Archive of Our Own ^beta

Lance loved being alone with Shiro, though in the chaos of living the life of a Voltron paladin, those moments were rare. Their days blurred together in a cycle of missions, training, answering distress calls, liberating planets, and fighting aliens— ergo, all the cool hero shit.

Not that Lance was complaining. Adventure was in his blood, but even thrill-seekers needed a break from saving the universe. Sleep was a luxury, and more than once he’d been tempted to knock himself out just to get some. With alarms always threatening to drag them back into action, the team clung to quiet moments like oxygen.

For him and Shiro, those rare windows of privacy boiled down to two modes: either collapsing into bed to heal, entwined in silence and sleep… or pouncing on each other with the desperation of rabbits during mating season.

Today was meant to be the former.

When Lance blinked awake, Shiro was the first thing he saw. The dim mint glow of the bedside lamp cut sharp lines across his features, making him look otherworldly. Peaceful. Angelic. It was surreal, seeing him this way— so still, so unburdened. Shiro was always moving, always worrying about everyone else. The frown on his face had been etched so deeply into his skin that Lance half-feared it would become permanent (not that Lance cared, either way). 

He needed to try and force another face mask on Shiro.

Grinning at the thought, Lance reached up to brush a hand through the white strands of Shiro’s hair. They shifted under his touch, and that small gesture was enough to rouse his boyfriend. Shiro startled, eyes unfocused, until they landed on Lance. Instantly, he softened.

Lance’s fingers drifted down his face to his cheek, tracing the scarred skin with deliberate gentleness. “Good morning,” he whispered.

Shiro smiled, voice low and rough. “Morning, kitten.”

The sheets rustled as Shiro leaned in, brushing a brief kiss across Lance’s lips before gathering him into his arms. His message was clear: cuddle now, talk later.

Lance melted against him, pressing into the warmth of his chest. Here, he felt safest. Here, he could stay forever— and at least for today, that was the plan. They’d already decided: no alarms, no missions, just bed.

Their breathing synced, slow and steady. Lance was on the edge of drifting off again when the siren shrieked through the castle.

He groaned, kicking at the covers. “Nooooo, I wanted to sleep.”

Beside him, Shiro sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I was looking forward to it too.” He pressed a lingering kiss to Lance’s mouth, then forced himself up.

“Come on, baby,” he said, already tugging on his uniform. “We’re needed.”

Needed? For what? Cleaning?

Lance dragged himself through the wilderness of the planet Xruoborc, which they had recently liberated from Zarkon's oppression a few months prior, carrying two large canisters of water, or rather, the equivalent thereof.

What had so rudely ripped Shiro and Lance from the paradise of their bed turned out to be a distress signal. The team expected Zarkon to be attempting to recapture the planet, but it turned out that only a temple on the planet had collapsed, and they were asked to rescue the buried locals with their lions.

Although this had been completed two hours earlier, Hunk, aka Mother Theresa, insisted that they still treat the injured.

So it came to pass that Lance and Keith were now fetching water from the main river that ran through the deep jungle surrounding the planet. The large trees made it impossible, so Lance and Keith had to track through the wilderness on foot. 

“I could be back in bed with Shiro by now...,” Lance muttered through heavy breaths. Keith grunted beside him. A quick look to the side revealed his sweaty and mildly annoyed teammate. He couldn't blame Keith; the humidity would drive anyone insane. His undersuit clung to his body like a second skin, and he swore every step echoed a squelching noise in his boots. His toes were swimming. 

"Please, Lance, spare me the details. Knowing that you're screwing my brother is disturbing enough," Keith replied with a grimace. Lance's already strung nerves burned under Keith's sharp tone.

Just to spite him, Lance replied, “I would probably be fucking him right now if we were back at the castle instead of hellhole.”

Keith rolled his eyes. Ha, served him right. 

Smirking, they trudged on in silence. The lack of distraction left Lance to his own thoughts. He would fuck Shiro. On the bed, against the wall, in the shower, on the kitchen counter—although Hunk would crucify him for that. He mentally crossed “in the kitchen” off his “where-to-fuck-with-Shiro” list. 

