Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11978223.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Voltron:_Legendary_Defender
  Relationship:
      Shiro/Ulaz_(Voltron), Keith/Lotor_(Voltron), Non-Con_Keith/Lance_
      (Voltron)
  Character:
      Keith_(Voltron), Lance_(Voltron), Shiro_(Voltron), Hunk_(Voltron), Ulaz_
      (Voltron), Matt_Holt, Lotor_(Voltron), Original_Child_Character(s)
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Police, Pedophilia, Grooming, Rape_Recovery,
      Offending_MAP, Therapy, Childhood_Trauma, Abuse_of_Authority, Child
      Abandonment, Sexual_Abuse, Eventual_Happy_Ending, Dark_Lance_(Voltron),
      Mpreg, Extremely_Dubious_Consent, Minor/Adult
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-09-02 Completed: 2017-10-19 Chapters: 12/12 Words: 37842
****** Might Makes Right ******
by Soaring_Ren_(Robin_Mask)
Summary
     Lance enjoyed his job as a police officer. He never once abused his
     position of trust; those urges he knew were so wrong were the urges
     he repressed and fought back, until one day he ran into a four-year
     old runaway named Keith. The small child provided too much a
     temptation, and - before Lance knew it - he was down a rabbit hole of
     sin and crime.
     For Lance it was a few moments of pleasure, but for Keith it was a
     lifetime of trauma.
Notes
     Chapters 1 - 3 contain depictions of graphic adult/minor content.
     Chapter 8 contains minor/minor content.
***** Chapter 1 *****
“Yo, are you lost?”
Lance smiled down at the child. The small boy stood alone in the park; the red
jacket was a little too small for him, so that it revealed the skin-tight black
shirt about his waist, and the fingerless gloves looked a little too mature for
him. He must have been five or six at most, not much taller than Lance’s knee,
but there was a wisdom behind those grey-blue eyes that spoke of a rough
upbringing and possible abandonment. A cut decorated his cheek.
It was shallow, but noticeable on such pale skin. There were also grimy patches
to his clothes and dirt upon his skin, as if he were sleeping rough for some
time, and – as Lance searched his memory – he remembered a man in the desert
who abandoned his home. The child was reported as home alone by customers who
used the man as a cheap mechanic, but had vanished by the time the police came
to investigate. There was a vague report of someone seeing a child alone
heading into town, but no other leads.
Lance knelt down and winked at the child. He would have to take him back to the
station, where social services would get involved, but something deep inside
him rebelled at the idea, as he wondered whether a detour would be noticed.
There was a spark of arousal that he couldn’t quite squash; he looked around in
hopes of another soul, someone that could stand witness and force him into
check, but there was no one in the empty park.
“Hey, my name’s Lance. You’re Keith, right?”
The boy took a step back; he was exactly Lance’s type, enough so that a spark
of guilt and shame swept through him, and he swallowed hard in fear that Keith
might catch how he stared, with eyes lingering over lithe thighs and pert
buttocks. He listened to how his heart raced, as he forced a smile and tried to
look as unassuming as possible. Lance tapped the badge on his chest. Those tiny
eyes narrowed and swept over the badge, likely too young to be able to read the
words, and certainly too young for flirtations or touches.
“Who’s asking?” Keith asked.
“Well, I’m a police officer,” said Lance. “Your dad ran out a few days back,
right? We’ve been looking for you. I guess you ran away because you were hungry
and scared, but the streets are a bad place for a kid! You could meet some
really scary people. Why don’t I take you to the station? We can get you some
food and maybe watch some cartoons.”
“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”
“I’m not a stranger, though, am I? I’m Lance!” He tapped his badge again. “Your
pops told you that you can talk to police officers, right? We’re the good guys!
We make the bad people go away and make sure the good people stay safe. Here,
want some chocolate?”
Lance reached inside his uniform pocket. He fussed around until he found the
wrapped candy, which was always a godsend in domestic situations or with
runaways, and reached out to Keith with a brown hand and palm upward. The
chocolate sat on soft skin. Keith looked at it with pouted lips – so perfect
for kissing and licking – and narrowed his gaze. Lance’s stomach rolled; the
idea of touching a child – one who likely didn’t even know the word ‘sex’ –
made him feel too much like a predator, too much of a danger to an innocent
boy.
He licked at his lips, as he fought back the urges, but then Keith took the
chocolate. Those small and chubby fingers wrapped around the chocolate, while
the four-year old beamed a bright smile so wide that it sent flutters through
Lance’s abdomen, as he lost a breath and flushed bright red. The skin was so
impossibly smooth and soft, so very warm, that his member twitched and grew
half-erect in his black work trousers.
“Thank you, Mister,” chirped Keith.
Keith unwrapped the chocolate. He ate with gusto, as if he were half-starved,
while the chocolate ended up smeared all around his lips and cheeks, like a
giant brown streak that was both adorable and off-putting to witness. Lance
smiled and took a handkerchief from his pocket, whereby he wiped off the
chocolate with firm touches that had Keith swatting away his hand and frowning
deep enough to draw out lines about his eyes. Lance wondered what they might
look like wide with wonder and curiosity, instead of scared and alone.
“Will you come with me to my car?”
“Can – Can I watch Coran and the Coranics?” Keith asked. “They – They’re my
favourite show. I like how the princess is smart and saves people. The aliens
are funny; I – I want to go to the space school when I’m older, so I can meet
some aliens. I like them.”
“Wow! Really?” Lance feigned interest with a wide grin. “You’ll be an awesome
astronaut! You can save Princess Allura and be one of Coran’s coranics, too!
You know I met Coran once? He gave me his autograph. I have a copy in my car,
along with a photo of me with him, and – if you’re really good – I’ll even let
you take a look. How does that sound?”
“Really? Cool! I want to see Coran! Can I see him?”
“Sure, just got to come with me.”
Lance held out his hand. Keith took it with a big grin, unaware that Lance was
now fully hard and internally cursing himself for such a reaction, and – even
as he hated himself for that same attraction – it made him curious what it
would be like to sate it. He envied people who were exclusively attracted to
adults, as well as those who had a dual attraction, because at least they could
find a consenting partner to achieve sexual release, but Lance – ever since
adolescence – could only ever get hard at the thought of children. It was a
curse.
He ruffled Keith’s hair with his free hand, before he led Keith across the park
and over to the car that sat on the side of the road. The little boy already
bounced on his feet and asked whether they could play with the siren, and he
asked all about why the ‘P’ was written backwards and why the car had a metal
divide, and Lance admired his curious nature and passion for the police force.
Keith didn’t even complain when sat up front.
Lance slid into the driver’s seat. He locked the doors and looked around; the
park was on the outskirts of town, with no one seemingly in sight, and school
was still in session and most workers were in their offices, so no one was
around as a witness. Lance saw a stray lane up ahead; it led the long way
around to the station, going through an abandoned estate that was due to be
demolished to make way for a shopping mall, and he knew a small apartment block
whose underground car-park was still accessible and empty.
“Do you want to go for a drive?” Lance asked.
He prayed Keith would say ‘no’; he could respect a simple ‘no’, only to take
him back to the station and call social services while he completed the missing
person report, but Keith jumped up and down on his seat and beamed bright at
Lance. Those hands struggled with the seatbelt, which forced Lance to help him
out. He brushed the back of his hand across Keith’s cheek in an ‘accidental’
manner, followed by a lingering touch upon his hip.
“It’ll just be a short drive,” chirped Lance.
“I – I want to see Coran, too,” said Keith. “Please?”
Lance laughed and pulled the signed photograph from the glove-box. He gave it
to Keith who beamed bright and grew more excited, and – as he drove off – Keith
babbled about how cool it was that Lance knew Coran, before asking if he got to
see space and meet some aliens. It was sweet that he thought the show was real,
but a true indication of his age that he thought fiction was the same as
reality. They drove without seeing a single other car.
It was nice to listen to Keith babble the entire time; it was a relief to
listen to how he slept soundly underneath the trees in the park, or how he ate
the leftover food that the restaurants threw away, and – while he stayed out of
sight – no one appeared to have molested or abused him in any way or form. It
wasn’t too much a surprise, of course, as the tiny town had an exceptionally
low crime-rate and not much to celebrate other than Coran’s studio.
Lance soon found the old apartment building in the abandoned section of town,
before he drove into the underground car-park and – just to be safe – parked
another floor down around a corner that was further obscured by a pillar and
pile of rubble. There was no way that anyone would accidentally come across
them, while even the teenagers in the town avoided these buildings for a new
skate-park opened up by the new buildings and businesses.
It was almost pitch-black, so Lance allowed the battery to run and turned on
the interior light, and – as he undid Keith’s seatbelt – he picked the young
boy up and pulled him over onto his lap with a nervous grin. Keith didn’t mind.
He continued to look at the photograph in his hands and babble aimlessly about
the colours and shapes he memorised, while he smiled and laughed in a way that
was so unlike when they first met. It was difficult to reconcile the stoic and
grumpy boy with the cheerful and passionate soul. Lance shuddered.
“Do you want to play a game?” Lance asked.
Lance gently took the photograph from Keith; he stuck it on top of the dash,
before he slid off Keith’s jacket and shoes, which left the boy with a confused
pout and a trembling lip. A spark of panic shot through Lance. He worried that
already a line had been crossed, but Keith simply grabbed the photo back and
held it in his hands with a warm smile, as he went back to listing all the
names of the background alien characters. Lance rolled his eyes and pulled off
a pair of black socks, while his erection pressed firm against an unknowing
pair of buttocks.
The boy set on Lance’s lap with legs bent, but those tiny feet were so adorable
and small that the four-year-old looked good enough to eat. Lance cursed not
bringing any lubrication, but he knew that would probably take a great deal of
grooming and trust, at least were he to avoid Keith saying something and the
station tracking the car’s GPS in response. He instead pulled up that tight t-
shirt over Keith’s head, who said nothing as if it were most normal.
“Are we going swimming?” Keith asked.
Lance laughed, as he ran his hands over Keith’s bare back. The tiny nipples on
a hairless chest stood erect like small pebbles, and – risking an adverse
reaction – he ran the pads of his thumbs over them and flicked them a little
afterward. Keith writhed and pouted, still staring down at the photograph that
had him so rapt, until Lance pulled one just enough to bring a jolt of pleasure
and avoid any jolt of pain. Keith cried out and looked up to Lance in surprise,
although there was no fear and only utter confusion. Lance whispered:
“No, we’re playing a game, remember?”
“What kind of game?” Keith asked.
“It’s one that Coran taught me,” said Lance. “Do you remember the words to
‘Coran, Coran the Gorgeous Man’? You can sing them if you get nervous. I just
need to cover your eyes; the aim of the game is to make your pee-pee happy, but
we can’t tell anyone else Coran will get into trouble with the princess. He
wouldn’t be on TV any more! It’s a secret game.”
“Coran taught you?” Keith’s eyes went wide. He smiled bright. “I want to play,
then! Coran is a here and saves people and makes people happy. I like Coran.
Isn’t my pee-pee dirty, though? My teachers said no one should ever touch
there. It’s a naughty place.”
“Yes, but I’m a policeman. It’s okay for the police to touch there.”
“Really? Coran plays the game, too, right?”
“Sure, whatever,” mumbled Lance.
He reached into his glove-box and pulled out an old tie. Keith stopped him from
putting it around his eyes, wanting to still look at the photograph, but Lance
promised to give him the photograph for keeps should he play the game. Keith
pursed his lips. He paused. It took a long minute, but Keith finally nodded his
consent and Lance tied the tie around his eyes, which blocked out all light
from inside the car and blinded Keith to his surroundings.
Lance took the photograph away from him; he stood Keith up onto his feet, one
on either side of his thighs, and slid down the boy’s trousers, until Keith was
able to step out of them, and – now utterly naked save for his gloves – his
small crotch was right before Lance’s mouth, which breathed warm air over the
soft organ. It was absolutely tiny, almost like a walnut as opposed to a penis,
and tucked above the smallest and tightest pair of testicles that Lance ever
remembered seeing. Hairless. Smooth. So innocent and never before been touched.
“Put your hands on my shoulders,” hissed Lance.
Keith obeyed without question. Lance took that moment to free his own erection
from the confines of his trousers, where it sprang free from a heavy thatch of
brown hair, and the flared tip – already dripping pre-come at an astounding
rate – acted as a natural lubrication and allowed his hand to wrap around to
milk his length. He panted for breath, already so close to coming from the
thrill of the forbidden alone. Lance moaned.
“You’ll feel really good,” he promised. “You’ll like Coran’s game.”
Lance took the little member into his mouth; there was a small cry of ‘dirty’
from Keith, who fidgeted and writhed, but Lance placed a firm hand onto the
small of his back, before using it to keep him relatively still. He dipped his
tongue into the slit. Keith cried out, a small mewl that was high-pitched and
so deeply conflicted, and Lance – as he pumped his hard cock, head occasionally
brushing against that tiny perineum, as he bent his back almost in two to get
low enough to take that tiny penis – listened to the delicious sounds.
He opened his mouth wide, able to take in balls and all. He lathed the penis
with his rough tongue, licking around it and sometimes lightly drawing his
teeth over the foreskin, and soon it grew erect in his mouth. It was a
sensation he would remember until he died. Keith purred and bucked into him and
made incomprehensible noises, while Lance pumped his member faster and faster
beneath him, with cock head smearing pre-come on bouncy buttocks.
“N-No, stop,” begged Keith. “I’m going to pee! No. No!”
It didn’t take long for Keith to orgasm. There was no come, or any liquid at
all, but his little body was wracked with shivers and movement and so hot to
the touch, until he cried out until his voice grew hoarse and finally silenced.
Lance pulled away, as he looked up at pale skin flushed red and Keith barely
with the strength to stay upright, and those lips – plump, scarlet, deliciously
wet – were wide open with a speck of drool down the side.
Lance came on the sight of his debauched angel; he grew light-headed with
pleasure, as his stomach contracted and rope after rope of come splattered on
tiny buttocks, thighs and perineum, until Lance could only hear his racing
pulse and panted breaths. A sweat broke over his body, so that his uniform
clung to his skin and his hair stuck to his forehead, and – as he reached up to
undo the blindfold – Keith glared at him with eyes narrowed in disgust and a
rage far beyond his years. A cold stone of dread seeped into Lance’s stomach.
“You peed on me,” said Keith in a cold voice.
Lance blinked in confusion. He looked at Keith, who seemed on the verge of
tears, and burst into absolute laughter, before wiping off the come with a
handkerchief. Keith jumped off his lap and onto the passenger seat. The small
boy was beautiful, but he hugged his legs to his naked chest with a pout. Lance
smiled at the sight, almost hungry to take a photograph of him and yet knowing
no evidence could ever exist, while also desperate to get inside him.
“You won the game,” chirped Lance.
He tucked away his penis, before doing up the zipper to his trousers. Keith sat
in silence. It was a little unnerving, so Lance quickly handed him both the
photograph and a bag of assorted sweets from the glove-box, and – with a huge
grin – Keith snatched them from his hands and began bouncing upon the leather
seats again. He swung his legs over the edge, singing the theme tune from
Coran’s show, while he lazily ate at the chocolate with an open mouth so that
he could continue his songs. Lance laughed at him with a warm sound.
“Don’t tell anyone about our game, okay?”
“Why not?” Keith asked.
“Coran told me it was a secret game,” lied Lance. “If you tell anyone, you
won’t be allowed into space school and Coran won’t be on television any more.
I’d have to arrest you, too, but if you keep it secret . . . I might even be
able to get you to meet Coran; I’ll definitely be able to get you soft-toys of
him and posters of him and lots of chocolate.”
“No way! I – I like chocolate, but my dad said no to Coran toys. I always
wanted them! I just have to not tell about the game? I can not tell! Can I get
the princess action figure, too? I like the princess. Is that what I get when I
win? Toys. Can I play again?”
“So long as you keep it secret, sure,” promised Lance.
Keith beamed a bright smile.
 
 
 
***** Chapter 2 *****
“Thanks for taking him, Lance.”
Lance smiled, as he ruffled Keith’s hair. The young boy beamed a bright smile,
as his small cheeks puffed out with pride, and he – with a childlike innocence
– reached out for Lance’s gun, who had to quickly side-step and point a warning
finger to him. Keith narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips, before he folded
his arms in a manner that looked almost like a miniature adult, and Shiro burst
out into sincere laughter at the sight of his little brother.
It was good to see Shiro in Keith’s life. He took over as guardian for his
younger half-brother, even despite his heavy workload at the Garrison, and the
entire house – so much more homely and luxurious than the desert shack – was
baby-proofed within a matter of days and filled to the brim with photographs of
Keith. There were Coran and the Coranicstoys everywhere, while the show played
on the huge television set mounted to the wall, and a home-cooked meal sat
within the oven to keep warm for later. It smelled delicious.
“It’s no problem,” chirped Lance. “Anything for my hero.”
“You know I’m not your superior any more, right?” Shiro teased. “I’m just a
regular old teacher at the Garrison, no more or less. You, though? You keep our
streets safe, while acting as a role-model for all the kids out there. You’re
the true hero, Lance.”
