#i will physically punch my computer next time i see a post about how keith is abusing allura by not suddenly ceasing to speak to her

[sp4c3-0ddity]

i actually wrote college AU fluff that’s gen, for once. i would like to thank everyone in the Pidgance Positivity Discord for enabling my chemist Hunk headcanons

and I would like to apologize to Hunk for having to deal with Lance in lab

Read it on Ao3

or read all ~2500 words below!!

Hunk regretted telling Lance his lab section number approximately three minutes into the first experiment.

“Hey, Hunk,” Lance said from his own hood, “can I borrow your scoop?”

Hunk, scanning his procedure for the third time since he wrote it, glanced towards him and asked, “What’s wrong with yours?”

Lance held up the metal scoop. “It’s got these white spots on it,” he said, pointing to one. “What if they contaminate my experiment?”

Hunk raised an eyebrow, surprised by Lance’s concern, but rather than pass over his own scoop, he took Lance’s and looked at it more closely. “Uh, Lance,” he said, “these spots are calcium carbonate.”

“Which is…?”

Hunk pinched his lips together and carefully asked, “How the heck did you pass general chemistry?”

Lance stared at him for a beat before snatching the scoop out of Hunk’s hand and walking over to the sink, mumbling something about all his friends being jerks. And Hunk took advantage of his temporary absence to start setting up his experiment.

“You doing okay, Hunk?” Shiro, the TA, asked when he came over.

“Yep,” Hunk said. Now he held the separatory funnel in his hand, prepared to shake it.

“And you, Lance?” Shiro prompted.

“Peachy,” said Lance.

Shiro crossed his arms as he eyed Lance. “Then why aren’t you wearing your safety goggles?”

Lance’s separatory funnel almost slid from his grip, but he recovered it before it could fall. “I’m fine though,” he said.

“Then make sure you stay that way by putting on your goggles.” Shiro patted Lance’s shoulder as he passed, approaching another pair of students in the middle of their experiments.

Lance looked at Hunk. “You…wouldn’t happen to have an extra pair of goggles I can borrow, do you?”

Hunk sighed as he vented gas from his funnel and set in place, turning the stopper and draining the bottom layer of fluid. “I thought I reminded you to bring your own pair.”

“Yeah, well…I forgot. And then I thought hey, at least I avoid those red lines I get after lab.”

Hunk rolled his eyes. “Lance, one day you’re gonna be that guy that people tell stories about.”

“Sounds good to me,” Lance said, already busy with draining his own separatory funnel.

They worked in blessed silence for a good few minutes, at least until Lance said, “Hey, Hunk, I think I threw the wrong layer away.”

It wasn’t that Lance was completely inept, exactly. It was that Lance was inept at certain things…like chemistry, and Hunk, for the life of him, could not figure out why the hell Lance chose a major so heavy with it.

“I like marine biology,” Lance said once when Pidge asked him, “and marine biology needs it.”

Pidge, for her part, did not like chemistry and did her best to avoid it, though luckily her interests did not align with it beyond a single semester of general chemistry that she currently procrastinated. “I’ll take it next year,” she said if anyone asked, and then mimed gagging whenever she caught sight of Hunk’s and Lance’s organic chemistry textbooks.

“Chemistry is just applied physics, Pidge,” Hunk told her.

“Well, keep it away,” Pidge retorted, holding her computer over her head as if chemistry was contagious.

Hunk glanced at her computer screen, curious about what she worked on. “Pidge, is that file’s name Mordor?”

“Yup,” she said, glaring at him.

“What is it?”

“It’s the worst coding assignment ever,” she explained.

“And it does…?”

“Well, one does not simply code for Mordor, that’s for sure.”

Hunk took that as a pointed sign that he was invading her privacy and didn’t press her for more details. Odds were it was a differential equation solver…or something like that.

Lance, for once, elected not to participate in their conversation, instead keeping his eyes on the chemistry textbook open in front of him. He pressed his hands to the back of his head, looking focused, at least until Hunk noticed that his eyes weren’t moving and had glazed over.

“What’re you stuck on, buddy?” Hunk asked.

“Huh?” Lance glanced up at him. “Oh, hybridization. Why is a carbon with a double bond sp2 hybridized again?”

Hunk set to explaining, but Lance interrupted him, “Wait, wait, wait. What’s this about pi bonds?”

He looked at Pidge, though he knew beseeching her for help was pointless, and sure enough she focused on her computer again, mumbling something about for loops and iterations.

“You know what?” Lance said after Hunk tried yet again to explain the finer points of hybridization. He stretched across the table until his arms were on either side of Pidge’s laptop, forehead pressed to his open book. “Why don’t we take a break and get some coffee?”

“It’s four o’clock,” said Hunk.

“You don't even like coffee," Lance said.

Hunk looked between his friends:  from Lance, unfocused and annoyed, to Pidge, frustrated and open to his idea. So, despite the knowledge that he and Lance had a midterm in two days, he agreed.

“See, Hunk, here’s the thing,” Lance said as they left the lecture hall, their exam behind them, out of sight and out of mind, at least until the professor graded it. “This isn’t the right kind of chemistry.”

“Oh, yeah?” said Hunk, raising an eyebrow at him. “What’s the right kind then?”

“Well, you know…” Lance waved a hand dismissively. “The kind you have with someone, like romantic chemistry. Like what you and Shay have.”

Hunk rolled his eyes and said, “For the last time, Shay is just a person I met and admire.”

“She gave you a rock,” Lance pointed out with a smirk.

“She’s a geology major,” Hunk said.

“It was a very pretty rock,” Lance said. “There were those crystals on it.”

“Quartz.”

“See?” Lance elbowed him in the side. “You even remember! And I know for a fact you keep it on your desk.”

“All right, fine,” Hunk said with an impish smile of his own. But before Lance could gloat about being correct, he added, “I admire the rock she gave me too.”

“You—” Lance lightly punched his arm, and they both laughed.

Lab got even worse after the midterm when Keith switched into their section.

“What happened that you had to switch this late in the semester?” Hunk wondered.

To his amazement, Keith flushed red and admitted, “I…went out with the TA.”

Lance’s jaw dropped, and Hunk stared at him incredulously. “Like…on a date?”

“Yes,” Keith said tersely, but from the way he very pointedly set up his experiment without even glancing towards Hunk or Lance, he refused to speak further on the matter.

“Now Keith and his old TA had chemistry,” Lance grumbled under his breath.

“We have chemistry now,” Hunk said when he noticed how far behind Lance was in his experiment. He’d only just finished setting up his reaction in the sand bath, but Hunk’s was nearly done, the color inside the flask already changing.

To be fair, today’s experiment was fairly short.

But within a few weeks, Hunk noticed a pattern emerging:  Keith finishing first, and Lance’s work turning sloppier while he tried to catch up.

“You know it’s not a race, right?” Hunk told him.

“I know but I’m still gonna win,” Lance retorted as he scooped his reaction’s product onto a piece of weigh paper while it was still damp.

“You’re gonna get over a hundred percent yield if you weigh it like that,” Hunk pointed out.

“Even better.”

“So you’re okay claiming to create matter?” Hunk asked.

“Shiro doesn’t care,” Lance said. He put the paper on the balance and, without waiting for it to stabilize, jotted a number down in his notebook. “He only cares that we have a number.”

“Okay, this is true,” Hunk conceded, “but you do know that scientific accuracy is kind of…important?”

“Oh, now you sound like Pidge.”

Hunk rolled his eyes and gave Lance up for a lost cause, but he had his revenge when he ‘forgot’ to reply to a text message asking him to correct his post-lab report.

Somehow, Lance survived the lab that semester with decent grades on all of his reports – though Pidge predicted that it was all thanks to Hunk.

“You’re not even in our class,” Lance grumbled.

“I don’t need to be there to know it’s true,” Pidge retorted.

“Well, Pidge, I guess I can’t see that movie you wanted to see on Friday after all,” Lance threatened, arms tightly crossed.

