#juuust in case.. you blink and you miss it i think

[otomiyaa]

Reality

Arthur x Eames (Inception)

[Fic Reupload] - This ship came by on my dashboard and I was like GASP, I've got a fic with those! You'd say this one's ancient but it's from 2020.

Summary: Eames wants to tickle Arthur, and more. In reality, not just in his dreams. That is all. (Also on AO3)

Word Count: 1.8K

His laughter was gorgeous, he thought. His face as he laughed was adorable, he thought. The sound of his laughter was like music, he thought. He also thought that this was all he could work with, for now: Eames and his very own imagination.

“Eheheames! S-stop!” Smirking, Eames pinned Arthur down and tickled his sides.

“Thought you could get away from me, hm? Did you really think so?” Eames teased as his fingers traced the other man’s abs, sneaking under his shirt and poking him anywhere to make him yelp and giggle.

“Nohoho!” Arthur writhed and squirmed to get away from his fingers, but he found something new to tickle with each turn and twist.

“Don’t think so darling,” he taunted when Arthur managed to squirm away juuust a little, and he caught him again and practically almost dove under his shirt to get more skin to feel, and different sorts of laughter to hear.

Ever since meeting Arthur again, it was all he could think and dream of. Heck, it was only a dream. Not reality. Who was Eames kidding? Himself, of course. 

Oh. And Ariadne, it seemed. 

His breath got caught in his throat and he staggered back upon seeing her familiar face as she stepped towards them. With his attacker caught off guard, the adorable giggling Arthur sped away and managed to escape to wherever. Out of sight, at least.

“Mr. Eames?” Eames knew this Ariadne was real. No projection. Very real. He smiled, sighing as he caught his breath.

“Well hello there,” he said, raising his hands in defense. She cocked her head, looking curious and confused about what she just saw, a smile on her face. Well duh.

“Was that..?” She pointed in the direction where Arthur ran off to, and Eames choked out an awkward laugh.

“That? Oh. No, that wasn’t Arthur. No. My projection of him. You see….” He canceled his explanation and glared at her.

“I mean, what are you doing here?” he asked her, cutting off his own explanation. She shrugged.

“I came back to work on some of the layouts. I think I missed some details in the hotel level, and Fischer has to believe it’s real and… Well yeah. I didn’t expect you to still be in here. I thought maybe you were working on our case and came to check,” Ariadne said.

“And I didn’t expect you to be so nosy,” Eames said, still partially breathless from his struggle just now. Thank God he wasn’t dreaming of… other things this time. Guilty of that? Yeah, guilty. 

A smile appeared on Ariadne’s face.

“But honestly, that looked like fun. You should do it for real sometime. Arthur could use a laugh,” she said. Eames blinked.

“Eh that - you mean, yes. Yes - yes - you’re right! He does deserve to laugh some, doesn’t he? I thought so too. Which was why I was trying it out in my dream first. But I guess we can only imagine what his laughter sounds like. What did you think? Believable?” he asked. Ariadne shrugged and thought for a bit while Eames collected his thoughts and calmed down from that insane ramble.

Holy shit. None of that was really true. He came here to tickle Arthur and get off on that shit. He loved the idea of him laughing and writhing at his mercy. Those were the dreams he longed to live in everyday.

It was the only thing that could make him, a renowned Forger, blush and feel embarrassed. To an extent that he didn’t see it was as simple as Ariadne suggested. He could tickle him for real, not just in his dreams. He could tickle him, and it wouldn’t necessarily be weird. If he could control his crotch and every horny vein in his body that is.

“Sorry, what did you say?” he said when Ariadne looked at him with questioning eyes. She laughed charmingly.

“I said, I expect his laugh to be a little more… I don’t know. Pitchy? I could be wrong.”

Eames couldn’t hold back a laugh of his own. “So that’s how you see him?”

He ended up going with her, waking back up again and hearing her out some more. He felt comfortable to talk to her about Arthur. He had an idea she might suspect his intentions, or at least she might have seen a glimpse, but then again she never said anything about it. 

So that evening, they talked about Arthur, for how long he knew him and when they first met, about his serious demeanour, what his real laughter would sound like, and whether he would be ticklish, and if yes, where exactly.

It was the next day when he saw his chance. He was in the building with Arthur and Ariadne, Cobb was working on something with Yusuf, and he could see from the smirk on Ariadne’s face that she just wanted him to try it, and he was thankful for it. For he, Eames himself had been longing to do this for such a long time without wanting it to get too weird.

“Hey, Arthur,” he said to the Point Man who stood hovered over their dream level layouts, studying something.

“Eames,” Arthur said absentmindly, not looking up from his work. Eames smirked and wiggled his eyebrows at Ariadne.

“Look over there,” Eames said casually as he pointed at something random in the distance. He wanted to snicker when Arthut fell for it, looking up to see nothing.

