oh, come on, Fearless Leader,” Lance teases. “She knew she needed a nice, cheesy metaphor to set her head on straight, isn’t it obvious?”

Keith scoffs, smacking him on the bicep. “Jerk.”

Lance gasps loudly, clutching the bicep dramatically.

“Mason! Keevah! Did you see what your evil, evil daddy did to me?! To your beloved Papa! Oh, how I am wounded! Betrayed! By the love of my life, my dearest husband, the man to whom I have pledged my heart —”

The kids giggle, Keith rolling his eyes so hard it has to hurt him.

Lance smiles to himself. Now’s not the right time, but they’ll get there — soon.

5. Sylvio

The truth finally starts to cement itself in Keith’s head by the fifth phone call.

Lance groans as his husband’s ringtone drags him from his sleep, glaring at the man who sleeps peacefully right through it. He smacks him with a pillow, waking him with a startled “Wha—?” and then hands him his phone.

“Hello?” Keith asks groggily, sitting up — dragging Lance, who was laying on his chest, up with him, much to his chagrin — and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

There’s a beat of silence, then a timid: “Tio Keith?”

Both of them shoot up in alarm. Lance hasn’t heard his nephew sound so close to tears since he was much younger.

“It’s three in the morning, kiddo,” Keith says, looking at Lance as if to ask what’s going on?. Lance shrugs, gesturing at the phone — find out!

“I fucked up,” Sylvio says in a small voice, and then he bursts into tears. Keith leaps out of bed immediately, frantically looking for some pants. Lance grabs them and tosses them to him, watching in concern.

“Woah — Sylvio — slow down, I can’t —”

But Sylvio keeps rambling, in a mix of Spanish and English so muddled that even Lance has no idea what he’s saying.

“Just please come get me,” he cries, the first clear words in minutes.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming, kiddo. Where are you?”

Sylvio rattles off an address, and Keith nods. “I’m coming, okay? Keep your phone on you.”

Sylvio says something in affirmation, then keeps crying, muttering to himself. Keith covers the phone with one hand, he other tugging on some socks. He looks at Lance in panic.

“Why is he calling me?”

Lance shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“You should go,” Keith says nervously. “He’s your nephew, you —”

“He’s your nephew too,” Lance interrupts quietly. “You know that. Plus, he called you, cielo. You’re the one he needs right now.”

Keith doesn’t look any more reassured. In fact he looks more desperate and confused by the second. “Maybe we should both go.”

Lance is already shaking his head before he finishes his sentence. “Keevah’s sick, baby. One of us has to stay home in case she gets worse, or throws up.” He slides off the bed, padding over to Keith and cupping his face gently. “Go, Keith. Bring him back, we’ll talk to him then, okay? I’ll wait up. Luis and Lisa aren’t far from here, it won’t take you more than twenty minutes both ways.”

“Right.” Keith takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. When he opens them again, most of the panic is gone, replaced with the same determination he always has when things get a little dicey and hopeless. “I’ll be back in a bit,” he says, leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to Lance’s lips. Lance holds him there for a moment, trying to press a little bit more of his love into it than usual.

“I’ll be here.”

+1. Keith

A little less than an hour later, Lance hears their car pull into the driveway. He tugs his robe around him tightly, hurrying to open the door.

“Hey,” Keith says, kissing him quickly and then moving to let Sylvio come through. His face is creased in worry. Sylvio walks in after, silently, shoulders hunched and eyes puffy, face streaked with tears. Lance closes and locks the door behind him, reaching up to hug his nephew tightly.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

Sylvio sniffles, face crumpling. He leans into Lance’s embrace, face to his neck, and Lance feels his face get wet with tears again. “Hi, Tio.” His voice cracks.

Lance guides them both to the living room, setting them down on the couch.

“I’ll grab some tea,” Keith murmurs.

Lance hums at him, leaning back onto the cushions and stroking Sylvio’s hair as he cries. Keith is back shortly, setting three mugs on the coffee table and sitting on Sylvio’s other side, arm over the back of the couch. He’s silent for a while, waiting for the kid’s cries to peter out.

“What happened?” he asks, once Sylvio has finally calmed down a bit.

“Dad and I have been fighting a lot,” he says quietly. Lance winces. He’s heard from Lisa and Luis, of course, but he would have figured it out even if he hadn’t — Sylvio has called Luis ‘Papa’ every day of his life, since he was a little boy. He’s only called Luis ‘Dad’ when he’s furious, when he’s deliberately trying to hurt Luis, when both of them can barely stand to be in the same room as each other.

Lance rubs his shoulder. “What happened?”

Sylvio’s chin trembles, and another tear drips down his cheek. “He never — no one I bring home is ever good enough. Nadia can bring home whomever she wants and it’s never a problem, but when I do it, suddenly he has a million faults and he’s bad for me or too old for me or just a shitbag.” He makes a noise of frustration. “He treats me like a baby, like I’m incapable of of making a fucking decision for myself.”

