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Lance gazes out into the vast, star–spattered universe before him. Nothing but starlight provides visibility in the main control room, casting long, dancing shadows across each surface.
He’s not particularly sad, nor is he particularly happy. His mind remains empty, not racing with the thoughts to contrast the quiet as it normally would. The soft rumble of the castle as it orbits the small, dull moon at which they are to reside for a break is somewhat comforting. It keeps Lance grounded. Well, as grounded as one can be while in space. He supposes that if he’d been sitting in total silence, he’d be far worse off, susceptible to his own intrusive thoughts.
Lance’s shoulders sag as he sits forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He hears the quiet hiss of the bay door behind him, but he doesn’t turn to look as soft footsteps approach him. He doesn’t have to look, he already knows exactly who it is.
He doesn’t want to talk to Lotor. It’s for an insignificant reason, of course. Lance simply doesn’t like spending so much time apart. He doesn’t like that Lotor hardly has time to visit– or even check in with the Paladins. Of course, he knows that it’s not Lotor’s fault, but he’s tired, and looking for someone to place blame upon. It’s easier than admitting that they can’t do anything to resolve the issue. Not with the Galra turning tail and attacking them every single day. Lance had coldly brought it up earlier that morning. Naturally, they’d had a small argument, as many people in healthy relationships do. Lance stubbornly refuses to let go of his petty grudge.
Lotor sits down beside the paladin. He’s cloaked in full Blade armor– the reason why Lance can’t bring himself to look at the young rebel. The silence is uncomfortable, and the tension is obvious. It remains that way for a few prolonged moments as the two boys stare through the castle’s great windows. Neither of them dare to speak. That is, until the weight of the tension resting on their shoulders becomes too heavy to withstand.
“Lance,” Lotor finally says, voice hushed as it slices the thick air between them. Lance feels himself stiffen as his own name is quietly murmured. He can’t remember the last time Lotor’s voice had been so soft and gentle. The entire coalition has been under inexplicable amounts of stress in the more recent weeks, what with the Galra bearing down on them harder than ever now. They haven’t had time to camp out and rest like this in so long.
“Lance.” Lotor repeats, only a little louder. In his peripheral vision, Lance can see Lotor leaning over, craning his neck to get Lance’s attention.
“What?” Lance breathes. His tone is low and hard, and it has a cold air about it. One that hadn’t been completely intentional, but still bites nonetheless. Lotor stays quiet for a moment. When the silence stretches on for too long, Lance rises to the Prince’s bait and turns to look at him.
Lance expects a vexed scowl, perhaps an irritated glint in Lotor’s eyes– but he doesn’t find either of those things. The half-Galra’s expression is soft. It's warm. It's kind.
The light of thousands of stars glitters in his eyes and illuminates the beautiful alien’s lilac skin as he stares down at his paladin. Lance feels the tightness in his chest begin to lessen, and the squeeze in his throat disappears entirely.
Lotor doesn’t speak; he doesn’t need to. Their eyes meet, and the frost behind Lance’s gaze melts away, expression withering into something much more rueful. Lotor isn’t usually the first to initiate physical affection, but he seems to know that’s exactly what Lance needs right now, no matter how many times Lance would deny it if he had to.
Lotor’s long arms wrap around Lance’s narrow shoulders, and the boy is pulled into a strong hug. Lance hesitates at first, but he wills himself to let go of the tension from their quarrel. He snakes his own arms around Lotor’s waist, tightening them further as he realizes that this is just what he needs.
The hug isn’t exactly comfortable; Lotor’s Blade armor presses hard into the thin material of Lance’s baseball tee, and his shoulder plate digs into Lance’s cheek as the boy quietly rests his head there. Their apologies remain unspoken, as do their forgivenesses. But they don’t feel the need to verbalize their concerns, anyway. In this particular case, actions speak louder than words.
All previous heat between the two fades as Lance slumps forward against Lotor’s chest, turning his face into the former prince’s neck. Lance feels a sense of relief wash over him as one of Lotor’s hands runs up his spine to cup the back of his head. He feels long, gloved fingers twist into dark sepia curls at his nape.
“I must return to the Blade of Marmora soon.” Lotor murmurs. Lance is aware of how Lotor rests his chin against the top of Lance's head. It’s a little uncomfortable, but Lance doesn’t care one bit. He merely inhales softly, breathing in Lotor’s subtle scent.
“I know.” He replies. His voice breaks noticeably. His volume is low, barely above a husky whisper, but he’s sure Lotor can hear him.
“Can we not think about that right now?” Lance continues as he closes his eyes. He only just seems to realize how tired he truly is. Lotor’s hand is soothing in his hair, and the Blade armor, despite being a reminder of the former prince’s new alliances, is oddly warm against Lance’s body.
Lance can feel himself dipping in and out of consciousness, his lack of sleep finally catching up to him. Through the fuzzy haze, the boy can feel some sensation of his position being changed, but he himself is not purposely moving. He can feel himself being lifted, and he instinctively tightens his legs against Lotor’s hips as Lotor rises to his feet.
“Come. Get some rest, my paladin.” Lotor murmurs. Lance lazily allows his head to drop back onto Lotor’s shoulder. He vaguely registers the sound of his bedroom door hissing open before he finds himself being lulled into a dreamless sleep.
When Lance awakens, the first thing he notices is a warmth moving behind him. He presses back into it, and regrets the action, grunting in discomfort when his shoulder blades are met with Lotor’s sturdy chest piece. He doesn’t miss the apologetic look in Lotor's eyes as he turns over onto his back. At least Lotor had been nice enough to tuck the blanket around himself to separate Lance from his armor as much as he could.
Lance feels the shift in the mattress as Lotor moves to sit up.
“What're you doing?” Lance breathes around a yawn, blinking sleepily up into dark violet irises.
“You know what I am doing. I must return to the Blades of Marmora.” Lotor says regretfully. Lance feels the back of his throat tighten uncomfortably, and his chest grows heavy. Suddenly swallowing is a challenge.
When Lotor moves again, Lance is quick to grab and latch tightly onto his strong wrist. Lotor’s gaze returns to meet Lance’s.
“Please don’t leave.” Lance all but begs. His voice is quiet, still thick with sleep. There’s a slight tremor that he’d much rather ignore than acknowledge. Something in Lotor’s expression changes. It becomes softer, kinder somehow. He remains still before Lance, looking torn between requirement and request. Lotor moves languidly- almost hesitantly- as he swoops down to grace his the gentle slope of his paladin's cheek with a kiss.
Lance sleeps.
When he falls victim to the unpleasant wake-up call of the castle's alarms, Lotor is gone. Lance can still feel the linger of soft lips on his cheek.