“Okay, now you’re kind of going to make me blush, Shiro.”
“Good.” Shiro laughed. “You need the confidence!”
Keith beamed a bright smile, as he jumped up and down before Lance. It was made
him feel wanted and a part of a family, something he lacked since leaving Cuba
for schooling as a young teenager, and – as his eyes watered with tears – he
reached down to lift Keith high above his head, while the four-year old
squealed with glee. Lance threw him high in the air, before he made a noise
like an aeroplane and ran across the room with Keith held high, and all the
while Keith fidgeted in his grasp and laughed over and over.
“He absolutely adores you,” observed Shiro.
It was difficult to reply when Keith clamoured over him and forced him into a
piggyback, but – luckily – Shiro smiled and walked over to them with coat over
one arm and his briefcase in his free hand, while he nodded over to the clock.
It was positioned between two of the living room windows, which were closed to
the darkness outside. Lance knew it would be time for Keith’s bath soon, which
already filled him with both guilt and arousal. Shiro chirped:
“Okay, well, I’ll be back tomorrow lunchtime.”
“Do you have to go?” Keith mumbled.
“I do, kiddo, but I’ll be back.”
Shiro blinked away tears; the abandonment of Keith seemed to hit Shiro hardest,
but Lance knew that was only because Keith was still too young to understand
the ramifications. The young boy spent his nights crying and asking when their
father would come home, or sometimes blaming Lance or Shiro for taking him
away, and sometimes he would be oddly quiet as he stared off out of the window
as if he finally realised the truth. Shiro let out a shuddered breath and
reached out to stroke Keith’s hair with a forced smile.
“I’ll never leave you,” promised Shiro. “I swear.”
“You’re leaving now,” sniffed Keith.
“Keith, the Garrison is a very advanced school,” explained Shiro. “It means I
sometimes have to do extra training, or volunteer to chaperone students, or
invigilate exams for the students, but those things are only temporary and will
always lead me back to you. You’re my brother and I love you. I won’t ever
leave you. Hey, while I’m away, Lance can tell you all about ‘space school’! I
even taught him for a smalll while. It’ll be fun.”
“You – You say too many big words,” muttered Keith.
“Right, well, Lance is going to look after you for one night. Just one. I have
to do some work, but I’ll be right back. If you get scared, you can ring me at
any time. I promise I’ll pick up regardless of what I’m doing, because you are
the only thing in this world that matters to me, Keith. I swear that I’m not
going to leave you like our pops left. I swear.”
Keith reached out to Shiro with small hands. They opened and closed with chubby
fingers, still covered with baby fat, and Shiro snatched him up to hold him in
the world’s tightest embrace, until – with tears streaming down his face – he
let Keith have some breathing room with a reluctant smile on his lips. He set
Keith upon the sofa; the boy jumped up and stood upon it with socked feet,
while he tried to reach back out for Shiro, who shook his head to take his coat
and briefcase back from the floor where they fell. Keith begged:
“Come back soon?”
“I’ll run home as fast as I can,” promised Shiro.
Shiro blew a kiss and headed over to the front door, while Keith strove not to
cry as his big brother left him alone for the first time since their father
left, and Lance scratched at the back of his neck nervously as Shiro fidgeted
at the door. He looked torn between staying and leaving, lingering in the limbo
just beyond the archway between lounge and hall, before he looked over to Lance
with watery eyes and a half-formed smile. Shiro feigned a salute, one meant in
a sincere gesture of respect, as he nodded and smiled.
“Thanks, Lance,” said Shiro.
“No problem, man.”
There was an awkward silence. Shiro looked one last time to Keith, who was on
the verge of tears in turn, before he drew in a deep breath and practically ran
out of the door, closing it with a loud click behind him. Keith burst into
tears; he dove into Lance’s arms, who carried him over to the window to let him
watch Shiro drive away, and tried to coax him into waving even as Keith buried
his head into Lance’s uniformed arms. It broke his heart.
Lance closed the curtains with a sigh, before he carried Keith upstairs. He
assumed the dinner in the oven would keep, while prepared the boy for bed, and
led him into the bathroom where he sat him down on top of the toilet. Keith
rubbed at his eyes and sniffed, while he kicked at the porcelain beneath his
socked feet, and – as he muttered incoherent and childish words – Lance tried
to remember the crash ‘safety course’ delivered by Shiro. The cold water was to
go in first and alone, just in case Keith somehow climbed into the tub.
The little boy was dressed only in a pair of small shorts and a t-shirt,
although the t-shirt was covered with a cartoon face of Coran, and those
hairless and smooth legs were so much a temptation that Lance almost forgot to
finally turn on the hot tap. He bit his lip. It would be easy to end things
now, while they progressed no further than a few stolen blow jobs and ‘special’
touches, but the temptation was strong. Lance might never have another chance.
“It’s too early for a bath,” muttered Keith.
Lance smiled and turned off the water. He reached out to undress Keith, who
complied without any question for the man still in uniform, and soon he was as
naked as the day he was born, with blue-grey eyes looking angrily over to the
water. It was as if the bath personally offended him, as he continued to swing
his legs. Lance ran a hand from the mullet of hair down that soft back, before
he let his fingers trail over those plump buttocks.
He winced and pulled his hand away, as his heart raced and mouth ran dry. This
is wrong, Lance thought. He lifted his hand to touch upon his badge, trailing
his fingertips around the edge, and realised that he was abusing the oaths
taken and the promises to protect the people, but the urge was so strong and
Keith was so beautiful. There was no harm done, at least not yet, while Keith
considered it to be just a ‘game’ and participated with a smile and a laugh and
desperate to get his ‘prizes’ for ‘winning’, but that wouldn’t last forever.
“You want to get clean, right?” Lance asked.
“No,” spat Keith. “I like it dirty.”
Lance nearly swore. The member in his pants grew to a full erection, already
thrumming and straining against the fabric, until he was forced to reach down
and squeeze tight upon the rigid length to try and stave off the desperate
desire. Keith was innocent; the words were meant literally, no indication of
kink or desire, and yet that same innocence was what pushed Lance nearly to
breaking point. Keith was a blank slate . . . an untouched virgin . . . he was
malleable and could be anything that Lance wanted him become. It was hot, but
wrong.
“Hey, want to play a special bath game?”
“Like the pee-pee kissed?”
“Sure,” chirped Lance. “Listen, your hole must get real dirty, right? All that
icky poop and stuff that comes out of there? I bet Shiro never cleans that
place. I know a way to clean it that will make you feel good, just like the
pee-pee game. Just keep it secret, okay?”
“Do I get a special prize if I win again?”
Keith jumped off the toilet lid, as he reached up to be lifted into the bath.
Lance swooped him into his arms, letting his hands steal touches of warm and
smooth flesh, before he sat Keith down in the bath whose waters reached up to
his nipples. The little buds were erect and flushed red, while his skin now
glistened with dewdrops of moisture, and the water – that rippled around his
lower body – magnified and distorted the view of his tiny penis. Lance uttered
a small whine, so aroused that his genitalia began to physically hurt.
He guided Keith to stand with hands braced upon the edge of the bathtub. Keith
immediately sat down, throwing himself back to wet his hair, as if he thought
this were a genuine game, and Lance – desperate for some release – brought
Keith back up to stand gain. He quickly grabbed at the boy’s penis, before he
could pull away, and gently massaged it in small counter-circles with his thumb
and forefinger. Lance whispered into his ear:
“Win the game and you can get ice cream for dinner.”
Lance leaned over from where he knelt. He gave no time for Keith to reply, but
immediately took his hard member into his mouth. It tasted a little bitter, as
if he hadn’t long been to the bathroom and forgot to shake, but there was also
a scent of baby powder from where Shiro likely bathed him from the night
before. It was all too innocent, yet Lance knew he had no right to take that
innocence by force, and yet . . . was it force when Keith wanted it?
He scrunched closed his eyes, unwilling to face the fact ‘informed consent’
couldn’t be given when Keith likely had no idea where babies came from or what
‘sex’ meant, but he knew that this was nothing like the abuse Coran forced him
to endure. It was enjoyable to Keith, something he sometimes asked to happen or
initiated, but still something niggled in the back of Lance’s mind that it was
wrong, even as he slurped and suckled upon that small cock, desperate to show
Keith the extent of his love. Lance fumbled around for a shampoo bottle.
There were too many containers. He opened his eyes just enough to see where his
hand fell, even as Keith gripped at his hair with tight little fists, and –
with a deep blush – noticed that there was some sexual lubricant beside the
body wash. It promised to ‘stimulate’ with extra sensations, while it was also
cherry-flavoured to Lance’s chagrin, and he wondered whether Shiro just forgot
its presence or assumed Keith too young to understand.
“I – I feel good,” murmured Keith.
Lance pulled back his hands enough to roll up his sleeves, before he shot out
his grasp for the lubricant and squirted a huge amount into the palm of his
hand, and – as his erection throbbed within the confines of his trousers –
reached down with the empty hand to open his fly and expose his angry, red
length to the warm and humid air. He moaned in relief. It sent vibrations down
Keith’s rigid cock, perhaps an inch or two long at most, and the boy cried out
and gripped tighter upon the brown hair. Lance moaned again.
“It feels good,” continued Keith. “I like it. It’s good.”
He squirmed and fidgeted, while Lance dipped his fingers into the lubricant to
thoroughly coat them and wet them, and – with a shuddered sigh – he pressed his
index finger against Keith’s hole and nearly came with how tight that hole was
to the touch. It was dry and hot and like a tiny pinprick; no one ever molested
him or harmed him, that much was certain, and Lance knew in that second he
couldn’t risk more than just one finger.
Lance fingered the hole in small circles, just pressing a little without
actually going inside, until he coaxed Keith to spread his legs a little more,
and – with a lot of lubricant still in the palm of his left hand – he fondled
those tiny balls with great expertise. Keith relaxed enough that he could slide
his finger in just past his fingernail, as Lance made a mental note to follow
the natural curve of the inside of his body. It was warm inside. It was tight.
Lance wept pre-come at an astounding rate, desperate to get further inside. He
pulled his mouth away.
“Keith, you push out like you need a poop.”
“Why?” Keith asked. “I don’t want to poop. I want to feel good.”
“This will feel good, I promise,” said Lance. “If you push out, I can get more
of my finger inside, and that will let me find a special spot inside you. That
spot feels super good when you push it! I’ll keep sucking you, too, and
touching your balls. Just push out, okay?”
“Okay, but it better feel good! I mean it.”
Lance fought back a laugh; he worked inside his finger, while Keith pushed with
an expression of concentration, and soon his finger slid inside right up unto
the last knuckle, where he nearly came from the sensations alone. Those inner
walls clenched around him, while he could feel the actual heartbeat pulse
through those same innards. They were hot, too. It was the strangest sensation,
but also so soft and smooth as silk. He groaned.
Keith squirmed and gripped at his hair, while he returned his mouth to that
erection. He milked it for all it was worth, while he crooked his finger in
search of that prostate, and – as he looked around for that magic spot that
would have Keith seeing stars – he reached down with a lubricated palm to grip
his erection. It was almost too much. He cried out around Keith’s length,
realising that the added tingling sensation would be his undoing, and
occasionally dipped his thumb into his weeping slit. Keith mewled beneath him.
The young boy purred and moaned and gasped, thrusting in time with Lance’s
finger, until he finally found that magic spot and massaged it with rough
circles, and – with a loud scream of ecstasy – Keith gripped his hair until it
was painful, and dry came into his mouth. It was all Lance needed to come in
turn, but this time he gripped his cock so hard that it held back his orgasm
just long enough to stand upon his feet, and aimed his cock straight at Keith.
“Open your mouth,” he ordered.
Keith obeyed without question. Lance groaned, raising the finger that had been
inside the boy to his nose, where he sniffed long and deep and finally released
his cock. He came with rope after rope of come; some struck Keith in his eye,
which caused him to cry with the sting, and the rest struck his cheek and some
went into his mouth. Keith opened and closed his mouth in surprise, swallowing
back the sticky liquid, before opening wide and leaning in to wrap his mouth
around the head, where he sucked the rest directly from the source.
“God,” cried Lance. “You’re so fucking perfect!”
He would have came again if possible, but he remained half-hard and exhausted
from the force of his orgasm, with lips parted and eyes dilated, and – as he
collapsed beside the bath – Keith furrowed his brow and licked at his lips.
Keith kept one eye closed, as his naked and wet body remained on open display
for Lance to consume. He soon looked to Lance with a smile and reached up to
touch the come that stained his face and marked him as used.
“That tastes weird,” chirped Keith. “Can I get more?”
Lance was hard already. Aching. Hot.
“Fuck yeah,” whispered Lance.
 
 
***** Chapter 3 *****
Lance leaned against the doorframe.
He smiled to look inside the bedroom; the large windows allowed in a great deal
of moonlight, but were barred from the outside as a cheap method to prevent the
curious and playful child from climbing out, and they sometimes cast almost
ominous shadows across the otherwise bright and cheerful room. There was a
large play-mat designed with a cartoon town centre of the carpet, complete with
building blocks and action figures, and the walls were painted with murals of
Coran and the Coranics.It was a room any kid would envy.
The bed itself was custom-made, so that it was slightly higher than average to
accommodate a fort underneath that was hidden from view with strips of green
plastic, designed to look like seaweed for an underwater theme that the fort
emulated to perfection. There were plush toys all over the bed, while – despite
the array of clothes piled in a corner – Keith took to only wearing the same
outfit over and over, and it was the room of a happy child.
Keith currently sat cross-legged on his bed. It was still relatively early,
only seven o’clock, but it was getting past bedtime for the little boy, and
already he was yawning and rubbing at his eyes with two tiny fists. Lance
hissed. The sight was more erotic than it ought, especially as Keith’s
oversized shirt pulled up to reveal tight shorts that clung to his legs, and so
much skin was on show that Lance fought the urge to mark it with bites and
kisses. He knew he could leave no evidence, but he also knew bruises could be
easily explained.
“Are you going to tuck me in?” Keith asked.
Lance swallowed back his arousal, even as his member ached in his pants. The
question was innocent enough, but it brought back a flood of memories . . . the
scent of honey clung in the air, while the milk was still sweet on his tongue,
and the shadow in the doorway lingered, blocking out all light, a promise of
what would come after the last drop . . . excruciating pain, a promise of a
reward, sweat upon skin . . .Lance shuddered, his arousal nearly gone.
“Sure,” mumbled Lance.
He walked across the room. It was difficult to navigate the maze of toys and
books and computer games, especially as Shiro seemed unable to stop from
spoiling the young boy, and Lance smiled sadly to realise that the material
possessions were no substitute for time. He grew up in absolute poverty, the
youngest of all siblings, but he never wanted for anything, as his family
provided him with attention and affection. Shiro tried, but was it enough?
Lance tucked the small boy into bed, wondering whether Shiro’s many meetings
were necessary, especially with such a beautiful boy in need of a father
figure, and he wondered whether he could give Keith what Shiro could never give
him. It was a bad thought. He winced while tucking in the last of the sheet,
with hands frozen midair, and let out a shuddered exhale of breath as he looked
to Keith with trembling eyes. How many months had it been since their first
night in the car? Keith was five now. Lance whispered:
“Can I ask you a question, Keith?”
“Sure,” chirped Keith.
“Do you like playing our special games?” Lance asked. “You know I’d stop if you
said ‘stop’, don’t you? I only want to play if you want to play. I never want
to hurt you. This is about love and showing you how much I love you. Do you
like to be loved?”
“I guess? I like our games. They’re fun! Can we play now?”
“Yeah, well, I actually wanted to play a new game.”
“What new game? What’re the rules?”
Keith sat upright in bed. He looked too tired to play any game, but – on the
flipside – Lance knew that could work to his advantage, as he would be far more
relaxed and possibly even fall asleep should they fall into enough of a rhythm.
Those eyes were red. There were visible bags. He pursed and played with his
lips, even as he tried to smile, but those tiny fists would come ever up to rub
at his eyes while he would open his mouth into a wide yawn.
Lance – still in uniform – felt vastly overdressed, even as he reached out to
slowly undo the buttons upon Keith’s shirt, and he found his arousal returning
on sight of that pale expanse of chest being laid out before him. He slid off
the shirt and dropped it onto the floor, nearly coming on sight when he saw
Keith squirm and slide off his shorts beneath the sheets. Lance swore as pre-
come wept from the tip of his erection, which tented in his work pants with an
almost obscene size. He took the shorts from Keith and brought them to his
nose.
The scent was unique and enough masturbation material for a lifetime, as he
grew almost dizzy and smiled absently to himself, and – dropping them finally
by the shirt – he looked to Keith and saw someone whom he grew to love. He
wondered if it could even be called a consensual relationship, when the young
boy smiled so brightly up at him and waited eagerly for whatever the next game
would prove to bring, and he swallowed hard at the sight.
“It’s a surprise,” murmured Lance. “Get on all fours, okay?”
Keith obeyed. He pushed off the covers from his body, before he crawled onto
all fours, and – as knees and hands pressed into the mattress – Lance slid
behind him and palmed the perfectly shaped mounds that hid the familiar winking
hole. Lance parted them and buried his face in between, where he licked at the
small brown hole, and laughed when Keith ground back desperate for more of the
sensation. He liked rim-jobs almost as much as blow-jobs.