“Wha-?” His moment of distraction was Eames’ chance to sneak an arm around his middle and he instantly clawed at his unprotected side. Arthur jolted heavily in response, a gasp escaping his lips.

“Eames what the -” They struggled for a moment, knocking a few things over as they staggered a little before Eames managed to wrestle him down. 

“Asshole! Get off, the fuck are you.. Hngh!” Arthur jolted again when Eames pinched his hipbone, and he smirked down at him. 

“Tougher than we thought, hm?" Eames looked up at Ariadne who was simply smirking. Sure, Eames had never thought how easy it’d be to hide his guilty desire under the excuse of a simple wish to tease the ever so serious Point Man and make him laugh. Anyone would feel the same.

“EAmes! GEheet ohohoff!” Arthur’s voice shook, the first few giggles broke through his defense, but he remained tough. 

“Ah come on now. Let us hear something nice, Arthur!” Eames teased, and he moved up again and poked at Arthur’s side. Arthur’s body jumped but failed to get out of Eames’ reach, and he hungrily began to claw at both his sides, five fingers clawing at each side. Arthur threw his head back and laughed.

“Fuhuhuck! AHah! I hahaate you!” he cried out. Eames raised his eyebrows.

“Do you now?” he raised his head and winked at Ariadne who looked totally entertained.

“Looks like both of us were kind of right,” she said. His laughter was not exactly like Eames had imagined, it couldn’t really be called pitchy either. though at times Eames would hit a certain sensitive area and Arthur went like “Eeheh!” which sounded totally squeaky.

“Stahahap! The hehehell!” Still confused and overwhelmed by the sudden tickle assault, Arthur continued to squirm and struggle, but Eames was by far not done with him. He tried to ignore his own racing heart and the heat in his body as his hands tugged Arthur’s shirt out of his pants and dove right under.

“GAhah! Eheheames!” Arthur warned, arching his back as he tried to escape ten fingers that crawled over his bare skin now. Eames laughed along with him.

“Yes, darling?” he teased, and he could hear his own voice sounding a bit wheezy as well. He wiggled his fingers against Arthur’s warm skin, tickling his stomach, his belly, his sides and ribs, anywhere he could reach and anywhere he thought could make him let out more of that beautiful laughter.

Arthur’s arms went from flailing helplessly to waving in his direction in weak attempts to knock him off, and at some point he was desperately trying to pry his hands off.

“Quihihit it dahahamnh it!” Arthur laughed. Eames chuckled and looked back up again, then around him. Ariadne was gone. Where had she gone? He looked around a few more times. She really was gone. They were alone right now. In his moment of distraction, he lost some of his control over the hysterical Point Man who by now shoved him away - hard - and managed to roll away.

“Fuck Eames, quit messing around!” Arthur warned angrily as he staggered away from him, but with renewed motivation and strength, Eames went after him and pounced very easily. 

“AHAhah! Shihihit!” In an instant, he had Arthur under him again. He aimed further up this time: his armpits, and Arthur looked shocked, offended and overall awfully ticklish all at the same time by having such a spot tickled by the plotting Forger. 

Shoving one of Arthur’s prying hands out of the way and pushing it up over his head, Eames scribbled at his defenseless underarm, making Arthur howl adorably.

“See, darling? You can be cute. Some more of this and that eternal frown that grew on your forehead’s all gone,” Eames teased breathlessly. 

“Stahahap! Eames -stop!” Well, both Eames and Ariadne had probably never guessed the Point Man to be this ticklish. Eames had wished to try a lot more, but his crush seemed to have reached his limit by far, so he reluctantly ceased the attack, but he remained on top of him as they both caught their breaths.

“You’re a dick,” Arthur managed to say between heavy breaths. Eames nodded.

“Yeah. And?” he said. Arthur looked as if he was blushing, but Eames knew his face probably colored because of all that forced laughter. He shook his head.

“Just… a dick,” Arthur finished. Eames shrugged.

“Yep. Alrighty then.” He finally got up and moved off him, helping him up and patting his shoulder. Even that innocent touch made Arthur flinch and giggle, and Eames melted right on the spot. 

“Damn Arthur,” he hissed, and he pulled him closer and kissed him on the lips. All of his control slipped away in that very last moment. Arthur froze at first, but Eames was happily surprised to feel him respond in a positive way. With surprising strength for someone just tickled to death, Arthur pushed him back against the wall and kissed him back.

Their lips locked, tongues touching, feeling and exploring, and they shared a long, lustful and heated kiss. After which Arthur pulled back, and whispered against Eames’ lips: “Still a dick.” He then very quickly walked away. Eames couldn’t keep the smug smile away from his face. Damn that was good.

“Hey, where are you going?” he called out after Arthur who seemed in quite a hurry to leave, and he went after him. If this was his reality, how had he been living with only his dreams so far? He had some reality to catch up to!

