#keith voltron

:)

//aka a hc where sheith go to the beach after the war ends

Pairing:Keith/Lance
Words:10k
Rating:M
Warnings: mild violence
Tags:  Post-Season/Series 07, quantum abyss, Flashbacks, Flashforwards, Prophetic Visions, Visions in dreams, Mind Control, Dimension Travel, Boys Being Boys, Falling In Love, Mutual Pining, Gay Keith (Voltron), Bisexual Lance (Voltron) when the going gets tough… the tough write fix-it fics, Allura (Voltron) Lives, because fuck you jds and lm

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Summary:

Keith does not leave the quantum abyss untouched.

“Home can be anything, you know,” Lance says in lieu of a conversation starter.

Slivers of moonlight filter through the blinds above their heads, casting lines of truth across the sheets. Lance tilts his head forward and a band slides over his eyes, catching the ocean in them and drawing Keith into their rolling tides. And as distracted as he is, he doesn’t put up a fight when a hand clasps his own, reeling them heartward.

“Home is just something you can come back to.” His knuckles brush against the soft fabric of a nightshirt, the v-neckline falling loose to reveal a sharp collarbone, and Keith feels his breath hitching. “Something that keeps you grounded.”

READ IT ON AO3

In the solitude of the dark, the bodies of the fallen are what guide him. They, garbed in uniform and life’s regrets, stand in salute, nameless in the wake of victory that has yet to come. Kindled by the same fire, they are mirror images of one another, holding insight in one hand and judgement in the other. They turn to face him, asking what he will do— what he is willing to give. All or nothing.

Knowledge or death, they whisper.

It is a secret, tied to the hilt of a blade.

A phantom of resistance that resides in a burning world, twitching fingers tracing over the edge of a blade and the slide of a hood over a faceless body. Shadows rise from the ashes, willing to fight the emblem that’s carved onto their tombstone. One falls and another takes its place. So is the way. So is the world.

Knowledge or death.

He is among their ranks, tense and determined behind the mask he hides behind. Recycled air, taken from the lungs of the parted, filter though, drying the tears he won’t allow anyone to see. It distorts his thoughts, jumbling the words of the universe, breaking apart and reassembling with not a thought of accuracy. Speaking to him in a whisper, stagnant in a blazing inferno of stars.

Knowledge or death.

Pain is the toll he must pay. Payment in the form of pin needles dragging along his spine with the intent to scar, torturing his nerves slowly.

Knowledge or death.

Something wet dribbles down his nose, marking him red in the light of Naxzela. It splatters on the floor, seeping into a crust of hexamite; metal, broken and warped, cradle him in a coffin of sacrifice. The shadow of the universe’s greatest defender looms over him, smoke billowing out of its mechanical eyes even as his own glazes over. Wrangled, his body convulses with the beat of a bomb set to detonate. Tick, boom, and silence.

Thoughts crash against his skull, lifeless in desperation, creating fixtures that threaten to burst. Skin burns, fires of gold seeping into his pores and ravaging his insides, muscles spasming and screaming for salvation. He wants to stop— please, he wants to live— but can’t.

Knowledge or death.

He chooses.

The team comes together on an unassuming Wednesday.

The wind is strong that day and it tugs at the flags hoisted onto the pole outside the base, hooks clanging against metal and thick fabric thrashing. Playing the dry air like a flute, it serenades the miniature dust devils that dance across the desert horizon and over the grounds. People hold onto their hats and portfolios, squinting against the invisible obstacle, cautious of what becomes of unattended papers and their fate as nature’s playthings.

Safely nestled inside the main conference room of the Atlas, Keith sits at the room’s long table, stuffed in a crisp, new uniform and back ramrod straight in an uncomfortable chair. To his left is Lance, hands folded on the tabletop and settled on the report he has yet to open, leaning away and murmuring something into Allura’s ear that has the girl giving a short-lived smile before manicured hands are pushing him away. Down the line is Hunk and Pidge, the former busy shuffling anxiously through high-profile papers while the later watches in utter boredom. At the table’s head is Shiro, head held high as he talks about Galran movement in the Outer Rim, flesh hand pointing at the hologram that rotates slowly in front of him.

Other members of the coalition sit opposite to them, dressed to the nines in flowing robes and thick belts; behind them are an assortment of guards and influentials, proper and focused in a way that makes Keith’s own frown second-rate in comparison.

“We’ll have the Atlas act as headquarters while we make our round across the universe. The Galra Empire has already been broken apart, but we need to make sure that it stays that way,” Shiro is telling them, already twenty minutes into the briefing. “Just like Sendak, countless of generals are striving to gain territory through conquest in an effort to get the throne. If we stop enough of them, it’ll force the rest to step down. It’s asking for a lot, but liberating planets from residual Galran rule should be our first priority.”

“And how will Voltron play a part in this?” asks one of the coalition councilors.

That’s Keith’s cue.

He leans forward. “Whenever we come into contact with a planet that needs liberation, Voltron will be dispatched to target the main center of operations for the Galra. It’ll be heavily guarded and built, so Atlas and coalition weaponry won’t be able to penetrate its fortress. With the rest of the resistance giving cover fire for the first waves of attack, Voltron will make quick work of it and the ion canons that they have stationed around the base. Without their nerve center, they’re as good as dead.”

One of the councilors, a humanoid alien with crosses for pupils and two sets of elvish ears, fiddles with a ring on their clawed finger. “A sound strategy for sure, if not a little elementary. But are we to expect that your human pilots are to be at the head of this operation? Though Earth is home to the paladins, it is greatly behind on many levels— it was only until recently, through altean means no less, that you were even able to produce fighter ships that could withstand travel at sound speed. I think I speak for many of us when I say that it would ease the minds of both our troops and allies to know that more… experienced individuals were guiding us through dilemma.”

A wave of murmurs follows the declaration. From across the room, he can see the team of MFE pilots, hands clasped behind their back and faces carefully blank.

Shiro, ever astute, breaks through the stretched moment. “This mission calls for the best of the best, regardless of station and species— and though Earth hasn’t been in this war very long, we still have as much to risk as the rest of the coalition. The entire universe needs to be put back together and focusing on the who rather than the why isn’t getting anyone anywhere. This is war, people, and we’ve got no room for mistakes. Or egos, for that matter.”

A few individuals still side-eye each other, obviously wanting to say more but unwilling to be the one to actually say it. It leaves things… strained. Both sides, human and alien, seem to want to oversee the upcoming few months; frustrating as it is, pride and the promise of glory are jewels in which people still crave, polished until they blind those that horde them and locked away so that the thieves don’t get robbed themselves. Convincing someone that something is right is one thing but convincing them that they must pay to make it so is another matter altogether.

From behind the paladins Keith can hear Coran hum out some semblance of an opinion and it causes Allura to straighten in her seat. “I’m sure,” she says, face smoothing over in a curtain of political neutrality, “we can all agree that what’s best for the universe is most important. It does not matter who strikes the final blow— as long as the blow is given. We will all reap the rewards when this wretched war is over and peace is back within our grasp.”

Hunk speaks up. “We all want the universe safe, so I don’t think it matters who does what, as long as they do it right.”

“Yeah, what Allura and Hunk say.” Lance leans back, the epitome of lax, the hand dangling over his chair’s arm just barely brushing the back of Keith’s when he shrugs. His voice is clipped, enough so that it would sound rude if not for the charming smile he sends the line of aliens’ way. “Plus, I don’t think this is anyone’s first rodeo. We’ve all been around the block a few times, which makes us all great at what we do. The universe is in safe hands.”

It seems that the blue paladin’s appeal isn’t all talk because his words reach their audience. Two of the councilors nod in understanding and one goes to far as to outright grin at the boy.

From his position at Shiro’s right, Sam Holt coughs into his fist, hiding what looks to be a smile; the look and the man’s scraggly beard contrast directly with the sharp cut of his uniform, flaunting three decorative stripes on the shoulders. He sends a look to his wife across the room, subtle enough that Keith only catches it because he’s already looking. “It’s still a long way to go and there’s still much to finalize.”

Colleen seems to get the message, coming forth with a, “I’m sure the paladins need to look into their own preparations. If everything is to run smoothly when we take off then they’ll need to appraise the lions— Commander Shirogane as well, with the IFG-Atlas. At any rate, they won’t be needed for the following discussion.”

It’s a backdoor to freedom and they take it.

Pidge shoots up from her seat, obviously over the grown-up talk and keen to get back to her lab on the ship; the girl offers her mom and dad a quick side hug before bolting out of the room at a speed that could leave skid marks in the floors. If the council takes offense to her eagerness they do not show it, simply tipping their heads in delayed farewell when the rest of the team rises to follow her.

The doors close behind them, only seconds before Shiro’s hand zooms and catches the back of their youngest teammate’s collar before she turns the corner and out of sight, pulling her back even as she struggles. “Not so fast, Pidge. We still need to talk as a team.”

