“Dude,” Lance whispered as the token alien prince of the
week swept out of the room grandly. “He was totally
vibing on you.”
Next to him, Keith shot him an annoyed look, lips pursed
tightly until the door closed behind the prince with a click.
“Is that really what you were focusing on?” The Black
Paladin demanded once he was sure they were alone, rounding on his companion
with his arms crossed firmly over his chest. He leveled Lance with a look that
he thinks is meant to be stern and disapproving.
“We’re trying to form an alliance here and you’re thinking about that.”
“Um, it was kinda hard not to,” Lance scoffed, planting his
hands on his hips, completely unperturbed - Keith should really leave the
scolding to Shiro. “He was eyeing you the entire time.” His lips pulled into a
knowing smirk. “He likes you.”
Keith flushed, turning his head away. “Shut up.”
Lance’s smirk grew positively devious. “Ohhh, I see how it is,” he taunted, reaching out and poke his
teammate’s stomach teasingly, just below his chest armor. “Do you, perhaps,
like him too?”
Keith shifted away from his hand, sending him a sidelong
glance. “Maybe. So?”
Lance’s grin flickered before coming back full force. “So, why
don’t you do something about it? We’re not due fly out for another two days; plenty
of time to – ah – get to know the prince
better.” The Red Paladin waggled his eyebrow suggestively as Keith’s flush
darkened to a full-blown blush. His cheeks were starting to ache from the force
of his smile.
“That-. No, none of that,”
Keith croaked, hands flexing visibly before digging into his still-crossed arms
firmly. “Besides, that would be…” He trailed off and shook his head roughly. “We’re
leaving in two days. To continue fighting a war. That would be irresponsible.”
“Or a chance for you to have fun for once,” Lance countered,
though his heart clenched at the implication. “I’m not saying marry the guy,
just see where it goes. Or just talk to him. Plus, the prince isn’t an idiot. I’m sure he’ll realize
anything between you is… temporary.”
He watched as violet eyes flickered between him and the
door. Keith pressed his mouth into a thin line, still looking uncertain, but
also like he was actually considering the idea.
“You think so?”
“Man, this is me you’re talking to,” Lance reasoned with his
usual put-upon air of arrogance. “I’ve figured out whether a romantic venture
is worth it or not.”
Keith snorted. “I suppose that’s true. Lot of
trial-and-error on your part.”
“Shut the hell up, asswipe.”
Keith laughed at that outright, and despite his wounded
pride and squirming insides, Lance found himself smiling as well. After a moment,
the Black Paladin sobered up. His crossed arms loosened and fell to his sides
once more as he glanced back at the door again, looking nervous this time.
“Maybe just this once.”
Lance clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man. You want any
“From you? Hard pass.”
“Rude.” Huffing, Lance turned to the table and grabbed their
data pads, closing out of the note-taking programs and tucking them securely
under his arm. “While you do that, I’ll go debrief the team.”
Keith nodded in approval, smiling as Lance quietly wished
him luck and left his leader to his own devices.
The brunet walked through the unfamiliar halls of the prince’s
castle, carefully retracing his steps from earlier that afternoon.
Once he was certain that he was far enough away from the
meeting room and still a ways from their Paladin quarters, he slowed to a stop.
He leaned against wall, hyper-focusing on his breathing instead of the
sickening roll of his stomach.
‘This is for the best,’
the logical part of his brain reassured. ‘And,
look, you’re making progress!’
But no matter what that little voice told him, Lance’s chest
still seemed too small for his lungs and his heart ached.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and, taking a final deep
breath, pushed off the wall. He glanced up and down the hall, making sure he
hadn’t been caught; it wouldn’t do to have a stray servant see a member of
Voltron so broken up over nothing. Especially over a stupid, pointless crush.
Blue eyes lingered longingly on the way he came before Lance
turned away decisively.
“One step at a time,” he reminded himself, forcing his feet
forward, away from Keith and the royal quarters. “One step at a time.”
“In the future, Elias is the only person living on the earth, and all he
has known is the lifeless wasteland the world is now. Even though he
hasn’t abandoned hope, it doesn’t look like human beings will return any
time soon… But maybe one human being could return, after all…” Read it all
Headcanon that if Akaashi hurts one of his hands and have to put a cast in it, Bokuto will oftenly lend his hand so Akaashi can do his finger fiddling habit with Bokuto's hand instead (I just find that habit so freaking adorable and it makes me sad they didn't showed it in the anime)
Bokuto loves Akaashi’s hands.
He loves how they set. How they arc. How the pads of his fingers press. How his wrists flick, sure and certain of himself and his abilities. A kind of trust Bokuto has earned and wears proudly on his chest. On his heart.
Bokuto loves how they hold. How they wrap around his precious books with long, firm fingers. How they clutch coffee mugs and paper cups, desperate for warmth Bokuto is all too ready to give.
Bokuto loves how they caress. How his fingers form long graceful lines, spiral circles into Bokuto’s skin. How they skim across Bokuto’s ripples of muscle with reverence. How they move with the same careful elegance as the rest of Akaashi does.
“Let me,” Bokuto says as Akaashi’s hand fidgets uncomfortably. The other is stiff, trapped in it’s wrist brace.
Akaashi blinks. “What?”
“Here,” Bokuto says. He takes Akaashi’s free hand, bringing it to his lips briefly. Akaashi’s eyebrows quirk in surprise.
“Let me?” Bokuto repeats, almost a plead.
Akaashi nods once. His pupils are wide and curious.
Bokuto kisses the pad of each finger once, and another to the center of his palm. He finds the soft webbing between Akaashi’s fingers and rubs. Massages. He works into Akaashi’s palms, digs into the knots along his joints, knead his knuckles gently. Bokuto’s own hands are rougher, thicker, but Akaashi sinks with relief, release.
“Thank you,” Akaashi sighs. He flexes is freshly massaged hand. “How did you know?”
Bokuto beams. “I always know!”
Akaashi smiles, warm. “Because you love me?”
Bokuto leans in, still grinning. “Because I’m psychic.”
Akaashi meets his kisses with soft laughter, and a swift quip, “That’s not what a palm reader means, Koutarou.”