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This is his fault.
It’s all his fault.
Every ache in his bones— every scream of pain from the wounds torn across his flesh— every breath that stretches the slash cut deep into his ribs— every beat of his heart that pulses loud and pounding in his ears— is a reminder that this is all his fault .
He’s the one who went to Earth. He’s the one who insisted that Lance join him— practically begged him. He’s the one who convinced Lance to leave his home, his family, his everything, just to fly back up into space with Keith.
Just to be lured into a trap— to nearly die— to be captured with an even surer fate of death waiting ahead of them.
All because Keith couldn’t stand his own loneliness.
All because Keith feels better with Lance at his side— feels a void when he’s not— feels stronger when he’s there—
But not strong enough.
He’s not strong enough.
He promised— promised— Lance, his family, himself that he would keep Lance safe. That the Blade no longer goes on dangerous missions. They help people. They don’t get into trouble anymore.
He just hadn’t anticipated the trouble would find them.
Some rogue sect of galra. There are pockets of them scattered throughout the universe. Galra raised and stuck in the old ways. In Zarkon’s ways. In Sendak’s ways. Pockets and clans and groups of galra that rally together under the hate and bloodshed they’ve always known. That they feel comfortable in. They wreak havoc, striking where they can, conquering where they can.
The Atlas has been taking care of them. Krolia and Kolivan have been taking care of them. The Blade is out of that business, more centered on the humanitarian side of things.
But apparently two former paladins (the leaders no less) was too much of an opportunity to pass up.
And now they’re captured. Injured. Blood barely dried in their wounds. Armor taken away, stripped to just their skin tight flight suits. Locked away in a cell, surrounded by cold, hard, unforgiving metal and dreary, dim purple lights.
At least they’re together.
But Keith has never felt so alone.
There’s a distance between them. Not physically. Lance is pressed up against his back. He can feel the warmth radiating from him. The steady, sturdiness of him, as grounding as it’s always been. But there’s still a distance there. A distance in the way Lance turned away from him— has refused to look at him since they were thrown in here— in the way the silence stretched, thick and choking, pressing in on Keith’s chest.
He can hear Lance’s shallow breaths, forced to be slow and steady, rattling around in his lungs as it rasps past his lips. Keith isn’t the only one who sustained injuries, and the knowledge of Lance’s makes his own ache all the more.
Pressed against him, Lance is stiff. Unnaturally still. Unnaturally quiet. Unnaturally controlled in a way that tells him that Lance is just barely holding himself together— putting all his effort into keeping himself from shattering—
And it’s all Keith’s fault.
He’s selfish. He’s always been selfish. Chasing after his own desires. Following his own drives. Leaving his team— his friends— his family— behind.
He selfishly wanted to be with Lance— bright, beautiful, perfect Lance, who always makes him feel stable, grounded, safe, strong, whole— and now look where they are.
He thought he was strong enough, but he wasn’t.
Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Lance’s hand on the ground. Still, but tense. Fingers bent and knuckles white as his nails attempt to dig into the metal floor. There’s blood smeared across golden skin.
Keith moves without thought, instinct driving him to reach for what he wants— what he doesn’t deserve— but his course sways at the last moment. He aches to comfort him— the last man in the universe he ever wanted to hurt— but there’s a distance between them. A distance that Keith isn’t sure he’s allowed to cross. A distance he doesn’t think he deserves to cross.
But he selfishly wants to.
The metal is cool against his palm, a balm to his heated flesh, soothing to his trembling fingers. He reaches out, his pinky overlapping Lance’s. Just one finger, and yet he holds his breath. Feels them both tense with the weight of the moment— the weight of that one small touch.
The sensation solidifies and steels in Keith’s chest like a promise.
A promise that he’ll be stronger. That he’ll get Lance out of here. That he’ll protect him. That Lance will get home, no matter what it takes. Even if Lance never wants to speak with him again afterward.
He’s been so selfish, but all that matters right now is Lance.
He’s selfish— so incredibly selfish .