“Aw, but I was going to test out my flamethrower prototype for my project.” She pushes out her bottom lip and lays on the puppy dog eyes thick, clasping her hands together and looking entirely fifteen. Sweet as sugar. “Can’t we do it later? We’ve already been stuck in that meeting forever.”

The force of the look is enough to have even the toughest of sergeants rethinking their resolve. Shiro, who’s always had a soft spot for the girl, wavers.

But before any call could be made, Lance butts in with a, “Your creepy robot can wait.”

The mirage is instantly broken as Pidge scrunches her face in an unattractive scowl. The girl whirls on the blue paladin and pinches him in the arm, ignoring the boy’s high-pitched squeal and easily dodging the swats he sends her way. “Chip is not creepy! He’s innovative and beautiful; the face of the future! At least, he will be when I actually start building him.”

Keith doesn’t say anything about the matter but he spots the grimaces that the rest of the team try to hide. They had all seen the schematics of their youngest’s new project, detailed notes on dimensions and potential upgrades utilizing all kinds of human and alien tech, and while the science behind it was irrevocably impressive, the superficial designs had been… less appealing. Eyes too big and a nutcracker jaw had left most unsettled at first glance, but no one had had the heart to tell the girl in fear of bursting her bubble of excitement at the prospect of technological advancement.

“Unnerving is what it is,” Lance continues. “Hunk agrees with me. Tell her, Hunk.”

The callout is enough to have everyone’s attention shifting like clockwork, pinning on the bigger boy in question, who shifts at the center of it. “Haha, okay,” he fakes, openly sweating. “Well, you see… I didn’t… I never said it was creepy.”

“Nuh huh. You totally did. You said it had a face only a mother could love.”

“That’s not what I said.” Hunk pointedly looks up and away when Pidge furrows her eyebrows in obvious question. “I said that it was a good thing it was artificial because no mother could love that face. But I never technicallysaid it was creepy.”

The sellout is apparent and Pidge gasps, affronted. Even more so when she looks around for support but finds none, Keith avoiding her piercing gaze along with Shiro and Allura. It’s amazing how such a small person can have them tucking their tails between their legs with only a look.

“I can’t believe this.”

“Well, believe it.” The blue paladin watches her cross her arms and huff loudly. He frowns, throwing a hand over her shoulders. “Oh, c’mon. Pidgey, don’t be like that. We’re just saying that it could use a few adjustments, not that it isn’t great. Add some eyelids and a nose and I’m sure it won’t look like the devil’s greatest mistake.” When he doesn’t get a laugh, he pouts and lets his feet slide, leaning his entire weight onto her tiny frame. “Why don’t you base it off someone? Maybe that’ll make it less creepy.”

That does get a reaction. “Base it on someone?”

“Yeah, you know, draw inspiration from life.” The boy frames his chin between his fingers, teeth sparkling. “I know for a fact that my face would look great on anything.”

Keith catches Allura’s eye and rolls his, face going carefully blank when Lance pivots to catch the reason for the princess’s resulting giggle.

Before any kind of childish argument can break out the door to the conference room swings opens once again, surprising all of them. They watch as the MFE pilots file out of it, quietly bickering amongst one another.

Hunk peers into their faces, asking, “Aw, you guys get kicked out of the meeting too?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” James says the same time Leifsodottir says, “Yes.”

“Sucks to suck,” Lance deadpans, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Keith watches as the the two groups merge into one with little to no effort. Hunk and Kinkade start up a heated discussion about what he thinks is yeast, nearly drowning out the fast-paced chatter about a makeshift mall on the base the girls dive into, all of them smiling wide when Lance and James offer to tag along. Somehow Shiro had managed to angle them in the direction of the deck, the older man sending Keith an amused grin over the heads of their companions, unperturbed by trivial talk and its irrelevance to the world.

Allura grabs his arm. “You should come along too, Keith.”

“Sure,” he agrees without really thinking.

It’s odd, being part of something so… normal. Moving from foster to foster home had left some dubiousness about what identified as run-of-the-mill, but this— this is something else. A war is waging around them, decrepit and bleak, and here they are, acting like things are better than they seem. It’s light, shaving down the weight of their responsibilities, a window into what could be considered as after.

The concept of the future had never been something he looked into— well, not past tomorrow. Not profoundly anyway. From the day he had buried his father it had always been get through today, just get through todayandif you can make today, then you can make tomorrow. It had been a dismal kind of existence, but it had been his; a bushel of nettle he had sown and made his bed in, dreaming of nothing as he slept among prickly blossoms. Lackadaisical stings of the morning sun to wake him, rising to another today.

But things are different now, he supposes. Now he has people to call his own, a life to call his own and maybe even a future to call his own. Well, if he’s to believe the flashes anyway— and maybe he does.

Oh, how he wants to believe it.

Wants that afterjust as much as he wants the now.

(Firelight flickers along the edge of his vision, staining everything a lustrous amber.

A scene of contentment greets him. Plush cushions, fuzzy socks, and the smell of cinnamon. A table filled high with food, steam rising from mugs and one space wolf nosing along the edge of a platter filled with assorted meats. The faces of his team, stretched into snapshots of cheer. Laughter, bright and loud, echoing through the halls of a familiar looking home, cozy and warm against the backdrop of night sky that clings outside the frosted window. His own mother leaning into frame, smile soft and genuine as she offers a wrapped gift.

Happy Birthday, someone says. Here’s to another year.)

A boisterous laugh jostles him back to reality. They’ve arrived at the bridge in the span of his trance, fracturing the quiet that had preceded them, and Keith belatedly blinks at the few crewmembers still lingering around; they salute only once Shiro’s steps forward, more than one starry-eyed gaze sneaking a glance at the junction where his elbow should be.

“Finally!” A voice, nasally and idiosyncratic, speaks from just beyond the raised dais in the middle of the room. “You should have been here two doboshes ago! Ugh! Now I have to recalibrate all my calculations!”

Then a familiar face, whiskered and billed, slides into view. Behind him, Shiro groans.

Slav folds two of his arms, centipede body bending back so he can glare at the group as a whole. His bushy tail quivers behind him, puffing up to twice its normal size and nearly hitting the unsuspecting woman in the navigator’s seat nearby; too worked up, the bytor doesn’t seem to notice. He marches right into their ranks, curving around both Pidge and Allura in a move that make’s Keith’s back ache by just looking.

“Do you know the likelihood of our total annihilation is now that we’ve started two doboshes late? It’s down zero point forty-six percent!” He waves his primary pair of arms in the air and Keith automatically makes to lean out of the way. Bulbous eyes zero in on him, growing bigger when the alien leans in close. A sound mixed between a huff and a chitter is aimed at him. “And will you look at that! You’ve gone and added another variable! It’s going to be one of thoserealities— I can’t believe it! Making my job all the harder!”

A bolt of lightning shoots up his spine. “What.”

But before anything more can be said on the matter, the bytor scurries away. Three of his eight hands pick up a holoscreen from the supply on the table, frantically swiping and scribbling down equations that look like a language of their own. “Now I have to do everything over again! We’re all doomed!”

“Whoa, can you actually see different realities?” Rizavi’s eyes are wide and her hands are clasped eagerly together as she zooms over and peers down at the centipede alien. “That’s so cool.”

Shiro makes a pained expression. “Please, don’t encourage him.”

But it’s already too late. Slav catches wind of the topic and, raising three fingers on three separate arms, begins to lecture on the real magnitude that is the multiverse. It goes on long enough, and to enough depth, that even Coran’s excited smile from over the main console begins to waver; Rizavi herself has begun to look constipated, feelings mirrored in the tortured expressions the rest of the MFE pilots put on behind her. And when Shiro’s eyebrow ticks, Keith expects some kind of impeding explosion.

Yet it never comes. It never comes because Lance is launching himself forward, half sprawled on the staggered console and leaning close to the aggravating alien, chin propped on his upturned palm, and asking, “Okay then, Mr. Smarty Pants. What’s the probability of Shiro being able to bench press Kolivan in this universe?”

Without missing a beat, the alien replies, “Zero point zero, zero, zero, zero, zero, zero, zero, zero, zero, zero, zero, zero, zero, one, three, five.”

“And what about where I beat Pidge’s top score in Killbot Phantasm I? How many realities has that?”

“Four hundred and sixty-six trillion, and one.”

Lace whoops while Pidge, easily distracted and a sore loser, loudly demands a recount. It becomes something sort of a game after that. Calling out trifle things and waiting for the theoretical engineer to give a long-winded value, each player getting more and more outrageous in their suggestions as time passes. Even Shiro offers a reality or two.

“Oh, oh, oh! How about Lance being secretly altean?”

“Zero point zero, zero, zero, zero, zero, zero, seven, four, one, three, seven.”

“That’s actually pretty high,” Hunk notes with an interested hum.