[lightdash]

@badnikbreaker​​: "Sonic!"  The hedgehog's voice rings out, cheerful and excited and impossible to miss — she speeds to his side and skids to a stop, kicking up snow as she does.  Amy's typical sweet cheerfulness is through the roof; clearly, she's excited!!  About seeing him, and about the carefully - wrapped boxes between their mittened hands.  "I wanted to get this to you soon, juuust in case you ended up traveling someplace before Christmas was done!  So — here!"  They hold out the box, cheeks flushed with cold and affection both, smile huge, rocking on their heels.  

Inside is — well, there's quite a bit.  One box is trinkets and sweets, small : homemade cookies, of course.  Homemade chocolates, too.  A few photos, to add to an older gift.  But what has Amy so excited is something else — the other, larger box.

This one is trinkets; some of it's clothes, as if he ever wears them.  More of it is pieces of memories, though.  She's heard Sonic talk, animated and more chatty than he ever is otherwise, about his travels, geography, places he's been and wants to be.  A jacket from Green Hill, the characteristic checkerboard pattern.   A small stone, rough in the way only what once was lava can be, from West Side Island.  A postcard from Soleanna.  Pressed flowers, dried but kept safe, from Kronos Island.  A baseball she'd bought from Station Square with the city's silhouette on the front — and a special, Amy - sewn heart on the back.

A necklace, made from stones from Quartz Quadrent zone in Little Planet, carved and smoothed in a careful heart.  They'd exchanged feelings before names, after all; that moment will always live on in their heart.

And more.  It's...a bit much, they're aware, even by Amy's standards.  But it had seemed right!  Some of the places Sonic has been have been frightening or dangerous, but they're all a part of him and his story — and Amy loves every bit.  They know Sonic does, too.

"You don't have to open them now!  Actually, there's a lot — it might be better to wait until you're home.  But, well — Merry Christmas, Sonic!"  Their smile goes, somehow, sweeter.  "I love you!"

     Sonic can’t be surprised when she arrives unnannounced — her ability to find him, anywhere, is an anomaly he’s long since accepted. And it’s funny, that something he once found bothersome (it was… difficult back then to appreciate the company of others) is now a source of amusement. Comfort.

    “Woah, slow down!” He’s smiling, ready to catch a box or two in the event of them falling. This is how she usually greets him; bubbly and eager, so there’s nothing particularly interesting about it… what is, however, are the presents being offered to him. ‘Shoot,’ he thinks. ‘Christmas.’ It’d snuck up on him, much like everything else since they’d left the island.

    And there’s a part of him (such a small part) that wishes the world could just… wait. Perhaps selfishly. Uncharacteristically. Sonic isn’t one for regrets, but his friends are here, making time, while he’s losing it, and — they smile at him, kind as always. He pushes the thought aside.

     Well… what’s done is done, and he should enjoy this moment instead of lingering on the ones he’s forgotten.

    “This is all for me?” He slides a thumb underneath the lid of the top box to peek inside, and is immediately greeted by the smell of sweetness. An Amy Rose speciality, no doubt; his nose twitches with delight. “Heh… leave it to you.” To make him feel loved.

    Per their suggestion, the larger box would have to wait. He doesn’t want to risk anything being damaged by the snow (a convenient way to save himself some embarrassment). And holding such a display of affection in his hands, with nothing to give in return, he feels a touch of guilt alongside gratitude. Maybe there is something he can give them. Nothing like baked goods or pressed flowers, but….

    It’s quick. The blink of an eye to anyone that isn’t them, but Amy can feel it. A closeness, a warmth, right against the side of her muzzle. A kiss. It’s chaste and tender, the first time he’s ever had his lips on her cheek, and he follows with a soft voice: “Merry Christmas, Amy.”

[punishandenslavesuckers]

Sometimes Jester doesn't smell like where she's been. Sometimes she smells like far, far away. Sometimes she smells like home and Caduceus isn't sure what to feel about that. (ao3)

A fact about Jester that Caduceus doesn’t always mention on the basis he’s not sure if it’s polite to bring up: Jester Lavorre doesn't always smell like where she’s been and that’s weird.

Sure. Okay. Lots of things about Jester Lavorre are weird, but her weirdness is so often an affectation – decorative as her skirts and ribbons. This specifically seems like something she may be unaware of and he’s noticed (because he pays attention) that her propensity to smell like someplace far, far away has a direct correlation to how much magic she’s using in a day.  

They’ve been in their new house for about a week and a half, building various domestic enchantments together, and as Jester lays light into yet another line of delicately strung filigree, he smells the ocean sure as he’s standing on the deck of a creaking ship.

Caduceus glances up from his own application of the light spell, warm yellow flecks of sunlight settling softly into twinkling nodes along a wire. The glow puts a gold dust across the blue plane of her cheekbone, hiding freckles a stripe of light. Her tongue pokes from the corner of her mouth, small and pink against her skin. He can see her tail flipflopping on the floor behind her precisely like an over-stimulated cat’s.