It was a temptation to force his tongue inside and suck around the inflamed
rim, always so greedy and desperate to be filled with fingers and tongue, but
he held back this time to fish around for the travel-sized lubricant in his
pocket. The scent was strawberry, with a matching taste, and sometimes – when
Keith begged to be as ‘grown up’ as Lance – he would paint his cock with the
lubricant and let Keith lick it off like a lollipop. He was still too small to
take it into his mouth, with too much of a gag-reflex, but it was enough to
always make Lance come.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” begged Lance.
He uncapped the lubricant and coated the fingers of his right hand, while he
looked to the clock and wondered whether it was too late for such activities,
but – with Shiro only gone for the one weekend – he knew there was no other
chance to truly make love to the child. He parted those buttocks with his left
hand, and then slowly slid a finger inside to the hilt. It went in without
resistance, as Keith was so used to be being finger-fucked, and he even knew
how to push back and relax to accommodate the digit. Keith moaned like a whore.
Lance followed the natural curve to the boy’s body, while he searched out for
that ‘magic spot’ that would have Keith seeing stars, and was forced to free
his erection when Keith clawed at the sheets and ground back upon his hand. He
looked too fucking good. Keith was unaware that they were exploring his
sexuality together, just too happy for his ‘pee-pee’ to ‘stand up’, and the
feeling that he ‘had to be pee’ sometimes even made him pass out.
He gently inserted a second finger, relishing how easily it joined the other.
There was little stretch or discomfort, at least judging by how Keith now
thrust back heavy and hard, perhaps mimicking the way that Lance thrust into
his own hand or bobbed up and down upon that tiny boy cock, but it made Lance’s
erection physically painful. He was forced to reach down and grip it, so that
he could make milking motions and dip his thumb into the slit, desperate to
ease his arousal just a little so he would last more than a minute inside
Keith.
“I’m going to add more fingers,” said Lance.
“I like two. Two is fine.”
“You’re going to need more than two.” Lance struggled to push in a third. “I’m
going to fuck you, Keith. That means I’ll put my pee-pee into your poo-hole, so
I have to make sure your hole is big enough to take it without hurting. I have
to stretch it big. It’s something special; it’s something you only do with
people you love, so it feels great.”
“If it feels good, I want to do it! Why do you want to put your pee-pee there,
though? Does it feel good for you, too? Do I make you feel good? Is that why
people in love do it? Shiro says that I’m not supposed to let people touch
there. I even have to wash it myself!”
“Shiro’s right, no one should touch there, but . . . I’m special, right?”
“Yeah, you’re Lance! You’re my friend.”
Lance finally forced inside a third finger. Keith groaned in discomfort this
time, as he fell onto his forearms and looked back with a sharp glare, and –
before Lance could apologise – the boy purposely clenched around his fingers as
tight as he could manage. Lance swore, wishing it was his cock inside, as he
relished in how those inner walls could provide such strength and pressure. He
reached down to lick the excess lubrication that leaked from the sides of his
hole and squelched out around his fingers, and nipped at the firm buttocks.
“You’re not supposed to like that,” grumbled Keith.
Lance laughed and removed his fingers. He slathered his cock with lubrication,
before he placed a hand low on Keith’s back to keep him in position, and angled
his cock head to touch upon that waiting and wide hole. It would go inside
without permanent damage, which was the main issue, as Lance knew the sight of
blood or tears would kill his erection, and yet he suspected there would be
discomfort and pain regardless. He prayed it would be pleasurable.
“I like anything you do, Keith. I like you.”
He pushed the head inside.
It was absolute heaven; those inner walls were so tight around him, almost
painful, but they were also so hot and unlike anything any toy or hand could
provide, while the lubrication enabled him to thrust and buck so easily within
the child. The pre-come wept from the head, as he sighed and pushed a little
further, knowing from experience that the head was always the most difficult
part, but – through his groans and moans – he missed the cries.
He pushed in to the hilt, at which point Keith cried out. It was a pained cry,
while there were tears down his cheeks, and – as he buried his face into the
pillows – he gave a childish whine that spoke of being overwhelmed by too much
stimulus, as opposed to an excruciating pain or even any pain in the least.
Lance struggled to judge through the loud cries and whines what was
exaggeration and what was sincere, but he struggled to care as his blue work
shirt clung to his chest with absolute sweat. He pulled out only to thrust hard
back inside.
Lance ran his hands down Keith’s back, where he massaged those shoulders with
hard and firm presses of his thumb, and worked out a few knots and helped to
relax the young boy through something far beyond his comprehension. It was good
. . . so good . . . he was already at breaking point as his balls tightened and
abdominal muscles clenched, and his breathing came out in short and fast pants,
as he fought for air and tried to stave off his orgasm.
‘Keith? Lance? Where are you guys?’
“Oh no. Oh shit,” cursed Lance.
He pounded hard and fast inside the tight hole, desperate to find some release
before he was forced to stop, and soon the only sounds were the slaps of skin
on skin and wet slurps as that greedy hole took him right until pubic hairs
teased upon buttocks. Lance was close, so close, and he found himself coming
right at the exact right moment. He threw back his head with a loud scream of
pleasure, wondering – through his haze – if there was still time to hide the
evidence, when the door to the bedroom was thrown open. Shiro saw everything.
“You,” hissed Shiro. “You fucking monster!”
Shiro ran straight for the bed. Lance barely had time to pull out, as come
dripped from the crying child’s hole and onto the blue sheets, and – as he
pulled up his trousers with a curse – a rounded fist collided straight for his
jaw. The world went black. There was a burst of pain unlike any Lance ever
knew, as he grew dizzy and faint and collided with the wall of the bedroom,
while he spat out blood and what felt like a tooth. He hated the taste of iron.
The come soaked through his still open pants, while the sweat cloyed to him and
chilled him, and – as his eyes focussed – he saw a fist aimed straight for his
face. Lance ducked. He missed the blow by a mere inch, while Shiro pulled back
a bloody and potentially broken hand, and Lance yelped in fear as plaster
crumbled and fell away from the huge indent upon the child’s wall. Keith
screamed. Keith wept. Shiro continued to throw punches, which Lance barely
dodged, until he was stumbling backwards out of the bedroom doors.
“I’ll fucking kill you,” swore Shiro.
Lance struggled to climb to his feet. Shiro pounded after him at full speed,
before diving straight for him at the top of the stairwell, and – actually just
making contact with his back – Lance was sent hurtling down the stairs like a
broken ragdoll. The pain was excruciating, while his bruised and bloody body
fought to climb into a sitting position, as he desperately sought to crawl
away, but nothing felt broken or permanently damaged. He was lucky. Lance
looked up at the stairwell in abject horror as Shiro looked down, barely human.
The pounding of his heart within his ears was painful, while his stomach sank
in his stomach and a cold sweat broke over his skin, and – just as the terror
reached its peak – Keith cried out with a blood-curdling scream and Shiro
winced. He muttered a barely hidden ‘fuck’, as he ran back to his brother’s
room to tend to the child. It was the only chance Lance would get, as soon the
police would be called and his colleagues would know. He had to get away.
Lance struggled to his feet and stumbled to the front door.
He froze when he heard Keith scream again.
Then . . . he ran.
 
 
***** Chapter 4 *****
“Hey, buddy,” said Hunk.
Shiro looked in a bad state. The tuft of white hair was dishevelled, so that it
would fall in front of his dark eyes, and those same eyes held black bags
beneath them, while they stood out bloodshot from deathly pale skin. He still
wore his uniform, but the brown material was stained beneath the arms from
sweat and wrinkled as if he slept in his clothes. It was unusual to see Shiro
looking anything less than perfect. The interior of the house was a mess.
There were toys all over the place, while the armchair in front of the TV was
angled to face the open staircase over in the hall, and Hunk saw a plate of
half-eaten food on the armrest and a blanket draped over the back, while a
pillow had fallen onto the seat. He noticed a few pamphlets on security
systems, various lawyers, and children’s therapists. He also noticed a card
from the local police department situated on top of a huge pile of paperwork.
It was pitch-black inside the house, aside from the glow of the television.
Hunk forced a smile.
“Sorry, did I stop by too late?”
Shiro ran a hand over his face and fumbled around the wall for a switch. The
lights all flickered into life, blinding Shiro for a brief moment, until he
focussed his eyes and looked down at his watch and saw that it was only eight.
It brought a tremble to Hunk’s lips, as his shoulders slumped and he realised –
with a heavy realisation – it must have been the longest day and night of
Shiro’s life. It was only natural for him to want an early night, only now Hunk
had stumbled along – with a carrier bag in hand – waking him from his sleep.
Hunk raised the carrier bag; it was open just enough for Shiro to look down,
where he would see half-a-dozen plastic containers, and Hunk hoped that the
sight and scent of home-cooked food straight from the restaurant would tempt
him. A loud groan erupted from Shiro’s stomach, which brought a soft laugh to
Hunk’s lips. He didn’t give Shiro any time to apologise, as he forcefully
pushed his way inside and made his way over to the open kitchen.
The takeout boxes featured both adult food and children’s portions, complete
with a colouring sheet that the other big restaurant in town handed out, and
Hunk fought back an urge to chastise his friend for visiting his rival. The
boxes were cold, while that food joint always closed at five o’clock on the
dot, and since Hunk always opened at exactly five o’clock . . . it meant the
rivalry was friendly, as there was no real competition. Still, a childish part
of Hunk fought back a mild annoyance, as he helped himself to the dishes.
“You ordered from Vrepit Sal’s?” Hunk asked. “Really?”
Shiro yawned, as he slumped into a stool by the breakfast bar. A plate was slid
in front of him, while Hunk portioned out a selection of Balmeran cuisine, and
– with a few complementary Samoan sides – steam erupted forth and a rich aroma
flooded from the porcelain in a way that made Hunk sigh with appreciation. He
slid across the cutlery to Shiro, while he busied himself tidying up the
kitchen while his friend ate, and he looked back towards the stairs to wonder
whether the noise would wake Keith. He sighed and said:
“Shay would have made you something up, you know.”
“I know,” said Shiro. “I just couldn’t face it.”
“Hey, no judgement here, man!” Hunk moved to tidy the living room. “I won’t
lie, like . . . yeah . . . the whole town’s talking about it, but we’re your
friends! You shouldn’t have to hide away in shame, just because – I don’t know
– you think you can’t face us or something, because you’ve always been like our
leader. We look up to you. You’re awesome.”
“Thanks, Hunk.” Shiro took a slow bite. “I just didn’t want to make a fuss. I
feel . . . I feel betrayed, and it’s almost ironic considering what I was
supposed to teach over the weekend. I was booked in for a lecture on the
establishment of the Voltron Alliance after the defeat of the Galra Empire,
even managed to get Allura to attend as a guest speaker, and I thought I was
leaving Keith in safe hands, but the whole damned time –”
“We had our own Zarkon in our midst.”
Hunk froze with a Coran toy in hand. It was a plush figure that was based off
the Altean man, who – with so few of his people left – took great joy in
teaching lessons about tolerance and acceptance at the heart of the Voltron
Alliance, and sometimes he would slip in slithers of Altean culture into his
shows. He knew the story of how Allura and Coran were frozen in time, and they
all knew the story of how Alfor sacrificed his entire people to save the
universe and bring the downfall of a corrupt empire. He smiled sadly upon the
doll.
He never before imagined what kind of betrayal Alfor faced, but now – despite
how peace was brought throughout the universe – he experienced a pain so deep
that it tore through his body and wracked him with physical pain on its
discovery, as if it were a blow unlike any that came from the heat of battle.
Hunk handled the doll with chubby fingers, before he tossed it into a toy-box
without even a second thought, and turned back to Shiro.
“Do you think Coran knows?” Hunk asked.
Shiro turned to look at him. It was a dark look, which caused the scar across
his nose to wrinkle, but – as if remembering the circumstances – he turned back
to his plate with a sigh and picked at his food with an unusual pickiness. Hunk
came around to sit opposite Shiro, while he listened to what sounded like
footsteps running across the landing upstairs, but soon there came the sound of
running water, followed by footsteps running back and a door clicking shut, as
if no one could have heard it close. Shiro asked in a cold voice:
“Why would he know?”
“He was released from cryosleep years before Princess Allura,” chirped Hunk.
“Lance and I grew up together, both our families moved over at the same time,
because – you know – the Garrison was our big dream growing up. I always envied
Lance; don’t get me wrong, my family was awesome, but Lance’s were like . . .
perfection! I think it broke him when his parents died, plus he was the
youngest child and never wanted to go back to Cuba . . .
“Coran adopted him like his own son. He keeps it super quiet, because Coran’s –
well – Allura’s advisor and this big children’s show star, only Coran’s like
the main reason he was able to stay nearby and join the Garrison once he was
old enough, but I also got the impression things were pretty complicated
between them. I don’t know. Just thinking aloud.”
“It’ll be in the press soon enough,” whispered Shiro.
“Not with Keith’s name, though, right?” Hunk scratched at his neck. “He’s a
minor, so they have to keep his name secret and stuff, don’t they? I – I’ve got
so many questions, too, man. I kind of want to know why Lance did it and what
changed, but also whether he’ll be arrested and tried and actually get his
comeuppance, and . . . I’m kind of scared to ask, but . . . what about Keith?
Is he going to be alright? Do you need us to watch him for a while?”
Shiro slammed his fork down onto the counter. The sound was loud enough to make
Hunk jump, and he wondered whether it was still too soon to visit, being that
the incident only took place the night before, and he looked down with a blush
and gnawed upon his lip. He kept silent, as Shiro stood up so abruptly that the
stool was flung backwards, and the crash of metal upon the floorboards stung
his ears and made him wince. Hunk realised it was probably time to leave as
Shiro paced back and forth, back and forth, until he stopped.
The silence lingered until Shiro finally snapped. He collapsed onto his knees
and wept into his hands, without any shame or concern, and the broken sobs hung
heavy in the air and distorted all other sounds. Hunk came around and dropped
silently beside Shiro, as he watched those thick and muscular shoulders bob up
and down with wracked cries. He reached out to place a hand upon Shiro’s back
and forced a shaky smile. Shiro muttered:
“No, I’m not letting anyone take him.”
Hunk squeezed Shiro’s shoulder, as he tried not to feel too hurt by those
words. It was understandable to want to be close to his brother after such a
trauma, as well as to trust no one after being so betrayed, but it stung at
Hunk and hurt his heart just a little. He looked away from Shiro, as Shiro
composed himself and wiped away the tear-streaks from his cheeks, and looked
back when he saw his friend draw in a deep breath. They sat in silence for a
long few minutes, until Shiro finally exhaled and Hunk chanced a whispered:
“You can trust us, Shiro. It’s not like –”
“How can I trust anyone ever again?” Shiro let out a shuddered breath. “I – I
didn’t think there could be anyone safer than an ex-student, than a police
officer, and I even ran background checks on Lance just to be safe. Nothing!
Can I call myself a good judge of character? I put my baby brother directly in
harm’s way. I waved him goodbye, all the while leaving him with the very man
that would fuck him senseless! How can I forgive myself?
“Keith’s never going to trust anyone again. No one. Lance did that to him . . .
I did that to him, because I shouldn’t have let a monster into his room . . . I
should have protected him, especially when our father already abandoned him,
and you know what racism the Galra endure at the best of times. One day, I’ll
have to explain he’s part-Galra. I’ll have to explain that it’s not his fault
his father abandoned him in a shack. I’ll – I’ll have to explain that he still
needs to obey the police and trust they’ll protect him, when . . . when he’s .
. .
“I lost my arm to a Galra, Hunk. I suffered. I still get flashbacks when Ulaz
touches me sometimes, and that’s with full comprehension of what happened to
me, as well as knowledge I wasn’t sexually abused . . . small blessings, right?
I – I don’t think I’d cope knowing that Keith was pulled over for something
small, maybe he sped or a brake-light was out, and he was injured or arrested
or worse, because he – . . . he freaked out. It’d break me.”
“Man, I – I don’t know what to say,” admitted Hunk. “I’m so sorry.”
“Iverson recommended letting Keith stay with Katie for a while.” Shiro laughed
a deep and hollow laugh. “I told him it was a bad idea; until I can get Keith
to a therapist, I have no idea whether he’s normalised this, and God forbid he
tries to act any of it out with Katie. How could I live knowing I’d
accidentally enabled some other child’s abuse? Only – Only I can’t keep him
from his friends forever. I can’t punish him for what’s not his fault.”
“Have you – er – talked to him at all? I don’t know the process for this kind
of stuff, but I’m guessing they must have taken physical evidence at the
hospital, right? So – ah – did they talk to him or interview him or anything?
Are social services or something involved? Do you need someone to talk to, too?
I can sort you out with a therapist. It could help.”
“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be great,” admitted Shiro. “It’s just so much to process.
We spent the night at the hospital, where they did a full examination, and then
a policewoman came with a social worker to take some brief statements. We
didn’t get back until lunchtime.”
“Dang, that must have been exhausting for Keith.”