“Yes! What about Hunk? There’s got to be some universe out there where Hunk is balmeran and he and Shay have thousands of rock babies!” He grins wickedly at the squeak the bigger boy lets out, flush high on his cheeks and refutations stilted as they spill out of his mouth, but Lance is already moving on. “Oh! Pidge, wouldn’t it be cool if you were an olkari? It would, wouldn’t it?”

Pidge pops up at his elbow, cleaning out her left ear with her pinky. “I don’t know. I could go without the whole one-with-nature thing.”

“Oh, right. That really isn’t your forte, huh? Well, how about unilu? Four arms would be hella cool and, I mean, you’re already a goblin so you’re halfway there anyway.”

The girl flicks a piece of earwax at the blue paladin, who throws himself bodily away to hide behind Hunk. Pidge doesn’t acknowledge their twin expressions of disgust when it lands on the main screen of console or when she absently wipes her finger on her thigh. “Coding would be much easier if I had two extra hands.”

“Wish we could visit that reality. Then we could all hang out and be aliens together. That’d be so awesome.”

“How would that be any different than right now?” Keith asks, not understanding the hype.

Lance rolls his eyes and starts to answer before his mind zips to another train of thought. His hand goes flying, not-so-accidentally hitting the red paladin in the chest, but he blatantly ignores Keith’s muttered ‘ow’ in favor of whipping back to face the rest of the group. “Oh! I got another one! Is there a reality where I’m not plagued by Keith’s greasy mullet?”

This time Slav makes no hesitation. “No.”

Lance erupts into laughter, dramatic and over the top like this is the greatest joke he’s ever heard, and Keith feels himself scowling. Still, he’d rather have the teasing than hear the alien complain about their statistical failures and his lucky range of terahertz. It’s a blessing when the console lights up and a notification flits across the screen telling them of the teludav’s online status. Slav, having unconsciously purged the almost mental breakdown from his mind, perks up and scurries over to his designated chair at the helm, sparing them not another glance.

“Rachel is the same way when she’s nervous,” Lance says casually as Slav proceeds to calibrate the machine, answering a question nobody asked, head angled Keith’s way even though he’s talking to the room at large. “She would go through every bad outcome in her head until she psyched herself out— only way to snap her out of it was to distract her with something else until, eventually, she forgot what she was so worried about. Though she was more of a history junkie than anything else, so probability and statistics are kinda a stretch for me, but, hey, whatever works.”

A miniscule flash hits him. Not-there-fingers reach to fit between his own fisted ones, unwinding the tension and rubbing a soothing circle into the jut of his thumb. It’s casually intimate, learned in behavior and habitual in nature. A blink-and-you-miss-it moment.

“Alright, alright.” Shiro interrupts. “Let’s get back on track. What’s the status on the lions? They were pretty beat up during Sendak’s siege.”

Coran peers between Slav’s second and third arm, combing a thumb over his mustache. “Most of the repairs are finished. We’re just waiting for the upgrade on the Blue Lion’s sonar and to fix one of the Yellow Lion’s hind paws, which is still bent a fifteenth of a degree too far inward. It won’t take more than a week, I reckon.”

“That gives us just enough time to assemble the rest of the coalition one last time. If we cross paths with Haggar, we’ll have to make a stand and give it everything we’ve got. Prepare for a long journey ahead.” He turns to Keith and the team, and he can feel himself standing straighter with the attention; the older man notices and smiles. “One more thing. It’s our last few nights on Earth and we’ve got a long journey ahead of us, so I’m ordering you all to take some time for yourselves. Be with the ones you love.”

The days following are filled with goodbyes.

All around the base, people cling to those they hold dear. Impartial to rank— commanders or cargo pilots, stripped of everything in the face of sacrifice— it sweeps over, all encompassing. Tears are shed, hugs are given, and promises are made. Every lingering touch and whispered word is a herald for what’s to come. A final farewell, stamped with a military seal of approval.

For the most part Keith sticks to the sidelines. He’s well-versed in the art of goodbyes, but, for once, doesn’t have any to give. Everyone who’s anyone is leaving with him. His team, his mother, his wolf. All of them, keeping within reach.

Krolia and Kolivan will be joining them on the Atlas for the first quarter of their trek back into space, setting up a relief unit aboard the ship before they go looking for the remaining members of the Blade that might still be alive. It’s something Keith has always known would happen. Loyalty to their own, something that runs deep in his own veins, have guided them this far and will continue to guide them even further. And if that loyalty takes them away from Keith for a while, then so be it. It is a consolation though, knowing they’re capable to face whatever comes their way and only a call away should Keith need them.

It’s these reasons that Keith forgoes the goodbyes and instead finds himself sitting atop the Black Lion’s head with his space wolf for company, watching the sun set on what could be one of his last days on Earth.

He’s sits in silence for ten minutes before Kosmo’s head is swiveling behind them, ears perked. Seconds later Keith can hear someone clambering out of the open hatch behind him, footsteps bringing them closer until the body belonging to them drops into the place beside him. A quick look and he’s looking into ocean eyes.

“Man, you can be a real hard guy to find when you wanna be,” Lance says, kicking his legs over the ledge. He angles his face up. “You watching the sunset?”

“Yeah…” He sighs, returning his gaze to the horizon. “It might be awhile before we get to see it again.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna really miss this place.”

Looking at the golden touch of the clouds draped over the shoulders of the distant mountains, Keith can’t help but agree. They’ve seen their fair share of planets, each one more extraordinary than the last. Some with floating islands, waterfalls of citrine dripping over the edge and straight to oblivion. Others with fields of colossal blossoms opening under the light of twin moons, humming as they start their migration to the fire pits of the planet’s core. All of it, strange and wonderful and breathtaking, things beyond anything he could hope to imagine, and yet— nothing could hold a candle to the wonders of an Earthen sunset.

“You know,” Lance starts, voice melting under the fading light, “when I was younger, I always wanted to live among the stars. But now, I’m not so sure.”

Keith tilts his head until his temple presses against his knee, tracing the other’s gilded profile. “Having second thoughts?” he teases.

“More like just thoughts in general. Just, I don’t know, sometimes I wonder if I’m really cut out for this kind of stuff. I mean, who would’ve thought I’d be one of the guys saving the universe— me, some kid from Cuba. It’s just… sometimes it doesn’t feel real.”

The solemn tone is an arrowhead to the soft underbelly of the beast that beats in his chest. He’s familiar with the consuming self-doubt that rises in low times and doesn’t want Lance— kind and always with a shoulder to lean on Lance— to feel like he’s anything less than what he is: essential and important and wanted.

“Am I hearing this correctly? You, Lance McClain, are saying you don’t think you’re fit for space exploration. Are you okay? Coming down with that space flu, are you?”

His friend cracks a grin. “Nah, man. No space flu here. Didn’t you hear? I’m a Cuban boy, and we’ve got immune systems made of steel.”

“Well, that’s good to hear. I was worried for a second there, because the Lance I know should never doubt whether he’s cut out for this stuff. Saving the universe is in the name.” He leans back onto his hands. “That’s how we’re gonna win this war. With the Lance that’s the paladin of the Red Lion. The Lance that’s always got my back. And the Lance that knows exactly who is and what he’s got to offer.”

He thinks about a distant memory, of two lost boys finding each other in the depths of a planet made of storms. Thinks about drifting through the fog, full of regret and self-doubt, and looking up into the luminous eyes of the Red Lion, a beacon of certainty in a world full of misgivings. Remembers admitting a mistake and having it cupped in the hands of the boy next to him, offered back with an olive branch growing amidst the roots of his palm.

A shoulder knocks into his. “Thanks, Keith.”

He knocks it back. “Anytime.”

They go back to watching the sunset, a comfortable silence settling nicely between them. Minute by minute, the sun lowers itself down into the cradle of night. A sheet of stars follows, twinkling in a lullaby the moon croons, silvery and sweet. It becomes a waltz across the sky, in perpetuum, so close that he feels like he can reach out and join them. To walk among them until he reaches the fold of the skyline, take that final step and fall off the precipice. The final distance.

“To the end of the universe,” he murmurs absently.

“And back.”

Keith turns his head. “What?”

“To the end of the universe and back,” Lance repeats, the faded glow of the sunset caressing his face and coloring it gold, softening the edges until he’s his own miniature sun. It takes half a minute of Keith not responding for the other boy to continue, gaze detaching itself from the sight before them almost reluctantly and meeting his own, aiming to blind. “What’s the point in going if you don’t have anywhere to come back to?”

And Keith doesn’t have an answer for that, not one that’s true anyway. For Keith had always wanted more than what he was given, always looking ahead in hopes that it’ll distract him from what he’s left behind. First it had been the thrill of adventure, then a desperate search for a mother thought gone and now— now, it’s to keep safe what he’s made.

“To the end of the universe and back,” Keith finally says, quiet and thoughtful.

It sounds like a promise.