They’re sitting in the small garden enclosure at the foot of their improbable tree. A breeze ripples through the dark boughs, a ripple of leaves shaking loose to drift down on them. The thin lines of wire lay in coils among the roots and buckled stone where the arcane arbor thrust its roots between the stonework and into the architecture of the tower.

“Move, move,” she whispers, reaching across where he’s working to power one of the failing light clusters.

“Kay.” He obliges, letting her duck rather under his extended arm.

The lights sputter, then the glow levels out then intensifies. Jester sits back on her heels and resumes her casting. Enchanting of the domestic variety is, mostly, intuitive but still requires a level of focused discipline he’d been previously dubious she could maintain for this long. Given, she gets whiny and restless and must (much like a cat) take off running around the house yelling at the conclusion of their spellery, but she never flinches during the casting itself.

“Caduuuuceus,” she says, dragging his name out a little between her teeth.

“Yes?”

“I think I’ve got one more spell, but then I’m gonna nap. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“It’s gonna be, like, a big version of the spell, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’m gonna give it my all, so when I do I might get a liiiittle bit dizzy. Can you just sit next to me and make sure I don’t fall over?”

Caduceus frowns. “Well that doesn’t sound great. Maybe don’t worry about it, Jester.”

“No, no! I want to do it!” She flaps a hand at him. “Just come over here, okay?”

Caduceus resolves himself a little hearing that one pitch of her voice that says, through all things, that she can handle herself thank you and please cooperate or else. So he rises and moves to crouch at her left, the bulk of his frame hunched as a wall to lean against. Brusquely and immediately, she grabs his right wrist and pulls his arm around her waist. He waits while she kind of tucks in close and fits his palm to her ribs.

“Juuust in case I fall,” she says.

He put his free hand on her shoulder, squeezing. “I’ve got you. No worries.”

She grins at him, all fangs and pearly in the dark blue of her face. Then she’s hunched and focusing. Her hands circle over the wires in a series of quick counter-clock and clockwise motions, slim fingers proceeding with machine-like precision through quick somatic motions. He can hear her softly saying something as she draws up a deeper well of magic now and slowly the magic builds like pressure with every motion. Light gathers in the dim bulbs beneath her hand, hundreds of small, stacked pin light pulsing, humming, and growing brighter until the flagstones burn like a swarm of fireflies have settled in the tower nest with them.

“Wow,” says Caduceus.  

“Mmhmm,” says Jester. She doesn’t seem like she’s dizzy.

She also smells, suddenly and strongly, like the exact blend of wisteria, jasmine, and rosemary that breezes in from the back of the temple grounds in the late clutch of hot weather just before the turn to fall. He is so surprised, in fact, that he rather forgets that he’s supposed to be doing anything other than staring at the side of Jester’s head and proceeds to do so. As the spell builds so too does the scent of the Blooming Grove, warm and sap-sticky as summer, the light rising from beneath her hands and the smell of home in her hair as heavy as cut grass.

“Jester?”

“Yes?” she says, wiggling happily, gaze completely fixed on her work.

“Do you remember when we sat together in the crows nest? At sea?”

“Yes, I dooo.” She singsongs a little, her hands still outstretched, concentrating on her spell. “Why? Do you want to do more of that stuff? Because I would be super okay with that, you know. Practice makes perfect my mama says.”

“Remember when I told you, that you don’t always smell like where you’ve been?”

She ponders visibly, frowning at the boughs of their tree.

“I mean,” she says, “Yeah, I remember that. Why?”

“I have to ask, because it occurs to me I didn’t last time, can you do that on purpose?”

“Oh. No, I don’t think so. I mean, you know you can’t smell yourself super well, so I can never tell. I just— oh my gosh! Do I smell bad?” She drops her hands and grabs a fistful of her shirt shoving her whole nose and mouth against the bunched fabric, inhaling deeply. “Ahh! I can’t smell anything! Caduceus, you’d tell me if I smelled really really bad right? Like, I know you like smelly fungus stuff sometimes but not everyone else does and I don’t want to smell like Caleb, you know?!”

“You don’t,” Caduceus says, “but I honestly don’t’know why any of you say that. I think he’s self-conscious about it.”

“This is serious stuff, man! I don’t want to stink!” She airs out her shirt a little bit, whining somewhat melodramatically. “Why do you ask? Do I smell weird? What do I smell like?”

“Do you mind if I get closer?”

That seems to catch her attention. She blinks at him, big dark eyes suddenly a little round in the persisting glow of their fairy lights.

“No, of course not. Do whatever, man.” She says that in a tone that must sound very brash in her head, but emerges a little whispery. He scans her shoulder line, carefully, like a gardener gauging the strength of a vine. He eventually raises both hands, moving them up slowly to hover just short of touching her skin, impressing his intention to cradle her jaw. He peers at her, wordlessly and she nods.