He had tried so hard to convince himself that he wasn’t. That he accepted Keith’s proposal to join the Blades for Keith’s sake. Because Keith asked. Because then he wouldn’t be a burden on his family and maybe he could do some good somewhere else.
But right here— body aching in this cold, hard cell— Lance is faced with the crushing weight of a fact he can no longer run from: he is selfish.
He joined the Blades to feel useful again, to see space again, to be with Keith again. To be by his side, like he used to. To selfishly spend time together. To be someone Keith could count on, like he used to be. Keith has always had a way of making Lance feel special— whole— worthy— and Lance wanted that .
But now… this is all his fault.
He should have seen something like this coming. Some rebel galra force unable to resist the temptation of two paladins. Lance’s presence at Keith’s side put him in danger, and Lance— he couldn’t protect him. Couldn’t watch his back.
He’s so out of practice— no longer a pilot— no longer a fighter— no longer a paladin. His reflexes aren’t sharp anymore. His instincts aren’t honed. He didn’t see it coming until it was too late, and he froze . He froze! His head was a loop of no no no , and he couldn’t even think of a plan. Couldn’t even act on impulse.
He failed.
He failed himself. His family. The Blades. Keith .
Keith has been fine for years . Out here in space. Doing his thing. Protecting people and making a difference. He was fine .
Until Lance came along. Until Lance fucked things up. He’s no longer the man Keith could count on, and that was proven in the worst way possible. He was selfish, and now they’re both paying the price.
He fucked up, like he always does.
He fucked up— he fucked everything up — he’s such a fuck up.
And Lance… he can’t even look at Keith. Knows that if he does, he’ll crumble. He’ll lose the delicate grip he has on the fragile, fraying threads of his composure. The most he can do is press their backs together, and hope that his touch comes across as the apology its meant to be.
He focuses on his breathing, a steady in-and-out, trying to ignore how thick his throat feels. How shaky his breaths are. The taste of blood on his tongue—
He startles when he feels the touch.
Feather-light. Barely there. The wisp of something grazing along his pinky finger before a warm weight settles over it, flexes like the smallest hint at an embrace. He looks without deciding to, eyes drawn automatically to where he feels Keith’s touch, gaze fixating on how their hands look together— skin tones so different and yet stains of blood the same.
He turns, twisting just enough to glance over his shoulder— only to find Keith’s eyes already on him. Dark, expansive pools of navy flecked with violet like stars. Lance is never prepared for them, least of all now. Not when they’re looking at him so intensely, so singularly, so openly .
Those aren’t the eyes of the boy he used to know. The one with a chip on his shoulder and walls a mile high. Those aren’t the eyes of the hot-head he knew at the garrison, or the prickly red paladin. Those aren’t the hard and wary eyes of voltron’s team leader.
They’re the eyes of… Keith . Just Keith. Open and raw and painfully vulnerable. Swirling with all that guilt and doubt and self-blame that he carries around on his shoulders, always weighing him down and making him stronger all at once.
These eyes. These are eyes that he rarely lets anyone see. A side of him that’s stripped bare, chest ripped open and bleeding heart of gold shining weakly in the darkness. He never lets anyone see him like this— but he’s showing Lance .
And that alone is what makes Lance’s own walls— hastily constructed and shotty at the seams— crumble.
He turns— Keith turns— they turn in tandem, bodies twisting as they reach for each other— hand grasping, gripping, clutching— folding into one another in a tight embrace, legs tangled and uncoordinated, but neither of them care. They hold at each other’s shoulders, arms wrapped around backs, heads bowed together as they cling, desperate and aching, soaking up warmth and comfort.
Lance is selfish. He’s so incredibly selfish. But… if Keith needs the comfort, too— if Keith needs this— if Keith wants this— then… then maybe it’s okay. Maybe it’s okay for him to have this— to take this— to reach for this.
Keith holds him tightly, fingers curling into his flight suit and nails biting through the fabric. His face is buried in Lance’s shoulder, hair tickling his jaw. And Lance holds him back just as tightly, just as fiercely, aching to protect him from all of Lance’s mistakes and the consequences of Lance’s own selfish actions.