“Be safe,” his mother tells him that night when he returns to the apartment, cosmic wolf curling around her calves. The moonlight bounces off the luxite of the blade she presses into his palm, catching every groove of the weapon, alien and familiar. Not a goodbye, but a blessing and a plea. “Be safe and come back to me.”

To the end of the universe and back, he thinks as they hug, willing the words to be true.

By the time they’re to embark, the entirety of the base has congregated together to see them off. They fill up the Atlas launch bay, watching the group make their way to the lions seated at the ship’s base; a gradient murmur rises to existence upon their appearance, getting louder and louder the closer they get. People start waving and soon there are flashes of pictures being taken, documented for all of time. It’s wild and overwhelming, and Keith nearly stumbles in his footing.

“Woah,” Hunk murmurs.

The bigger boy looks a bit green when Keith glaces over, shoulders hunching up to his ears in partial embarrassment as he offers a hesitant wave to a little balmeran sitting atop its parents’ shoulders. At his elbow, Pidge appears fascinated, excitedly pointing out the drones that seem to be filming the procession. At Keith’s other side, Lance, always comfortable in the spotlight, preens at the attention, giving the crowd his best smile— all pearly whites and boyish dimples— and signature finger guns. Ahead of the four, both Shiro and Allura take it all in stride, exuding authority and grace as they nod to those screaming their names.

They make it to the stage assembled in front of the circle of lions without a hitch, walking past the line of officials already situated, dressed in medals of value and pressed suits. It must make for an impressive image because the drones fly lower and there are the rapid snaps of photographs being taken, the slew of them broadcasted on the large holoscreens facings the crowds. The cheers become thunderous as Allura takes the podium, looking for all she is a queen about to address her subjects.

The cosmos take a deep breath, waiting for her to speak.

“My father once told me that belief was the cornerstone of life. That to believe in something greater meant to push yourself higher to reach it. Each and every one of us has this power. To strive forward and achieve what we believe, what we dream— it is only a matter of will.” The altean’s kaleidoscope eyes sweeps over the masses, aiming to making a connection to all those who look back. “Today, we all have the same belief. To end this war. To see what lies beyond this strife and sorrow, and to form anew from its ashes.”

Keith looks to the faces in the crowd, watches them open up, sunlit and hopeful, blooming under the words of a princess with no crown. It’s awe-inspiring.

“Do not fear to take that step towards change, for it is within your grasp. The power we hold together is great and it will lead us to a new era. An aeon of peace.”

There’s an old truth to the words, the sound of them ringing across centuries and centuries of history Keith hasn’t lived through and can only catch a glimpse of through the dusty windows of crumbling libraries. Empires and kingdoms alike collapse and fall to those words, reborn anew by the same mercy.

“We will succeed,” Allura continues, voice powerful and full of conviction. “This war has been going on for a millennium and, for some, it is all you have known. But I’m here to say that it’s not always going to be like this. I have known peace and I promise that it can be like that again. It’s worth the pain. It’s worth standing back up and fighting. And that’s what we are going to do now. Fight for our lives and those who we return to, so that everyone may know peace as I did. We will fight, we will win and we will return— for the good of the universe.”

A roar of approval explodes at her words, spirited and deafening. It propels them forward, stepping onto the docking platform and holding their heads high in a deep-rooted hope for triumph.

Minutes later, the IGF-Atlas is launched and with it, the universe’s last hope.

It takes time but, one by one, the Galra Empire’s hold on the universe slackens. Planets, shackled by the oppression of a dictator, are freed, allowed to step back into the light. Their inhabitants, tear-eyed and bruised, thank them with what little they have to give; words of gratitude and medals of honor, immortalized in lore and statue. A depiction of heroes, armor sullied in the effort of liberation and dented in the face of suns now free to shine, digging into the soft flesh of those salvaged from the wreckage and those too late to save.

It’s tiring work, one that leaves bones aching and minds hollow. Still, they don’t quit. Fight the galra, aid the people and take to the sky. On to the next, rinse and repeat.

When they aren’t liberating planets, they spend their time walking the halls of the Atlas, going through the motions in such a way that it’s reminiscent to life aboard the castleship before its destruction. Time goes in cycles between operations, alternating from urgent to lethargic at a moment’s notice. It’s the high strung tension of a warship charging an ion cannon, orders made and orders followed, abated only by the notification of threat neutralized and the sighs of relief that follow. It’s the slow drawl of the days in-between, following the routine of social interactions dictated by close proximity; lounging in the common rooms, doodling on the backside of old reports and making calls back to Earth, a bizarre show of normalcy.

His world grows. Strangers become acquaintances and acquaintances become friends, becoming more commonplace as time passes and battles are won.

He learns the names of the rest of the MFE pilots and gets a scope of their personalities, finds that they aren’t so bad as he initially thought. Ryan never goes anywhere without his camera and always has an opinion on the pick for movie nights. Nadia is an adrenaline junkie and likes to show off that she can do a black flip from a standstill position. Ina can beatbox and might actually be one of the funniest people Keith has ever met. Even James seems to have become less hostile in the past years, keeping the hard put harmony whenever they cross paths; not once does he offer an apology for the trouble he caused Keith when they were young but, nonetheless, it seems that they’ve come to some sort of silent agreement.

Another change is the near constant presence of Lance’s oldest sister, Veronica. A central component of command among the Atlas, the woman is almost as high a rank as Shiro and walks through the halls with a certain air around her that reflects it. She’s small, shorter when standing next to the lean form of her brother, brisk in her speech and utterly composed in everything else. More often than not, he sees her giving orders or analyzing battle plans, eyes zeroing in on anything and everything, ready to dissect. Only when in the company of her brother does the professional front come down entirely, smoothing over strict frowns and furrowed eyes until a semblance of a person shines through.

(Like now, after yet another meeting with the crew on operation progress and Keith takes a second to wait for Shiro, leaning against the wall and only half listening as his friend finishes discussing the particulars on a medical unit planetside. Opposite to him are the two siblings, talking; as he watches the younger says something, hands flailing dramatically, and the reaction is near immediate. Veronica shoves her brother and does this thing, where her cheeks rise and her eyes crinkle in a open-mouthed smile— and ah, now Keith knows where Lance gets it from.)

It’s because their group is ever growing that, when there’s no meetings scheduled and no planet in need of saving, they’ll come together and chill. Sometimes they’ll have dinner and do a game night, dividing into teams and arguing passionately over whether it’s fair for the mice to play charades when Allura can practically read their thoughts. Other times they have movie nights, crowded around the giant holoscreen in the captain’s quarters, munching on popcorn and cocooned in blankets, only to wake up the next morning with mussed up hair and drool drying on their chins.

It’s a far cry from what Keith thought his life would be like, cruising through deep space and fighting in a thousand year old war alongside the very people who threw him into it. To have found something out of nothing.

If only thirteen year old Keith could see him now. Maybe then he’d be a little more patient knowing that something good came from all the pain.

Birthed from the planet’s core, all he knows is fire. Every thought, incinerated, leaving only ash and a hollow husk. Curled in on himself, quivering in the aftershocks of violence, he hopes for salvation. A means to end the agony, forever extinguished.

A miracle, then. Nebulous hands, burning upon exposure, reaching for him just as a voice says, I’m still here.

It is a promise made.

Always gonna be here.

It is a promise kept.

They don’t catch a trace of Haggar until four months into their mission.

By then they are well-versed in policing the vast expanse of space. Violence may still slink around the corners, but it no longer rules the universe, collapsing under the force of the will of their allies. The planets they encounter no longer tremble under the fury of the galra sigil, but fight back, answering the call that echoes across light years. Where Voltron is a beacon of hope, the Atlas is a promise of a future; for Voltron may fight and bleed to give the people their freedom, it is the Atlas and all its assets bestowed that allows them the power to wield it.

Even with all its power and history, Voltron is not needed like it used to be. The paladins themselves barely have much to do as it is, going into battles that are over before they even begin. It seems that the universe doesn’t need much defending anymore.

Which leads to no argument when they receive intel about the altean witch’s whereabouts in the outskirts of the sector they’re in and decide to pursue.

Allura, in particular, is eager to get things rolling. The princess throws herself into the preparation, listening to reports and triangulating coordinates that might give more incite to what’s to come. Night after night she stays up, looking through the star maps and murmuring in an ancient language that only a handful of people still possess the knowledge to understand; no matter how much Keith and the rest of the team prods, she refuses to let up, shaking her head when they mention rest and insisting that some things are just more important.

Results are garnered when, on the day before they’re set to mobilize, the altean wakes from her comatose state.

From the moment her eyes snap open, bedlam ensues. An alarm goes off in the middle of breakfast and people go running— medical hands, scientists, lieutenants, paladins and everyone in between. Everyone wants to know the answer to the biggest question of this age: who is this mysterious altean and why was she found at the heart of a Sincline Mech. Allura is the first to arrive, Romelle the second, running ahead of Keith and pushing past the nurses on hand and kneeling next to the shaking form splayed over pristine bed sheets.