Arousal coiled in his gut. The image of Shiro above him flashed into his mind, the view he had gotten just the night before when he pushed flush Shiro against the door as soon as it shut behind them, trailing a path of searing hot kisses down his body as he sank to his knees. He had made quick work of his zipper, fishing out his half-hard cock from his boxers instead of taking Shiro's pants off. He had stroked him once, earning a low moan from Shiro, and then kissed the tip gently despite his impatience. His own untouched cock had twitched as the salty taste of pre-cum entered his mouth. He had swallowed him whole, taking him so deep that Shiro had to cover his mouth to muffle a shout. 

His legs quivered as he remembered the look in Shiro's eyes, the hunger, the heat—great, now he had gotten himself horny. 

Keith looked at him from the side, puzzled. "Dude, you okay? You haven't said a word in like 5 minute—are you thinking about having sex with Shiro?

Something devilish suddenly sparkled in Lance's eyes. Keith immediately caught on. "No, please, wait. I don't want to know, seriously.”

“Is someone interested in my sex life? I can tell you a thing or two. For example, about the time he fit his entire—”

“No! Oh my God, stop!” 

After their job was done, Voltron invited the leaders of Xruoborc for a nice, diplomatic dinner at the castle. Lance couldn't care less. His thoughts were occupied with the man in front of him. He had shot himself in the foot during his previous conversation with Keith. All he could think about now was Shiro. In all kinds of positions.

Although it was worth it for Keith's reactions.

Only Lance seemed alone in his horniness. As always, Shiro was the epitome of calm. He didn't even notice Lance's heated glances and touches. He had been sending signals, distress signals in true Voltron fashion, all day long. The more frustrated Lance became, the bolder he got.

Now they were sitting at a large table covered with sumptuous dishes that Lance all but chose to ignore. All he wanted in his mouth was Shiro's drooling cock. And he didn't want to wait any longer.

Shiro, who was sitting across from him, was talking to a member of the royal family, which was driving Lance crazy. He wanted Shiro's attention all to himself, and he was going to get it. He turned his head to the left and joined in the conversation between Pidge and one of the aliens. He was a prince or something like that. Lance hadn't been listening to the introduction. He was too distracted by Shiro's muscular thighs. (Begging Shiro to crush him between them had been futile, but Lance had a feeling he was only a few puppy dog eyes away from Shiro's resolve crumbling.)

The table wasn't wide, and Lance's legs were long, allowing him to easily reach Shiro's legs with his foot. He slyly slid his foot between Shiro's slightly opened legs. Shiro flinched and glanced over at him briefly, which Lance met with a mischievous grin.

Shiro turned his attention back to the Xruoborcicans. Lance gently brushed his foot against the inside of his thighs. Dissatisfied with the lack of response, he now placed his foot fully on Shiro's crotch, which was covered by nothing more than the elastic fabric of their undersuits. Shiro tensed noticeably but continued his conversation with practised nonchalance. Lance, however, felt Shiro harden under his heel. Lance barely hid the smirk stretching over his teeth.

He pressed his heel down, putting more pressure on Shiro's crotch. His boyfriend gave him a warning look, but Lance feigned innocence and turned back to Pidge. Shiro was hard, very hard. Lance could tell just by looking at him, he had seen it plenty of times, but it was never enough.

Lance moved his foot under Shiro's cock and pushed it upward. Their eyes met, and Lance almost burned under the heat of his gaze, melting thick, syrupy satisfaction that he was making Shiro crack. He wanted to burn, wanted to be set ablaze and never snubbed out if it meant Shiro kept looking at him. 

Shiro bit his lip, broke his fork in two, never breaking eye contact. A piece of the fork flew into Hunk's direction, who threw up his arms in surprise just in time for the piece to bounce off his strong forearm. “Shiro, are you okay?!” shouted Hunk.