“That’s okay,” Pidge said, sounding unbothered. “I’ll take Matt with me instead since he’s visiting.”

Lance narrowed his eyes at her. “Then I’m changing my Netflix password.”

Pidge’s eyes snapped from her physics textbook to his face. “You take that back!”

“Only if you take back what you said about Hunk enabling my grades!”

“Why would I take back the truth?” Pidge demanded. “What are you, the Catholic Church?”

“Oh, comparing yourself to Galileo again? How high and mighty of you, Pidge!”

“You understood that reference?” Hunk wondered, interrupting their budding argument and surprised despite himself.

Lance gestured towards Pidge, who rolled her eyes before returning her attention to her studying. And he said, “She’s used it before. I’m just adapting to her.”

“Then why can’t you remember what the Grignard reaction is?” Hunk asked, pointing to the organic chemistry notes spread out over the table between them. “We’ve been over it so many times.”

“Grignard?” Lance narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “That’s the one with manganese, right?”

“Magnesium,” Hunk corrected, “but that’s closer than your last guess.”

Lance grinned. “Ha, I’ll ace the final then. Wait and see, Hunk.”

“There’s a really big difference between manganese and magnesium,” Pidge then pointed out. “I don’t have to have taken chemistry to know that.” But when both Hunk and Lance glared at her, she smiled sheepishly and added, “But good job, Lance.”

“Thanks, Pidge,” Lance said wryly. “I guess I won’t change my Netflix password after all.”

They had assigned seats during the final exam, so Hunk didn’t have to deal with Lance’s leg bouncing and vibrating the whole row of desks. But he did have to deal with the stress of seeing Lance finish before him, and wonder if he managed to answer every question on the exam or simply gave up.

Then again, it wasn’t like Lance to give up, even if he had no skill at something, which, well… They’d studied together every day for hours at a time for almost two weeks, and though Lance spent half that time distracted by one thing or another – usually a game on his phone or a conversation with Pidge – he still learned something.

Probably.

Hunk ignored the anxious churning in his stomach as he returned his focus to the exam. He thought he’d paced himself quite well so far, but between the time on the clock and the questions he had left to answer, he started to doubt himself. It didn’t help that someone in the row in front of him kept swearing under his breath.

Chair, and…a boat, Hunk thought as he drew cyclohexane in its two most stable molecular configurations. He was careful to count sides on each shape, to make sure that the hexagons had six corners and the pentagons had five.

He would not lose points on mistakes that wouldn’t have happened if he’d paid more careful attention to detail.

Name the following organic compounds. Easy, Hunk thought.

Propose a synthetic pathway between the reagent and the product. Oh, and this one had suggestions.

By the time Hunk reached the last question, he was grinning, feeling better about this particular exam than he had about anything in the last eighteen weeks of the semester…at least until Shiro called time.

Hunk glanced up at his lab TA before writing his best guess for a question he’d barely scanned, then, after passing the paper over to the TA that collected them, he mentally calculated what his score would be based on questions he knew he got correct.

Well, at least he would pass, right?

Hunk walked with Keith out of the lecture hall; he tried to ask him what he got for that last question, but Keith said, “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Why?” Hunk wondered, eyebrow raised. “Did your girlfriend tell you what was on the exam?”

“No!” Keith said quickly. “I just don’t like talking about exams after the fact.” He crossed his arms, and after a beat added, “And the TAs don’t know what’s on the test until we do.”

“I knew that,” Hunk said. “Shiro refused to tell us anything.”

He and Keith parted after that, and Hunk met Lance at the cafe on campus, where Pidge waited for them at a table in the corner. “What time did you have to get here to get a table?” Hunk asked her.

Pidge didn’t look up from the old history exam she held in her hand when she replied, “Two minutes ago.”

“Seriously?”

“Right on the hour, when people go to class.”

“Nice,” Hunk said appreciatively, sitting down right as Lance joined them with three drinks:  hot chocolate for Hunk, who didn’t enjoy coffee, black coffee for Pidge, who didn’t like milk, and iced coffee for Lance, who didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘cold’.

“So how do you think you did?” Lance asked Hunk.

Hunk sipped his drink, considering. “Not too bad,” he said. “I think I’ll get at least an eighty percent.”

“Not too bad?” Lance said. “I’d kill for that.”

“You’ll pass,” Pidge said after shooting a brief glance at him. “You’ve been studying your ass off.”

“Look who finally noticed all my hard work!”

“Your lab report grades might bring you down though,” Pidge continued as if she hadn’t heard Lance. She stared straight at him as she emptied three sugar packets into her coffee and drank deeply from it.

“I got decent grades on those,” Lance whined.

“Shiro’s an easy grader then,” Pidge said. “I saw your reports, and I may not know what half those molecules are called, but reports are supposed to be easy enough to follow. And yours were kind of—”

“Don’t say it, Pidge,” Hunk beseeched her.

“—sloppy.”

Hunk sighed, but to his surprise Lance admitted, “I guess I could’ve done better, but I would’ve done a lot worse without Hunk’s help.” When Hunk threw a glance at him, he added, “I was in good hands.”

“That’s true,” Pidge agreed.

Hunk smiled, glad Lance could confess to needing his help in regular conversation, but the smile disappeared when Lance said, “Oh, yeah, that reminds me:  which section are you taking next semester?”

Hunk wondered if it was too late for him to drop out.

[verbumincarcerem]

Invictus (NSFW)

 Warning: Dub-con 

“I don’t like this,” the rebel said. Her eyes were narrowed behind her mask, though none of the others could see. They didn’t have to. The strain in her voice was clear.

“We have our objective,” the blade in the co-pilot seat reminded her. “Hold steady on the trajectory.”

“We’ve been searching this sector for weeks and found nothing. Doesn’t anyone else think it’s a little too convenient that we get a little blip on the map after all this time and then nada?”

The rebel’s co-pilot was silent. So were the other two Blades of Marmora sitting pretty in the hold.

“We have to know,” a voice said from behind her. “Lotor could be here.”

“Knowledge or death,” a second voice responded. The others murmured agreement.

The rebel murmured something entirely different. “Death looks likely.” But she continued piloting her ship forward, intent on seeing the mission through. The blades were more than capable, she knew that, but she also preferred to work alone. Though when Princess Allura had asked her to smuggle the blades to their next mission point, the rebel found she couldn’t refuse. Allura never gave her the chance.

“The coalition is growing bit by bit every day,” the princess-turned-paladin had said. “If we want to keep this momentum going, then we have to present a unified front. All of us.”

The rebel thought about asking why she had to get with the program yet Keith didn’t, but Allura had taken her by the hands and spoke with the most entreating voice in her arsenal. No doubt taught to her by her late father to inspire the masses when it was her time to take the throne. “Please, Melody. I know we haven’t always agreed on tactics and your supply runs are important, but the blades need a covert ship for this mission and an even better pilot, one that’s cool under pressure. Lotor hasn’t been spotted in weeks, and finding him is a top priority. Please, will you help us?”

How could she refuse? Yet now, the rebel wished she had. A mission that was meant to be a stop and drop on her part had turned into a two-week-long, wild goose chase. Her ship had changed from feeling crowded to claustrophobic much sooner than today.

Tense silence followed, slowly loosening through the hour. Melody kept scanning the star map on her screen, matching it to the show of blackness and stars unfurled outside her cockpit. The Galran blades were a quiet yet formidable force at her back. They were nearing closer and closer to uncharted space, areas that not even the Galra Empire had yet to breach, and she wondered if the blades were as concerned by that fact as she was.

A blip sounded again from the ship’s computer, and the star map flashed a brief point of red before falling silent again.

“We’re being led,” the rebel stated unnecessarily.

Her co-pilot leaned forward, arms braced on powerful thighs. At last, he said, “Adjust course and get us there, smuggler. We’ll work on turning the prince’s plan against him.”