As subtly as he can, Lance exchanges a look with Keith. This is not the first time this situation has been brought up, by more than one person. Sylvio calls Lance to complain about his parents on a semi-regular basis, and both Luis and Lisa have confided in him on more than one occasion.

The problem is, Sylvio is…kind of in the wrong, here.

Privately, when they try and make light of the situation, they joke that Sylvio has the Lance taste — that is, garbage. Before Keith, Lance was very good at falling for people who were either really bad for him, bad in general, didn’t like him, or treated him like shit. A good portion of that came from his own insecurity and cripplingly low self-esteem, and Sylvio is no exception.

Every guy he has brought home has been, to Luis’ credit, not good enough. Once it was someone who made fun of Sylvio every other sentence, once it was a guy who was three times his age, once someone who was clearly using Sylvio as a rebound… Luis saw it, but he was incapable of handling it in any way other than outright banning Sylvio from seeing whomever the loser of the month was, which went about as well as you would think.

It’s been an ongoing problem.

“I’m sorry you guys are fighting,” Lance says, because it’s truly not his place to try and parent Sylvio. He’s tried to guide both his brother and his nephew into the right direction, but neither listen. “I’m glad you called us first, though. That was the safest thing for you to do.”

Sylvio bites his lip. Keith shakes his head slightly.

Lance’s face drops. “Oh, Sylvio…”

His nephew’s face crumples. “I thought the party would be a good distraction,” he whispers. “I didn’t think — he’s supposed to love me, why did he —” Sylvio interrupts himself with a sob. Lance holds him tightly again. He’s not sure exactly what happened, and he won’t know until he can ask, but he can make a pretty good assumption.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Let it out.”

Sylvio cries on his shoulder for a while longer, long past when he runs out of tears, just dry-sobbing until his whole body shakes and his eyes must be burning. Lance holds him through it, and Keith keeps a steady hand on his back.

“Daddy?” comes a small voice, at least a half hour later. All three of them crane their necks towards the sound, seeing Keevah, eyes watery, standing in the low light of the kitchen with her stuffed lion clutched in her hand. “I threw up.”

Keith gets up immediately. “Oh, c’mere, sweetie.” He scoops her up, her head resting on his shoulder, then turns toward Lance. “I’ll put her back to bed, you get Sylvio to bed?”

Lance nods, and Keith heads back to her and Mason’s bedroom. Lance stands, gently pulling his nephew to his feet, guiding him to the guest room.

Once he’s got the bed turned down and Sylvio in some of Keith’s old pj’s, he tucks him into bed like he’s nine instead of nineteen, kissing him gently on the forehead.

“I’ll call your parents to let them know you’re safe, okay?” Sylvio nods, half asleep. “Sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

By the time Lance hits the lights, he’s out. Lance watches him for a moment, smiling sadly.

He’ll figure it out. Lance did, when he was nineteen, even though it sucked.

He pads over to his and Keith’s bedroom, exhausted, but knowing that he won’t be sleeping for a while. Keith is already there, pulling off his vomit-stained shirt — poor Keevah — and pulling on a fresh one.

“She okay?” Lance murmurs, crawling under the covers and into Keith’s open arms. Keith nods, tightening his hold and pressing a kiss to Lance’s hair.

“Yeah. Fell asleep halfway through her bath.”

“Poor thing.”

Keith is silent for a while, fingertips tracing circles on Lance’s lower back, but he’s nowhere near falling asleep. He’s tense as a live wire, and Lance can feel his heart pound where their chests are pressed together.

“I don’t understand,” he says eventually. His voice is so quiet Lance can barely hear him.

Lance doesn’t need him to specify. “I do.”

The mindless shapes Keith is tracing shift to something more deliberate, tapping, seeking comfort rather than mindless fidgeting.

“…Explain it to me?”

Lance shifts slightly, so he’s still in Keith’s hold but there’s a bit of space between them, so he can look Keith in the face.

“People trust you, Keith. There’s nothing to explain.” He leans in and presses a kiss to Keith’s neck, the hollow of his throat — not to instigate anything, but to touch, to press his lips somewhere vulnerable and say I am watching out for you. “You are so deliberate, my love. So devoted. Everyone knows it, even if they don’t realise it outright.”

Keith’s breathing is laboured. “I’m not what they think I am,” he says, voice wrecked. Lance presses another kiss right on his adam’s apple, to his trachea, to the underside of his jaw, to his chin.

“You are more than you think you are.”

“I’m not. I’m not.” Lance kisses right under his ear, and he tastes salt, from where a tear finally escaped and trailed down his cheekbone. “I’m a mess, Lance. Nothing about me is stable. Why do they rely on me?”