Hunk looked back over to the staircase. There were toys littering every step,
making it a hazard and a half, and he made a mental note to tidy up every last
inch of the house before he left, lest Shiro wallow and allow for the hazards
to accumulate. He saw the framed photographs that lined the walls, with images
of the small child from birth to present day, and it was impossible to think
that Lance – his best friend – could ever willingly abuse his position of trust
and take advantage of someone so innocent. Hunk winced and asked:
“How is Keith coping?”
“He’s asleep now,” said Shiro. “They still have a lot more they want to ask, so
they said we’d have to prepare for formal interviews later on, and . . . they
warned me that if it eventually goes to court, that could be pretty
traumatising for Keith. I thought they were threatening me, until I spoke to a
lawyer on the phone, and they told me that it was an actual fact. If Lance
pleads ‘not guilty’, the prosecution can be pretty damned ruthless. It’s . . .
bad.”
“Like how bad is ‘bad’?” Hunk asked. “Just like a long process?”
“No, more like this lawyer once had a case where the seven-year old girl was
accused of ‘seducing’ her abuser.” Shiro curled his lip and narrowed his eyes.
“He said they brought up stuff like how she’d run around naked after a bath, or
how she’d splash around and play in the pool without a swimming top, and that
she never said ‘no’ during the abuse.”
“Dude, that’s pretty sick. How can they say stuff like that?”
“Exactly, but that’s the stuff they will say.”
Hunk clenched his hands into tight fists. He thought back to newspapers and
online articles, remembering horror stories of how many victims avoided the
legal system just to stop from being forced to relive their trauma, and he
thought back to memories of people saying they were shamed or blamed on the
stand before a courtroom filled with people. Crescent-shaped cuts appeared on
Hunk’s palms, as he drew in a sharp breath and scrunched closed his eyes, and –
as he thought to Keith – he also thought to his lifelong friend.
He noticed all framed photographs of Lance were missing, as if he never existed
within their lives, and – on some walls – there were merely bright squares of
colour amidst wallpaper otherwise paled with sunlight over the years. A part of
Hunk wanted to speak to Lance and understand him, maybe get him help, while
another part just wanted to punch him for what he would force Keith to endure
over the years to come. Hunk asked in a small voice:
“You have to go to court, though, don’t you?”
“Yeah, there should be enough evidence to press charges,” said Shiro. “I’m not
thinking that far ahead, though, because right now my priority has to be
Keith’s mental health. I want to make sure this never happens again, but doing
that means confronting what happened to him and explaining why it was wrong,
which he doesn’t understand, and I’m just –”
“Hey, one step at a time, alright?” Hunk ran a hand over his face. “Go to a
doctor or psychologist alone tomorrow, okay? See what they suggest. You can
leave Keith with us or Iverson, or you could take him with you, but just . . .
talk to someone about how best to go forward with Keith. In the meantime, I’ll
let the Garrison know you need a few weeks off. I bet Iverson’s already done
that, but never hurts to check, right? This’ll be okay.”
“I keep going to his room to check on him, Hunk. I wake up with nightmares. I
keep staring people down any time they compliment him, just in case they have
some agenda. I’m always afraid and I’m afraid how he’ll react when he
understands all this. I’m just . . . scared.”
“You aren’t alone in this, Shiro. We’ll support you.”
“Can you make this go away? Can you?”
Tears pricked at Shiro’s eyes. He looked to Hunk and blinked rapidly, while a
stray tear rolled down his cheek and fell onto his cybernetic forearm. Shiro’s
lips shook with a strange smile, as more tears ran down and soon he was sobbing
once more, and all Hunk could do was to hold him and fight back tears in turn.
It was a trauma that would linger for years, if not forever, and all because of
Lance. Hunk couldn’t understand it. His heart raced in his chest, as he held
tight to his friend, and he cursed not seeing the signs sooner.
Shiro held him back in turn, as he wept with huge wracks of his chest. The
clock ticked on by, while the plated food grew cold, and – at the far end of
the lounge – Hunk listened as Ulaz left a message on the phone for his long-
term partner. Hunk heaved a dark laugh, as he remembered the time when Shiro’s
worst worry was how to reveal he was dating a Galra to friends and family, and
now he faced the worst horror imaginable.
Hunk allowed a tear to fall, as he wept with his friend.
 
 
***** Chapter 5 *****
Shiro lay upon his side.
He rested his head upon Ulaz’s lap; long fingers slipped through his hair,
smoothing out the white lock and stroking lightly on his forehead, and he was
almost lulled into a well-needed sleep, as he half-closed his eyes and let the
noises of the room wash over him. There were various clangs and clatters of
pans within the kitchen, as Matt prepared a meal for the children, and warm
aromas of spices drifted over to the sofa where Shiro lay in wait.
It was peaceful in the lounge. A warm beam of light drifted through the opened
curtains and rested across his organic arm, so that his skin was warmed and the
tension in his muscles loosened, and he smiled when a blanket was draped over
him. The long fortnight led to many sleepless nights, which in turn led to sore
muscles and dry eyes, and – while he let his body grow limp, his mind hazy with
an array of fleeting images – sleep slowly overcame him, so that the long-
awaited moment of peace finally reached him. He let his mind wander.
A crash. A cry. A long whine.
Shiro jumped upright. He swung his legs over the side of the sofa, while his
heart raced loud within his chest, and struggled to breathe, as he searched the
room for his baby brother. It took only a few seconds for his eyes to land on
Keith. Every muscle in Shiro’s body was tight, with hands clenched into tight
fists ready to defend him. He panted. The room was cold around him, but he
could focus on nothing except Keith. The small boy sat cross-legged on the
floor beside Katie, with a toy car in hand, but looked back in terror.
The room was silent. Shiro looked to see Ulaz sat beside him with wide eyes,
while Matt was frozen with pasta held midair above the boiling pot, and Katie –
so bright and analytical – looked him over with a raised eyebrow and pursed
lips, as she held a spanner in hand for the mechanical set that was spread
between the two children. It looked like they were building a winding road for
their cars, with crayon-drawn designs spread about the carpet.
He saw that half was raised in the air, with another half chaotically flung
about the floor, and – judging by one car underneath a section of track – he
figured that the children were too young for the mechanical set, as such one
half had collapsed under its weight. They were okay; no one was hurt, aside
from a small scratch on Keith’s knee, and the children were more scared from
his sudden reaction than they were the collapse. A stab of guilt jammed itself
into Shiro’s stomach, as he bent over and buried his head into his hands.
“It’s okay, kids,” called Matt. “Shiro’s just tired.”
Keith sniffed and rubbed at the scratch on his leg. Shiro was already halfway
to his feet when a strong hand pulled him back down, and – as he made to
protest – Ulaz nodded over to the two children and it became apparent that they
were fine. Katie reached down to place a kiss to Keith’s knee, always the
slightly more mature one at two years his senior, and – when he continued to
pout – she slapped him gently upside the head. He glared in response, before
she said something that had him glaring in her direction, and then snatching a
piece of rail.
The two of them seemed to be in a race to complete their sides of the track,
and soon the bickering descended into laughter, where Katie would provide the
plans and Keith would work on the engineering of the track. They made a good
team. Shiro collapsed back onto the sofa and slid back down onto Ulaz’s lap,
where he let his eyes close once again. Matt came over with soft footsteps and
placed a cup of hot tea on the table before him.
“You need to get some sleep,” said Ulaz.
“I can’t sleep. Keith needs me.”
Matt sighed and sat in an armchair opposite. The pasta was boiling from the
stove, while the sauce simmered on low to stay warm, and the rich aromas
drifted over and brought a proud commentary from Katie who chirped to her
friend all she knew about Italian cuisine, even as Keith furrowed his brow and
struggled to follow her words. There was the soft sound of music from the
stereo-system, some band or other that was aimed at younger people. Shiro
struggled to remember the names of the songs or the people who sang.
“Keith needs you healthy and sound,” added Matt.
“I know, but I can’t stop worrying.”
“That is why you have the support of your friends,” said Ulaz. “The children
cannot hear us should we keep our voices low, so allow yourself the freedom to
speak your mind. If you have a concern, allow us to help you find a solution,
as to wallow in your pain will only bring further pain to Keith. He sees how
you suffer and he suffers for that.”
“He hates me.” Shiro pulled the blanket up to his chin, as he let out a
staggered sigh and rolled onto his back to stare upward to his lover. “He is
still struggling to understand what Lance did to him; he keeps saying that
we’re supposed to give people second-chances, as well as that it never hurt him
and it felt good, and that how can something be bad if it feels good? He blames
me for Lance going away. He thinks I’m keeping his friend from him.”
“Those feelings will go away eventually,” promised Matt. “He’s only five. It’s
not as though he can fully comprehend why what happened to him was wrong, but –
as he gets older – he’ll thank you for having taken him from that situation,
but he just needs . . . time.”
“His therapist and I are going to have a talk with him tomorrow.”
“That’s good, right? I’m guessing like the talk?”
Shiro let out a shuddered sigh. He remembered all too well the embarrassment
over the years, as his mother engaged in a continuous dialogue with him, and
even things as innocuous as a kiss on a sitcom would trigger an entire
discussion on consent and ‘urges’ and ‘protection’, which shaped his entire
adulthood. The memories of his father were sparse, but – if he were as active
with Keith as he was with Shiro – he suspected that his baby brother got
nothing more than ‘never touch a girl before you’re married’. It was a sobering
thought.
It was also a thought that brought tears to his eyes, as his lips trembled and
mouth ran dry, because every last thought – every single second of every single
day – was focussed on nothing else than how he should have made sure Keith knew
this stuff. If Keith knew about sex and consent, perhaps he would have said
something far earlier, and maybe . . . maybe it would never have come to this.
Shiro allowed a tear to roll down the side of his face.
A small tearstain dropped onto Ulaz’s black trousers, while Matt quickly ran
off to plate up the food for the children, and soon – as Shiro silently wept –
he heard the children run full speed over to the kitchenette, where Katie
begged for enough cheese to hide her food from sight and Keith asked to try the
‘or-gee-no’. They were helped onto the stools, while glasses of milk and root-
beer were slid to them respectively, and Shiro was only able to compose himself
by sheer willpower alone as Matt came back over and sat opposite him.
“You need to look at the paper, too,” whispered Shiro.
Ulaz pointed to underneath the coffee-table between them, as his other hand
stroked at Shiro’s hair, and – as Matt adjusted his glasses – he reached
beneath the table to pull out the large broadsheet, while he yawned and blinked
away his tiredness. The ink smudged under his fingers, as he flicked the paper
in half to look at the headlines. The date was from that same morning, but Matt
was one to avoid printed papers and visited first thing that morning, and he
furrowed his brow until realisation dawned. His eyes widened. His skin paled.
“Is this -? Is this real?”
“So the police tell me,” said Shiro in a low voice.
“Coran Hieronymous Wimbleton Smythe,” muttered Matt. “Is this why we couldn’t
find his show anywhere on television this morning? Katie was pretty
disappointed. Our dad stuck on reruns of Sesame Street until she got bored and
started reading books on space instead, but I didn’t think anything of it at
the time . . . stuff always gets cancelled, right?”
Shiro looked across to the paper. The photograph on the front page was of Coran
avoiding the camera with head down and a gloved hand before his face, while he
struggled to get to the castle and hide himself behind those Altean walls, and
Shiro wondered how he would break the news to Keith who already lost one hero.
He looked over to the children, who nudged each other and bickered while they
ate, as if they hadn’t a single care in the world, and he smiled even as the
tears dried up and his heartbeat steadied to a slow rhythm.
“Lance accused Coran of abusing him,” said Shiro. “From what I can gather,
mostly from the police and from the journalists, he’s saying that Coran has
been raping him right from when he took him in at the age of nine right up
until he left for the Garrison at seventeen. He claims that he only joined the
Garrison to escape the abuse, hence the bad grades and being put on as a cargo
pilot, and that’s why he dropped out first chance he got to join the police.
“He said he’s always been attracted to children, but that he tried to get help.
They told me he tried to find support groups and get therapy, only every step
of the way he kept meeting brick walls, whether that be uninformed therapists
threatening to out him to his bosses or people online sending him waves of
abuse. It sounds like he just gave up in the end. He quit.
“I mean . . . how . . . how can you just quit trying to protect children? He
swore – he swore – to always protect the people . . . he took an oath! He makes
it sound like it was a self-fulfilling prophecy or something, but he also says
he never really saw it as rape . . . I just – I just want to strangle him! He
says that Coran always made him bleed and left bruises, but that he made sure
Keith enjoyed it and that Keith was never hurt, but it’s still fucking rape!”
“Shiro, you’re starting to get too loud,” said Matt.
He nodded over to the children. Shiro followed his gaze; Keith was swinging his
legs, while looking over in his direction with an impassive gaze, while Katie
picked at her food and pretended not to be listening with a lack of subtlety,
as her head turned at every word. It forced him to closed his eyes and centre
himself. He remembered what he always taught Keith . . . patience yields focus.
The world came back into view, as he opened his eyes and drew in a deep breath,
before he lowered his voice so only the adults could hear.
“I’m sorry,” said Shiro. “I’m just . . . overwhelmed.”
“It looks like Lance may be allowed be allowed to walk,” muttered Ulaz. “I do
not understand the details of your legal system, but he is co-operating with
authorities to provide evidence against Coran, and they have told Shiro that
his previously perfect record – as well as services to the community, and
desire to seek therapy – may lead to him avoiding a custodial sentence. The
most we can expect is for him to be placed on a register.”
“He’ll also be removed from his job.” Shiro let out a shuddered breath. “He’ll
be on probation, too, have restrictions on where he can live and work, and
there’ll be a restraining order to ban contact with Keith. He won’t be allowed
on social media. He’ll also get community service. They – They keep telling me
it’ll save Keith the trauma of trial, but . . .”
“It does not feel as if justice has been served.”
Shiro looked over to Keith. The boy looked so innocent, although his smiles
were less and less as of late, and it was difficult to imagine how to tell him
that his abuser would never see the inside of a cell, let alone that – in time
– his childhood hero was the abuser of that same abuser. Shiro closed his eyes,
as he fought back tears. He struggled to stay calm, as weeks of exhaustion and
stress overwhelmed him, and his eyes stung with both tears and sweat, until he
allowed himself to slowly fall back into some semblance of sleep.
He listened as Matt spoke of finding a specialised lawyer, while Ulaz discussed
his ancestry from the Blade of Marmora and Galra systems of justice, and all
the while there words mingled and merged in his mind, until he was no longer
hearing what was said. Darkness overcame him. It was a small comfort, as the
tension left his body and he was finally able to let his muscles relax, and he
hoped this time sleep would stay. Shiro whispered:
“I just want this to be over.”
 
 
***** Chapter 6 *****
Lance scrunched closed his eyes.
He listened to the shuffling sounds behind him, almost blotted out by his
racing heart, and his tiny fists clenched into blankets so hard that nails cut
into his palms. It hurt. Crescent-shaped marks appeared on brown skin, until
red bubbled and formed, and he blinked away tears and chanced a look about his
bedroom. It was too dark to see everything, but light enough that he saw the
shadow on his wall. The shadow appeared to undress. The clothes rustled.
Lance held back a sob. He knew the sounds all too well; Altean clothing had few
buttons and no zips, making sounds as it pealed off or was pulled from the
body, and it would always drop with a thud upon the carpeted floor. The bedroom
was designed to look just like a human room in style and aesthetic, but when
that door opened . . . revealing the older man, always with a smile and a
lollipop in hand . . . he would see the cold and metallic walls beyond, as well
as catch the scent of alien cuisine and Altean cologne. He hated it.
The lollipop was always the worst part.
The taste always brought him back to the pain; he would be almost transported,
as he remembered the stabbing ache in his backside and the taste of tears and
sweat on his lips, and his throat would close like it would during the broken
sobs. They gave him a lollipop once at the doctor’s office. He cried until his
voice vanished, with Coran making excuses and blaming it on the shots, but
Lance always knew otherwise . . . he knew otherwise when he vomited on a mere
taste, just like he knew otherwise when he binge-ate them once, just because he
could . . . as if he could regain control . . . he knew otherwise.
‘It’s me,’ whispered that voice. ‘You awake, lad?’
Lance closed his eyes. Coran was gentle when he slept. He never wanted to wake
the boy up, lest tiny fingers try to claw at his face or little legs kick at
his stomach, and always would come the same words. . . ‘look what you made me
do’, ‘I didn’t want to hurt you’, and ‘I just wanted to show you how much I
love you’ . . . better to stay asleep. He would lubricate him and stretch him
and move slowly inside him, and there wouldn’t be moans and dirty talk, no,
just gasped breaths and occasional hitched cries. No noise. No pain. No
anything.
The bed dipped beside him, causing him to grip the blankets harder. A body slid
behind him; he used to enjoy that warmth, reminding him of cold nights slid
between his parents with cuddles and kisses and bedtime stories, but now his
muscles tensed and his vision – behind closed eyes – was a mess of sparkled
lights and colours from the pressure. Hands slid under his nightshirt, lifting
it and struggling to get it off his prone form. Hands touched him.