“There’s no guarantee that it’s him.” But the rebel said it only perfunctorily.

Her eyes flicked to the silver drone hovering in the corner, away from the blades. Shaped like a dodecahedron-icosahedron compound, the repurposed Galra drone had been oddly quiet on this trip, unused to the additional company. “What do you think, Bit?” she asked the drone.

The drone bobbed in the air, then suddenly morphed into the second stellation of an icosahedron, flashing red. “No,” it said in a high-pitched, synthesized voice before resuming its original shape and color.

“Are the blades crazy as ever?”

“Yes,” Bit said, flashing blue as it morphed into an octahedron.

“Will you be mad at me if I listen to them?”

“Yes.” Octahedron, flash of blue.

The rebel sighed but adjusted course. The blade next to her seemed to physically uncoil.

“No, no, no,” Bit said, bobbing and morphing more urgently than usual, clearly upset.

“Sorry, Bit.”

The drone fell quiet, silver and normal-shaped again. It pulled back and pressed itself into the wall, sulking.

Me too, buddy.

A few hours later, the rebel and the blades found what they had been looking for. “The hell is that?” Melody said, leaning forward in her chair. She turned to the star chart before quipping to the blades, “Any of y’all aware you’re missing a planet?”

A blade looked at the chart over her shoulder, seeing the blank spot on the map where the small, green planet in the viewport should be. “Someone’s been manipulating the charts.”

“Easy to do at outskirts like this,” the second blade quipped, coming up behind her, too. Melody felt crowded in, her view blocked completely of everything except what was in front of her. “That’s something we’ll need to—”

The blade suddenly let out a horrible sound—a sucked-in breath, an agonized groan—before collapsing. Melody jumped, twisting in her seat. The co-pilot was gone.

Because he was behind her, jerking his luxite sword out of one blade’s back before turning on the other. Melody drew her blaster, but she was too late to save the blade. The traitor moved too fast. As the last blade fell, hand clutching his slit throat, the traitor lunged for her. She fired a shot, but it went wild as her wrist was caught in a bruising grip and twisted. The blaster dropped from her limp fingers, and she cried out, heart pounding, as he pinned her against the console.

“Nononono.”

Bit flew forward to help her, unarmed, unable to fight back, intending to ram him anyway. The traitor brought his sword down in an almost lazy arc, cutting the poor drone almost in half. It fell to the floor in a burst of sparks, dead.

Melody felt it like a punch in her gut. I can fix it, she thought wildly while another voice said, Worry about yourself, idiot.

She thrust her palm up, connecting under the traitor’s jaw and snapping his head back. A foot connected with his inner thigh—shit, trajectory off—but he barely stumbled back, the grip on her wrist secure. He twisted it further back, and Melody’s body followed to avoid the break.

Then her head was between his hands, and she thought, This is it. But he didn’t snap her neck. Instead, he slammed her head into the console, and she collided impossibly hard, impossibly fast. Pain and pressure exploded behind her eyes, across her hairline, and everything slowed down, her vision turning foggy.

Her body slumped to the floor. She had no control. Her attacker stepped back and watched her black out.

“This should be enough,” he said to himself. “Vrepit sa.”

*

She hadn’t known any of their names or faces. Hadn’t bothered to ask.

This is why I work alone.

And now she was truly alone, without her drone, without backup, on a planet she and no one else allied with her knew existed.

Coming to in a Galran prison cell.

Her head rolled on her shoulders as she tried to sit up straight against the wall she’d been so kindly deposited against. Her shoulders burned, and she groaned as they prickled with feeling, blood rushing to them again. Her hands bound behind her back looked to be the culprits.

She tensed as a Galra spoke, a guard at his post, but she didn’t know what he mumbled.

But she could guess.

The prisoner’s awake.

Another responded. Bring her.

Her cell door opened. A large Galran hand wrapped around her arm, and onward, she was dragged along. Past other cells, most curiously empty, and that worried her. Either few were captured or sent here from other prisons, or worse, they were captured but quickly eliminated.

The corridors were dark, open maws of shadow and dim purple light. When she was led outside the prison compound, the light blinded her even through her mask, sending newfound pain coursing through her skull. She stumbled at the pace the guard set, heard laughter from Galran soldiers scattered around, each one tending to some business or other. 

They can all mind their fucking own. 

Melody thought briefly about going limp, lashing out, running free but quickly quashed the notion. She wouldn’t get far, not like this, and where would she go? Where was her ship? Where was one she could steal that wouldn’t be manned or heavily guarded?

They entered another facility, this one with higher ceilings and grander halls but still so utilitarian. Until they reached the inner sanctum. There, the militaristic style faded, becoming more lavish. Tapestries from conquered alien cultures adorned the walls, and the floor was polished stone, not steel, inlaid with Galran designs.

No, not Galran. Altean.

At the end of the hall was a series of steps before an elevated throne. It was vacant, but kneeling before it was the Blade of Marmora, the traitor.

Melody jerked herself out of the guard’s grip before ramming herself into his side. He stumbled to a knee, and she jumped, tucking her knees as close to her chest as possible and bringing her bound arms under and over. Hands in front of her now, she darted away from the guard, sprinting full tilt toward the blade. He turned, but she tackled him to the ground, hands hitting every part of him that she could reach like she was wielding a sledgehammer.

All too soon, the guard hoisted her off of him with an arm around her neck. The ex-blade’s mask retracted, revealing a bleeding cheek and cut lip. Her restraints had done the real damage. His dagger transformed into a sword as he advanced. “Hold her, and I’ll—”

A laugh, light yet deep, cut him off and made them all freeze in place.

The guard turned toward the entrance, and Melody had to follow, clawing his arm to no avail. “Prince Lotor,” he said, and all three of them fell to a respectful kneel—though in Melody’s case, she was pushed to her knees, legs kicked out from under her and head forced to look down at the floor. “Forgive me this spectacle. The girl’s a slippery one.”

“Then I suggest you tighten your grip, Laxos.”

The prince’s boots did not make much noise crossing to them, his steps muffled in favor of stealth over power. Melody tensed, but he strolled past her and the guard. “Well, well, Commander Tarrok. How long has it been?”

“My prince, I’m happy to be—”

“—since you defected?” Lotor continued, voice perceptively cooler.

Tarrok faltered. “I killed two traitors and have brought you information about the Blades of Marmora, your highness. General Ezor seemed pleased with my initial report. And this girl, she has direct dealings with the paladins of—”

“And I’m supposed to welcome you back with open arms, is that it?”

Melody risked a glance up at Lotor, only for Laxos to force her head down again. She gritted her teeth but contented herself with just listening. She was used to the Galras’ more guttural tones, but the prince’s voice was smooth and sweet, cultured like Allura’s. Dangerous the way the princess’ wasn’t. Her guard was instantly up, her frame rigid as the confrontation continued.

“You betrayed us for the blades under my father’s reign,” Lotor continued, “and now that he is on his deathbed, you betray your old friends in the hopes of earning my favor. Do you know what that tells me, Tarrok?”

A flash of light glinted against a Galran blade. Melody could see the sword in Lotor’s hand if she strained her neck against the hand holding her in place.  

“It tells me you’ll bite whatever hand that feeds you. You’re no better than a rabid animal.”

Lotor lunged, and sword clashed against sword, the clamor ringing clearly through the room. Laxos’ hand left Melody, the guard rising to defend his prince, but there was no need. The ex-blade was a fast and formidable opponent, but Lotor was quicker. In seconds and with fluid grace, he rid Tarrok’s head from his shoulders, the body falling with the luxite blade still clutched tightly in Tarrok’s hand.

Three more guards rushed from the perimeters of the room. Lotor sheathed his sword. “Clean this up,” he ordered before turning toward the last remaining rebel. “What did I tell you about that grip of yours?”

Laxos remembered himself, but before he could hold her down again, Lotor raised a hand. “Take off her mask.”