“I rely on you.”

“That’s different. We’re — you’re my husband. We rely on each other.”

Lance pauses for a second, gathering his thoughts, considering his angle. How can he explain the fundamental truth about Keith Kogane that is so obvious to everyone who knows him? That is the clearest part of him?

“When Pidge wanted to run from Voltron and find her family, who convinced her to stay?”

Keith is silent.

“When Shiro had flashbacks of his year of torture and couldn’t tell reality from nightmare, who sat with him until he could breath again?”

Keith’s chin trembles.

“When the Blades were out of ideas and out of luck, who changed everything?”

His breathing gets heavier. “Lance —”

Lance ignores him, barrelling on. “When Hunk’s panic attacks got so bad he was convinced he was having a heart attack, who squeezed his hand until he could breath again?”

Keith sobs. “Lance, that’s not —”

Lance reaches up to gently wipe the tears, staring at his husband until he finally looks back, until indigo meets brown and he knows that Keith is finally getting it.

“Who,” he asks quietly, determined, “was it that I came to, when there were five lions and six paladins? Who stepped down for me?”

Keith laughs wetly. “I gave you the worst pep talk in the world,” he protests, but Lance can finally hear the acceptance in his voice. He smiles.

“And yet.”

“And yet,” Keith agrees. He ducks down and kisses Lance soundly, hands cupping his face, lips moving like he’s trying to fuse himself to Lance.

“Thank you. For knowing and watching and waiting for me.”

“Always,” Lance murmurs, pressing their foreheads together. “Always, my star.”

[ditzybuzzy]

I can't stop thinking about Hunk using a warm washcloth to rid the skin on your hands of the grime and blood that has caked itself on after beating countless zombies to death. Your legs hang off the counter you're sitting on, your eyes fixated solely on the wall behind him in shock. He takes the warm washcloth to your trembling hands, which he holds as he stands before you. How he wipes at the blood stained beneath your fingernails. The water running red as he squeezes it out. Knowing without him, you'd be good as dead in the city streets. How you'd be alone again once he leaves.

Picture is mine ♡

[corruptedplaylist]

excerpt from the last (!!!!) chapter of looking out for you:

“SHIRO THEY’RE BEING FREAKS AGAIN,” Pidge yells downstairs because they are evil and have some sort of 6th lesbian sense where they know when two dudes are about to kiss.

i'm posting the last chapter at 10am EST tomorrow babey so remember to tune in!

[icypantherwrites]

New Fic: Reaching For Your Hand

Summary: One moment Lance was there, jumping and reaching for Keith’s outstretched hand as the cavern collapsed around them. And in the next he was gone, falling into the abyss. Just like that. 

And no matter how much Keith, Hunk and Shiro desperately search through the rubble, as they descend into the unstable cave, they can’t find him. And as minutes tick to hours and they go further and further down reality tells them it’s not a search and rescue mission any longer.

It’s a body retrieval. 

Chapter One Snippet:

Lance was trapped Lance was trapped Lance was trapped.

And, and not just trapped.

Trapped in cave that had collapsed, after falling God knows how many feet with his thrusters not working and all those rocks coming down and God, God, the odds of surviving that kind of fall on top of being crushed and on top of oxygen loss and possible blood loss from being impaled on a spire on top of—

“Hunk, breathe,” Shiro called from in front of him, eyes still fully forward as the landscape rushed past them in a blur of color but somehow aware of the fact Hunk was having a panic attack behind him.

Hunk tried.

He couldn’t help Lance if he passed out and he’d cause a delay if he passed out as Shiro would have to stop to help him and that was time they should be using to get to Lance and oh God, what if Lance was—

“Hunk!” Shiro’s tone was sharper but no less kind and despite the speed and the fact Shiro should absolutely not be looking away from driving his head turned around to look at Hunk.

It only made Hunk feel more panicked as now they were going to crash and then they’d be in trouble too and they couldn’t save Lance and God, Lance was—

“Hunk, look at me,” Shiro ordered and Hunk couldn’t do that, watching instead as the Black Lion kept barreling and Shiro wasn’t looking and they were going to go splat, just like Lance and oh God he did not just think that he did not just think that, oh God Lance had—

Hunk was turning to the left and puking at the image his mind conjured and he puked again around a sob.

Read it here

[smolskye]

i love analog horror, i love when something from the decades before i was even born has a Dark Spooky Twist, i love when the audio jumps and stutters and stops right when something spooky happens, i love when something moves that isn't supposed to move and then the footage cuts off, i love when an innocent thing is somehow now a malevolent force, i love it!