‘You were made to be loved,’ said Coran.
Lance hated those callused hands. They ran over his body, touching in parts and
crevices that no other living soul touched, and no longer did he have anything
left to give, not when everything he had was taken. The bile rose to the back
of his throat. It stung and burned, until vomit threatened to pour forth. Coran
tried to arouse him awake, flicking at flat nipples and nibbling upon his ear,
but he made sure to stay ‘asleep’, lest any sign of so-called ‘reciprocation’
be taken as a green-light for consent. Coran licked at his neck.
‘You were made to be loved, and I plan on truly loving you.’
The first of three fingers pushed inside him.
                                     * * *
The peephole was cold against his skin.
Lance looked long and hard; his eyes fell upon his best friend, alone and with
a bag from his restaurant, and he could smell the fresh scents through the door
itself, which caused his stomach to growl and his mouth to water. Hunk looked
calm. He was dressed in a yellow t-shirt with a green sleeveless jacket, while
a band was wrapped around his head in the latest fashion, and his dark skin
gleaned with a light sweat from the outside heat.
He looked safe. Lance gnawed at his lip and grabbed his phone in hand, as he
dialled the first two nines, and he dashed over to the window – the only one
not broken and boarded – and twitched the curtain to look out onto the sides of
the porch. There was no one there in wait, which meant no one to jump him or
throw something at him. He remembered the first time on release when he opened
the door without a second thought; one man threw what looked like a cup of
urine at him, while a woman took a photo and laughed. The next night, a group
of teenagers tried to break in and threatened to beat him. He was no longer
safe.
Lance cautiously made his way over to the door, which he creaked open just a
crack with the chain firmly in place. Hunk smiled and waved. The tears
threatened to spill from Lance’s eyes, as he stood face-to-face with genuine
kindness, and – closing the door to unlock the chain – he drew in a deep and
staggered breath, before he forced his heart to slow and his hands to stop
their incessant tremble. He opened the door and dove for Hunk before he could
react, and wrapped his arms around him and holding him close for a hug.
“I thought you’d hate me,” murmured Lance.
Silence. Hunk heaved a long sigh, as he pulled back away from Lance. He looked
with brown eyes over Lance, as if seeing him for the first time, and bit at his
lip while he gazed away, unable to meet Lance’s eye and unable to walk away
from him. Lance slumped his shoulders. He swallowed hard, while his stomach
rolled and nausea rose, and – once again – tears threatened to spill over his
cheeks, as he rammed the base of his palms into his eyes. The air was warm
outside, while the humidity grew to be almost unbearable. He said nothing.
“I’m still making up my mind, man,” admitted Hunk.
“Yeah, I can get that. Honest.”
“I – er – saw the graffiti on your house.” Hunk scratched at his neck. “I
brought some paint in the boot of my car, just in case you maybe wanted to
paint over it, but – ah – I also brought food, too, just in case you haven’t
been eating much. I’m . . . I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner, but it’s been a lot
to process. I still don’t know if I’ll come back again.”
Lance winced and turned to look at his door. The word ‘pedo’ was painted across
his door in broad white letters, while most of the windows of the ground floor
were boarded up, and even patches of grass on the lawn were burned to brown
ashes. He looked around the neighbourhood and saw several curtains twitching,
while one man ‘happened’ to find a need to hose his lawn despite never moving
from one patch and constantly looking over, and Lance – unable to be stared at
much longer – nodded inside the house. He headed inside.
Hunk followed with his head low, casting occasional glances to his car. It was
parked seven houses down, although it was possible someone might have seen him
walk the last of the distance, and Lance knew the hassle of slashed tires and
drained petrol. He said nothing, as he closed and locked the door behind them,
but prayed Hunk would be able to drive home without any issues. Hunk headed
through to the kitchen, while Lance lingered in the hall.
“So you’re moving,” observed Hunk.
Lance shrugged and walked into the kitchen. There were boxes everywhere, each
one taped shut and labelled with names such as ‘books’ or ‘utensils, and the
rooms were bare aside from duty floorboards and odd pieces of furniture. Lance
flushed red and pushed a pile of boxes to one side, as he slid against one of
the counters and watched Hunk dish out the food, and a part of him – with a
saddened smile – knew he would miss his friend’s meals.
The kitchen was filled with takeout boxes, all from Sal’s restaurant, as he
made a point of avoiding any kind of contact with Hunk, especially when his
best friend hung up on him a few days after the event and told him to go to
hell. He watched as Hunk made do with the very few plates not currently packed,
dishing up food with an expertise, and wondered whether they would ever go back
to normal. Lance couldn’t expect Hunk to forgive him, not least when he
couldn’t forgive himself, and he struggled to find words to say aloud.
“You know I can’t stay here,” said Lance.
“I know, but we grew up together.” Hunk handed him a plate. “It’ll just be
weird; I’m so used to still having sleepovers and binge-watching movies, or
dragging Shiro out for nights on the town, or just running into you in the
supermarket. I always assumed our kids would play together and grow up together
and - . . . er, sorry. Shouldn’t mention kids, huh?”
“I – I just want for things to go back to normal, to be honest. It’s not like
the mention of a kid is going to send me frothing at the mouth and in some sort
of aroused rage, but that’s what everyone thinks about and thinks I’ll do.
Nothing’s going to be normal again, is it?”
“Can you blame people, dude? You were a cop. You took an oath!”
“I know, but I just . . . made a mistake. I’m sorry.”
Lance placed the plate onto a counter and stabbed at the contents. It was all
Earthling cuisine, strictly American and Cuban in style, and so remote from the
Altean cuisine that it brought a smile to Lance’s lips, although that smile
quickly fled when he realised this could be the very last taste he would ever
get of his friend’s home-cooked food. He slowly took a bite, cherishing every
second, and looked to Hunk only to see him staring back with barely veiled
confusion. Those brows were furrowed together, while lips pressed into a thin
line.
“Why did you do it, Lance?”
The question hung heavy about them. Lance took a few more bites, while Hunk
grabbed at a tea towel and swept over the counters, as if he were desperate
just to be kept busy, and Lance struggled to swallow his good, as a familiar
pain overcame him. He ran a hand over his stomach, as he purposely slowed his
breathing, but he couldn’t slow his heartbeat or stop the cold sweat from
breaking over his skin. Hunk asked again in a low voice:
“Why did you abuse him?”
“I guess,” mumbled Lance. “I guess I didn’t see it as abuse?”
Hunk winced. Those brown cheeks turned white, as he looked to Lance with wide
eyes and slightly parted lips, and – without even a hint of self-control – he
shook his head and scrunched closed his eyes, before he looked to Lance with a
dark glare. The judgement brought acid to the back of Lance’s throat, as the
rejection and sense of abandonment cut into him like a knife, forcing him
backward where he clasped onto the counter desperate for some support and
something to ground him. He blinked away tears and whispered:
“I really do love him.”
“Do you?” Hunk asked. “If you loved him, you wouldn’t have abused your position
of trust. He can’t consent, Lance. He can’t say ‘no’, even if he wanted to,
because you’re his hero and his friend and his caretaker . . . he doesn’t even
know he can say ‘no’, and he trusts you to stop anything bad or not to allow
anything too mature for him. You abused him.”
“I guess . . . I guess it’s hard to explain.” Lance shrugged. “I’ve always been
attracted to his age range, you know? I – I hated myself at first, because it’s
totally abnormal and the only people I knew with that attraction were total
monsters, like . . . people I’d throw in jail and wouldn’t care what happened
to them inside. I got really depressed. I – I thought about killing myself for
a while, just to make it go away, only I went online one day and found support.
“It turned out there was a whole bunch of people like me. They didn’t hurt
children, some even had attractions to adults and relationships and kids of
their own, and no one was hurt or abused or anything. I – I wanted to be like
them, only then I started getting hassle. There were people messaging me to say
I should have killed myself back when I thought about it, or they would tell me
that I should turn myself in because it was only time before I hurt someone, or
how I was sick or gross or nasty or they wanted to kill me.”
“You could have gotten therapy,” said Hunk.
“I tried,” said Lance. “I went to one who said they’d have to tell my boss, but
my job was all I had left and the only way I could support myself! I didn’t go
to any after that, and then I stayed away from online groups, because I was
worried about people outing me or abusing me, but if I killed myself. . . I
figured you guys would grieve and never get closure, and if I left a note
explaining why, you’d always remember me as this monster. I never meant to hurt
anyone, but even knowing that my thoughts didn’t have to dictate my actions . .
.
“I don’t want people to judge other minor attracted people by my actions,
because what I did wasn’t because of my attraction, but because . . . I just
gave up. The world told kept telling me that I was a monster, so I started to
believe it, and I figured I was only fighting the inevitable and might as well
just give in, you know? I saw Keith that one day and I was – I was so turned
on, and I guess I thought if I wasn’t hurting him then it’d be okay.”
Lance let out a shuddered breath.
He prodded at his plate of food, as his vision blurred through tears. He
thought of all the children that came before, who he drove to the police
station or the hospital, and he thought of that sheer rage that would consume
him at the idea of them being hurt . . . abused. He thought of the few that he
would see playing in the street or laughing in the playground, where he would
stop by to give them a sweet with a smile, as he admired their cuteness.
He also remembered when parents would stop their children taking sweets from
anyone, or how out-of-uniform he couldn’t so much as talk to crying child
without someone running over to make sure he wasn’t a threat, and he remembered
how calling a child ‘cute’ online – in any context – would force him to close
his inbox to the abuse. There were no photographs of his nieces or nephews in
his home, as the everlasting fear endured that someone might somehow suspect
something or make an accusation. He lived his life in terror.
They remained in silence, as Hunk paced back and forth. The sound of his heavy
footsteps echoed about the empty kitchen, while he rammed his hands into his
pockets, and Lance poked at his food with pursed lips, no longer with any
appetite to eat in the least. He listened as Hunk stopped dead only a few feet
in front of him, with arms now folded and eyes burrowing into Lance’s soul, and
he had no choice but to look back with fear.
“You slipped up once,” muttered Hunk. “Why did you do it again?”
“I think I just wanted to punish myself.”
“Yeah, you’re going to have to explain that one.” Hunk slammed down his hand
onto the counter. “Shiro hasn’t slept in four weeks, Lance! Matt literally had
to drag him to a doctor to get him sleeping tablets, and Ulaz had to out
himself as dating Shiro before they were ready, because he had to move in to
keep things running. They’re the ones being punished.”
Lance grew lightheaded. The floor moved like something from a carnival ride, so
that his body moved in time with the tilting, only – as he looked to Hunk and
saw him standing still with no concern – he realised the truth . . . it was
just him. He stumbled back, head filled with cotton, and grasped onto the
counter for support, while his lips opened and closed with useless and empty
sounds. Lance blinked away tears, while his heart raced and breath hitched, and
he feared a panic attack was on its way. He swallowed back a painful lump.
“I hated myself every time I gave in,” said Lance. “I still hate myself now. I
loved giving in, because it felt good and it’s not as though I have any other
legal outlet, and I never really felt safe buying a doll online, you know? So I
. . . gave in. I wasn’t beating him or bruising him and he always enjoyed it
physically, and it was nothing like I experienced with Coran –”
“Your body can’t help how it responds,” interrupted Hunk in a low voice. “I’ve
heard of people having orgasms while being raped, but it’s an involuntary
bodily reaction. They’re always so ashamed, but they did nothingwrong. It
doesn’t invalidate their trauma.”
“It always invalidated mine. I came a few times, but each time I just felt
dirty and used and worthless . . . Coran would always tease me, like it was
some big joke, and tell me how I wanted it after all, so that I started to
believe him. What kind of sick fuck gets off on his own rape? I flirted with
people so no one suspected anything, like if I acted sexual then they’d think I
was sexual, but the idea of sex with an adult repulsed me. I’d just . . . flash
back.
“I don’t know if that’s why I’m attracted to kids, because most people who’re
abused aren’t attracted to them, but it just feels safer . . . like I’m in
control, like I’m not reliving my trauma, and that if I do get off then it’s
not because I’m being hurt, but because I’m actually just in the moment and in
full control. I’m not at risk. I’m not going to be hurt.”
“Okay, so how does that link into you being ‘punished’?”
Lance winced. He looked to Hunk and saw genuine confusion, but – at the same
time – it was impossible to say aloud his deepest fears and explain the
unexplainable. Lance knew that every time he touched Keith brought a bout of
self-hatred, as he knew he had become the very monster he feared for eight long
years as a minor, but he also knew it gave him a reason to hate himself,
because no longer was it just thoughts, but instead . . . actions. He couldn’t
control what he felt, but he could control what he did. It was an outlet.
He poked at his food, while he looked to the empty refrigerator and empty
cupboards, and likewise he looked to the empty countertops and sink, where he
saw memories of life once lived and a space that was once called home. He
smiled to himself, as tears rolled down his cheeks and tasted salty upon his
lips. The silence continued, until there was nothing left to be said, and he
could only look to his best friend and silently beg for forgiveness.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I can’t put it into words.”
“Okay,” spat Hunk. “Then why Keith?”
The question caught him off-guard. Lance blushed a violent shade of red,
knowing that speaking of his attraction sickened anyone who didn’t understand,
and he wasn’t sure how to put into words that the small height and plump limbs
made Keith look so fragile and innocent and delectable. He was dark-eyed and
dark-haired, but pale in face, and the exact colouring that Lance always so
admired . . . so unlike Coran. Keith frowned whereas Coran smiled, and Keith
chastised him whereas Coran would compliment him. Two opposites.
“It started because he was hot,” mumbled Lance.
“Then how did it finish?”
“It finished because I thought he needed me.” Lance gnawed at his lips. “Shiro
was always too busy for him; it felt like every day I was baby-sitting, and
Keith always hung on my every word and enjoyed our games and asked me to visit,
so I guess it felt like I was giving him the love that he deserved, but with
some . . . extra. I know it was wrong, but –”
“If you know it was wrong, why are you ditching jail time?”
“They offered me a plea bargain,” admitted Lance.
Hunk’s eyes widened. The papers weren’t exactly subtle, so he doubted this was
the first suspicion that Hunk had about the situation, but he looked to Lance
as if he were looking at him for the very first time in his life. He paled. He
stepped back. Hunk shook his head over and over, as he raised a hand to signal
Lance to stay back, and he looked over to the hall, as if mentally planning for
his escape. Lance opened his mouth to speak and stepped forward, but Hunk
pointed a finger at him in warning and curled his lip. He spat out:
“So, you’re not sorry then?”
“You don’t know what they do to people like me in prison, Hunk!” Lance blinked
away tears. “I was a police officer, so I probably put half of them behind
bars, and don’t you think they’ll want revenge for that? Plus, people like me .
. . abusers . . . we’re the lowest of the low. If I’m not killed outright, I’ll
be beaten and raped and tortured until I kill myself.”
“They have solitary, don’t they? Look, I’m just saying to think how Keith will
feel in ten years time to know that you didn’t serve a single day behind bars,
when he’ll spend his entire life behind bars with the memories and nightmares
and trust issues! You did that.”
“It’s not as though I can undo what I did, Hunk!”
“Yeah, exactly. You can’t undo it.”
Hunk ran his hands through his hair, before he walked brusquely into the living
room. He paced back and forth again, while he threw his hands into the air and
gesticulated with wild abandon, and Lance was almost afraid to follow him. The
air was cold, with the heating already switched off, and yet Hunk was flushed
red with eyes narrowed into dark slits, as he cast occasional glances in
Lance’s direction. He finally stopped. He breathed deep.
“I’m going to go,” said Hunk.
The rejection broke Lance. The isolation was bad enough, but to lose his best
friend . . . to lose the only connection to his former life . . . it was more
than he could bear. Hunk walked away, with his head low and shoulders slumped,
and Lance – as he ran to Hunk – pawed at him and grabbed at his sleeves,
desperate to make him stay. Hunk shrugged him off and pushed him back, never
once staying put and always moving closer to the door, and with each step he
came closer and closer to leaving Lance’s life. It was too much.
“Stay? Please,” begged Lance.
Hunk swung open the door, revealing the hideous word written in paint. Lance
lost balance as he grabbed for his closest friend, collapsing to the floor and
reaching up in a pitiable manner, while Hunk – with tears in his eyes – looked
away and refused to stay with him. There were no words left to say, as Hunk
pulled himself out of reach and looked back with hands raised in a gesture of
surrender. It was the last sight of Hunk he would ever see.
“I’m sorry, man,” said Hunk. “I just can’t.”
Lance wept into his hands.
 
 
 
 
***** Chapter 7 *****
“He’s my friend,” said Keith.
Shiro fought the urge to roll his eyes. The curtain twitched beneath his
cybernetic hand, as he peered out down the drive to see Lotor being dragged
into a nearby car, and – as the self-styled prince obeyed with little
resistance – he cast blue eyes in Shiro’s direction. It was hard not to be
intimidated with that locked gaze, even when Lotor was still just ten years
old, but that gaze was so steely and determined that it chilled Shiro to his
core. He shuddered.