Shiro cleared his throat and straightened his back. “Yes, sorry, I don't know my own strength sometimes." The concerned looks of his teammates gave away that they didn't believe Shiro by one bit. But Lance couldn't care less. His face was red, he was chewing on his bottom lip, and he was certain he had never been this turned on in his entire life. The pleasure of seeing Shiro come undone like this in public coursed through his veins like a disease, clogging his arteries with painful need.

“My apologies, but Lance and I will need to excuse ourselves for just a moment.”

As soon as the doors closed behind them, Shiro pushed Lance against the wall and slid his hands into his pants. His touch was rougher than usual, the callouses on his hands almost painful against the sensitive skin of Lance's cock.

"You little slut, you almost made me cum in my pants. In front of all of them." Shiro had a hand on his throat now, tilting Lance's head to the side with his thumb. Shiro's breath ghosted over the shell of his ear. "Did you think I didn't notice your glances all day? I bet you've been throbbing all day, just waiting until we're alone to let me tear you apart."

Lance was still hard, and hearing Shiro talk like that almost made him cum on the spot. His voice was deep, guttural, and it rubbed Lance raw in the best way possible. Shiro's body pressed close, leaving almost no space for his chest to expand while Shiro's hand closed around his throat. Lance gasped for air. But that was what he wanted.

He wanted to give himself to Shiro. To be torn apart by the wild animal inside him and then be devoured completely. He wanted him to bare his teeth and sink them into his flesh. Bite marks, hickies, scratch marks; proof that he had been loved by Shiro.

Their clothes came off in no time, a tangled mess on their bedroom floor. The moment Lance's back was parallel to the mattress, Shiro grabbed the hollows of his knees and pushed them against his chest. He spat on his exposed hole once before taking his index finger and cruelly forcing it in until the second knuckle. The sudden stretch had Lance clenching on the intrusion.

"Fuck, so tight, baby," Shiro groaned, biting the back of his right thigh. He moved his finger back and forth, straining the taut ring of muscles. "How's it still so tight when I've fucked you more times than I can count, huh? With how ran through you are, you shouldn't need prep."

Lance whined and pushed his hips toward Shiro's finger. Shiro gripped the meat of his thigh to keep him still. 

"Bet you'd like that, wouldn't you? You wanna be stretched out, ready for me to stuff you full of cock whenever I want?" Shiro growled. "You'd take it without complaint because you're a whore like that." 

Shiro's voice alone sent jolts of pleasure through his body, lighting up his nerves like no one else ever could. He was mean, dangerous. Lance should be scared of the sudden switch-up, but everything in him screamed for more. 

Three of his fingers now thrust rhythmically into him while Shiro kissed his balls, his taint, sucking and biting hard wherever he could. Lance surrendered, threw his head back and moaned loudly.

“F-fuck Shiro, there! Right there!”

Every brush at his prostate had him seeing stars. “Hmm, baby, I love it when you get loud. Let me hear you. Let them all hear."

Lance could only nod, too overwhelmed to form words. His cock lay untouched on his stomach, drooling a mess all over his flushed skin. He opened his eyes and mouth, ready to moan again, when suddenly—

“Keith...?”

Shiro stopped abruptly. He looked up at Lance with an expression Lance had only seen once, when he helped Shiro through his first panic attack. The jarring mix of pain, fear, and confusion made his blood run cold.

“Why Keith?” Shiro's voice cracked, pulling his fingers from his hole. He couldn’t understand why Lance — his Lance, after a year together — would suddenly crave someone else.

Tears sprang to his eyes. It had to be the scars, the baggage, all the things he carried with him. Lance was too good, too bright, too beautiful for a man so broken. Of course, he’d want Keith instead — young, sharp, unscarred. Keith brought out the best in everyone. How could Shiro ever compare—

A hand on his arm jolted him back.

“No, Keith!” Lance blurted.

He extended his long, tanned arm and pointed past Shiro. Shiro turned to see Keith standing in the doorway, stricken.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Keith whimpered, then quickly closed the door. His muffled voice followed from the other side. “I’ll tell the team you’re… doing just fine.”

Silence lingered in the room until Lance snorted, still flushed but unable to hold back a laugh. Shiro turned to him, torn between mortification and relief.