[gnzma]

[ I want guzma to get beat up (violent) (murderous intentions) ]

[xoxytoxinx]

You could be my wife

Mr rn

[voltronrenaissance]

thinking about hance <3

[hotwrestlingfanatic]

Luke Curtis

[imwritesometimes]

Turkey day 2023 in the books. Cooked it all. Will clean it all tomorrow 😴 now is for zoning out in bed on tumblr with the kitties

[autisticlancemcclain]

Keith walks into the briefing room expecting very little. They still have a couple days until their nearest big mission, and they’ve already planned it ad nauseam, so he isn’t sure what Allura needs to discuss.

But, black paladin or not, Keith knows damn well that Allura’s the boss, so. To the briefing room he goes.

He’s greeted with a beaming smile from Lance the second he walks through the door, which is surprising for a few reasons, but largely because last time he checked, he was firmly on Lance’s shit list. (They’d had an argument last night while Lance was on kitchen clean-up duty that had ended with Lance scooping a pot of dirty dishwater and dumping it over Keith’s head before storming out. So. How Lance went from absolutely furious to smiling at Keith like Keith was the sun after a storm was a mystery, but Keith has always thrived when Lance gave him any attention, so he decides not to question it.)

“Come sit next to me,” Lance offers, and obviously Keith does not hesitate to do so. The second he sits down, Lance reaches over and wraps his arm tightly around Keith’s, then hooks his ankle around the leg of Keith’s chair, yanking him closer.

Damn, someone’s in a magically wonderful mood, Keith thinks, pleased.

Before he can ask Lance what has him to happy, Allura strides into the room, straight to her place at the head of the table, and starts the briefing immediately.

“Alright, everyone. This briefing is going to be about a new mission we’ve just received. We’re expected to make an extended appearance at the Ghuwa System’s ball.”

Lance’s hold tightens as soon as Allura finishes her sentence, and suddenly his ‘magically wonderful mood’ makes perfect sense.

Oh, that motherfucker.

“You are a snake,” he hisses to Lance, who smirks and does not look at him.

“Shut up and pay attention,” he whispers back.

Keith does, but barely, busy fuming at Lance for setting him up.

What a butthead.

Usually, when anything even remotely suggesting a ball or dance or gala or whatever the fuck leaves Allura’s mouth, Keith finds a way to get the hell out of the room. Whether it be subtly inducing an argument between Pidge and Hunk so he can slip away unnoticed, or straight-up just leaving, he finds a way to not be involved.

And, yeah. He knows it’s a little immature. But he fucking hates stupid dances, and he’s fucking right to hate them. For starters, they are a massive waste of time. They had a war to win. Why the fuck are they spending literally any time at all twirling around a dance floor, or whatever? Secondly, and admittedly more selfishly, is that Keith just didn’t… do dances. He doesn’t know how, and standing awkwardly on the sidelines makes him uncomfortable. It’s not like he’s serving any great purpose, either. In the early days of Voltron, he’d make his presence for twenty or so minutes, then informed Shiro he was going to the washroom and just never come back. And it wasn’t an issue! Treaties were always signed, alliances always went through, with or without his presence. It was literally, in every sense of the word, a massive waste of his time.

“Some of us,” Allura says, pointedly looking at the space just above Keith’s head, “have been… flaky, in the past, in regards to these missions. And because I am endlessly benevolent —”

Lance snorts, making Allura whip a pen at his head without looking, nailing him square in the forehead. A dark satisfaction rises up in Keith’s chest.

That’s what you get, you backstabber.

“Endlessly benevolent,” Allura repeats, “so I have let it slide. But that won’t work anymore. Some of you are the leader of Voltron, now, it would be in the best interest of this mysterious person or persons to show up to these missions without complaining.”

“How come I can’t complain?” Keith protests. “I should be allowed to complain a little!”

“Who says I’m talking about you?”

“How many other leaders of Voltron are you referencing?!”

Allura shrugs, heavy amusement in her eyes giving her away. “Who knows. Anyways. The ball is tomorrow night, you’re expected to dress formally and each of you will be expected to dance at least once.” This time, she looks pointedly in Pidge’s direction. “That also means that certain tiny geniuses cannot hide behind their tall engineer friend.”

Pidge huffs. “I do not hide behind Hunk.”

“You really do,” Hunk says apologetically. “Sorry, man.”

“If that’s all, Princess,” Lance says before Pidge can argue, “Keith and I have somewhere to be?”

Oh, shit.

“That’s right,” Allura says, smirking a little. “You’re free to go.”

Double oh, shit.

“Or you could just execute me,” Keith offers.

Allura, Pidge, and Hunk all snigger, while Lance rolls his eyes and yanks Keith to his feet.

“You are the most dramatic person on this ship,” he says, which coming from him is the equivalent of a whale telling a dolphin it should lose a few pounds.

“That’s a dollar in the ridiculously strange cowboy idiom jar,” Lance says, dragging him down a mess of hallways, and Keith scowls.