As she felt the cloth and synthetic mask behind torn away, exposing her face, Melody no longer wanted to look at the prince. Relying on her curtain of dark hair as a shield, she kept her head bowed, eyes locked on the Altaen symbol on the tile directly in front of her.

“So you know the paladins of Voltron, do you?” Lotor sounded amused now. His boots entered her field of vision, but her gaze did not waver, seeing yet not seeing. “I know you understand me. Now isn’t the time to be holding your tongue.”

When Melody refused to speak again, she felt something cold and sharp under her skin, and she flinched at the sudden sting. Slowly, her head rose, guided up by Lotor’s sword until her gaze met his.

Lotor was handsome and cruel in a way that most Galra were not, their features more animalistic, their appeal found in brutal strength and stature. Lotor possessed few of these traits, his skin purple like the Galra, but his ears pointed like… An Altaen’s, Melody realized. In fact, everything from his refined features to the waves of white hair flowing down his back screamed Altaen, though he lacked any markings—but now all the Altaen symbols around made a little more sense. Had Allura and the rest of Team Voltron known? And hadn’t shared with the class? Even Lotor’s eyes weren’t the usual glowing, Galra yellow, but rather distinct irises of blue like her own, surrounded by yellow sclera instead of white. They were sharp, and they were also the primary reason Melody’s blood chilled in her veins.

Because when Lotor saw her face, they widened in surprise and, worst of all, recognition.

“It’s you,” said Lotor, wonder in his face and voice. Then it was gone, replaced by a victorious, predatory grin, his canines sharp and gleaming white. “The one with the pretty eyes.”

His sword pressed closer, causing Melody to strain her body higher to avoid being cut, but Lotor smoothly pulled it away and sheathed it again. “Change of plans,” the prince announced. “Get her cleaned up and on my ship. I leave in an hour.”

Laxos pulled her to her feet, but Melody was numb, her eyes on Lotor’s departing back. She didn’t know the Galran prince, but he seemed to know her, and the thought was terrifying.

That bastard must have hit my head harder than I realized. An empty reassurance. Her mild concussion didn’t explain what she saw, what she’d heard Lotor say. It’s you.

The one with the pretty eyes.

And it didn’t relieve the dread when Laxos passed her off to three new guards—all female—who swiftly led her away.

*

Being bathed by strangers was humiliating enough, but tack on being bathed by the enemy while shackled, and the experience was almost intolerable.

Not caring about the silky feel of the water or its flowery aroma, Melody thrashed in the tub, kicking out at the nearest guard and connecting with her chest. Breath whooshed past the Galra’s lungs, and she stumbled back before growling at Melody.

But it was another that held a knife to Melody’s throat. “Do that again, and we’ll bathe you in blood instead.”

“Kill me,” Melody said, “and the prince will kill you.”

“The prince would understand.”

With the rebel’s bluff-calling failing in the face of the soldiers’ surety, the only choice left to Melody was to let them complete their task. It wasn’t a pleasant experience, her skin scrubbed and shaved and her hair jerked this way and that. All the while, the soldier’s blade was never far, an unsettling reminder and motivator to behave.

Despite her skin feeling smoother and softer than it had in a long time, Melody’s head throbbed with renewed pain, the scented steam in the room worsening her condition instead of improving it. One of the guards tended to the cut on her forehead and, before Melody realized what was happening, plunged a syringe-like object in her neck.

Her hand snapped up to her neck, but the guard had already pulled away, the barrel empty. “What was that? What the hell did you just do?” As she spoke, she felt the pain fade away to nothing, and a touch along her hairline found no trace of Tarrok’s injury.

“Quintessence,” the soldier with the blade supplied. She smiled conspiratorially to the others. “You should thank us. You’re going to need it.”

The other two laughed, the sound more cruel than amused. One kicked Melody’s discarded clothes to the side, mouth curling in disgust. “Let’s get this over with. His highness’ tastes aside, I’m tired of looking at this alien.”

“I’m tired of listening to her,” said the one she’d kicked earlier. She bared her teeth, and Melody fought to not bare hers back.

The process grew more alarming from there, and not just because she was nearing having to face the prince again. The guards roughly massaged oils into her skin before painting foreign symbols in flecks of gold on her shoulders and down her arms. They then dried and curled her hair using a contraption she didn’t want to know the name of. A brief argument ensued about whether they should pin up her hair or not, but in the end, they left it down. Hands raked through the curls to loosen them around her neck and shoulders while strings of gold were woven between the strands and along the crown of her head. They even attended to her nails and cuticles, though no one brought out any nail polish, thank the stars. If they had, Melody was sure she would have cracked and doubled-over laughing in hysteria.  

At last, they draped a white dress over her, the front exposing her legs up to her mid-thigh, the back trailing to her calves. A gold belt was cinched around her waist along with matching heels that laced to her knees, more fashion than function. The final touch was a shoulder guard strapped to her left arm, leaving her right side bare save for the paint, again more ceremonial than practical.

“You guys going for a Greek theme?” she wisecracked, knowing full well they’d have no idea what she was talking about, but it made her feel better. Melody winced as a hand pulled the strap of the shoulder guard even tighter, a clear warning to shut up.

Without another word, they paraded her to Lotor’s ship.

Melody blinked, expecting a Galran battleship. What she saw in its place was a cruiser, sleeker, without the sharp edges most Galran ships were known for, and much larger than Allura’s castle. But she knew it was Lotor’s; the ship featured the same colors as his military uniform: gray, blue, a muted purple, the Galra symbol at the bridge the only splash of orange.

Melody spotted that same military uniform and color scheme on two soldiers chatting outside the ship’s boarding ramp and was taken aback. Like their prince, they were Galra and yet not. One was tall and hulking, her features the most Galra-like, but something was still off. As she got closer, Melody distinguished that it wasn’t so much the pink fur on her ears and face but rather her large, orange eyes. The other was on the exact opposite of the spectrum, barely any Galran traits shining through, her frame wiry and slight, her skin a shocking salmon with large stripes of purple, blue, green, and yellow. A head tail bobbed behind her as she talked animatedly.

“General Exor, General Zethrid,” one of Melody’s guards interrupted, nodding to each in turn before stepping forward with a Galran salute. “We’ve brought the prisoner as Prince Lotor requested.”

“Mmm,” Exor, the wiry one, said, eyeing Melody up and down with a sweet smile. “Looks like he found another one.” She sighed loudly before throwing a teasing look at the other general. “Jealous, Zethy?”

When Zethrid looked at Melody, there was nothing sweet about her. She snorted, crossing her large arms. “Hardly. Look at how breakable she is.”

You’re first, Melody vowed, not backing down from Zethrid’s gaze even though Zethrid was over two heads taller than her. The general wasn’t impressed.

“We’ll take her from here, thank you,” Exor sing-songed, looping her arm through Melody’s. The camaraderie was a false one as the rebel’s hands had been rebound after fitting her in the dress. The two entered the cruiser, Zethrid’s heavy steps following behind them. 

Melody observed Exor from the corner of her eye. This was the general Tarrok had given his report to, the one who had been supposedly “pleased” with him. Watching her now, Melody realized Exor’s was the kind of jovial ruthlessness that was rarely ever anything but pleased. Everything was a joke, everything was amusement. This was the general who had taken every scrap of information Tarrok could give and gleefully considered him of no further use before Lotor had even met him. And Lotor had obviously agreed with her.

Exor’s cheer was dangerous. Melody had no doubt that Zethrid, at her back, was no less so. She would need to take the utmost care while in their company.

Even though Exor seemed determined to distract her with chatter, Melody watched as much as she could, noting corridors and rooms and lifts. Eventually, though, she lost track, having gone into the ship too deeply, everything too new and overwhelming. She was comforted by the fact that a warship like this had to have plenty of personal ships in its hold, perfect for stealing.

She just had to bide her time.