So, he fits his palms there framing her face, setting his thumbs against the underside of freckled cheekbones. He leans in, gently drawing her head closer, turning her face so he can easily lean down and press his nose and mouth into her hair. He can feel her blink, the rapid little movements transmitting against the pad of his thumbs. Her hair is touchably soft and smooth, looping between his fingers and silk against his mouth.

He closes his eyes and carefully inhales – jasmine and wisteria, the sweet rot of ripe blackberries and briar. The thick, heady scent of late summer, his favorite part of the year before the extant decay of fall begins to take hold in all the green things. He knows, he know it down to the bones of him that he’s smelling home because in Jester’s hair he smells the strange, rose-like perfume of corpse blossom – the strange and ever mutating strain that breeds sweet and riotous on the funeral pyres behind the temple, deeper in the grounds of the Grove.

“Caduceus?” Jester murmurs.

 “I’m sorry.” He whispers it against her hair. “You smell like home.”

"What do you mean?"

"Like... like you've been walking through my garden back in the Blooming Grove. I can smell that on you. I don't know why."

Jester makes a small noise, then says, wondrous, “I do?”

He nods, moving to lean his forehead against hers for a moment. “I wondered if you’d done it on purpose, because sometimes when you use magic, you don’t smell like where you are. And… I think I’m just a little homesick.”

Jester doesn’t move at all at this admission. He feels her hands unexpectedly gripping his wrists, slender and steely around him, holding his hands there against her skin. Jester leans up a little pressing her forehead more insistently up against him, the pressure a strange relief. She murmurs something and the smell of sap gets stronger, permeating the air as the lights coiled all around them begin to waver and pulse different colors as a gentle cantrip sets them alight.

“Do you want to go home?” she asks, so softly he only barely hears it.

“Always,” he says, “but this is home too, you know.”

“You mean our new house?”

“No.” He pulls back just a little to press a small, careful kiss against Jester’s hair. “This is home,” he assures her. “You and the others. This is home too, okay?”

“Okay.” She lets go of his wrists and instead loops her arms tightly around his middle, crushing herself suddenly against his ribs and saying loudly, “Don’t scare me like that, Caduceus! I thought you were saying you wanted to go all the way back to the Blooming Grove, you know?”

“I know.”

“That’s really far away!”

“I’m aware.”

“Holy crap, I’m all panicky now!”

“I’ll make us some tea. How’s that sound?”

“That sounds good. Lets do that.”

Jester then reached up to take his head between her hands (he has to lean down just a little bit to allow it), then she tugs him down a little and presses a quick perfunctory kiss against the corner of his mouth. He can’t tell if she was aiming for his cheek and missed or his lips and missed, because she had to bounce a little to reach. But it’s beside the point as she catches his wrist and tugs him toward the kitchen, leaving a glowing string of lights on the ground behind them.

[etcwrites]

Missing & Unknown

Lancelot Week Day 2 @lancelotweek

Prompt: love/hate

Rating: General Audiences

Status: Completed

Summary:

Lotor is still new to the alliance and Paladins of Voltron are a touch distrustful. But no worries, Lancey Lance has the perfect solution: A party! (Post S04)

AO3 Link

“Regretfully, I must decline.”

A line appears between Lance’s eyebrows, confusion bleeding into his expression and creasing his otherwise perfect skin.

His immediate response is to ask why?! Why would Lotor decline his proposal?

From every viewpoint, attending a party should make perfect sense. Besides being extremely fun, (because, please Lancey Lance knows how to throw a fabulous party) it creates the perfect opportunity to socialize with allies, solidifying their newly formed alliance and allowing Lotor to gain a little bit of trust.

“Decline?!” he exclaims, voice going high before he could control it. “You realize that half of the alliance distrusts you and the other half hates you, right?”

Lotor doesn’t even blink but still Lance can see how his words hit at the core. The prince must realize his situation as well. With his strategical thinking and innate need to analyze, Lance knows that Lotor perfectly understands the delicate situation that he faces. With barely a month under his belt as the new ally of Voltron (and with the fact that he is Emperor Zarkon’s freaking son) he stands on thin ice.

“I’m aware, Paladin of Voltron.” Lotor replies, voice soft but his chin up, looking almost adorably stubborn.

“No, no,no, no, no stop right there!”

“I apologize-“

“No, it’s fine. Just call me Lance. Not-” Lance grimaces at the formal words. “Paladin of Voltron”

For a second confusion passes through Lotor’s face, elegant brows rising before tension bleeds out his shoulders, slowly transforming into a smile. Albeit not a nice smile, but still a smile.

“Lance…” he repeats, voice pleased, commanding, testing…

A shiver runs down Lance’s spine before he can understand what is happening.