It takes a few minutes but eventually emerald eyes focus, zipping from corner to corner until they stick onto the two at her bedside, taking in their pointed ears and colorful marks and Coran standing just behind. The whole room holds their breath as she takes a moment to process, silent in the wake of the hand she raises, trembling, to graze across Allura’s cheek. A moment passes, extending the length of forever and then—

“Ah!” Allura cries out.

—like a whip cracking, fingers are gripping the princess’s chin and pulling it closer. Nails dig into flesh, carving angry, red lines down once flawless skin.

“Traitors,” the girl hisses.

More than one person lurches forward to intervene, but Allura rips herself away before anything else could be done. Her brows furrow, confusion and anger twisting her lips as she glares at the hand that marked her.

“We are not traitors,” Romelle says, leaning forward despite what had just transpired and catching the eye of the altean. “It’s me, Romelle. Don’t you recognize me, Luka? It’s been a long time, but you used to play with my brother when we were younger. Brandor, remember?”

“A traitor with a name is still a traitor nonetheless. Do not think forgiveness will be given just because you once walked among us.”

“But we are not traitors,” Allura insists. “We have done nothing to deserve such a title. It is you who were found in Sincline Mech, trying to destroy Earth, unprovoked.”

The altean— Luka, curls her lip in distaste. “Earth harbors traitors to our kind. It is offense enough.”

“We are not here to cause more strife, but to stop a war. You see, I am—”

“I know who you are. You are Allura of Old Altea, the princess who slept on while we suffered.” She sneers in the face of their shock, twisting on the bed until she’s all but spitting in the face of a once-ruler. “Empress Honerva has told us all about you. She warned us about your lies. Warned us about your delusions of peace, how you defile what you preach. How it was you who cut Lotor down when he trusted you most, when all he sought for was to save us. Save us when you couldn’t— when you wouldn’t.”

Allura stumbles back as if struck. It’s a low blow and they all know it; know that Allura may say the past is the past when it comes to the galran prince, but that this is a would hastily stitched. A wound now split wide open. “You do not know the whole story. Lotor was using our kind, using me. He was not the man we thought he was. He did not even tell me of your existence. If I had known then—”

“You would have done nothing! Nothing!” Luka jerks forward, as if to attack, and two men on medical standby step forward to restrain her. She fights them, glaring at the two alteans before her with such venom that it is a miracle they do not fall to the floor. “You would have left us to die, just as you did with the rest of our people. Just as you did with Lotor. You think yourself a Life Giver, but you hold no such power, and when the fates come crashing down, it is you who will find yourself cut down. Cut down by the very blade you wield.”

Keith sees the words cut deep, sees his friend flinch.

Then the altean does try to attack, breaking free of the humans that restrain her and swinging a fist that promises retribution. It’s only the quick reaction of Coran, growing two feet in the span of seconds, that catches it before it can land; Allura blinks in delayed astonishment, eyes glazed over as they watch the girl get tackled back onto the bed, thrashing like a wild animal. Watches as a nurse raises a syringe filled with transparent liquid to her neck, needle piercing pale skin, and her eyes roll back, body slumping in an unconscious heap. Watches as Romelle scurries forward, hands fluttering nervously and unsure what to do, desperate to help— can only stare and watch as the body is carried away to some undisclosed location as people rush about, talking about heart rates and induced comas, followed by the bark of orders for others to get back to their scheduled duties.

Only when the room has cleared and none of the alteans have moved, does Keith venture closer. “Allura,” he says as soft as he can muster, eyeing the princess and the white-knuckled clutch of her fists. “You okay?”

His voice must break through whatever plane she drifts in, because she deliberately untenses, looking back at him. “Hm? Yes, I’m— it’s fine. I just hadn’t realized… that they harbored such hostility for me.”

She blinks rapidly, attempting to banish the tears they all see collecting at the corner of her eyes.

Granite cracks as Coran returns back to the living world. He turns back to the princess, shrinking to his original size, a dangerous look flashing in his eyes. It’s times like this that Keith has to remind himself that this man, eccentric and over the top as he is, has seen more of this universe than any one of them. That he has advised kings and queens, long gone, a relic of a time past this system and the next. That there are empires younger than the years etched into his face.

“It is not your fault, princess,” the older man assures, kneeling down so that they are eye level. His gloved hand takes hers, guiding it slowly to her face, hovering over the marks that linger. “They do not know any better. Let the Life Givers guide us, we will save them and teach them what it truly means to be altean.”

The words bring forth a small smile. Her fingertips glow a faint pink, sealing over the scratches and leaving not even a scar. “You’re right, Coran. This just makes it more imperative that we win this war and defeat Honerva, to heal what she has wrought. For our people.”

Romelle joins them, looking upset but trying hard to be otherwise. “We’ll just have to show them the truth.”

Lance puts a hand on his hip. “Yeah, but first we have to find them. We know where Honerva was four quintants ago, but that’s worth nothing if we don’t know which way she was headed. No clues on what she’s doing either. And I don’t think our new friend is going to be telling us anytime soon.”

“Oh.” Something bright returns to Allura’s eyes. “Maybe she won’t have to.”

“Princess?” Shiro questions.

But she’s already standing, pushing past them and towards the doors the unconscious altean had been carried through, shoulders set to a determined line and earrings glinting in the light as she disappears. Coran and Romelle are quick to follow her, leaving behind the five humans in a state of bewilderment and slow uptake. Yet, before they can even think to move, the door locks with a final click, making the decision for them and leaving them with nothing to do but wait.

Wait until, nearly half an hour later, Allura comes out.

They bumble in the suddenness of it, chins dipping out of their upturned palms and cracking against the table, straightening right out of their seat. Boredom replaced with attentiveness at the blink of an eye. In the seconds it takes for the door to close shut behind her, Keith catches a glimpse of Coran, Romelle and nurses hunched over the form of Luka, head lolling to the side and eyes still glowing in the aftereffects of Allura’s power. It reminds him of their little experiment concerning his flashes and he idly wonders the extent of the altean princess’s capability, whether its as infinite as space itself.

“It’s worse than we thought,” Allura tells them, voice grave. “Honerva means to do more than conquer this universe. She means to destroy it.”

“You can’t be serious.” Hunk says, hands gripping onto Lance’s shirt. “Oh my gosh, you’re serious. Can she even do that?”

Shiro’s eyes narrow. “Better yet. How does she plan to do that?”

“Luka did not know the specifics behind it, just the end result. It seems as if they’ve been led to believe that if they help Honerva succeed then they will be transported to another reality, one where Altea does not fall and they are reunited with their loved ones. But, in truth, it will only lead to oblivion of all universes that exist in this plane and the next.”

“We have to stop her.”

“Agreed.” Allura doesn’t look at anyone, instead keeps her eyes unwaveringly forward. “It’s time to make our move,” she says, voice hard. “We’re taking the fight to Honerva.”

“I don’t know about this guys…”

Keith breathes deeply through his nose, forcing his eye to stop twitching as the yellow paladin says the very phrase he’s been repeating for the last three hours since leaving their solar system via wormhole. The comms are open for convenience’s sake, protocol dictating that their distance from the Atlas be monitored through the simplest means and updates be given every hour on the hour.

“We’ve been through this, Hunk. We’re sticking with the plan.”

“Yeah, I know… but it’s not much of a plan, is it? Just, like, doesn’t it feel a bit too risky to be venturing inside her flying temple-thingy without our lions. Like, am I the only one who thinks that’s crazy? I can’t be the only one who thinks that’s crazy.”

Allura’s screen pops up on his monitor. “No one’s arguing over the precariousness of the plan, but the lions simply can’t fit inside the castle of Oriande and the situation calls for immediate action. And think it of this way, if our lions aren’t able to get it, then neither can her Sincline ships. It’ll be an even playing field— maybe even in our favor because she doesn’t know we’re coming.”

Their destination comes into view just as Pidge pipes up with some nonsensical statistics; Maserith, fourth planet closest to this system’s gas giant. Swathed with purples and yellows, a single, translucent ring circles it. Two moons orbit close by, one with a crack so large it runs the length of the object’s circumference; Keith stares at it when they pass it by, watching as a chuck of mass breaks off and disintegrates. No fighter ships appear when they breach the atmosphere, everything remaining quiet as they descend, the lions’ systems picking up no unusual activity. Clouds fade into mist and landmasses become sharper, the lush of forests and mountain ranges there to greet them, bigger and more violaceous than that of Earth.

Roosting at the base of the nearest mountain to their northwestern side, is Honerva’s ship.

Allura breathes out loudly, sounding reverent in that ageless way of hers. Oriande, the lathe of heaven, must shimmer and shine like the Altea of the princess’s memories, bursting with life cut too short. A whisper of what was and what would have been.  

Keith eyes it suspiciously. “Pidge, initiate stealth mode.”

“On it.”