“And this is the bridge!” Exor exclaimed, waving her hand in a wide sweep at the sprawling viewport, the stations scattered around the room, the throne facing it all, once again thankfully empty. “And this is Acxa, and the one with the cat is Narti.”

More Galra hybrids. Narti sported a tail and predominately blue skin. Acxa’s skin was also blue, though lighter than Narti’s, and her dark blue hair was pinned up, revealed pointed ears. Her eyes flicked to Melody, the same color as Lotor’s. Was she half-Altaen, too, or something similar?

Zethrid shouldered past Melody. “Why are you bothering, Exor? She isn’t even going to be up here. Give it a few weeks, Lotor’ll be through with her.”

“A few weeks, huh? That’s generous. I was betting only one. Oh!” Exor patted Melody’s arm. “Sorry, sweetheart. I just know how this goes.”

Melody met her bubbly expression coolly, amending her initial target.

“Four days,” Acxa supplied, not even looking up from her console.

Exor turned expectantly toward the last general. “Narti?”

Narti didn’t falter in her work in the slightest, didn’t react to Exor’s request at all. But the cat on her shoulder raised its head and hissed in their direction.

“Ouch, that’s so harsh,” Exor mock-lamented. She put a hand over her mouth like she was whispering a secret to Melody, but her voice carried. “She says you’ll be disposed of by tomorrow.”

Never mind, Melody thought as Exor led her away to another part of the ship. You’re all next.

Starting with the prince.

*

Melody did not like the room Exor locked her in.

It was clearly Lotor’s quarters. No one else besides royalty would have quarters this lavish on a military vessel, though it still wasn’t overly garish, just elegant. It was also neat, everything in its proper place, seeming barely lived in if not for the personal touches here and there. Melody didn’t take the time to study every corner, to appreciate every beautiful thing. She didn’t even sit down.

She wasn’t dumb or naïve. She knew exactly why she’d been brought here. It’s you. Knew exactly why those guards had laughed. You’re going to need it. Knew exactly what Exor had meant. Looks like he found another one.

There was a dresser in Lotor’s chambers. The only thing significant about it for Melody was its sharp edges. She rammed her restraints against it, every clang of metal against metal helping organize her thoughts. Clang! Traitors in the Blade of Marmora. Clang! Get off the ship. Clang! Report everything back to Voltron. At last, they broke, her hands springing free. She whirled, hunting for a weapon.

But Lotor clearly kept his weapons elsewhere, for there were none to be found and nothing to get creative with. Frustrated, she turned to the wall panel by the door, remembering the hacks she knew and the ones Pidge had taught her. If she couldn’t run now, perhaps an opportunity would present itself later. It would help to know what she was working with.

Before she got there, the world tilted beneath her feet. Melody stretched out an arm and caught herself from falling just in time. Leaning against the wall, she breathed deep, her heart pounding loud and fast in her ears.

Uncommonly fast.

At first she thought the ship had shifted, but the spinning sensation grew worse and worse. Her breath quickened to match her racing heart, and closing her eyes for balance didn’t help a wit. She slid down the wall, resting her head on her knees, the train of her dress bunched up behind her. Every sensation, every sound and touch, felt more intense and vivid, but at the same time was detached from her. She opened her eyes to find the edges of her vision darkening. What was happening to her?

She lost consciousness before she found the answer.

*

A warm, slow caress upon her inner thigh. A teasing brush of velvet against her neck. A foam-like softness beneath her. Melody came to with a feeble groan and tilted her head back, welcoming whatever was making her feel so magnificent. It was much better than the spinning, which seemed to have stopped, and there was so much warmth.

A deep laugh against her neck brought her crashing back to reality, her eyes flying wide open.

Lotor held himself above her, wearing an appraising expression that was tinged with self-satisfaction. “Enjoy your little nap, my pet?”

“Your what?”

Melody tried to push him off, but the struggle did not last long once Lotor pinned her to the bed.

His bed.

“What did you bastards do to me?” she snarled. She fought to rise and felt the gold strands in her hair pulling from where they were trapped beneath her shoulders and back—but she barely moved an inch. For all the slimness of his form, Lotor was deceptively strong.

“Quintessence,” Lotor replied smoothly, his long, white hair cascading down his shoulders and brushing against her. “A double-edged sword at the best of times. It’s always had a jarring effect on you.”

That was a way of putting it, especially since Melody felt pretty damn jarred waking up in the enemy’s bed, being straddled by said enemy. Not to mention that voice… A good thing her guard was always up; she imagined Lotor could wreak all kinds of havoc with a few well-placed, silkily-delivered words alone. “Impressive reasoning skills,” she said, “particularly since I’ve never imbibed quintessence before. Well done.”

Lotor smiled lazily. “I finally understand the purpose behind the muzzle now.”

Muzzle? What muzzle? Ah, wonderful. If Zarkon had been homicidal, Lotor was crazy. Must run in the family.

But his eyes never once wavered from hers, honing on them with singular intent. His wasn’t the gaze of a madman but one that was calm and methodical. Cunning and assured in victory. Doubt crept up her spine. Melody hoped it didn’t show on her face.

Lotor continued, his voice low. “It satisfies me to know that the rest of your features live up to the beauty of those eyes of yours. I’ve wondered for so long.”

“The prince of the empire has spent his time wondering about a rebel supply runner?” Melody asked, part-incredulous, part-mocking. Again, that unwarranted, disturbing familiarity. How could he claim to know her when she’d never seen a trace of him before now? Better keep him talking. That way he wouldn’t have time for…other things.

“Is that what you’ve been up to lately?” A slight smirk caused his face to sharpen. “Such a disappointing turn from your glory days.”

“What glory days are those?”

Now his smile was bordering on vicious. “You really don’t remember?”

“Remember what?” Melody was getting pissed with how he kept answering her questions with more questions. It wasn’t a charming trait, yet she welcomed the anger, how it caused her heart to pump with strength; it sheltered her from the fear that awoke alongside it.

“You poor thing.” His face inched lower to hers. “What have the druids done to you?”

“Nothing compared to what I’m going to do to you!” Melody cracked her forehead against his nose in a sharp head butt, sending him reeling back. In a flash, Melody had pushed him off and was on her feet. The rebel snatched a spherical object from Lotor’s dresser—cool to the touch but most importantly heavy—and hurled it at his center. Lotor dodged to the side with some quick footwork, and the thing shattered on the wall behind him, more brittle than a Christmas ornament, dissolving like sand.  

Melody moved into his space before he could center himself, fist raised. But he blocked her punch with ease and stepped back from her attempt to sweep his legs out from under him. Melody feinted with a left swing only to bring up her right leg to stab the heel of her shoe into his thigh.

Lotor blocked that, too, and his hand on her leg sent an electrified jolt down her spine. The world spun, and suddenly Melody’s back slammed into the wall, the breath knocked out of her.

“I know your ways well, darling girl,” Lotor purred, boasting no injuries despite her efforts, “and that was uninspired, at best.” He hooked her leg over his hip and pressed tight against her, the hem of her dress hiked up between them. Melody’s face flushed. The heat radiating from him was overwhelming, and she felt every hard inch. He trailed his gloved hand down her leg and hooked a finger in one of the shoe straps on her calf, testing its hold and teasing the bare skin underneath. “These, on the other hand, I find truly inspiring. You wear the color well.”

She knew he meant the gold far more than the white. “Let me go,” she demanded. He had her wrists trapped above her head in one of his hands, but once again the thing that unsettled her the most was how his eyes never left hers.

He watched her closely, so closely. “Giving up already? That’s unbecoming of the Galra Killer.”

Melody was silent, her mouth dry.

She had been right. Wreaking havoc with just a few words. Galra Killer.

“All these pitiful test subjects, running around with gaps in their memories," the prince went on, the politeness of his tone its own brand of mockery. “How much time are you missing, I wonder?” His head dipped, and she felt lips brush her ear. “Or should I ask, who are you missing?”