And when their hold finally relaxes, softening inch by inch until they can both lean back to look at one another, Lance sees it—
The guilt swirling around in Keith’s eyes, thick and unwavering, stress lines cutting deep across his forehead and carved around his mouth.
He hates it.
He hates it.
He hates seeing that weight settled on Keith’s shoulders like he’s the only one who should bear it. Like he’s the only one to blame. Like he put them in this situation when Lance is just as much— if not more— to blame. He can see Keith pulling away. Not physically, but emotionally. Slowly building up those walls and putting distance between them, lines smoothing out into the steely facade that Lance hates—
Call it instinct. Call it impulse. Call it desperation.
Call it selfish .
Whatever it is, Lance leans forward, closing the distance between them to press their lips together— to stop Keith’s retreat— to pull him back— to let him know that Lance doesn’t blame him. He’s here. He’ll share the weight. Keith is trying so hard to be strong for them both, but he doesn’t have to be. When Lance is right here to alleviate some of it. When Lance is here to hold him up.
He needs Keith to know that he’s here.
He’s here.
Keith’s lips are dry and chapped, stiff as he sits frozen. Still Lance presses on— presses in— pushes into the kiss and lets it linger because he’s selfish and he wants this— needs it— and can’t help but give himself a moment to simply… take . To have this in case he never gets it again.
He’s selfish, but… if this small selfish act can give Keith strength, then… maybe it’s okay.
Everything stops.
Everything freezes.
Everything dissipates.
The world comes down to a simple focus: the sensation of Lance’s lips against his own, hard and pressing, yet still… holding back. Uncertain, even as he’s unwavering.
It’s— it’s everything Keith has ever wanted— what he’s dreamed about for so long— and yet… it’s not right.
It’s just… not right.
Not when Lance pulls away, lingering and gentle, hesitating a breath away as his posture pulls into himself, shoulders hunching and head bowing. His hands cling to Keith, but there’s a still nervousness about it, and his arms keep him distant.
When Keith meets his gaze, he knows what’s wrong. What isn’t quite right.
Lance is… scared. Uncertain. Worried. Not shy or sheepish, but terrified . Body coiled tight and ready to run.
That… isn’t how he’s supposed to be. Nervous, sure. Keith is nervous as hell, his heart hammering in his chest and his skin buzzing with an adrenaline he hasn’t felt in years. But scared… Lance shouldn’t be scared. He shouldn’t fear rejection.
He needs to know— has to know— that Keith—
He wants this. He wants this with every fiber of his being. He needs this. He needs Lance .
Lance starts to pull away, but Keith is there. A hand on his cheek, palm cupping his jaw, fingers dipping into the hair at the nape of his neck as he pulls him back in— pulls them together— tilts his head and captures his lips.
It’s softer this time. Not hesitant, but gentle. Intimate and raw. Keith kisses him like he’s something to be treasured, revered, and he is. Keith’s chest aches with it— aches with everything he doesn’t know how to say and can only show— can only pour into the way he kisses him— touches him— holds him—
Lance holds back for only a moment, breath held and eyes wide, before he melts into Keith. Gives into the wave that threatens to pull them both under. They sink into each other, hands clutching desperately and arms pulling each other impossibly closer, legs tangling until Lance is practically in Keith’s lap— hands in his hair— holding them together—
And this— this— this is what Keith wants. What’s right. He gives into it, lets it drown him, drowns himself in Lance . Until he doesn’t know who is holding who up, until they’re both keeping each other from being swept away.
The kiss— their perfect kiss— remains soft, gentle— hurried but tender— despite tasting of salt and blood—
Keith gasps as sharp pain cuts across his ribs, breaking their kiss and shattering the moment with a pointed reminder of where they are and the state that they’re in. Lance pulls back immediately, momentary fear flashing in his eyes, sharp and attentive as he takes in Keith’s wince of pain.