“My idioms are normal.”

“They’re really not, dude. The six hundred twenty-two dollars you currently to the jar prove otherwise.

“I do not owe six hundred fucking dollars to the jar!” Keith protests, and he knows he’s right when Lance smirks.

“Right. You owe six hundred twenty-two.”

“I’ll give you an idiom. How about you shove your lying tongue right up my —”

“We’re here,” Lance interrupts, visibly holding back laughter.

Jerk.

Huffing and generously deciding to drop it, Keith looks around. ‘Here’ seems to be — an atrium, of some sort?

“I know part of the reason these diplomatic missions freak you out is because they make you uncomfortable,” Lance says matter-of-factly. “I can’t fix that, but I might be able to help.”

“I hate the diplomatic missions because they’re a waste of time,” Keith argues.

Lance sighs, shoulders slumping, and suddenly all the stress is visible on his face, tense lines furrowing his brow and deepening his frown.

“Look, man. I know — I know it feels like we’ve gotta be fighting 24/7. But that’s not what war is. Not all of it, anyway.” Dark brown eyes lock onto Keith’s, tired and anxious. “Do you have any idea how fucking scary we are?”

Keith blinks. That’s… not at all what he was expecting.

“What?”

“Dude, imagine something for a second. Imagine there was this group of aliens on Earth. They each piloted their own insanely intricate and supernatural mecha-vehicle — sentient mecha-vehicle — and can combine to make a weapon of war equivalent to what is essentially and armoured tank that can shoot nuclear bombs. And each of these mechas is piloted by an alien with different, intense levels of strengths. One of them is a genius engineer, who can build anything out of scraps. One’s basically a walking supercomputer and can hack into anything with a code. One’s a shapeshifting, superstrength-having, royally-raised warrior. Another team member isn’t a pilot, but has the cultural information of basically every planet to ever trade in the universe. And one of their pilots is this unbelievably skilled prodigy who can out-manoeuvre any opponent to ever sit in an aircraft. Keith,” Lance holds his hands up, exhausted and exasperated. “Keith, can’t you see the fucking power we hold? I think we take it for granted. We are the only thing that can stand against Zarkon’s Empire. Just Voltron. That’s it. Dude, people are terrified of us. Don’t you see?”

“You missed one,” Keith says quietly, which is really kind of off-topic but the only thing he can think to say.

“What?”

“A pilot. Hunk, Pidge, Allura, me. You even got Coran. You missed one.”

Lance’s face turns pained. “I didn’t mean — I didn’t mean to exclude Shiro. Fuck. I just meant currently. But you’re right — once we find him again, our other pilot is going to be the Champion. Who the fuck could stand a chance against the Champion?”

“No, Lance,” Keith says, voice a little urgent. “I mean, yeah, sure, of course Shiro’s powerful, but. I meant you. In your original lineup, you forgot to mention yourself.”

“Oh, sure.” Lance flaps a dismissive hand. “I can shoot, I can pilot, I’m a fucking paladin. Of course I’m up there.”

Keith shifts uncomfortably. There’s something…off, there, but Keith can’t pinpoint it. He’s not sure he’d be able to bring it up, even if he could.

(But there’s something there in the way Lance doesn’t count himself among the rest of them.)

“But you get what I’m saying, right?” Lance continues. “We’re scary as shit. Sure, we say we’re fighting Zarkon, but how the hell are civilians supposed to trust us?”

“I mean, we very much do fight Zarkon. We’re not just saying that. They should be able to trust our actions, if not our words — we do fight him.”

“For what purpose?” Lance counters. “Most of these people have either been brutally colonized and been victims of genocide, or have been under that threat. They’ve spent the last ten thousand years — think about that for a goddamn second, some of these planets have been enslaved by Zarkon for longer that humans have had widespread civilizations — with the only truth that powerful people use power to hurt people. Why the hell would they assume that we want to do anything but take Zarkon’s place? Why would they assume that we want to stop him for any reason other than to make our own empire? I mean, look at any human war! Do you know who it was to overthrow Stalin?”

“Hitler,” Keith says quietly.

“Exactly. And millions of people rejoiced when he did, only to be blindsided by his real reason for overthrowing Stalin’s empire. You can’t blame people for wanting to — for lack of a better word — humanize us, Keith. They’re terrified, and they desperately want to trust us, but they have no reason to.”

Keith lets that sit in the air between them for a moment, because holy shit.

“I never thought of it that way,” he admits.

Lance smiles, but there’s no joy behind it. “I know. That’s why I explained it. I’m not mad at you, man. None of us are. Hell, I had to explain this exact thing to Pidge a couple months ago. It’s hard to conceptualize how anyone else might be thinking of us.”

“Not for you, though. You had no issue figuring this out on your own.”