Lotor’s words triggered memories that she spent a lot of time not thinking about. The departure from Earth she didn’t remember making. The family of aliens who’d nursed her back to health, suffering from injuries she couldn’t explain. She’d been such a savage to them, before finding her humanity again. Two years of her life gone, by her calculation. Maybe her father, too, though she couldn’t be sure. Had he been taken from her, like Pidge’s, or had they gotten separated, maybe on some planet she didn’t know? Was he alive or dead? So many questions she didn’t have answers for, much less any leads. The only things of her father she had was a photograph, some old clothes, and some home movies on her phone, each respectively stored in Allura’s castle and computer.

The only things she had, and this Galran prince’s shot in the dark was more effective as a taunt than he probably realized.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Melody said in the most even, stern tone she had.

But it didn’t matter. Those emotions of loss, panic, fear had to go somewhere, and she couldn’t hide how her body shook with them. Lotor felt every tremor. She watched, horrified, as he wound a gold-free strand of her hair around his finger and fixed her with a look of disarming understanding.

“It must be so hard,” said Lotor, “being one of the few of your species this far from home, bereft of family and loved ones.” The tip of his fine, aristocratic nose brushed hers. “You must be so lonely.”

“You know nothing about it,” she whispered, incensed. “Now get. Off. Me.”

“Do you not understand what I’m offering you?” He pulled back only far enough for her to see him plainly. “All it would take is one word from me, and your loved one could be returned to you. All you have to do is please me.”

And there it was. The reason she’d been brought here, all made up like a doll. Let’s be real honest with ourselves here. A sex slave. That’s what she was.

Except one thing didn’t add up. Why the bargain?

So he doesn’t have to work as hard to make me compliant. But that inner reasoning fell short of the mark, too, because Melody could tell that Lotor had little shortcomings in the realm of sexual fulfillment. It was in the way he moved, how he could read people, all sinuous grace and cunning mind. He was a dream to gaze upon, a dark, wicked one, and ever since he’d started touching her—no, ever since she’d heard his laugh in the throne room—she’d had trouble thinking through her next steps. Reminding herself that he was the enemy helped—until he spoke again. Even now, she wasn’t convinced that the velvety deepness of his voice wasn’t a druid spell in action.

If he was anyone else, Melody would want to fuck him, eagerly. What she couldn’t understand is why he wasn’t already doing it, especially since he held all the power to do so. Why offer her a mutually beneficial deal?

“I can tell you don’t believe me,” Lotor said, reaching into his uniform, “so take this. A gesture of good faith.”

Between his fingers was a small, circular disc, barely larger than an American half-dollar coin. Pressing a seamless button in the center, Lotor settled the disc flat on his palm, and Melody watched, mesmerized, as a small hologram came to life.

And there, in monochrome colors of magenta, was— “Dad!” she breathed, the word flying from her as if it’d been sucker punched out of her. She could almost swear it had been. Despite everything, Lotor had managed to blindside her using the one thing she didn’t believe he could possibly know. Why did he why did he how did he?

Even though she felt him watching her instead of the hologram, she took in the sight as if it were the last thing she’d ever see. Her father, in threadbare, shapeless clothes, a restraining collar around his neck. He toiled away at some menial task before a Galran soldier appeared, shoving him on. He’s alive, she thought, relieved but also terrified. And he’s definitely not on Earth. Melody’s chest physically hurt as she watched. Her dad had never been an overly large man, but now… He’s gotten so thin. So alarmingly thin.

“Where did you get this?” Melody couldn’t tear her eyes away, and suddenly that single question beckoned more and more. She started to struggle against his hold on her again, trying to get to that disc. “Where is he? Is he alright? How did you—”

Lotor crushed the disc in his hand, the hologram fading away in a jerking burst of static. The pieces fell to the floor one by one, and Melody was stunned as Lotor dusted his hand off on his jacket. “All that and more will be answered.” He trapped her chin between his fingers, his body leaning hard against hers. “But first you’ll have to agree to our bargain.”

How could she agree to this? But how could she not? Lotor already knew her answer. The way his lips curled up at the corners said so.  

“Smile while you can.” Her eyes burned with fury and unshed tears. “I’m going to get him back, and Voltron’s going to tear this whole empire of yours apart.”

“Ah, yes, the paladins. We do need to discuss that as well, you and I.” Lotor skimmed his lips slowly up her neck, then along her jawline. Melody sucked in a sharp breath, horrified that she couldn’t stop him. Horrified with how her defenses crumbled and her body ignited with heat. That one little motion felt so good. He felt so good. “But I tire of talking business. Do you agree or don’t you?”

Galra Killer. She tried to hold on to that tidbit of information he’d given her, finding unexpected strength in it, but Lotor’s mouth was doing sinful things to her neck that made it impossible to think, much else plan a way out of this. His teeth grazed a spot under her jaw that made her back arch while his hand moved to fit inside the curve of her waist.

“Y-yes.” She hated how her breath caught on the word. Hated that she said it, even for someone else’s sake. “I agree.”

She felt him smile against her neck. “I knew you would.” He sighed, hot breath fanning across the hollow of her throat. “At last.”

Melody screwed her eyes shut. She wouldn’t beg, wouldn’t ask him to stop. All she had to do was forget where she was, who he was, and go by sensation alone. It wasn’t at all unpleasant. That was the sickening part. It doesn’t have to be real for me, she reminded herself. Just real for him. Lower his guard. Get what I need. Escape.

Lotor suddenly jerked her chin forward and said, “I know what you’re doing. Look at me, slave. I want to see those pretty eyes.”

She would not. She could forget who he was if she kept her eyes closed. Could hate him easier by imagining the worst.

“Reneging on our bargain already?”

Her eyes opened at the threat in his voice. “No.” Then she tried something else. “I’m just…not sure what to do.”

“Really?” Lotor arched a brow at her, but when she didn’t break, the disbelief and hardness in his features vanished. “Then I’ll show you.”

He drew her into a kiss, no chaste, little thing, but something deep and languid. The taste of Lotor in her mouth was overwhelming, all sensuality and spice. Every stroke of his tongue against hers caused her head to swim. Dimly, she realized she was being lifted, both of her legs now wrapped around his waist, and carried back to the bed.

His fangs scraped and tugged her bottom lip as he lowered her down, and she gasped as electricity shot down her spine, lifting the hair on her arms and making something low in her stomach jump.

"So that's how those eyes look, darkened with pleasure. How I’ve imagined it, and yet…” A feather-light caress grazed her cheek. “You're exquisite."

“Why so obsessed about my eyes, prince?” She wasn’t sure why she asked. She didn’t care. She was going to escape. But right now, while everything was going so far out of her control, she clung to something halfway normal, in this case her dry insight. “Yours are blue, too.”

Lotor only smiled as if she’d amused him and started divesting her of her clothes. The shoulder guard went first, tossed across the room, then the belt, and finally the dress. Heart pounding, Melody was completely bare before him, save for her shoes, the jewelry in her hair, and the paint on her arms. Face flaming red, she reached down to unstrap the heels, but Lotor stopped her.

“No.” His gaze raked over her slowly, from head to toe, taking in every curve, every imperfection. Lingering on the bit of loveliness the gold accents brought to her pale skin, how the heels laced up to her knees lent a glamorous wantonness to her otherwise stripped form. With stark hunger in his eyes, he began taking off his gloves, one finger at a time. “Leave them on.”

And suddenly, the reality of what was happening, what they were about to do, crashed into her with the force of a tidal wave.

What the hell was she doing?

I can’t do this I can’t do this—

Panic threatened to overwhelm her and oddly brought acute lucidity along with it. She thought herself insane. Insane to agree to this, insane that she’d allowed him to touch her, to kiss her, to strip her without even fighting back—

His warm, bare hand upon the curve of her hipbone silenced all discordant thought. Even humoring suspicions that druid magic lurked in his hands evaporated as he skimmed his palm upward, the skin he touched coming alive in ways the rest of her could only brace for in anticipation.