The curtain fell and hid the half-Galra prince from sight. Shiro remembered
well from Sendak the stories of a young prince that slept a peaceful sleep,
locked away in a cryo-chamber much as Allura and Coran were locked away
themselves, and Shiro was always left to wonder one simple question . . . why
now? He bit his lip until he tasted blood. They would never know why Alfor and
Zarkon had chosen ten-thousand years for their descendants to awaken, but they
knew the trauma and difficulties that came from a transition through time.
Shiro turned his back to the window, as he marched over into the living room.
Keith sat with arms folded and legs crossed, while he glared up at Shiro with a
stern gaze, and that black hair – now in a mullet-style and styled away from
his face – added a sense of maturity that was lacking in his youth. The silence
in the air was broken only by a long sigh from Ulaz, who flicked his newspaper
in half and dropped it onto the coffee table.
“You must listen to your brother,” said Ulaz.
Keith turned his glare upon Ulaz, but the Galra – descended from the Blade of
Marmora, used to the excessive racism against his people – stared back without
a single blink and without allowing a single muscle in his body to move. It
nearly brought a smile to Shiro’s face, as he watched his baby brother stare
down a grown man. Those pale cheeks soon turned red, as Keith concentrated with
everything he possessed, while his eyes watered from a need to close, and soon
he gasped for breath and blinked rapidly to clear his vision.
Ulaz chuckled and looked away. He wrapped an arm around Shiro’s shoulders, as
Shiro sat down beside him with arms folded and legs crossed at the ankle, and –
with a loud sigh – Shiro heard his fiancé chuckle. It was apparent Shiro was
mirroring his brother’s body language, but the realisation alone forced him to
part his legs and clasp his hands upon his lap, as he blushed to realise he had
been mimicking a child. He drew in a deep breath.
“He’s a bad influence,” spat Shiro.
There was a spark of anger in Keith’s eyes, which soon gave way to sadness. He
blinked away tears, as his lips trembled and he fidgeted with his thumb, and
soon the anger was back, as he jumped to his feet and tried to storm away with
socked feet stamping hard upon the hardwood floor. Shiro caught him on the way
past, fully aware that his brother was troubled with expressing emotion, and
forced a smile in an attempt to comfort him. There was a long silence, until
Shiro sighed and pulled Keith in for a hug by his hand.
He needed to bend down to reach the young boy, but Keith – giving into the
physical intimacy he was often so self-starved – embraced Shiro back. They held
each other for at least several minutes, while Ulaz said nothing but patiently
waited, and Shiro allowed his heart to race with pride that his brother trusted
him with touch. He pulled back to ruffle that hair and wipe at Keith’s cheeks,
while the boy half-smiled and shrugged. Keith said:
“He’s still my friend.”
“Keith, I know things have been rough for you,” said Shiro. “I know it’s
difficult to understand how your autism works at your age, and I know it’s
difficult to be part-Galra in a world that still judges the Galra for what they
did so many years ago, but . . . you can’t – you can’t – show those parts of
yourself to anyone else, Keith. You just can’t.”
“It’s not like we did anything!” Keith screwed his hands into tight fists. “You
said that I can’t touch people in private places. You said that they can’t
touch me there, too. I made sure that Lotor and I didn’t touch each other, so
why did you make him go home?”
“Look, Keith, if you’re curious about those places, that’s okay. I can buy us
some books, and we can take a look at some pictures together and I can explain
what those pictures mean, but there’s a very big difference between looking at
pictures in a textbook and looking at something in real life. There are people
who will get . . . feelings . . . just by looking at those parts . . . adult
feelings. It can lead to bad things, like – like what happened with Lance.”
“You said you wouldn’t talk about Lance,” muttered Keith. “You said!”
Keith fisted his hands once more, as he stamped his foot and shook his head. It
drew tears to Shiro’s eyes, as he saw the sheer conflict writ about that small
face, and he remembered all too well the sleepless nights spent with Keith in
bed between him and Ulaz, where the conversation seemed to last for hours upon
hours. The years of therapy helped a considerable amount, but it was almost
impossible for a child as young as Keith to reconcile the ‘friend’ that loved
him with the man that abused him. Shiro swallowed back a lump.
He watched as Keith wiped at his eyes with a small fist. Those eyes would soon
be bloodshot, while he would soon remember how Shiro sent his ‘friend’ away,
and there would follow several days of a refusal to talk and a refusal to be
touched. Shiro hoped to distract him while he could, perhaps erasing all traces
of Lance from his mind. He lifted the boy up onto his lap, while Ulaz reached
out to nudge his cheek with a closed fist. Shiro smiled and asked:
“Keith, why did you want to show Lotor?”
Keith sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Ulaz grunted in disapproval,
before he handed over a clean handkerchief from the pocket of his black Galra-
styled suit. They sat in quiet while Keith nuzzled against Shiro and used the
handkerchief to clear his face, but the question lingered in the air and – the
longer it went unanswered – the more Shiro’s heart raced within his chest. He
struggled to stay calm, as he thought to Lance and prayed that one day –
finally – he might just be gone from their lives. He almost missed when Keith
said:
“He’s part-Galra, like me.”
“Why does that make you want to show him your private places?” Shiro furrowed
his brow and pursed his lips. “I’m not mad at you, Keith. I just want to
understand what made you show him, because maybe that way we can find some
better way to express yourself.”
“I – I get made fun of because I don’t act like other people,” said Keith.
“Lotor gets made fun of because he’s Galra, but everyone else here is mostly
human. He started a gang of other half-Galra people; I like them, even if
they’re all girls, but they get picked on, too. Lotor started to get people to
like him; like he’d get into fights, but he’d always help the people off the
floor and say that he likes to forgive people. Some people started to like him.
“I think people sometimes forget he used to be Zarkon’s son, but Lotor always
remembers and he says he wants to be his own person. I – I want to be my own
person, too, but it’s hard to make friends with people, because . . . because I
know they’ll leave me. Momma left me. Papa left me. Lance left me . . . Lotor
hasn’t left me, though. He likes me.”
“So you showed him your parts because he likes you?”
“I showed him so he’d stay.” Keith blushed and rubbed at his eyes. “It felt
good when Lance did stuff, but doing stuff is bad. I thought maybe it would be
okay to show him, because Lance always liked to look and said watching me made
him feel happy, and if Lotor is happy then he won’t leave me. Lotor seemed to
like it. He wanted to touch it.”
Shiro tensed. He let go of Keith to move his hands to his sides, where he
clenched them into fists and drew in a deep breath to centre himself, and Keith
– confused as to why Shiro let go of him – looked back with wide eyes and pale
with concern. Shiro immediately hugged him, as his tears pricked at the corner
of eyes. He hummed an old tune to himself, one taught to him by his mother as a
child, and it seemed to quell Keith’s concerns just a little, as the young boy
leaned back against him and relaxed with head upon his chest.
He ran his hands through Keith’s hair, as he continued to hum the old tune.
Ulaz leaned against him, while he wrapped an arm around him, and together they
cuddled together on the sofa like a family that would be envied under other
circumstances. Keith was drained; tired from the long day, exhausted by the
fallout of exposing himself to Lotor, and Ulaz lowered his voice so as not to
disturb the boy who appeared on the verge of sleep.
“Galra enter puberty earlier than humans,” whispered Ulaz.
They sat quietly as Shiro processed the information. He scrunched closed his
eyes, while the latest cartoon buzzed in the background on the large
television, and he tensed against Ulaz who brushed light circles upon his arm
with his padded thumb. Keith was the sole reason that he remained calm, as he
sat unwilling to disturb his brother with any sudden movements, but already
sleepy eyes blinked into a half-lidded awareness, as he looked up and rubbed at
his cheeks with small fists. Shiro smiled down at him, as he whispered back to
Ulaz:
“How much earlier does puberty hit?”
“Around the age of ten.”
“So that’s something to be concerned about,” muttered Shiro. “I guess I didn’t
foresee this as a consequence of the abuse; I don’t want him growing up to use
sex as a weapon, or thinking that he needs to put out in order to feel
validated, but it’s not as though I can bring back his parents for him. How am
I supposed to make this better? How do I fix it?”
“You can’t fix it,” said Ulaz in a quiet voice. “You can’t erase the trauma,
Shiro, any more than I can make your nightmares end or bring back your arm. You
can only ease the burden over time, share in love and affection, and teach
appropriate coping mechanism. We can hope for the best, but expect the worst.
Prepare for all situations, that way Keith will always have a place to turn and
options available to him, and we will be there for every step he takes.”
“But what do we do in the meantime? If Lotor’s going through puberty, and –
let’s face it – Haxus is hardly a responsible or doting parent, then how are we
supposed to know he won’t take advantage of Keith? What happens when Keith goes
through puberty, too? He’ll start getting urges and if he thinks sex is just a
way to get attention –”
“We’ll talk to him after dinner. Remember what his therapist said: ‘sexual
education is a continuous and open dialogue’. It just so happens that this is a
part of that dialogue we need to have sooner than expected, but if that is what
he needs then we must provide it.”
“Okay, but in the meantime I do not want him left alone with Lotor.”
“I believe that much is a given,” said Ulaz.
They looked down at Keith who struggled to keep his eyes open, and Ulaz – with
a slight chuckle – slowly rose to find the blanket left within the lounge. It
was kept there just for Keith, decorated with images of Coran, and unable to
tell him the truth . . . unable to take one more person from him . . . Shiro
brought up every last piece of merchandise and DVD the second the news broke in
the papers. He looked down upon Keith and smoothed the hair from his face, as
he let out a staggered breath and said in a quiet voice:
“He’s so innocent.”
Ulaz draped the blanket over Shiro, allowing Shiro just enough time and space
to move his arms so that they could swaddle the child, and – as they carefully
navigated Keith to lie down – they stood over him and looked down as his
sleeping form. It was difficult to imagine how he could sleep when so many
fears raced through their minds, especially when Shiro feared failing his
brother as a parent. He blinked away tears, unable to tear his eyes away.
Keith slept with a peaceful smile.  
 
 
 
 
***** Chapter 8 *****
Keith threw back his head.
A long moan escaped the ten year old's lips; he remembered how much Lance liked
dirty talk, as well as to hear every gasp and groan and grumble, and – as Lotor
moved inside him – he strove to make the act of lovemaking as pleasurable as
possible. Long hair fell on either side of his face, so that he could see
nothing but the face of his lover. It was intimate. Keith could feel every
breath upon his lips, see every bead of sweat on that forehead, and could focus
on the little wrinkles around those blue eyes any time Keith clenched around
him.
He dug his hands into Lotor’s shoulders. They were tense from how he braced
himself upon two strong forearms, as well as the sheer power that surged
through his body, and he thrust fasted and faster, while Keith locked his legs
together in the small of that back, crossing his ankles as he sought to pull
Lotor in ever deeper. There was a speck of drool from the corner of Lotor’s
mouth, while he choked on saliva and thrust particularly hard inside.
Keith cried out, before long fingers effectively gagged him. Lotor hissed to
him to be quiet, even as he pounded upon Keith’s prostate, which caused him to
mewl behind those purple-coloured digits and writhe like a whore in the
streets. He licked at the fingers, before they were slipped into his mouth.
Keith sucked at them in mimicry of oral sex, flicking at the very tips with his
tongue and lathing up the sides, and Lotor – with a loud curse – pounded so
hard inside him that the bed rocked and the sound of balls on skin echoed about
the bedroom.
“Keep quiet, lest Haxus hear us,” warned Lotor.
There was a squeak of bedsprings. Keith shot his hands out behind him, so he
could grasp upon the bedposts, and – as he gripped until his knuckles turned
white – he arched his back and opened his mouth until all air left him. He was
unable to stave off his orgasm. Keith clenched around Lotor, as he screamed
around the invading digits. Rope after rope of clear liquid shot forth from his
cock, where a few stray black hairs sat at its base, and his stomach clenched
with the force of his orgasm. His eyes rolled back until only the whites
showed.
Lotor groaned until his voice broke, it grew raspy and deep, until he bit his
lip until blood pricked at the corners of his mouth. He came. The barely
stifled scream was a deeply erotic sound, while the come filled Keith until the
white substance dribbled out from the sides of his hole and stained the black
sheets. Lotor stayed deep inside him for at least a minute, as the heat from
his body burned at his skin, and – with a moan – collapsed upon Keith.
“You’re too heavy,” muttered Keith.
Lotor grunted, as he rolled off and onto his back. The sheets pulled with him,
allowing cold air to freeze Keith’s sweat-covered skin, and – as he sat up to
snatch back the blankets – a pain shot through his rear and forced him to fall
back down. Lotor appeared to take pity on him, as he flushed with the affects
of the afterglow, and threw a section of the blankets over to him, so he could
cover his body from the cold. They lay side-by-side upon their backs, while
both boys stared up at the ceiling with blown pupils and swollen lips.
“Are you sure that’s what you wanted?” Lotor asked.
Keith furrowed his brow. He looked across the room to the clock above the door;
it would only be a few hours until Shiro came to pick him up, so awkward
pillow-talk would be hard to endure, and – as the ten year old wiped the come
away with the sheets – he shrugged. It was strange when Lotor wasn’t willing to
lick away the come from his stomach, as the thirteen-year old always seemed to
be ready for foreplay and shared intimacy, but today he simply rolled off and
stared at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes.
It was difficult to analyse his expression, impossible to understand his tone.
He spoke in a monotone voice that held no inflection, while his lips and eyes
gave no trace of a smile or frown, and he clasped his hands above his chest.
Keith managed to slow his heartbeat, but already the sudden distance weighted
on him like a knife. It hurt. He rolled onto his side and ran through a
thousand answers in his mind, desperate to find the right one. Keith asked:
“Does it matter?”
“It matters to me, yes,” said Lotor.
“I just want for you to feel good.” Keith chanced to move a little closer. “You
said you liked when we did stuff, and you wanted to try going all the way, so
what’s the problem? Am I doing something wrong? If you want me to do something
different, I can do that.”
“I believe sex is meant to be something shared, Keith. It feels too much like
I’m taking something from you, and – while we may not have been doing this long
– I will admit that I’m not comfortable going all the way. I just assumed you
at least wanted to do this, because you panic whenever I suggest we stop and
you have . . . a reputation.”
Keith winced, as he rolled away from Lotor. He pulled the blankets up to his
chin, as he tried to still his heart and fight the way his mouth dried, and –
as he screwed shut his eyes – he allowed a brief moment of darkness to provide
some comfort. Lotor sighed and rolled onto his side. A hand rested above the
sheets on his thigh, before it slid its way up to his hip and finally onto his
shoulder, where it squeezed through the sheets with a reassuring grip, and
Keith appreciated how Lotor avoided touching his bare skin with equally bare
skin.
“This is enjoyable,” said Lotor, “but do you really not worry? It is not as if
we can ask for protection, plus there are so many other pleasurable activities
in which we can participate. I worry that sex had become the only way to show
our affection, when there are so many other ways with which to show we care for
one another. Do you not understand that?”
“No, I don’t,” whispered Keith. “I don’t have anything else to give you, Lotor.
I’m just a kid. I’m not good at anything else, but I’m good at this. I don’t
want you to leave me, because you and Katie are the only friends I have. I
don’t want to be alone again. I don’t.”
“If you care for me so much, why are you sleeping with others?”
Keith froze. The quick beating of his heart pounded hard within his ears, while
a cold dread swept over his body and brought back an uncomfortable sweat, and –
as come dripped down his thighs from his used hole – he glanced toward the
bedroom door. It remained closed, providing a barrier to the outside world, but
it lacked a lock and every few minutes he would hear footsteps walk by outside.
The creaks reminded him that a world existed outside of Lotor’s room. Keith
scrunched closed his eyes, as tears beaded in the corners.
“I’m not,” he spat.
Lotor let out a growl that sounded primal. He pulled his hand away and rolled
onto his back, while he stared up at the ceiling with half-narrowed eyes, and
Keith – feeling his absence all too keenly – threw himself onto his other side,
as he crawled beside Lotor and tried to rest his head upon his chest, arms
wrapping around his waist. Lotor did not respond. The rejection cut into Keith
deep, as his mind swam and his vision blurred, and he fought back tears.
He waited for the longest minute of his life, but the tears would spill any
second. Keith would not cry in front of Lotor; he knew any sign of weakness was
something to be exploited, with fellow students mocking him and teasing him for
any display of emotion, and he would not let himself be belittled just for
feeling so . . . so . . . so worthless. He tried to pull away. He wanted to
climb to his feet and just run . . . run until he was alone like he deserved .
. . but Lotor sighed and held him close, before throwing the blankets over
their heads.
It confused Keith, until arms and legs wrapped around him. Lotor was latched
onto him, preventing him from moving, but it didn’t feel confining or
claustrophobic, but more the comfort of being swaddled and kept safe in a tight
embrace. The blankets over their heads kept them in total darkness, which
allowed Keith to weep without being seen, and weep he did into the crook of
Lotor’s neck. Lotor whispered in a firm voice:
“You’ve blown at least four
boys.”                                                                                              
“Five,” sobbed Keith. “So?”
“So oral sex is still sex.” Lotor huffed in frustration. “It won’t be long
before the rumours make their way to the teachers, but nor will it be long
before you’re caught. Why are you sucking off other guys like that? I don’t
want to share you, but I also don’t want to keep you to myself if you’d rather
be with someone else. I don’t need sex like you do, Keith.”