“Eh. My mother is a history professor. I’m familiar with the facets of war. I had a leg up on you.”

“Still.”

“Seriously, Keith, it’s fine. I didn’t come here to make you all guilty, or whatever. I know you’re going to take this seriously. I trust you. I came here to teach you how to dance.”

It’s such an abrupt subject change that it take Keith a second and a half to process it.

“Wait — really?”

Lance hums in affirmation, stepping over to the side to fiddle with some sort of device. “Yep. I figured half the reason you hate these things so much is because you don’t know how to have fun at them.”

“That’s because there’s no way to have fun at them,” Keith says stubbornly. “I’ll take them seriously —” because there’s no way he can not, now, not with that startling perspective Lance put in his head — “but that’s it. I’ll show up and not glare at people. Boom! Now I’m not scary.”

“Not gonna cut it, batboy,” Lance says, amused. “You’re the leader of Voltron, now. People are expecting you to lead us. Part of that is leading by example. Ergo — you’re expected to dance.”

“Well, then, the only thing this mission is going to accomplish is to make this planet lose all faith in us, because I will not be the shining example of elegance!”

“That’s why I’m teaching you,” Lance says easily, apparently very used to Keith’s freak-outs.

Which. Is kind of a nice feeling, if Keith’s being honest.

“How the hell are you going to teach me how to dance enough for me to not look like a fool?”

Lance pauses his fiddling to look at Keith firmly. “Keith. Chill out a goddamn second. Take a deep breath.”

Keith does.

“Good. Now, listen to me. I am not going to attempt to teach you every dance known to man and beyond in the next couple of hours, okay? I’m just going to teach you to waltz. It’s easy, it’s a staple at every ball we’ve been to, and it’s genuinely kind of hard to fuck up. Plus, if I can just get this damn thing working —“ Lance glares at the device, hands on his hips and eyes crossed in frustration — “this song in particular actually has the dance instructions in the lyrics.”

Keith blinks. There’s only one song Keith can think of with waltzing instructions in the lyrics. But that would be ridiculous.

Is he —?

No.

No way.

Right?

“Aha!”

Lance grins as steady hi-hats begin to sound out of hidden speakers, along with a simple guitar melody.

Holy shit. He is.

“Are you seriously going to teach me to waltz using a song from High School Musical 3?”

“Are you seriously able to recognize this song after three notes?” Lance shoots back immediately.

And, well.

Keith — 1124. Lance — 1345.

(Keith’s been having something of a rough couple weeks. He’ll catch up. Probably.)

“Touché,” he says eventually, and Lance laughs as he walks over to Keith, humming along to the music.

“Take my hand,” he sings, along with Vanessa Hudgens.

“Are we seriously doing this.”

“Take a breath,” Lance sings louder, and Keith huffs before conceding. His dance lessons will be accompanied by one exclusive serenade by Lance McClain, apparently.

That’s…fine. His heart can definitely handle that.

“Pull me close, and take one step.”

Keith bites his lip and does as Lance instructs, and — oh, God. He lied to himself. His heart can most definitely not handle that.

He hopes his face isn’t as red as it feels, even though he knows it is.

“Wait, am I leading?” Keith asks, because that seems… odd, even though he definitely is.

Lance doesn’t answer, but does carefully untangle one of his hands, and then raises it to Keith’s face, gently tilting it up to face his.

“Keep your eyes locked on mine,” he sings, quieter than before, “and let the music be your guide.”

Keith goes mute, any and all questions dying in his throat, as he looks into Lance’s face and feels his heart pounding relentlessly in his chest.

As the song crests into a duet, less of a dancing instruction and more clearly a love song, Lance fades into humming, keeping his hold onto Keith and occasionally correcting his stance as Keith twirls then around in wide circles.

“You’re doing great,” Lance says softly. “See? Not so hard.”

Not physically, sure.

But emotionally?

“Surprised I haven’t lead you straight into a wall,” Keith manages to choke out, and Lance smiles.

“Leading’s actually easier than following, when you waltz,” he whispers, like it’s a secret, something only Keith can hear. “See, cause I’m doing everything you’re doing, but backwards.”

“Oh. That makes sense.”

“Here, let’s step it up.”

Keith’s not sure if he’ll be able to handle that, honestly, but he can barely even keep his breath even, so he can’t bring himself to focus hard enough to protest.

“Okay, so you’ve got on hand in my waist and one hand in mine, right?”

Oh, believe me, Lance, Keith thinks hysterically, I know.

“On the next downbeat, you’re going to lift the hand in mine above our heads and let go of my waist, okay?”

Lance barely gives him time to nod before the downbeat hits and Lance twirls neatly under their raised arms.

“Okay, now you can put your hand back on my waist. Easy, see? But it looks real fancy for everyone else.”