Melody shivered as Lotor traced circles on her stomach before gliding up. She grasped the sateen sheets as he kneaded her breasts. It was either that or strike him, but she rationalized the sense in refraining. She feared any attempt she made would be foiled along with her reasons for…indulging in this. Her thoughts scattered as every graze of his thumbs against her nipples sent aftershocks coursing through her. Lotor lowered his head, and she groaned while he tended to them with his mouth, teeth scraping the swell of flesh, mouth sucking and biting one pert nipple then the other.

By the time he was done, Melody was shaking, keeping herself from making any sounds that betrayed how incredible Lotor was making her feel, even as that spot between her legs ached deliciously.  

"There's just something about you Earthlings,” Lotor taunted between kissing a trail up to her collarbone. “So sensitive to pain, to ecstasy, and yet so very resilient.” His hand tangled in her hair, guiding her head up to meet his complacent smirk and half-lidded eyes. A gold strand fell loose to dance against her shoulder. Lotor tugged it free before guiding its long, cool length against her skin. “You're a worthy people to conquer."

“Then what are you waiting for? Do it!” She’d expected him to take her hard and fast and then discard her; all this teasing wasn’t something she’d been prepared for or could stand against. “Lotor, please.”

His mouth whispered against hers, commanding. “Say it again.”

“Lotor, please. Enough with the teasing, please.”

“Careful with how sweetly you beg, slave,” he murmured, “or I’ll grow addicted to the sound.” He drew her into a devouring kiss, and she held onto him, one hand fisted in his coat, the other in his silky hair. Lotor broke the kiss with a laugh. “What a sight you make. Breathless, flushed, and so eager. The savage Galra Killer, tamed and at my mercy at last.”

Am I?

Melody fashioned an inviting smile upon her lips and raised herself up. “I suppose I am eager—to fulfill my end of the bargain.”

Something in Lotor’s eyes shifted, but he tossed the gold aside, sat back on his haunches, and watched her slide his coat off his shoulders. Removing the shirt was trickier, but Lotor helped her along, smug beyond belief as she threw herself into her role, worshipping the planes of his chest with her mouth, her nails scratching along his abdominal and back muscles. Melody was proven right again. Sex with Lotor was easy, undeniably pleasurable, a large part because he was so intoxicating.

She didn’t know just how much until his pants and shoes were gone, and he’d sheathed himself inside her with one long, slow stroke.

Her back arched completely off the bed, a throaty moan breaking free at last. Lotor’s hips rolled, a smooth movement of predatory grace, and the rhythm he set was hard but slow, as if he didn’t want to miss any of the pleasurable sensations he was drawing from her body. It drove her wild with need, and she fought him now, not to stop, but to go harder, faster.

“Very good, little rebel. Moan for me.” He held himself up by holding her down with a hand around her throat. He could see as much of her as she could of him, every flex of muscle, ripple of flesh, and drop of sweat. “Moan for your future Emperor.”

From that moment on, she did anything he demanded of her, was willing to do anything if it meant she could be sated. But while Lotor had been the one to set her on fire, he did not seem overly in a hurry to put that fire out. Every time she felt her release hurtling towards her, he would sense it, denying her what she wanted with a cruel laugh. Hoping to please him and be returned in kind, she even allowed herself to be forced to her knees to take him in her mouth—but even after that, he denied her. Murder shone in her eyes more clearly than when they’d fought, and though he just as plainly sensed the danger, the only emotion he betrayed was feral delight.

At one point, he rolled onto his back to let her ride on top, and she thought finally—finally—she could take control and end her torment. But Lotor watched her lazily, smiling, his hair fanned out behind him in disheveled waves that was entirely her doing. His purple skin wasn’t the least bit flushed even while beads of sweat trailed down his neck and chest. Utterly unbothered while she was completely out of control, out of her mind. He gripped her by the waist, slowing down her thrusts, and met her with his own, the sole master of both of their pleasure once again.

Melody almost expected him to be able to do this for days, wondering with dread if this was typical for Galrans or Altaens, when he drew her back against his chest, holding her up with an arm banded around her. Her legs spread wide as he entered her from behind, his pace now hard and fast, and her head fell back against his shoulder, cursing him and murmuring nonsense as the pressure built up again.

“How beautifully you’ve performed.” Only a little strain marred the smoothness of his voice. Lotor wasn’t even out of breath, goddamn him. “I think you’ve earned a reward by now, haven’t you? Hmm, and what have we here?” He swiped a thumb experimentally over her clit, and an embarrassing sound escaped her, her body quivering before she could stop it. Lotor’s lips split into a wild grin. “Oh, I see.” He made her come at last with a few well-timed massages of her clit, and he laughed, delighted, as she fell apart against him, never once breaking his rhythm. He came soon after with a guttural groan and nipped her ear as he pulled out of her.

“Oh, Melody, my perfect pet, my exquisite little slave. You know I can’t let you go now, don’t you?” His arms around her tightened, holding her back against his chest.

“Say it again,” she commanded breathlessly, wanting to hear her name on his tongue. Not realizing he’d known it.

He jerked her back by the hair, purring, “Remember who your master is, pet.”

“What about our deal?”

The hand in her hair squeezed. “Impatient thing. I’ll let you know when it’s fulfilled.”

Not anytime soon, I bet. Fine, then. If he wanted to hedge, there were other ways to get the information she wanted. That disc had only been a copy, she was sure of it. Lotor wouldn’t so casually destroy something that he could use to his advantage later, and though she didn’t entirely know why, he craved advantage over her. Which meant it was somewhere inside the ship’s computer, and she would find it before she left. 

Melody’s heart raced as she felt him growing hard against her again. Despite the gauntlet he’d already put her through, she found she wasn’t yet fatigued at all herself.

And she knew what she needed to do.

“Then let me try again, my prince.”

She raised herself on her knees and turned toward him, crushing her mouth and body to his, one hand cupping his face while the other tangled in his hair. Lotor met her passion with his own, exploring her body with languid determination, as if he had nothing but time to do so.

That passion turned hot and frantic after she stroked a finger along one of his pointed ears teasingly. With a growl and a sudden protraction of claws—ah, there’s the Galra—Lotor roughly pinned her down face-first, and she knew he wasn’t going to take it slow this time.

Throughout the night, Melody felt a world of gratefulness for that earlier quintessence. After their fifth round, it was the only thing keeping her in the game.

*

Narti lost her bet. Two days passed before Melody saw any other part of the ship again, Lotor seeing few reasons to leave his bed much less his rooms. Axca and Ezor lost as well, to the former’s perturbed silence and the latter’s vocal disappointment. Only Zethrid with her gamble of “a few weeks” could be considered the victor, but only by a technicality.

For Melody did not leave Lotor’s side because he threw her away like garbage. She left because she found the information she needed about her father, saw an opening to steal a fighter during mid-combat, and took it in the chaos (some of which was internal and entirely her doing).

It worked only because Lotor had left her alone in his quarters while he assumed command on the bridge. It worked because he believed the ecstasy he gave her every moment he could had made her mindless, but, while debilitating, Melody still held her mind firmly to her purpose. Traitors in the Blade of Marmora. Get off the ship. Report everything back to Voltron. It worked because he didn’t know she knew how to reprogram drones and work around Galran ship’s security servers, even though his were slightly different and harder to crack. It worked because she’d given him her body and made enough of a show of it that he believed he’d won her loyalty and blind obedience, too.

That trick wouldn’t work a second time, which was why she was going to make it a point to never see him again. Not just because he would see through it, but because…

She’d given him her body. Sometimes the heart foolishly went with it.

But not this time.

Not even Voltron had that. It belonged to Earth, to her family and her people.

But would it always? Sometimes she was strong, unbreakable. But sometimes she hit her lowest point, and if anyone could find it and exploit it…

Melody shook her head, saying to her latest drone, “Bit, has the castle received our transmission?”