“Uh-“ he stammers, already feeling the color rising to his cheeks. “Yes, so…the party! Uh- I think you should attend, you-”

Lotor leans back on his chair, eyes travelling up and down Lance’s body to finally settle on his face. “I realize this is a personal party, a celebration of a birth date.”

“Yes, a birthday.” He replies, trying and failing to keep the color away from his face. Why does Lotor have to be this pretty and have such a perfect hair?! “But it is hardly an exclusive event. We’ll have ambassadors from the coalition, even a few people from the Blades. And there will be cake and decorations! Oh man, you know Hunk makes a mean chocolate and chocolate chips cake that you can’t even believe your taste buds! And music! Pidge found a way to download songs from her archive so things might get pretty wild, if you catch my drift!”

Lotor makes a contemplative noise at the back of his throat, head leaning against his fist, and a small smile settling across his face as he regards Lance and his nervous rambling. This time the smile looks softer…

“You seem quite excited for this event.”

“Well…yeah.” Lance sobers up and focuses on Lotor. “I want this to work. To achieve peace throughout the universe, we must first get to know each other.”

“Get to know each other?... Indeed…”

“Uh-“ Lance blinks, heart leaping to his throat at Lotor’s suggestive tone. He must be dreaming… “I mean! We must try to understand each other! And, what better way than a party, right?!”

For a second silence hangs between them, time stretching out and filling space. Lance prepares himself for another rejection, the amused smile on prince’s face unhelpful at easing his suspicion. However, when Lotor uncrosses his legs and leans forward into Lance’s space, he is entirely unprepared.

“Such a compelling case,” Lotor murmurs, long hair brushing against Lance’s knees. Then fixing his gaze on the other, he smirks. “Count me in…Lance”

Heat suddenly burns inside his stomach, sucker punching and rendering him speechless for a few seconds. As Lance takes a sharp breath, eyes fleeting across Lotor’s face, the other leans back with fingers linking and a knowing smirk settling across his lips.

“Uh…good! Sure thing!” He mentally shakes himself, rising to his feet in a smooth motion and turning to leave. “I’ll let you know about the details.”

With an affirmative nod from the prince, Lance turns back and moves out, all the while feeling Lotor’s burning gaze down his back.

Strange…

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

“You did WHAT?!”

Lance can see a vine popping across Keith’s temple and wow, does it look malicious, much like Keith’s entire aura right now.

“Hey!” Lance retaliates, indignant and high pitched, because he has pride (and really believes this might help them secure another alliance, but that’s beside the point and it has absolutely nothing to do with how pretty Lotor looked just minutes ago! No! Nope! NOT happening! )

“There is nothing harmful about it, so keep your hackles under control, huh, mullet!”

“We don’t even know his intentions or his agenda!” Keith continues.

“Ahh, yes… I side with Keith on this one, man.  I mean, this is Lotor we are talking about, you know evil crown prince of Galra, massive planner, schemer, because he looks like a schemer… You guys remember how he was always one step ahead of us, right?!”

Lance swallows down his sigh. Of course he knows what Hunk is talking about and he loves his best bud but sometimes the big guy worries too much.

“Guys, relax!” he gestures with his hands, palms turned towards them. “Everything is gonna be just fine. C’mon, it is just a party!”

Keith still looks like he is ready to give him another piece of his mind but Lance swiftly turns towards the mostly silent occupant in the room. “Besides, Pidge is okay with it, and it is her birthday!”

Promptly every other face turns to the girl, who is typing on the transparent tablet. “It’s fine.” she replies nonchalantly, eyes never leaving the screen. Lance opens his arms towards her and gestures as if he is presenting something. “See!”

Now Keith looks constipated and Hunk looks quite a bit sick but Lance is almost convinced he can turn this around and stop the team from harassing Lotor when a shadow lands on four of them, causing every head to turn towards the source.

Over the seats of the common room Shiro stands, looking down at them and for a second Lance thinks he is going to be reprimanded for taking liberties, only to relax as Shiro shares his opinion. “I think we all should try to see this as an opportunity to get acquainted with Prince Lotor and introduce ourselves as well.”

“I agree” As Allura moves to stand next to Shiro, Lance feels a warm feeling settle across his chest. He can only guess what it means to lose all of your family, all of your people and yet, find the strength to overcome your pain and even accept the race that caused such a tragedy.

She is amazing, Lance thinks. More than amazing…

“This is a chance to gain new allies such as Prince Lotor and strengthen our relationships with our existing ones”

“Also,” Lance intervenes, plopping beside Pidge and pulling her close with an arm around her shoulder “to have fun!” Turning to wink at Allura, he smiles brightly. “It is a birthday after all!”

At the corner of his eye Lance can see Pidge sending him a look but up close he also notices the corner of her lips turning up.