“For a second,” Shiro confessed quietly, “I really thought you were moaning for Keith.”

Lance recoiled, eyes wide with shock and disgust. “Are you serious? Do you really think, after everything, I’d want him instead of you?”

Shiro’s gaze fell to the side, tracing the pattern of the bedsheets. He knew Lance understood — the insecurity wasn’t new; they had circled it countless times before.

With a sigh, Lance cupped Shiro’s scarred face and forced his eyes back up. “I love you, idiot.”

Shiro’s lips curved into a small smile. “I love you too.”

For a moment, the room softened into silence. Lance shivered, the spell breaking.

“So…” he asked, half-awkward, half-teasing, “I’m still naked. Should I be putting clothes back on?” His grin widened despite the goosebumps. “Because this heartwarming stuff isn’t doing much for the rest of me. Except, you know…”

Shiro laughed, the tension finally easing, and tugged him closer. 

“You know, the thought of you lying under another man and moaning for him really makes me angry.” Shiro cupped his ass with his large hands a second time.

Their lips met, rekindling the fire: heated kisses, burning touches, scorching words.

“You belong to me.”

They looked at each other, eyes full of longing despite being in each other's arms. Because it was never enough. Lance needed to be closer, fuller of him, needed him inside as much as he needed to be under Shiro's skin. 

"Remind me, please."

It was more of a plea than a request. Lance knew Shiro would take care of him and devour him, consuming and digesting because, like him, Shiro was insatiable.  

Freshly fucked out, well-rested and flourishing, Shiro and Lance strolled toward the dining room. Or limping, in Lance's case. One thing bothered him, though. Shiro had been grinning at him strangely all morning.

“Do I have something on my face?” Lance asked wearily.

“Beauty,” Shiro replied without missing a beat.

Lance rolled his eyes, his cheeks turning red. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

The laughter that echoed down the hall made Lance happy about lying. 

As soon as they entered the dining hall, everyone stared at him. (Except for Keith. He avoided his eyes like the plague, but that was to be expected.) Was there something on his face, and Shiro wasn't telling him after all? Confused and a little intimidated, he sat down quietly at the table. Everyone was silent, all seemingly on the edge of breaking. The silence was suffocating.

Shiro, next to him, smiled, happily digging into his food goo. Lance huffed and tried to follow his example. He managed to swallow a few bites before he threw his hands up in the air. “Okay, I yield. What the hell is up with you all?” he shouted.

Allura, ever so innocent, was the one to break. 

“Where did you get those injuries?” she asked, pointing at his neck.

Pidge cackled. “If you can call them injuries." 

Lance froze mid-bite, the half-chewed food goo turning to dust in his mouth. He swallowed hard, his ears already burning.

“Injuries?” he muttered. “They’re not—”

“Bruises,” Allura supplied, tilting her head with genuine concern. Her wide eyes made it worse. “Your entire neck is covered in—”

“Hickies,” Pidge interrupted, grinning wickedly. “Very extensive hickies.”

Lance nearly spat his food back into his bowl. “Wait—no. No way. That’s what this is about?” His voice pitched louder, incredulous and gleeful all at once. “Shiro, oh my god, you actually—”

Shiro the traitor just continued with his meal, but his cheeks betrayed him, pink blooming beneath his stoic expression.

Coran tried, and failed, to cover his laugh with a cough. “No wonder you didn’t want to help me clean the pods this morning.”

Lance glared at him, mortification crawling down his spine. “It’s not what you think—”

“Oh, it’s exactly what we think,” Pidge crowed. “Someone got a little… overzealous.”

Allura gasped, scandalised, covering her mouth with her hands. “That’s—! Oh, Shiro!”

Lance dropped his forehead to the table with a groan, muffled words escaping into the material. “I hate all of you.”

The silence that followed was thick again, but this time it teetered precariously between laughter and utter disbelief. 

Hunk, bless him, looked torn between sympathy and amusement. “At least tell me it was worth it?”

At last, Shiro put his fork down and spoke. 

"Ask Keith." 

Loud gasps echoed around the room. "What?!"