“Yes,” the drone chirped, morphing as it responded.

“Then it won’t be long now.”

“Yes.”

Melody slumped back in the pilot’s chair, tugging at the ill-fitting Galran uniform she’d stolen. No, it wouldn’t be long before she found Team Voltron again—or more accurately, before they found her. Then she could tell them everything she’d learned, about the Blades, Lotor’s leadership style, his combat proficiency. And we’ll leave his proficiency at that. It pissed her off that she could still blush in embarrassment, after everything that she had done with him, what they had both done.

I was coerced. I was out of my mind.

But had she really been?

She looked at the disc between her fingers again, a copy of information stolen from Lotor’s ship. She’d give it to Pidge, and they could begin looking for their fathers together, with a clear direction this time. Securing the disc in her uniform pocket, Melody snuggled down in her chair and closed her eyes.

First she was going the fuck to sleep. Total, uninterrupted sleep. And she was going to forget about the past two weeks and the royal fucking she’d received from that fucking smug bastard of a Galran royal.

Galra Killer.

Her brows furrowed, and she tossed in frustration.

Like it or not, it was time for her to stop avoiding the past and to start asking the right questions. Fortunately, she didn’t need Lotor any longer for that.

She needed Shiro.

[tiredrobyn]

1o3o1 replied to your post “I wanna write some sheith, anyone have any prompts?”

Keith trying to prove Kuron isn’t real with Garrison & Earth memories.

@1o3o1 I hope this satisfies!

Keith knows. He does.

It’s the way he stands, like a commander, above his troops. It’s the way he leads, unwilling to share the reigns with Keith. It’s the way he smiles, like he remembers doing it, but can’t quite remember why.

The way he looks at Keith, with warmth and faith and-

The way he seems to love him, without any reservation. It’s like Shiro, but who doesn’t quite know how to be Shiro, like he’s missing something.

So Keith searches.

 “Do you remember,” he starts, sitting on the floor of the training room, “the first time you followed me when I sneaked out of the Garrison?”

Shiro pauses in in wiping the sweat from his brow, and his smile widens, genuine. He chuckles a bit, eyes crinkling from mirth. 

“Of course, how could I forget? I thought you were just getting some air, which I understood, because of the pressure of being the Garrison’s pilot prodigy,” he winks, and Keith rolls his eyes. “But then you kept walking further away, and just when I was about to call out to you, you pulled out a hidden hoverbike, of all things!”

He’s smiling as he sits down next to him, and Keith swats at his leg playfully.

“Shut up, I wasn’t just going to leave it, I’d earned that thing.”

“Yeah, in a completely legal and legitimate way,” he says dryly, and Keith shrugs innocently, making him snort.

“You were still waiting for me when I got back,” Keith reminisces, eyes on the ceiling, “and I thought for sure I was gonna get kicked out.”

“Are you kidding? If you’d left, I’d never have had a chance to get a ride. Or to see you break all of my sim records, which was just a matter of time.”

“So you’re saying you have no sense of self-preservation. Yeah, I already knew that.”

Shiro laughs, but his eyes don’t lose that soft look as he looks down at Keith.

“I’m saying that I couldn’t miss the opportunity to be by your side when you’d go even further.”

Keith sits up and puts his hand on Shiro’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. It still hurts him, but Shiro doesn’t notice.

“Don’t lie, we’re the ones always following you because you keep running ahead, asshole.”

Shiro laughs again, and then they stand and leave the room in comfortable silence.

When Shiro turns a corner with a wave and he’s left alone, Keith punches the wall hard enough to dent it.

 “Now that’s what I call a winter fantasy,” Lance whistles, looking at the planet in front of the castle, completely covered in ice and snow. He then waggles his eyebrows, looking at Allura. “Fancy acting out some of them with me princess? I’ve got a lot.”

She ignores him, looking at the screen in front of her.

“This planet is… peculiar,” she finally says, “I understand why it hasn’t attracted any Galras, at the very least.”

“What do you mean?’ Asks Pidge, already curious.

"Does that mean we won’t be able to have an actual snow ball fight?” Says Hunk, and Lance gasps, looking at him with stars in his eyes, and then at Allura, pleadingly. 

She smiles back them mischievously, and they cheer. She then looks back at Pidge, still smiling.

“The outer surface of the planet might be very cold, but under it lays a layer of magma in fusion, that occasionally rises up and erupts above ground.”

This puts a stop to the celebration. In the silence, Keith asks tentatively:

“Isn’t that… dangerous?”

Coran coughs into his hand, straightening his back.

“These eruptions only occur on very precise timing, and according to the computer’s calculations, we still have a… mount, before the next one.”

“A month,” Pidge corrects distractedly, looking over the results with surprising  speed. “This is incredible, the lava and the ice are separated simply by a layer of dirt and sand that turned into glass from the heat, and then shatters when it comes into contact with the cold of the surface. If we were able to get a sample of that material, maybe we could–”

As Lance and Hunk pale at the idea of a planet covered in broken glass, Keith looks at Shiro,who meets his eyes with an amused look. It’s an intimate glance, heavy with the memories of the two of them tuning out Matt as he droned on about whatever scientific mystery held his attention at the time. He’d pace the room he shared with Shiro while the two of them laid on Shiro’s bed, holding hands and occasionally sneaking a kiss when Matt was distracted, until they inevitably got caught and then had to suffer his lecture on PDA while he was trying to have a conversation.

It’s a precious memory, something that kept him warm when he was alone in the desert, and Keith has to look away because it’s too painful. He catches Shiro’s confused face, but it doesn’t stop him from walking out.

 There’s blood dripping into his eyes, and Shiro is yelling in the comm link. The other’s are yelling too, but his voice is the loudest. But it’s always been that way to Keith.

“Keith! Keith, are you alright? Keith!”

“’M fine,” he groans, and the collective sigh of relief he hears from his companions brings a smile to his lips. 

“Keith, you didn’t have to be so reckless, Lance could have handled that attack.”

“Not without some heavy damage, he can’t control the red lion perfectly yet.”

“Like you can talk,” retorts Lance, trying to conceal his concern with scorn.

“Keith,” says Shiro again, “you won’t be able to control everything, especially while rushing ahead recklessly. Do you remember the best way to win a fight?”

“Do you?” Challenges Keith, because he hurts too much to be subtle right now.

There’s a moment of silence, and then Shiro speaks again, voice heavy with affection that is completely, utterly sincere. Keith knows that if he could see him right now, Shiro would have that look on his face, the one he has when Keith is being difficult on purpose, full of exasperation that is much, much too fond to be chastising. 

“Patience yields focus, Keith”

Keith closes his eyes and has to cut off his comm for a moment, because otherwise he’ll believe it and he can’t. He can’t.

(He does.)

 They’re attacked by a Galra fleet that has too much information to be coincidental, and when Shiro is physically stopped from attacking a druid by his own body, that’s it.

Keith can’t even pretend like he hadn’t been mourning since the moment they’d found him.

He’s in the observation bay, because he’s apparently a masochist with no self-control. The others think he needed to be alone, but that’s not it. He’s waiting, and this seemed like the right place. When the reflection appears in the glass, he doesn’t turn around.

“If you knew,” whispers the clone, “then why did you keep asking all these questions? Why did you keep testing me?”

Keith is silent for a few seconds, looking out into space, unable to appreciate the vastness and wonder of it.

“Because I wanted you to be real,” he finally confesses, quiet like he’s afraid of breaking something by being too loud.

But it’s useless. The heartbreak he sees on Shiro’s face in the glass mirrors his own, and he closes his eyes so he won’t have to see it. When strong arms encircle his waist, he doesn’t fight it, not even when hot tears roll against his neck.

“I’m sorry,” is murmured in a voice so small, it can’t be Shiro’s, and god, isn’t that fucking hilarious?

He’s sorry too.