“Look, it’s – it’s not like that!” Keith clenched his fists and glared. “You
don’t know what it’s like, Lotor. It’s the only way I can get them to like me!
I know – I know – that sex isn’t something I should just give away; I’ve been
in therapy since I was five, they kept telling me not to sleep around, but the
guys like when I blow them. They tell me I’m good and stroke my hair and act
nice to me in the hallways. They stop hating me.”
“They’re just using you, Keith. I know that they’re using you, because I’m
using you, too. I was curious, I wanted to have sex, and you were willing to
put out, but . . . I respect you. I hear what they call you; they make bets who
can fuck you first, some even want to offer to pay you, and they call you a
‘whore’ and a ‘slut’ and a ‘come-bucket’.”
“I – it’s not – they – they don’t . . . they like me. They do.”
The tears fell silently from his eyes. He was too tired to sob and too drained
to care, instead numb inside to the truth he had replaced one feeling of
worthlessness for another, and would rather be a disposable commodity than a
broken toy with no use at all. He held Lotor back, as one of the few people in
his life that he could trust to let go once he asked, and knowledgeable that he
wouldn’t be bound against his will with physical intimacy that made him
uncomfortable at the best of times. Lotor stroked circles on his back, as he
confessed:
“I just want them to like me.”
Lotor sighed and ran a hand through Keith’s black hair; the gesture knocked the
blanket and allowed a shaft of light into their makeshift den, and Keith caught
a flinch of pain upon his lover’s lips that spoke almost of empathetic
understanding. Keith sniffed, as he rubbed at his nose with the back of his
hand. It was warm and humid under the blankets, with the stench of sweat and
sex and semen, and he almost missed as Lotor whispered:
“They like you because you put out.”
“How else can I get them to want me around?” Keith asked.
“If they do not want you for you, they are not worth your time.” Lotor tensed
beside him. “I know what it means to not be wanted or respected; I forced them
to respect me by mastering battle and my studies, and those that do not respect
me are those that I seek to destroy. I do not sense that same anger in you, but
I do see the ability to be respected for you.”
“What do you know? You – You don’t what it’s like to be me! You don’t know how
exhausting it is to have to constantly analyse other people to understand them
. . . to have to try and work out their body language, their tone of voice,
their proximity, their expressions their phrasing of words . . . then to
remember if you’re making too much eye contact, too little, to remember cues
when to talk and when to be quiet, how to say what you want to say, whether
it’s too off-topic or too rigid to allow for a reply . . . it’s – it’s
exhausting!
“I don’t get their jokes. I talk too much about things I’m passionate about. I
don’t like to be touched, and I’m awkward in social situations, and I think too
logically and practically so people accuse me of being cold-hearted! People
accuse me of being a psychopath, but the truth is that . . . I care. I care
more than I should, but I’m terrified to express that. I – I put up walls to
keep people out, but sometimes . . . sometimes I just want to be wanted.”
“I don’t know what it’s like to be you, but I do like you, Keith.”
“Yeah? Why? Is it because I let you put your dick inside me?” Keith scoffed. “I
know I’m not worth much; my father spent four fucking yearslooking after me,
enough time to build a bond and establish a relationship, but even he walked
away. He walked away because there’s something fundamentally wrong with me . .
. maybe it’s the autism, maybe it’s because I’m part-Galra, but he walked away.
What can you possibly like about me?”
Keith clung to Lotor even without intent. He knew his fingertips would bruise
those shoulders, but to let go would be to let go of the only thing grounding
him, and all the while – as he choked back harsh sobs – he thought to the
father who thought nothing of him. It was possible it was due to the disease in
his mind, this thing that ate at him and separate him from all others, or
possibly his heritage that marked him as something ‘other’, but whatever it was
. . . it was beyond his control. He would always have it within him.
It hurt him to his core; to tell Shiro would only spread the worry, but to
endure it alone only increased his pain and led to sleepless nights with many
tears. He listened as Lotor sighed, holding him so close that it was painful,
and one hand rested on the small of his back and the other on the back of his
neck. The touch was a small comfort, but both young boys remained quiet and
struggled to process the sheer excess of pure emotion.
“You are my friend, Keith,” said Lotor.
He pressed a chaste kiss to Keith’s head, as long locks of hair fell between
them, and – with a mutually shared laugh – Keith sniffed and brushed back the
hair, so he could return the kiss with a soft peck to full and bruised lips.
They stayed pressed against each other for a long few seconds, while Keith
licked away the tears from his lips and swallowed hard, as he let out a
shuddered breath and closed his eyes in the darkness. Lotor continued to say:
“You see me as Lotor and not a prince.”
“Yeah, well, you’re not a prince.”
“I have no legal power over my people, but they still revere me as a prince.”
Lotor sighed. “I have become a figurehead imbued with minor powers, expected to
one day guide them and become a role-model, but you do not place expectations
on me. You simply see me as a young man with strengths and weaknesses, as a . .
. person.”
“Your gang see you as a person, too,” mumbled Keith.
“You are also incredibly loyal; even with your issues towards Shiro, you still
respect him and love him, allowing him to be your brother and friend and hero.
You are passionate about engineering with an ambition to be a fighter-pilot,
which – honestly – I foresee you doing well at in the years to come. You are
top of your classes. You are extremely handsome. You are competitive which
makes games interesting, and a little stubborn in nature, too.
“I do not see you as ‘different’ or ‘weird’, just for being autistic, any more
than you see me as ‘cruel’ or ‘arrogant’ just for being Galra. I see you as my
friend that suffered more than his years, whose vocabulary increased
dramatically after every therapy session, and who taught me to love myself,
even when Haxus often forgot to so much as feed me.”
“If you really like me, d-don’t I owe it to you to pay you back? No – No one
else likes me like that, Lotor, e-even Katie calls me weird and teases me. We
fought once, too. I don’t want to lose you, because you’re all I have left. I
want you to feel good.”
Lotor sighed, as he rolled Keith onto his back. He sat astride the young boy,
until pert buttocks rested on top of a flaccid cock, and the blankets slid down
his back like water from skin, dropping over their legs and providing some
warmth in the cool air. Lotor looked down with pursed lips and soft eyes, as he
rested his open hands upon Keith’s chest and leaned down to curtain off his
face with long hair, and his eyes – only a few inched from Keith’s – locked
with a stern gaze and when he spoke it was with a firm and honest voice.
“I will still be your friend, even if you don’t want sex.”
Keith wept.
The tears fell hard and fast; he raised his hands to force the base of his
palms into his eyes, as the pressure caused specks of light to spark against
his eyelids, but Lotor – with great gentleness – pulled his hands away and kiss
each and every tear. The pain and grief and fear combined into one, until Keith
pulled Lotor down, and they held each other in a tangled mess, clinging to each
other for dear life, and Keith could only mutter ‘sorry’ over and over in an
incoherent rant, until it was Lotor’s time to sniff and pull back. Lotor
begged:
“Please, stop blowing the other students.”
“If I stop, they’ll be mean to me.”
“Then please tell your therapist about this,” begged Lotor. “Ask yourself
whyyou’re sleeping with them. If it’s to get them to stop being mean to you,
they’re abusing you and they’re forcing you to do what you don’t want. That’s
rape. If it’s because you think it’ll get them to like you, where will you stop
in future? Will you fuck them? Will you let them film it? Will you fuck them in
groups, with chains, with drugs? Will they kill you?”
“You’re being over-dramatic,” whispered Keith.
“Did you hear that story about Coran?” Lotor asked. “He was frozen around the
time of Allura and myself, but was unfrozen early due to some mechanical error.
They say that he fucked and abused a boy . . . actually, there were many that
later came to light. One said they used to let him, because they just wanted
him to like them. Don’t be like them, Keith. He was arrested for a reason; he’s
still behind bars now, all because what he did was wrong.”
“I – I know that it’s wrong, Lotor. I know! I just . . . I just don’t know what
else to do. I’ll talk to someone, I promise, but I just . . . can we still keep
doing stuff, please? I just need someone to want me. If I stop doing stuff with
them . . . if they start treating me like dirt again . . . I at least need to
know I still have you. Don’t leave me, please.”
“I won’t leave you, and if what you need from me is something sexual –?” Lotor
sighed and kissed him once more. “I shall provide that. There will come a
point, however, when we must cut back. Ulaz has told you about Galra biology,
yes? Every time we do this –”
“We risk one of us getting pregnant, I know,” said Keith.
He looked to Lotor’s stomach and swallowed hard. The idea of having a child
terrified him, as he could picture how Shiro would pale and grow faint, just as
he could picture how Ulaz would harden his gaze and potentially allow his voice
to raise to a volume that would hurt his ears, and they would ground him or
take away his privileges. Keith rubbed at his eyes, as he returned to clinging
at Lotor and mumbled promises not to get them in trouble, and Lotor trailed
kisses down his neck and stopped just above his collarbone to say:
“I did truly intend for this to be a one-time thing.”
“So why are we still doing it?”
“Because you are so afraid I will leave you,” admitted Lotor. “If continuing to
be physical enables you to trust that I will stay by your side, I will allow
that intimacy to continue, but I must insist that you stop doing these things
with anyone else. I am jealous and I do not like to share, and I also worry . .
. I worry because it puts you at risk, Keith.”
Keith winced and fidgeted with a lock of Lotor’s hair. It was soft upon his
skin, while it wrapped around his fingers and provided a small comfort, and –
in his momentary distraction – he failed to notice all other sounds around him.
There was a buzz from his phone upon Lotor’s desk, while music played from a
downstairs room, and outside car horns beeped and sounded until the cacophony
of sounds began to overwhelm Keith, so that he buried his head into the crook
of Lotor’s neck in a desperate attempt to hide from all the sensations.
“You’ll stay with me?” Keith asked.
“Always,” promised Lotor.
 
 
***** Chapter 9 *****
“That’s it,” said Shiro. “I’m going to kill him.”
Shiro clenched his fists until crescent-shaped cuts appeared on his palm, while
his teeth ached under the pressure he applied to his jaw, and he stared at
Lotor – unable to look away – until his eyes grew sore and tears pricked at the
corners. The kitchen grew icy cold. A sweat broke over his body, as his heart
raced loud enough to echo in his ears. Shiro drew in a deep and slow breath,
and stormed forward toward Lotor with a violent speed.
The room blurred around him. He saw only Lotor, as he dove for the adult
prince, but two thick and muscled arms wrapped around his waist and yanked him
back, while that young man – with a smug smirk, eyes narrowed into a
condescending glare – looked him over as if he were no more than a mere
distraction to be shrugged from sight. Shiro tried to yank out of the grip that
kept him away from Lotor, but he was held tight in place and thrown back. He
stumbled a few steps and braced himself upon the kitchen counter. Shiro lunged
again.
This time he properly saw Ulaz.
Ulaz stood before him and pushed him back. It jolted Shiro back to reality; he
ran a hand through his hair and took in deep breaths, while he looked his
fiancé over and realised that Ulaz never once raised a hand to him in all their
years together. This was a man that never raised his voice. He would never
punish Keith with so much as a ‘naughty step’, lest he feel isolated or
rejected, so to so much as physically restrain him was beyond imagination. It
brought a heavy stone to Shiro’s stomach, as he let out a staggered exhale of
breath.
He slumped his shoulders, while he reached out to Ulaz and let his hand linger,
and Ulaz – knowing Shiro better than he knew himself – took his hand and pulled
him into a firm embrace, so that they stood locked together with lips pressed
to necks. Shiro blinked away tears, as he allowed Ulaz to stroke his hair and
whisper to him words of reassurance in his native language. The warmth from his
lover provided a small comfort.
Shiro eventually let go of Ulaz. He stepped back and looked beyond the
breakfast bar; Keith stood beside the young man with wide eyes and parted lips,
his skin pale as he looked to his big brother with absolute confusion and
surprise, and Shiro sighed in relief that Ulaz was there to hold him back. He
looked to the lounge behind them, where he blinked away tears in memory of the
toys that once littered the rug and the crayon-coloured pictures that covered
his tables, and he missed the young boy that once ran into his arms for hugs.
“You knocked up my brother?” Shiro spat.
He saw the almost imperceptible wince cross Lotor’s expression. The purple skin
of that princely face paled, while the arrogance drained from his expression,
and – as he lowered his head just enough to cast a shadow about his neck – he
locked eyes with Shiro, refusing to move his gaze even as he folded his eyes
across his black bodysuit. Keith reached out with a gloved hand to squeeze his
partner’s shoulder, as he quirked a half-smile and looked to Shiro with a
canine tooth digging into his lip, as he nodded in acknowledgement of the
situation.
“Actually, Shiro,” muttered Keith. “Lotor is the one who’s pregnant.”
“What? You’re kidding. Please, tell me you’re kidding.”
Shiro reached out to take a hold of Ulaz’s upper arm, where he squeezed to
ground himself and find some form of reassurance, and Ulaz – knowing him all
too well – led him over into the lounge and sat him down upon the white leather
sofa. He sighed, as his lover sat beside him. There was an array of sounds from
the kitchen, while Lotor walked across from them with soft footsteps, and the
prince sat down while Keith ran back with two glasses of water, both stacked to
the rim with ice and lemon slices. One for Shiro. One for Lotor.
The water cooled Shiro’s throat, as he gulped it down until it was gone. He
looked to Lotor and saw a bead of sweat upon his forehead, while his stomach
did have a slight swell that strained the material of his skin-tight suit.
Shiro knew too little on Galra pregnancies; he only knew that their species had
one gender, as well as that – once puberty was over – they developed a knot at
the base of their penis during sex. That had been a shock during his first
time. He remembered a momentary panic, as he struggled to get away from being
stretched to breaking point, and Ulaz’s panic in turn at Shiro’s seemingly
strange reaction.
“So how long have you two been . . . having sex?”
“You sure you want to know?” Keith asked.
“I do not believe he does,” observed Lotor. “It is advisable, Shiro, never to
ask a question if one does not desire an answer. You cannot unlearn what you
are told. Frankly, I am hesitant to put myself in a situation that invokes your
wrath, at least in my condition, and I believe our time would be better spent
discussing how best to move forward. Do you not agree?”
“Keith is seventeen, Lotor,” spat Shiro. “He was abused as a child, in case you
forgot. I – I can overlook you guys having sex, because you’re both the age of
consent, but to have a child so young is a whole other matter, so – yes – I
want to know when this started.”
“When it started will not change the outcome of events.”
“Look, one of you is going to answer the question.”
Keith sighed and looked to Ulaz, who simply shook his head in response. There
would be little support for secrecy, especially when they all remembered well
what horrors secrecy brought, and so Keith looked down at his hands and fiddled
with his fingers. The way he bit at his lips made Shiro wince, too afraid that
he would draw blood or scar his lips, but he remained silent while Keith found
the strength to continue. They sat in relative silence, with only small sips
from Lotor echoing in the air, until Keith mumbled:
“It was when I was ten.”
The silence deafened Shiro. He reached to his side and took Ulaz’s hand, where
he squeezed so tight that he worried his might bruise those knuckles, and – as
he took in a deep breath, with chest puffed out – he looked to Lotor with a
dark glare and bit his inner lip until he tasted the familiar iron of blood.
Ulaz squeezed his hand back, as he blinked away tears and looked to Keith. It
was difficult to remember that he was no longer a child.
“Ten?” Shiro asked. “You were ten?”
“Y-Yeah,” choked Keith. “I was getting bullied at school. I didn’t want to tell
you, because I didn’t want to be weak, and I also didn’t want to be fussed over
and babied and pitied, because I hate all that stuff. I kept it quiet. I kept
it quiet when they found out I was abused and accused me of wanting it, just
like I kept quiet when one of the boys pushed me down the stairs, and I kept
quiet when they’d call me names and say I was a ‘retard’. I just wanted them to
like me, so I thought maybe they’d like me if I did stuff with them.
“I – ah – fooled around with about five of them. I got a huge reputation; Lotor
found out and it was that age when everyone’s talking about sex, and he was hit
pretty hard by puberty, and he wanted to know what it was like, so he asked if
he could fuck me. I said ‘sure’, because I didn’t see any reason to say ‘no’.
We did it about three or four times, I think? Lotor wanted to stop after the
first time, but I freaked out. I thought sex equalled love, so . . .
“Yeah, we kept doing stuff, but Lotor begged me to tell my psychiatrist and to
not fool around with anyone else except him. I agreed. At the time it was just
anything to keep him with me, but I started talking about this stuff with my
psychiatrist and it took ages to work through my issues . . . think it was a
year in all . . . so I was eleven by the time I was able to say ‘I’m not ready
for sex’. Lotor wasn’t either, so we stopped having sex. We started to get on
better, actually, like . . . like I could finally just be a kid. I got to grow
up.”
“Okay,” said Shiro. “So how did you go from abstinence to pregnancy?”
“Hey, what can I say? I’m seventeen, Shiro.” Keith chanced a nervous smile. “It
gets to a point where you have a really hot boyfriend, and a constant erection,
and you just realise that – for the first time in your life – you know what sex
is all about and you want to really get off with someone that you can trust. We
started a few months back; Ulaz gave us a big talk, even showed us how to use
the condoms with a cucumber, which was disturbing –”
“Wait. You knew about his?”