“Ah-“ Allura says, suddenly embarrassed. “Yes, you are absolutely right, Lance.” Her voice has gone soft. “It is to have fun as well.”

Across the room Keith’s scowl has no rival. Lance suspects, it is because he is allergic to having fun.

But finally, he thinks ignoring all of that. Something is going right!

Turning back to Pidge, he grins.

“Just leave it to me!”

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

The party is… a disaster!

Well, probably that is an overstatement but where is the joy if it is not an overstatement!

Still…it is going pretty rocky for Lance.

And, don’t get him wrong, it is not the countless clueless aliens and their preferences towards juuust the right music. It is not the weird, weird gifts gathered around Pidge (seriously who gets a human being a purple acid bomb!).  Strangely… it is not Keith, with his stupid frown and sulking tense expression. It is not even Lotor, who is for the most part calmly nursing his drink beside the bar and basically keeping a low profile.

No! It is Matt and his stupid sibling love!

Lance grits his teeth as Matt once again hugs Pidge close, wide grins plastered across their faces and it is great to see them as happy as this, because a) cute, b) happiness is a treasure in vast freaking space and c) it means the party is amazing and Lance is proud of himself.

But…

It hurts.

Sighing Lance turns his eyes away and quickly excuses himself from the company of a few Balmerans. He seriously needs a drink to take the edge of, fingers clenching into tight fists as he desperately tries to control his feelings.

As he passes through the crowd he can feel longing settling across his chest, a sudden feeling of loss pulling at his heart. For a second his sister flashes in the shadow of Allura, in the way she flicks her hair over her shoulder , the next moment he can see his brother’s smile on Hunk’s face and –

Lance catches sight of Matt and Pidge -

-that warm feeling that surrounds his heart whenever his little cousin hugs him…

Lance turns his eyes away, heart squeezing painfully.

I miss-

No! He can’t deal with this right now. Not in front of all these people, not when it is Pidge’s birthday!

Moving towards the bar, he bypasses the various snacks and immediately reaches for the spiked punch.

Vaguely he is aware of another set of eyes watching him but at this point, he can’t find it in himself to care about anything. Pouring a generous portion, Lance turns towards the exit, the sudden need to be alone almost choking him. He needs space; he needs to be away from happy families, away from reunions, reminders and most certainly birthday parties.

Giving a fake half smile to one of the Olkari representatives, Lance pushes through the crowd, his eyes momentarily catching Lotor’s before turning away.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

In the silence of an empty corridor, Lance leans against the wall, knees folded and eyes focused on the flickering lights scattered across the vast space. He wonders if he will ever get the opportunity to see his family again, to feel his mother’s warm arms, to hear his dad’s joyful laugh…

Space is too large, Lance thinks, pushing at now the empty cup. And Earth is so far away.

The sudden forlorn footsteps pull him out of his thoughts, head reluctantly turning towards the intruder. He really doesn’t want to explain himself to the team, their faces too familiar, too close… And he doesn’t have the strength to pretend for a member of the coali-

As Lotor turns the corner, Lance can feel his brows rising in surprise. In the low light of the corridor Lotor looks divine, regal with perfect skin and piercing eyes…. and entirely out of place.

“Uhm-“ Lance stammers intelligently. “What- why- why are you here?”

One of Lotor’s eyebrows rises, an amused sly expression replacing his neutral one. “As one of your guests, can’t I enjoy the various corridors of your castle?”

Lance can’t help his frown. “That doesn’t even make sense. There is nothing interesting here-“

“You seemed upset”

Lance’s voice hitches at his throat, a lump settling right at the center.

“I’m fine,” he tries, avoiding the other’s gaze and turning his head towards the stars. “Just needed some space.”

Lotor stays silent but takes one more step towards Lance. “Would you mind if I stay here for a while?” Before Lance can complain, the other leans against the wall beside him. “It was getting rather…tense surrounded by coalition forces.”

Sneaking a look, Lance pushes down his sigh. “Sure,” he says. “Though I find that hard to believe. And you should be trying to make friends, not hide in a corridor.”

“Ah!” Lotor murmurs, amusement clear in his voice. “Such a sound advice.”

This time Lance turns to glare up at the prince. “Hey!” he complains “I’m fine! This is just tempor-“

“You were excited for this party, were you not?” Lotor diverts, looking away from Lance and focusing on the stars. “ What changed?”

“Uh- nothing!” Lance exclaims, voice suddenly spiking. “Nothing changed… It is just-“

I miss-

Swallowing he stops, words choking him and his heart breaking under the weight of space, of distance, of endless war. He doesn’t know if he will ever be back, if he will ever see his cousins, his aunts and uncles, his siblings, parents… mom…

Before he can stop himself words tumble between his lips.

“My family…” Lance starts, vision blurring “when I was back home…”

He tightly closes his eyes for a few seconds, forcing himself to calm down, to gain control of his voice. When he reopens them, they are shinning with a new force. “We used to have these huge birthday parties.” He pushes on, voice getting stronger with each word, memories providing strength instead of causing pain, as he continues to share.