Keith’s skin burns through his shirt when Lance’s hand comes back to rest on his shoulder. He wonders if his hand burns Lance’s waist just as fiercely.

“God, Keith, you’re killing it! You’re a natural. Makes sense, seeing how easily you fight. Fighting and dancing are cousins.”

Lance smiles so brightly, looking at Keith with so much pride and — and affection, in his eyes, and Keith can barely understand what compels him to do it but he can no more stop it than he can stop his heart from beating, his lungs from filling; when the song swells, Troy and Gabriella’s voices twirling together in passionate harmony, Keith dips Lance.

Just. Leans forward and drapes Lance over his arm.

Lance’s lips part in shock, and he stares up at Keith, stunned but — trusting.

Keith swallows roughly. He should — he should pull Lance back up. Keep dancing. A dip would make sense, would be explainable. They’re waltzing, after all. But the longer Keith holds the position, the less he can explain himself.

He can’t bring himself to pull away.

“Keith?” Lance asks, but he doesn’t sound confused. He doesn’t sound like he’s asking Keith what he’s doing. More like — more like asking permission.

“Yeah, Lance,” Keith whispers.

Granting it.

Lance sighs, and his eyes close, and — “Don’t drop me, Red,” —then he’s tilting his head up and pressing his lips to Keith’s.

Keith tightens his hold around Lance’s waist, pressing back just as gently.

“Never.”

[possum-playground]

Can we please acknowledge how incredibly inconvenient glasses are??

[empty-blog-for-lurking]

Actually more on Lance and Hunk being Weird™ as fuck, i am a firm believer in Lance having absolutely shittiest taste in men

[corruptedplaylist]

ch 16!

hello early update!!!! tw for keith having a panic attack!!!! highlight reel includes: lance resolving some of his family conflict, receiving consolation from his dad, surprise guest in keith's story, klance kiss

[icypantherwrites]

New Fanfic: Missing

Summary: Lance isn’t sure he’s ever felt this tired before. It’s not just from the lack of sleep (even though he’s getting plenty of it every night). It’s not just because of the near endless list of chores he does because everyone else has far more important things to do and he should try to pull his weight where he can. And it’s not entirely from the heavy disappointment that seems to emanate from Shiro every time he looks at Lance and has to be reminded of how much Lance doesn’t measure up to Keith when he was the Red Paladin while he struggles to be a Paladin worthy of the title. But all of those things together (although is he missing one? He’s so tired, it’s hard to focus)? They’re heavy and exhausting and Lance is so tired.

So, so tired.

Chapter One snippet:

The bell above the door jingled, interrupting the alien and Hunk poked his head into the shop with a cheerful, “Lance!” but there was a slight crease to his brow and as Lance looked past him he could see Shiro standing outside.

And he did not look happy.

Lance winced.

He’d no doubt spotted Hunk hefting around the groceries by himself and assumed the worst of Lance rather than asking Hunk why Lance wasn’t there. Then again, maybe he had and decided plant buying didn’t rank very high on the list.

He just couldn’t do anything right these days.

“That’s all right,” Lance inclined his head at her, mustering up a smile. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Just some light and water, yeah?”

“Yup,” she chirped at him. “And,” her grin widened, “be sure to give those flowers when they bloom to your pretty lady friend I can see you were thinking about.”

Lance didn’t quite squeak but Hunk let out a choked snort and Lance glared at him even as his cheeks lit themselves on fire.

They went back to normal pallor though as he exited into the sunshine and to Shiro’s frown where the man was surrounded by grocery bags.

“You were supposed to be assisting Hunk,” Shiro cut right to it. “He informed me it was no issue but you know better, Lance. It’s unfair to your teammate and given the fact our faces are semi known from the Voltron show it’s unsafe to be wandering alone in the event an Empire informant is here.”

Lance lowered his eyes, unable to hold Shiro’s hot stare. “Sorry,” he whispered.

There wasn’t anything else to say.

Read it here

[findmeinthefallair]

WIJ, Day 9: Falling

Warnings: Burns, broken bones

Decided I'd put in some VLD-themed writing entries for Whumpmas. Boy do I miss the Lions too, so here. Plus I wrote this to accompany a Keith art piece I made some months ago (link to art).

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“You’re about a mile out, Hunk,” said Pidge over their comm devices, urgency more than evident in her voice.

He and Yellow were going to have to make haste to locate Keith. With Lance, Shiro, Allura and Coran being off-planet, and Pidge going on the offense to hold off the space pirates, Hunk sprang into action.

Pidge was fighting off an aggressive stream of enemy spacecraft in the dark atmosphere above, toggling between Green’s invisibility cloaking and diverting power to her plant cannon to throw off their adversaries.

Amidst the immensely tall azure-coloured trees that blanketed the landscape, Hunk steered Yellow towards a looming dark mountain ahead. The Lion made a chuffing sound and accelerated to reach their destination in as short a time as possible. 