They complete their descent without a hitch, maneuvering their lions behind a graded slope and leaving them behind with force fields activated. Their speeders are fast, zipping under the cover of the forest’s edge until they reach the temple-ship’s barrier. Crystals of lilac levitate in pairs around the perimeter, pulsing every few seconds in an obvious show of altean alchemy.

It takes Allura a minute to defuse them, quintessence draining from the gems as they fall to the ground. Then it is only a matter of sneaking through one of the back entryways, following the princess as she guides them past ancient inscriptions carved into crumbling marble and the pink vines that crawl along their age-old spines. Lanterns of blue and purple blink into life as they pass, illuminating their drawn weapons and the winding path of the labyrinth they’ve stepped in. Careful of being caught by bullheaded scouts that may or may not lurk around corners they stick close to the walls, steps careful and ears open.

Eventually, they come to a crossroads and the target on Pidge’s scanner flickers and splits. “There’s a sudden surge of energy botching up my system. It’s coming from three separate chambers in the temple.” A few taps at the screen at her wrist. “I can pinpoint their locations, but not what’s actually happening inside.”

Allura looks down the tunnel they’re facing. “Honerva must have started whatever she means to do. We must hurry. This planet won’t survive this much concentrated quintessence, let alone the universe.”

“We’ll have to split up,” Keith tells them, split second decision considered and made. “We can’t be sure which chamber Honerva is in, so we’ll have to check them all. Allura, you keep going down this tunnel. Hunk and Pidge, you go to the right. Lance, you’re with me.”

The boy doesn’t bat an eyelash, merely nods and steps closer to his side. Their youngest member mutters something about informing the Atlas, but doesn’t questions the order. Hunk, however, still doesn’t seem entirely convinced. “I still don’t think…”

“Be sure to comm if you find her.” Allura says over he shoulder, already disappearing down her designated path.

The finger the yellow paladin was holding up falls and he blows out a loud breath through his nose, frowning at the obvious dismissal. “Does no one remember last time you guys didn’t listen to me? Cause I do. Rolo and Nyma? Nearly stole the Blue Lion? Ring any bells, anyone?”

“How can we forget when you constantly bring it up,” Lance grumbles.

Knowing the truth to the statement and the way his friend had yet to let them all live down the misjudgement of character in their first few months as paladins, Keith elects not to comment on how it had worked in their favor in the end, giving them two new allies and intel on rebel activity. Instead, he takes the time clap the burly boy on the shoulder, tilting his head in order accommodate the height difference between the two. “Hey, relax, it’ll work out. This isn’t like last time. We’re different people than we were back then, and we’re ready for whatever Honerva throws at us. This is just something we have to do. Trust me.”

Hunk worries his lip. “Yeah, okay.”

Then he’s following Pidge with only one or two looks back, footsteps growing faint until they disappear altogether.

Keith doesn’t waste any time, turning to Lance and finding him already looking back; blue eyes giving him a quick once over, catching momentarily on his sword before snapping to his face in the span of a second, serious and cool through his visor. A steady presence, waiting to follow his lead and watch his back.

Together, they make their way down the ominous hall, shadowed in the unknown and the uncontrolled. Years of experience guide them, keeping their heart rates low and their minds alert, muscle memory bowing their backs and clenching their stomachs, at the ready for even the slightest inclination of trouble. They are soft flesh and wired nerves, molded by battles fought and allies lost, soldiers of the universe’s making, marching to right a wrong and fix what is broken.

Sound travels low, prowling down the corridor as they get closer and closer towards the temple’s center. In the distance, they can hear the walls coming to life; the fwoosh of a door being opened, the padding of footsteps and the muffled static of voices. They exchange a look and Lance sharply turns the next corner, blaster raised. He fires once, twice, three times. Then two bodies are slumping against the wall and a security drone is broken on the floor. Past hangars and crypts, filled with altean artifacts and technology, they go. Sidestepping altean guards when they can and knocking them out cold when they can’t. Systematic, they comb through the maze until, finally, they come to its end.

The slim path expands into a bigger pocket of space, lined with colossal thrones and god-like statues sitting upon their seats. The ceiling is slanted, light filtering through painted panes and casting dramatic landscapes across impassive faces. A glass prism sits idyllically at the room’s center, surrounded by a garden of juniberries. In front of them a ledge that overlooks the large room, draped with banners bearing a symbol they’ve seen on the castleship’s ballroom. Altea’s royal insignia.

“Pretty,” Lance comments. “A little over the top, but… pretty.”

Keith peers over the edge, pulling back almost immediately when he spots movement. Another, more cautious look has him pinpointing eight guards.

A quick glance sees Lance, eyes steely under brows pinched in utter focus.

Without hesitation, he jumps.

His knees bend as he falls, body instinctively knowing that a straight impact at this height and speed will surely kill him. But there is no scratch of fear, only confidence when he activates his jetpack seconds before it becomes dangerous. A jostle as gravity meets resistance and the anchor that had so urgently pulled at him is gone. No longer falling, but flying.

The guards don’t see him coming, jerking to surprised attention when he lands in their midst and sweeps his leg in a low kick. They’re sent sprawling, weapons clattering to the floor, but Keith doesn’t let them gather their wits, launching himself at the closest one. Another swift kick and an elbow to the face downs them both, and he throws the dead weight of one at the remaining guards who rush from the other side of the room. These altean guards have never seen war, not like Keith has, and, as such, they stumble. A misstep, a tick of hesitation at the look he levels their way, small but enough to give him an advantage as he spins around them and slashes at the bend of their exposed wrists. Disarmed, they are easy pickings, falling unconscious with a swift round of punches.

Lance jumps down from the railing, sparing not a look at the bodies he had sniped while Keith’s back had been turned. “You good?”

He nods and readjusts his grip on his bayard, hands sweaty underneath the gloves. “Yeah.”

“Good. Cause the last guy I sniped had a keycard. I think it opens to the inner chamber over there.” He nods to the door at the other end of the room, altean runes scrawled across its arch. “This is the only corridor with any guards stationed at it. Honerva may be a delusional space witch looking to destroy all of reality, but I’m betting paranoia is running through her like crazy— crazy enough to put all her security unit in the one place she needs it.”

Keith catches his meaning. “Whatever’s through there is important.”

“Yeaup, and I’m thinking—”

But Keith never hears the rest, because suddenly the heavens rip apart. There’s a screech, beast-like, and they turn, limbs heavy with lead and time they don’t have, to see a shadow rise from the dark. The yellow eyes of a witch glow just as foreign words are uttered, runes of magic dripping into the air and crystalizing, real and powerful.

Keith sees the barrel of Lance’s blaster rise just as the edge of his sword does the same, the familiar hum of the weapon’s charge growing louder through the slow pace of time. Blue energy builds at its tip— ready, aim and fire. He follows the shot, knees bending and body lurching forward in a deadly arc. The sound of his own heart doubles as he rushes forward and toward the figure, feet steady and sure even as they leave solid ground

Dual scream rips out of their lungs, harmonizing into one and reaching its zenith as the floor beneath them grows dark, crumbling into nothingness. Desperate, two boys look to each other, eyes wide and hands reaching. One step and—

To the end of the universe, Lance says in the light of a dying sun, and back.

—they fall.

Pairing: Keith/Lance

Words: 1191

Chapters: 1/1

“Please, Keith. Where is your heart?”

He doesn’t respond- doesn’t know how. But that doesn’t stop him from reaching that point of enlightenment. For it stares him straight in the face. The light… it holds a heart- his heart. Stolen from him, right out of his chest.

He wants it back.

Notes: Here it is! My @klance-exchange gift for @ssuppositiouss! One of your prompt ideas was to “place them [klance] in the universe of another story (but not a crossover)” and, well, when I saw your tumblr theme, I just couldn’t resist! Kingdom Hearts is one of my favorite games and I thrive on angst, so voila!

Read it on AO3

Darkness. From it, entire worlds are born.

It is a universal truth. A standard in which all of creation adheres to, strumming to the same beat across each plane of existence. And what an existence it is. A sudden rush, like an undertow of primitive feeling, and then, suddenly, he is there.

Entity is a shocking thing, abrupt and unstable. Everlasting in its newness, but limiting in its physical constrictions. For a mind is nothing without a body and his is unresponsive, refusing to listen to the intrinsic feelings and desires that run their course. But it is there nonetheless, a solid mass that floats within weightless waters, bobbing, up and down. A sea made of wispy smoke and concentrated ash, filling his lungs with failed dreams and forgotten promises alike- aiming to drown, dissolve, and devour.

But he fights the pull. He is stronger, stronger than those hiding in the tide of shadows that swarms around him, and he wins. The dark sea jerks away from his transcendental touch, shivering at the power that hides within him; he presses further and they bow in submission, an army at his disposal.

It’s amidst this exhibit of force that he spots it.

A light.