One of Keith’s hands presses to his sternum, just above the long gash that cuts across his ribs. He tries to hide the sting, but he can’t. Not when Lance has all his walls torn down and his heart achingly open.
But then understanding washes over Lance’s features, soft and warm. A hand falls over Keith’s, long fingers tightening and twining between his own. As he watches, the warmth in Lance hardens— steeling not into a wall, but into something stronger. Something determined. Something that has always taken Keith’s breath away.
He holds Keith’s gaze for a moment, longing and lingering, before leaning forward, pressing their foreheads together.
Keith’s sigh is shaky as his eyes fall closed, breath mingling with Lance’s. Fingers comb through his hair, rhythmic and soothing.
The touch feels like a promise.
Lance loses track of time, only counting it in the breaths mingled with Keith’s and the heartbeats he can feel beneath his palm. In the soft kisses Keith presses to his knuckles and his jaw. In how many times his fingers card through tangled, thick hair.
Not a word passes between them, the air of the cell far too heavy for voices. Their tongues and throats far too thick to form them. But they don’t need them. Not when they can touch.
When the cell finally opens, both shift into stances that have become second nature: defensive and ready, poised and ready to strike, to act at a moment's notice. Stances forged from war and hard earned battles.
But no battles come. Only a rescue team made up of familiar half-galra faces and the glowing emblem of the Blade sigil.
It feels like it takes ages to get back to the Blade ship.
Feels like it takes longer to get patched up and changed.
Feels like an eternity to get through the mission debrief.
His body aches, exhaustion clinging to his limbs and settling deep into his bones, dragging him down as he walks down the dimly lit halls toward his quarters.
Keith walks beside him, steps just as slow and just as heavy. His heart is oddly full and heavy. The butterflies in his stomach are tightly wound and knotted. His palms feel clammy and his skin heated beneath his bandages.
It takes so long to get to their quarters— each step echoing in the rapid beat of his heart— but all too soon, they’ve arrived.
They reach Lance’s door first, and for a moment, Lance thinks… this will be it. He’ll stop, and Keith will keep walking. He’ll go to his own room, the night will pass, and the moment between them in that cell will be lost. Fading away like a distant dream, dissipating through their fingers like smoke.
For just a moment, Lance’s heart tightens, stomach rolling at the thought of letting this thing between them pass—
But then for just a moment, Keith hesitates.
It’s barely there. Something Lance might not have noticed had he not been so attuned to Keith. The brief faltering in his steps— the brief sidelong glance— the brief tightening of his fists before he continues walking—
And Lance—
Lance can’t let him go.
For the entire time he’s known Keith, he’s always been walking away. Leaving him behind. Lance has always felt like Keith has been out of his reach, too far to catch, especially when he keeps going— keeps walking away— keeps leaving—
And the fear of it has kept him from trying.
But here, Lance finally reaches out— and he catches him.
His fingers wrap around Keith’s wrist and hold tight, stopping Keith in his tracks. And the moment— stills. Neither of them moving. Hardly daring to breathe. The rapid beat of Keith’s pulse beneath his fingertips keeps him grounded. Keeps him confident as he gives Keith’s wirst a soft but insistent tug—
And then Keith is turning, stepping back to face him— expression open and raw— press of his lips uncertain— eyes searching—
Lance doesn’t give him time to think. He steps backwards— one step, then another— and Keith moves with him, following him, gaze unwavering from where Lance holds him captive, drawing him into his room.
Keith allows himself to be reached— to be caught. Follows Lance’s lead eagerly— desperately— with a sense of relief that has him melting into Lance’s embrace. He tastes like longing as he holds Lance’s jaw between his palms, pulling him in for a kiss that threatens to consume them both— both of them clinging tightly and refusing to let go.
With the warmth of Keith beneath his fingertips and the solid weight of his body pressed against Lance’s own— grounding— comforting— dizzying as Keith licks into his mouth and holds him tight— he thinks, perhaps, it’s not selfish to want Keith.
Not if Keith wants him, too.