“And, ah- everyone came in. The house would be full! My cousins, all of them! They are all younger than me and oh, you should have seen it! When it comes to parties the first year is always the best one!”

Vaguely Lance can feel Lotor sliding down the wall to settle beside him.

“I remember Phillipa! She took her first steps on her birthday, that little rascal! She was adorable, trying to stay upright with her chubby hands grabbing onto the sofa-“

Suddenly stopping Lance bites his lip. Why was he even talking about these things?!...

“I guess…” he admits, voice small and low but finally ready.  “I- I miss them. There is only somethings you can share with your family”

Beside him Lotor hums, though Lance isn’t sure if he understands.

Silence stretches between them, filling up the space and almost becoming deafening.

“Where are your Generals?”

At the sudden question, Lotor’s jaw clenches, his fingers growing tense then gradually, deliberately relaxing.

Lance bites his lip. Abort, abort!, his brain screams at him. “You,” he starts, nervously cleaning his throat. “You don’t have to tell me. I just thought…it was odd.”

As Lance watches, Lotor looks away, eyes searching the endless space. This time the silence that comes between them is oppressive, restricting, almost making it impossible to breathe.

“It was me,” Lotor says, in the end, successfully throwing Lance into a loop.

“You? How so?” Leaning forward Lance rests his head on his palm.

For a second Lotor looks like he might give an honest answer, eyes thoughtful and fingers linked, before his face closes off. “Galra do not have the sentiments you have described.”

“Pffft! I don’t know what you are talking about” Lance argues, letting it go and trying to keep things light. “Keith is half Galra and he is such a ball of sunshine when it comes to friendship.”

Lotor looks unconvinced but soon his features relax as he catches up to the joke.

“But,” Lance continues. “ He still cares…”

The other turns towards the window once again. “I understand he is no longer a paladin.”

A sudden anger rises inside Lance, disappointment squeezing around his heart. Vaguely he realizes this might be a ploy by Lotor to gather more information, to identify their weaknesses and divide the team, but sometimes you gotta give in to get something in return. “He wanted to go another way, yes. But that doesn’t mean-“ A sudden lump clogs up his throat. And he knows he had agreed with the others when Keith asked to join the Blades of Marmora, he knows they had this giant group hug, showing their support and acceptance but still…the thought of Keith leaving -  It still hurts…

“-that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about the team.”

Lotor hums once again, voice soft and contemplative. “Perhaps.” Then turning towards Lance he fixes his gaze on the other. “For Galra, loyalty and sincerity don’t come naturally. We-“  He pauses for a second, expression staying forcefully neutral, before continuing. “Survive… and do anything to ensure our goals, whatever they may be.”

Oh-

“It sounds lonely.”

That wasn’t what Lance had meant to say but once he says it, he can see how true it is. Beside him, Lotor looks surprised and even though it only lasts for a few seconds, it is enough.

Lance pulls his knees towards his chest, linking his long arms around his bent legs. “Whether in the shape of kin, relatives or friends, family is important.” He murmurs, looking at the floor. “They love you and stay with you even though you are not at your best. They are there to support you, to keep you in line, to show you what can be better, how you can be better. And-“

He pushes his lips together, fingers biting into his arms.

“- and I’m sorry you didn’t have the chance to find yours yet.”

When he looks up there is confusion on Lotor’s face as if Lance is an alien life form, hatching right before his eyes and once again Lance waits for that look to turn calculative, even turn into something similar to how he had regarded Lance before the party, amused, flirty, manipulative… But it stays the same.

Cleaning his throat Lance then leans back and shoves Lotor’ arm slightly. “Besides,” he points out, trying to lighten the mood. “You can’t really do worse than Zarkon. The guy literally tried to kill you.” Smiling Lance gives the prince a wink. “You can only go up from there.”

Shock is evident on Lotor’s face, brows raised and eyes wide open but before Lance can try something else to pacify the situation, the other speaks.

“You are a peculiar one, aren’t you?”

“What?! Peculiar? I’m peculiar?! I’ll tell you what Prince Lotor-“

Then suddenly there is a laugh, barely and short but it is a laugh, from Lotor nonetheless.

Lance grows silent, his eyes fixed on the other.

“I apologize” Lotor says his voice loaded with amusement, eyes soft. Then…

“Thank you…Lance.”

A new exciting energy passes through Lance, the way his name sounds in Lotor’s voice causing a shiver to run down his back. However, it is different than before. Now it feels warmer… better.

Lance cleans his throat, feeling color spreading across his cheeks.

The other gives him a half smile, a second later his face slowly closing off and smile turning into a calculating smirk.

But Lance can tell a first step when he sees one.

And for now, he’ll take what he can.