Hunk ran his hand quickly across the holo keypad on his left, analyzing the scanners. “Okay, boy. Help me out and scan for the right spot for us to drill.”

The reply from the Lion was a friendly murmur.

Already on it, buddy.

Yellow began his ascent to a higher altitude to get a better view of the entire rocky structure. He and Hunk both spotted the not-too-distant glow of Red’s magma beam ahead. She was restlessly roaming the mountaintop, demolishing the foliage as if searching for an opening. The heavens were also just opening up: Hunk saw that they were surrounded by gentle rainfall set against the dusk sky, along with mist and more cloud cover.

At the bottom of the ravine within the mountain itself, Kosmo paced about anxiously. He gingerly approached the injured Paladin nearby, who lay almost entirely limp a few yards away.

Keith let out a sharp groan, feeling very disoriented, experiencing a splintering kind of pain in the back of his head. All he remembered was falling from a great height, slamming against very sharp edges of rock, looking up at Red but unable to use his jetpack to return to her. His thoughts were scrambled for the moment, but he faintly recalled the Lion rushing in to obliterate the pirates that almost had him. 

He remembered being outside of the cockpit, carrying out the task of inspecting the glowing contents of whatever material was embedded in the ground above. Red and him fought side by side when the pirates ambushed them, instead of him guiding her directly as her pilot. Although she was not quick enough to grab him with her muzzle before he tumbled through a small hole in the ground, she managed to deliver the final blow to the squad of pirates with her signature rail gun. The astonishingly bright blast could hit every member of the deadly horde, sending them hurtling off the steep cliffside into the jungle below.

Right now he lay on his stomach, head craned to the side, and the water around him felt a couple of inches deep. He hadn’t remembered seeing the sun setting. He could barely see beyond the shades of blue and grey around him that blended together. Worse, there was the unmistakable red hue in the surrounding water - water that was getting cloudier with blood by the second.

Patches of his flight suit and gloves had been scorched and torn, parts of his armour twisted out of shape; he never faced pirates this fearsome before. He remembered the fastest of them delivering a lethal punch to his ribcage, and also brandishing a flamethrower that could even eat into his Paladin armour. Technically he hadn’t faced them alone, for Kosmo and Red had his back. But this band of opponents was particularly ruthless.

A muffled wince escaped him as he felt the very gentle nudge of Kosmo’s nose brushing against his hair. The wolf tenderly took care to avoid the bloodied part of Keith’s head, giving frantic little yelps and skittering about with small footsteps. Kosmo wisely knew that teleporting his companion at this point, may not be for the best. This situation required that Keith’s broken body be handled with utmost care.

What didn’t help was the frigid night air that left Keith’s fingers numb, as he struggled to grip the surrounding rocks to try dragging himself along. When he did manage to close his palm over a bumpy rock and pull himself towards it, lightning-hot pain shot through his arm. He bit on his lip to keep from screaming: yup, most likely a broken arm. Eyelids fluttering, he was already finding it difficult to keep himself conscious.

A thunderous yet oddly soothing roar sounded from above them, as if pleading for him to not black out. But Keith was unable to move his head at all to make eye contact with Red. When he attempted to move any of his limbs, it was if his mind registered nothing. It took every ounce of mental energy to keep himself from feeling the fear; now was not the time to think about whether any of this was going to be permanent.  

His Lion’s steady growl reached him. 

Please, hang on. I cannot get us out without endangering you. 

Help is on the way.

He depended on his connection with her fiery spirit, doing his best to push past the agony. In his mind, he affirmed how she could not use her magma beam or blasters without the risk of rockfall into the ravine itself - especially since he was utterly immobile.

Hunk sped to the location atop the mountain, where Red was standing guard. Both the Lions began to communicate, briefly chattering before Yellow informed Hunk that Red’s link with Keith could still be felt, albeit extremely faint. 

Immediately, he got hold of his bayard, inserting it into the panel on the right side of Yellow’s dashboard. With the power-up, his Lion clawed through the discerned part of the mountain that was both near enough to Keith, and stable enough for Hunk to get through without the ceiling caving in on him.

Dashing through the carved out tunnel, Hunk picked up on a distinct noise echoing through the place. It was howling, coming from somewhere below. Kosmo’s cries were eerily mournful, alluding to how dire the situation was.

Keith was barely conscious, but picked up on Hunk’s horror as the latter performed a quick scan of his vital signs. 

“That’s….a whole lot of broken limbs,” he just about made out the words coming from his teammate.

He felt himself being placed on a portable stretcher: the kind that was Altean handiwork, collapsible and necessary to have in storage in each of the Lions. Everything went dark afterward, putting an end to the throbbing pain that he’d much rather forget he ever experienced. At least for now.