A light that shines through the darkness, a beacon to his brief existence. With it comes the notion of warmth, a bonfire within a storm that he hadn’t realized he’d been braving. His form trembles at the conceived loss and he automatically makes a move to reach for that unknown paradise, but only earns a small twitch of his fingers for his effort. For all his strength, the dark waters still sway him, lulling him into something catatonic with hoarse whispers and tainted lullabies.

The compulsion to grab hold of that light and never let go is severe. To latch on, dig into his claws into its soft flesh and and squeeze until that intoxicating warmth bleeds into him. To make it his and his alone. No, he decides then and there, it must be his. No one else craved for it the way he did.

As if sensing his lurking desire, the light trembles, pulsing erratically. Every beat has him viciously clawing at the barrier of his conscious, begging for a taste.

“Keith?” the light says. “Is that you, buddy?”

Oh, what a sound. He has never heard such a thing like it. A song of the cosmos, beautiful and holy. He rocks onto the back of his heels, sucking in a hiss, overwhelmed.

“Pidge, isn’t there, I don’t know, some spell you can do to fix this?”

“Hey, I may be the Royal Magician, but even I can’t bring someone back from the darkness.” The owner of these words is smaller, thus weaker, than the rest. In their grasp lays a lengthy weapon of sorts, something that sparks dangerously when even stranger words are uttered.

The sea behind him grows nervous at the show of magic. They convulse, rolling over one another and whispering threats of attack, like a wave set to crash along the world’s shore, mighty and explosive.

Paranoia rushes through him. If the swarm strikes, then what happens to his light? Does it stand and fight? A show of razored teeth and sharp fins. Does it run? Like the sun setting behind a watery horizon. Does it disappear? Gone in a moment like ocean spray.

No. Not his light; he wouldn’t let that happen. His mouth opens and a sound comes out, all broken glass and wounded animal, warding off those who wish to take his light- his prize.

“The Heartless, they’re being held back…” His knuckles gently slide against the ground as he slumps forward even further. “Do you think… maybe… maybe Keith recognizes us?”

“He’s a Heartless, Lance. He doesn’t have any memories to recognize.”

“But,” the voice trembles and his head slips to one side, trying to decipher the sentiment behind the empyrean sounds. “But we can’t just leave him like this. I can’t just leave him like this.”

“Well, there isn’t much we can d- woah, hey! Lance, don’t!” The call is louder than anything he has heard before and he shrinks back, tensing in preparation for an attack; the swarm shifts restlessly, held in check only by his primordial interest. But the light doesn’t seem bothered by the warning, instead creeping forward- closer and closer and ever closer.

“Keith,” comes the voice, high and melodic and a hair’s breadth away, and when he looks up to finally glimpse the body that goes with it, something stirs within him. For another sea surges to greets him, this one vastly different from the abyss he’s birthed from; a surf of stars swirl in twin crystal balls, colored blue- so very, unapologetically blue- and holding the world in their depth, capturing him within their celestial gaze. “Keith, buddy, can you hear me?”

But he is lost among the undertow, never to return.

The figure kneels and now he can see how it shines from within, pulsing with divine light and begging to be corrupted by his wicked touch. “We’ll figure this out, okay? Don’t you worry- we’ll get you back to normal somehow. We’ll get your heart back, wherever it is.”

Heart? What is…?

“Keith, if you can hear me, please, tell me… Where’s your heart?“

A tanned limb rises and braces against its chest, where the warmth and brightness was the most intense. He tries to mimic the motion, wanting to make that connection, but can’t. His fingers brush against only air, nails tracing the edge of the hole making its home at his center.

"Please, Keith. Where is your heart?”

He doesn’t respond- doesn’t know how. But that doesn’t stop him from reaching that point of enlightenment. For it stares him straight in the face. The light… it holds a heart- his heart. Stolen from him, right out of his chest.

He wants it back.

The air changes, full and electrifying. A storm brews and spills over, surging into his limbs and helping him stand to his full height. The light watches him, mouth open and eyes wide, that beautiful voice rising in a gasp that curls in the empty space where his heart used to be. The two figures behind the light tense and make to rush forward, but the swarm of shadows rise from the earth to block their path.

His hand comes up to point toward the light accusingly.

“Keith? What are you- hey, no, stop.” The light flickers in fear. “I know you’re in there. Snap out of it.”

But he doesn’t listen.

And only when he finally takes back his heart, amidst writhing shadows and dead stares, with the light dimmed and a bruised body pressed firmly against his own, motionless, does he realize the truth. That though darkness may mother creation, it does not sustain it. For all he has left- a heart, broken and ravaged- he is still hungry.

Pairing: Keith/Lance
Words: 2584
Chapters: 1/1

“I- I think I love you.”

Keith freezes.

It takes a moment for Lance to figure out what’s happened- what he’s said- and Keith watches as his boyfriend startles violently, eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets. They stare at each other, the air tense in a different sense than what it’s been for the last few minutes. It’s something close to awkward and Keith would run if not for the compromising position they’re in- naked and in the midst of sex.

Read it on AO3!

The doors of his room haven’t even slid all the way shut when Lance throws himself at Keith.

There’s the solid thump of twin helmets falling to the floor, kicked to the corner and out of the way by clumsy feet. The inconvenient bulk of their armor is easy to ignore, especially when gloved hands make their way to Keith’s hair, bunching it up and brushing it away from his face. It feels nice and he pushes forward in response, his own hands spread over a firm stomach and the sweet dip of a back; he is too eager and the knee he braces between Lance’s thighs has them stumbling back into the side wall.

Lance grunts at the collision, but welcomes Keith’s weight nonetheless, body arching to the touch in a fashion that goes straight to his groin. Then it’s a familiar dance they move to- back and forth, push and pull, inhale and exhale. It’s a sharp tug on his hair and a quick nip on his bottom lip, nails scraping down and down and down. It’s a grope to his boyfriend’s backside and a low groan of pleasure slipping past the seal of their lips, hips rocking. It’s trailing kisses down the elegant column of a neck and a flower of bruised purple blooming where his tongue lingers, tasting sweat and ash and cinnamon.

“I was worried,” Lance says to the room at large, breathy voice slicing through the loaded silence with such suddenness that Keith breaks away to look at him. His eyes are hooded, but blazing with liquid fire that cools just as it burns.  “During the mission… I was…”

He doesn’t finish, but Keith knows. Keith knows because even tucked away as they are, away from danger and responsibility, it’s still fresh in his mind. The searing heat of an ion cannon clipping his lion’s shoulder and the rush of weightlessness as he fell, pulled into a nearby gas giant’s gravity. The feeling of being helpless of his own demise- so chilling, so abrupt, so inevitable.

The thought of it ending- he imagines drawing his last breath and fading into the background of the lost- is too much and his grip on his boyfriend tightens involuntarily.

“But you’re okay. You’re here- with me,” Lance murmurs, lashes fluttering. A thumb sweeps across Keith’s temple, grounding him to the here and now. “You’re okay.”

Keith swallows past the mysterious lump in his throat. “Yeah, I am. It’s… I’m okay.”

The recycled air of the ship is cool against the sweaty skin at the back of his neck, a medium that makes them- the moment, real. He tilts his chin up a fraction of an inch and Lance responds accordingly, kissing him hard. Keith opens up to him, allowing the tongue to slip into his mouth and explore every corner with expertise and familiarity that breeds satisfaction.

Then it’s a scramble to peel off their suits, hands fumbling with the latches of chest plates and rumpled fabric. They nearly take a tumble when the back of Lance’s knees hit the bed and he flounders for balance, automatically reaching for Keith just as he’s lifting a leg to kick off his boots; they’re only saved by his quick reflexes, hand braced against the bed’s roof. Unconcerned, Lance mutters something in Spanish and reaches behind Keith to unzip his suit, causing goosebumps to rise along his exposed flesh at the brush of cool air. It’s tough with only one hand available and the distraction of soft lips moving against his own, but Keith manages to return the favor and peel black spandex from brown skin, letting it fall to the floor.

A quick shove and Lance is bouncing onto the mattress, neck tilting up so that he can watch Keith crawl on top of him and accept the kiss he bestows. Urging him to scoot further up the bed, he settles himself comfortably, bent legs on either side of sharp hips and skin sailing over skin in beautiful friction. Another point of pressure and Lance is leaning all the way back, body pliant to Keith’s guidance and charge of the situation. It’s no secret that Lance likes to be pushed around in bed.

Keith takes a moment to appreciate the view, the graceful stretch of a torso and lithe limbs, sinew of muscles reacting to the whispers of touch he imparts upon every inch granted to him, and swollen lips glossy with spit. It’s a beautiful sight, one that Keith never gets tired of seeing- and never will.

So, there’s no surprise when he grabs the other’s face in between his hands and, back bowed like a votary commencing worship, pushes their bodies infinitely closer. The resulting friction is everything. They revel in the feeling, gasping into each other’s mouths and trading damp puffs of air while they continue to rub against each other, each trying to gain the upper hand and make the other crack first. Lance cheats and sneaks a hand between them, taking hold of his dick and jerking until Keith starts dripping precum and swears colorfully; which is fine, because Keith gets him back on the next grind, rolling slowly and with enough force that Lance throws his head back with a drawn out moan- only to cut off abruptly when Keith bites down on his neck. It’s not long until they’re itching for more, to reach the zenith of the moment and fall over its edge, burning in a flare of raw stimulus.

It’s hard to tear himself away from Lance and the pretty noises he’s making, but Keith deems it wroth it when his blind patting at the wall opens a compartment to their left. It takes a few tries, because his boyfriend is nothing if not distracting, but eventually he procures a strip of condoms and off-white tube of lubricant- both acquired after an embarrassing trip to a trading outpost that involved a visit to an intergalactic brothel, of which Keith had threatened outright murder if Lance- who was still laughing uncontrollably even as they returned to their lions- ever told a soul what may or may not have happened behind those walls. Still, wounded dignity aside, it’s got nothing against the feeling of his own slicked fingers entering himself.

Lance makes a small noise in the back of his throat, neck craning to see, and only quiets when Keith starts up a shallow thrust. The stretch is good, better than good actually, but he wants to make it better, so he takes one of Lance’s hands from where it’s gripping the sheets and brings it to his face, tilting his head so that his cheek rests in the curve of his palm.

Lance swallows and it’s a loud thing.

Encouraged, Keith adds another finger and pushes back onto the probing digits, chest heaving as he twists them just so. The movement puts him up close and personal to Lance’s arousal, just as stiff and insistent as his own. He barely fights off the urge to touch himself, knowing he won’t last as long as he wants if he does so, and focuses on Lance’s face, open and flushed, instead, watching through half-lidded eyes as he licks his lips; the attention is gratifying, even more so when, without breaking eye contact, Lance’s free hand runs up his leg to curl around his thigh, squeezing.

He braces a hand on Lance’s chest, rising higher on his knees to better chase down his desire. The hand cupping his face remains where it is, thumb brushing over the swell of his bottom lip until it becomes too much and he gives it a small nip.

“Lance,” he finally breathes, voice broken. His fingers brush against his walls just right and his eyes flutter shut, his lover’s name turning into a drawn out moan.

Lance sits up abruptly and Keith nearly loses his balance, having to shift forward so that their chest brush with every inhale. Filed nails scrape softly against his jaw, moving down his throat with the same languid intent as the hand smoothing over his backside, pausing where Keith works himself. There’s a shudder of breath when their fingers touch inside his stretched hole, slick with sweat and lube; he can feel the bump of knuckles graze along his walls as Lance curls his long fingers, spreading him open. A strangled sound escapes him, and soon he’s going crazy with the stimulation. Lance must share his desire for more because then he’s suddenly empty and he whines something needy, twitching when he hears the rip of plastic and feels Lance’s tip at his entrance. He has time to comprehend dilated pupils surrounded by a thin ring of blue and a reverent whisper of his own name before he’s gloriously full once more.

He throws his head back at the sting of pleasurable pain. Lance murmurs something he can’t hear beyond the white noise pulsing in his ears, but it doesn’t matter because the hands curling at his waist and neck are gentle, and lips are then pecking apologies onto his eyelids, cheeks and nose.

Gray sheets stick to their skin, tangling underneath and in between their legs, rustling with every drive forward. Keith’s breathing becomes labored as the rocking evolves into something more carnal.

They collide in a whirlwind of stardust, compressed into a single moment so profound it’s hard to distinguish where one ends and the other begins. Keith keens when Lance adjusts, leaning partially back on a hand braced on the mattress, and white spots erupt across his vision momentarily, pulled along a string of constellations that ties them together until it’s a wonder they were ever separate to begin with. They move in tandem, rolling like an asteroid in the waves of deep space.

He lifts his hips and twists them on the drop down, unable to stop the zealous groan of pleasure it elicits.

“Keith. Keith. Keith,” Lance suddenly gasps. “I- I think I love you.”

Keith freezes.

It takes a moment for Lance to figure out what’s happened- what he’s said- and Keith watches as his boyfriend startles violently, eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets. They stare at each other, the air tense in a different sense than what it’s been for the last few minutes. It’s something close to awkward and Keith would run if not for the compromising position they’re in- naked and in the midst of sex.

He opens his mouth, only for the words to get caught in his throat.

“You don’t have to say it back,” Lance assures him hurriedly, wincing at whatever expression makes itself known on Keith’s face. “I didn’t say it because- if you don’t- can’t- it wasn’t to bully you into anything. It was just- the truth.”

His chest aches, and it’s something Keith can’t put a name to; it makes him both queasy and happy, and he doesn’t know whether or not he likes it. This is a bridge they have yet to cross, yet to consider, and it can break just as easily as it can hold; it’s entirely in Keith’s hands and it’s a daunting power to have. So he makes a decision.

“Say it again.”

Lance starts, surprised, but must see something in Keith’s eyes because he grows solemn a moment later, eyes unwavering even as he says, “I love you, Keith.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

A kiss lingers at the corner of his mouth, breathing warmth into him where space cannot, while their rhythm starts up once more, steady and deep. “Again.”

“I love you,” Lance says, more fervent as he pushes forward with a singular focus- to smother Keith with every burning touch and honest declaration. Every thrust is a resounding clap of thunder of the storm they brave together, growing louder and louder until it’s all they can hear. “I love you, I love you, I- oh, fuck- I love you. I love you so much, it- it hurts.Oh god, do I love you.”

The arm around his waist flexes, helping to lift him and eventually driving them to hit that sweet spot. Keith cries out, feeling raw and hysterical and loved. Lance harmonizes with him, hot air hitting his face as they climb to that higher place together.

“I,ha, love you, Keith Kogane. I love you.” The words are spoken of their own accord, making Keith’s toes curl. “I love you to the end of the universe and back.”

His insides burn, magma bubbling to the surface and erupting in a shower of fireworks. He comes with a silent scream that coats Lance’s chest, working himself through it with enough gusto that it’s near painful. Lance is not far behind, riding out the wave with one, two, three thrusts.

They fall back onto the sheets when it’s done, completely spent. With limbs feeling like lead and the static ringing in his ears beginning to die down, he lets himself just lay there; the pillows against his cheek are cool to the touch and from this angle he can watch Lance catch his breath, all parted lips and heaving chest. The dimmed lights of the room cast a turquoise glow to brown skin and Keith isn’t strong enough to stop himself from reaching across the minimal space between them and trailing a finger along a sharp jaw.

“Did you mean it?” he asks in the limbo of silence that reigns, watching as Lance turns his head to face him, cheeks flushed from exertion. It almost doesn’t come out, the question, but he pushes through on sheer will alone, because he has to know. “What you said. Did you mean it?”

Blue eyes go incredibly soft. “Of course I did. I really do love you, Keith.”

Keith’s insides squirm pleasantly and he chokes on his own spit.

Lance takes the reaction badly, inching his head back with a nervous grimace. “Do… do you not want me to say it? I mean, if it makes you uncomfortable I can-”

“No,” he says too quickly and flushes. “No, it- it’s fine. I don’t mind, really. It’s just, uh…”

“Hey,” Lance thankfully interrupts, curled index finger brushing his cheek and the hair sticking to it. “You don’t need to say it back- it’s okay, honest.”

That’s not the problem. The problem is that Keith wants to say it, but can’t. The words aren’t forming properly, catching at the back of his throat and constricting on its aspiration for freedom. I love you just isn’t in his vocabulary- a cipher he hasn’t decoded, a chapter he hasn’t read, a sky he hasn’t flown. It’s a bold step forward on a path they walk together, a tug in the direction of absolution and promise, and Keith is afraid he might trip.

So, instead, he says with utter sincerity, “I would cross the entire universe for you.”

Which is the same thing, right?

Lance seems to think so, because he smiles this smile, with squinty eyes and dimples pinching each cheek, and, wow, Keith is gone. Gone because Lance is staring at himwith that look and the thought alone makes him feel a tick away from becoming ash and being swept away by a stray breeze. But, Lance anchors him there, solidifying his presence into something both sturdy and brittle with those three simple words whispered against his lips.

When Lance kisses him, Keith thinks it won’t be long until he can say it back.

“If it wasn’t for you, my life would have been a lot different.”

Inktober 2019 day 20: tread

:

Lance: I want to wake up with you every day for the rest of our lives

Keith: I wake up at 4:30 AM

Lance:

Lance: I want to see you at some point every day for the rest of our lives

hernandezl28:

Lance:Keith, are you having a depressive episode?
Keith: depressive episode???
Keith: I’m having a depressive series and we’re on season five right now.

incorrectvld-quotes:

Lance: What day is it?

Shiro: Limbo week.

Lance: Oh…I hate that

Pidge:Limbo…week?

Keith: After Christmas, before new years. When nobody knows what’s happening and we just kinda exist.