Shiro looked to Ulaz.
He let go of his fiancé’s hand. Ulaz simply raised his hands in mock surrender,
as he looked between the two young men and back to Shiro, and his lips pursed
in serious thought as he patiently waited to next speak. It was a stab of
betrayal unlike anything Shiro expected; Keith was like a son to them both,
with all major decisions being taken by the two of them, and here was a huge
milestone being taken without his knowledge or consent. Shiro swallowed hard,
as he fought back a surge of adrenaline and frustration.
They sat in silence, while Shiro folded his arms across his chest. Keith folded
his arms in turn, instinctively mirroring Shiro’s body language, and – as a
flood of emotion overcame him – he remembered the boy who stood beside him at
the bathroom mirror and pretended to shave with a face filled with shaving
cream, and he remembered when he nicked himself how Keith would beg for a red
marker to paint a matching spot on his chin in turn.
He looked to Keith now and saw a teenager fast becoming a man. Keith styled his
hair into a mullet, while his clothes were fashionable and often made use of a
lot of leather, and he always wore a stoic expression that often bordered on a
frown. Shiro smiled to realise how Keith only ever softened around Ulaz and
himself, as well as how he hoped that would always be the case, but now there
was someone else in their lives . . . Lotor was another person to make Keith
smile. Keith whispered in a low voice:
“We didn’t want him to tell you.”
“I thought it better to agree to their conditions,” admitted Ulaz. “I believed
that this way they would have a constant supply of contraception, as well as
someone in which to confide, but it seems that I failed. If I thought that the
risk to our relationship would result in harm to the children, I can promise
you that it is a risk I would not have taken.”
“He was putting his son first.” Lotor waved his hand. “I do admire him for
that, as well as firmly believe that you would have done the same thing in his
situation, but – alas – no one warned us that oil-based lubricants with latex
condoms are an atrociousidea.”
“The condom broke,” muttered Keith. “We thought because it was a one-off –”
“We thought wrong.” Lotor gritted his teeth. “I am pregnant.”
Shiro drew in a deep hiss of breath. He buried his face into his hands, as he
pressed the tips of his fingers into his arms, and – as he centred himself – he
shot out his hand toward Ulaz and waited with palm-upward in hopes that it
would be taken. Ulaz wasted no time, as he took that same hand and brought it
to his lips for a chaste kiss. It was a great reassurance, to know his fiancé
forgave him the earlier slight, and they returned to hands clasped between
them, as Shiro fought back an urge to punch Lotor for the situation. He
reminded himself of one thing:
Patience yields focus.
He looked to Lotor, as he strove to remember that Lotor couldn’t self-
impregnate, and this was a young man who was equally as complicit in his
problem as Keith, but somehow his paternal urge refused to be quelled by logic
alone. Shiro swallowed hard. Lotor looked around three to four months pregnant,
but that was according to human terms, as he knew Galra pregnancies only lasted
six months. He felt obliged to ask:
“Are you keeping the baby?”
“Yeah,” said Keith. “I told Iverson I’m dropping out. We still own the shack
out in the desert, so I figured I’d turn it into an office and workshop, and
I’d work full-time as a mechanic to bring in some income. I’d be self-employed
and probably not have that much work, so I can look after the baby while Lotor
works and goes on diplomatic missions and stuff.”
“It’ll be a fair compromise.” Lotor nodded to Keith. “Initially, the burden
shall fall upon Keith while I finish college, but I do have a small inherited
fortune and my people have also long ago volunteered a tax to keep their royal
family, which means I can provide a small stipend in the interim for their
heir’s benefit. Upon graduation, I can assume my right full-time as their king,
and fully provide for both Keith and our child.
“Essentially, I’ll be providing for our child only in its first two years,
after that we can unite as a family with our savings and the taxation system
and a property afforded to us upon the Galra home-planet, and I can provide for
all of us within the family unit. There is a demand within my culture for
mechanical engineers, so Keith will find a purpose.”
“It’s – It’s not ideal,” admitted Keith. “I’m still not sure I want to live
with the Galra, but Lotor hasn’t much choice because he’s the prince they
waited millennia to get back, but I could always stay here with our son or we
could work long-distance, I guess.”
“We do still have four months before the baby is born,” said Lotor.
“Y-Yeah, we’re kind of worried about that.”
Shiro sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. He squeezed upon Ulaz’s hand,
as he fought back the urge to point out the contradictions and vagueness of
their plan, and he used every last ounce of self-control to hold back the urge
to forbid Lotor from taking Keith off-planet, especially when it brought him to
the verge of a panic attack. Shiro looked to Keith, where he nodded for him to
continue and forced a smile, and Keith – with a shuddered breath and a hand
through his hair – finally confessed his primary concern.
“We’re trying to find a place to live.”
There was a momentary silence. Shiro looked between Keith and Lotor, where he
saw absolute concern and genuine fear, and he suspected that Haxus would likely
cast Lotor out upon learning the news – potentially forcing him off-planet to a
royal abode, as he would have nowhere else to feasibly stay long-term – and
that would bring many issues. They were afraid, both pale and with eyes
downcast, and yet Shiro couldn’t help but laugh.
He caught the anger in Keith’s eyes, as he stifled it back and raised his hand
in mock surrender, before he looked to Ulaz and – silently signalling to him
with eyes alone – found permission in what he was about to suggest, as Ulaz
nodded his consent with a smile. The two men shared a long look, before they
took deep breaths and turned back to the young men with barely hidden laughter.
Shiro was still furious with Lotor, but the idea that they truly believed Shiro
would see them homeless was too absurd not to be amused.
“You’ll stay here,” conceded Shiro.
“R-Really?” Keith asked. “You mean it, Shiro?”
“It’s only temporary, but yes.” Shiro sighed with a smile. “I want you both out
the second you can financially support yourselves, because part of being an
adult is taking responsibility over your actions, and I want you both to be the
best that you can be, but you need a foundation to build upon. I’m your
guardian, so let me help you build that foundation.”
“I will also insist upon separate rooms,” added Ulaz with a firm tone. “We will
convert the spare room into a nursery space for Lotor, but we will expect him
to move out upon graduation, once he had found a permanent solution. If you
wish to be intimate, I would advise you do so not underneath our roof, as my
patience has worn thin. Once the baby is born, we will provide you assistance,
especially if Keith does rejoin the Garrison.”
“He’s right, Keith. You need to go back to the Garrison, because it’s the best
way to provide for Lotor and the . . . baby.” Shiro winced. “If you do decide
to work as a mechanic or engineer, we will support you unconditionally, but
don’t feel you have no other choice, because we can rearrange our work
schedules to help look after the child.”
“We’ve still a lot to work out,” admitted Keith. “We – er – didn’t even think
about kids, not with Lotor’s issues and my . . . stuff. I knew one would be
expected of him, but I didn’t think it’d be this soon and I’m just – I’m – I’m
just . . . I’m scared, Shiro. I’m scared.”
“He thinks he will become his father,” said Lotor.
Keith winced and looked down at his hands. He looked so human, but his heritage
hung in the air like an unspoken question. Shiro never knew who Keith’s mother
– or other father, if pure Galra – was in identity, just as he never truly had
a real relationship with their father to comment much upon him, but he knew
that fear just as real as Keith. It was something that gnawed at him every
single day in those past thirteen years . . . will I walk away from him? will I
be able to provide for him? will I be able to love him?. . . so far, love had
been enough to glue him to Keith’s side, although that only brought further
questions.
If love was enough that Shiro overcame all obstacles, why was it not enough for
their father to remain in their lives? Shiro always believed the fault lay with
the man, but Keith was of the mind that the fault was intrinsic in himself, as
if a small boy could have any impact or control over a full grown adult. Shiro
drew in a shuddered breath and mentally made a note to contact Keith’s
therapist, adamant that this would be something dealt with sooner than later,
and he swallowed hard to utter the most serious request of his life:
“We can discuss that with your therapist.”
“Just be aware that you are not your father,” added Ulaz. “If anything, he has
made his mistakes so that you can learn from them. You have not once lacked for
anything in life, nor have you ever needed his presence, and I have full faith
that this is one more thing you will overcome and master. Besides, you will
have us to help guide you.”
“He’s right, Keith,” said Shiro. “We’re here by your side; I promise we’ll let
you both raise your child how you see fit, but if you do veer towards our
father then we’ll be here to help steer you back, because . . . well . . .
you’re like a son to me, Keith. I’m proud of you.”
“While I am not proud of this, I am also proud of you, son.”
Keith’s eyes welled up with unshed tears. He wiped at his eyes with his sleeve,
using a rough and unsteady movement, before he sent a trembling smile in their
direction, and – as he looked between them – Shiro noticed how Lotor caught his
hand and squeezed much like how Shiro would squeeze Ulaz. It brought a sense of
ambivalence; a part of him wanted to swat his hand away, while another was
content that such trust lay between them, and he forced himself to be happy
with the fact that Keith was happy. Keith smiled.
“Thanks, guys,” said Keith.
They sat in an awkward silence, while Lotor rubbed circles on the back of
Keith’s hand, and – as Shiro watched them – he realised there was far more to
discuss. Lotor would need a birth plan, just as they would need to purchase
things for the baby, and they would also need to agree upon a name, custody,
whether to raise them Galra or human, where to raise them, if they had the same
long-term life plans . . . it was an endless list. Shiro sighed. It would be a
long evening while they worked out all the details. He said in a firm voice:
“Now, about the birth itself . . .”
 
***** Chapter 10 *****
“Thace, can you stop that?”
Keith slid out from underneath the vehicle. He sat upright and grabbed a
washcloth beside the toolbox, which was thankfully still cool despite the heavy
sunlight, and – as he wiped the grime and oil from his hands – looked to his
son with a firm eye. Keith realised he likely looked a mess, jeans torn from so
much hard labour and black t-shirt clinging to him with sweat, and yet Thace
looked to him like Keith was the greatest thing in the world.
The boy was tall for his age, enough that he towered over other children. He
took vastly after Lotor in his height and skin colour, while his facial
features and hair were identical to Keith, and Thace’s eyes – so beautiful and
blue – were such a match for Lotor that they brought a smile to Keith’s eyes
whenever he saw them. It was as if the boy was the perfect blend of them both;
he only really shone in individuality when it came to personality, instead
displaying the best traits of Ulaz and Shiro, and bearing a striking maturity.
“I’m trying to work,” said Keith.
He threw the cloth to one side, as he climbed to his feet and looked down with
hands placed firmly upon his hips, and Thace – with a grin inherited from his
other father – mimicked his exact body language and lifted his head high, so
that he could stare Keith down in turn. It was oddly cute, especially as Thace
appeared to be choking back a laugh, and those sharp canine teeth appeared
dangerously prominent as he smiled up at his father. Keith pursed his lips,
tempted to confiscate the ball under his foot. He knew Thace would continue to
play.
“Okay, give me the ball,” ordered Keith. “Go play inside.”
“No! I want to play with you.”
“I told you.” Keith narrowed his eyes into a dark glare. “I’m working. If you
want to play, you’ll have to play quietly inside. Go watch a movie or
something, okay?”
Thace’s hands dropped limp by his sides. Those five-year old eyes grew watery,
while those lips started to tremble, and Keith – as he pinched the bridge of
his nose to fend off an oncoming migraine – realised that perhaps fatherhood
found him before he was ready. He saw that little chest puff out with short and
violent jerks, as Thace drew in great puffs of air, and he had no choice but to
squat down on the balls of his feet. He forced a smile, as he rested his hands
upon his knees, and scratched awkwardly at his mullet.
“Did your pops tell you who you’re named after?” Keith asked. “You’re named
after a man who helped destroy the Galra Empire. He was a double-agent, like .
. . a spy. You like spy movies, right? Spies are quiet. Why don’t you pretend
to be a spy?”
The suggestion didn’t go down well.
Thace burst out into loud cries, while tears streamed down his cheeks. Two tiny
fists came up to his eyes as they rubbed tight circles, while his head came
down and his bun came fully loose, so black locks of hair shielded his face
from sight. It broke Keith’s heart. The greatest difficulty in being a parent
was communicating with his child, with sometimes it feeling like they spoke two
different languages, and he hated accidentally hurting the greatest thing that
ever happened to him. He swallowed hard and furrowed his brow.
The vehicle was outside the shack and attached workshop. He could already hear
someone driving over the desert terrain to visit, and a sharp stab of panic
overcame him as he worried someone might think the worst of him . . . ‘a bad
parent’, ‘what can an autistic man know about raising children’, ‘wasn’t he
abused as a kid’, ‘hope history doesn’t repeat itself’ . . .Keith knew all too
well the cruelty of people. He also knew his son was half-Galra.
Keith never missed the way other children avoided Thace for his skin colour,
while adults complained about the influx of alien races that resided around the
Garrison, never really delving elsewhere on the planet. Thace was distressed.
Those cheeks darkened  considerably, while he hiccupped through his sobs, and
Keith continuously reached out and pulled away from his son, unsure how best to
comfort him. Keith was in just a t-shirt, while Thace was equally dressed for
the warm day, and to hug him meant skin-to-skin contact.
“Hey, smile, okay?”
Keith drew in a deep breath. He forced a smile and reached out for his son; the
skin was cool and clammy against him, and the way his skin stuck to that of his
son made his muscles tense, while his teeth gritted against the overwhelming
sensations. There was an urge to pull away, to rub his skin raw until he could
rid himself of the sensations, but he continued to hold the boy and awkwardly
pat at his back in a way of reassurance. Thace groaned.
It wasn’t enough to quell him, but Keith struggled to think of any other way to
get quiet. He hated the way his heart raced, especially when his ears ached and
all other sounds were drowned out, and there were now too many stimulus, so
that his mind swam and grew hazy and his mouth ran dry with stress. Keith
barely heard the car pull up. He let go of Thace at once, as he heaved a loud
sigh and let all the tension release from his muscles, and he stepped back as
the boy screamed all the louder, causing him to wince in pain. The newcomer
asked:
“Is he okay?”
Keith saw Shiro wander over with long strides. Lotor and Ulaz were still
climbing out of the car when Thace ran over to his uncle and jumped into
waiting arms, before he was swung around in a huge circle and lifted up onto
one hip. He bounced up and down a few times, until cries turned into laughter,
and tiny arms wrapped around Shiro’s neck, as he placed kisses to Shiro’s
cheeks and squealed with laughter when Shiro pretended to drop him, only to
scoop him up and smother him with kisses in turn. Keith sagged with relief.
“He’s fine,” muttered Keith.
“He doesn’t look fine.” Shiro saluted Thace with a free hand. “Hey there,
Soldier! If you smile for Uncle Shiro, I’ll tell you all about the adventure
your pops and I had on the way here. Spoiler alert -! There was a pack of wild
dogs, but that’s not nearly as exciting as the –” Shiro raised his hand to
shield his mouth and whispered “– aliens.”
“A-Aliens?” Thace sniffed and rubbed at his nose. “Really?”
“Really! Let’s go inside where I can tell you all about it! Your pops used to
love my stories growing up, but then he got his sense of humour stolen by the
–” Shiro paused to drop Thace onto the floor with an exaggerate growl and
pantomimed clawed hands “– Tickle Monster!”
Keith laughed as Shiro chased Thace. He kept hands high and snapped them
together every so often, before he swept Thace up high into the air and then
dropped him to the ground, and suddenly two hands were tickling Thace until the
boy couldn’t breathe. Shiro let go and gave his nephew a devilish look, which
Thace took as a sign to run, and – as he called back ‘can’t catch me’ – Shiro
gave chase until they were inside the shack and making raucous noise through
their play-fights and games. Keith cricked his back and shook his head.
“It is enough to make me wish for one of my own,” said Ulaz.
Ulaz came towards him with open arms; Keith hesitated but carefully came
towards him, only to smile and warmly embrace Ulaz back when he carefully
evaded Keith’s bare skin, purposely draped his arms over cloth-covered
shoulders and patting his back. He also let go after a few seconds, so that
awful claustrophobic sensation would be avoided, and soon Lotor came over to
them with head held high and in full regal attire, complete with cape.
They stood in relative silence, until Lotor pulled Keith into a warm embrace.
He relished in how those soft hands ran up and down his arms, while those soft
lips pressed chaste kisses to his neck, and – as he quietly laughed at the
gentle intimacy – he reached up to tangle his hands in Lotor’s hair and traced
patterns along his lapel. It was good to meet warm skin and cool armour, while
Lotor whispered words of love to him, and they touched everywhere they could
reach as they re-familiarised themselves with each other. Keith blinked away
tears.
Lotor stepped back, while he ran his hands up Keith’s chest. He stopped once he
reached soft cheeks, and he held upon Keith’s face with a warm smile, which
crinkled the corners of his eyes and brought a flush to his face. Keith lifted
his hands to hold onto those of his husband, as he leaned into the touch and
smiled once a chaste kiss was delivered to his lips. Ulaz cleared his throat;
the two men pulled away with a blush, and Lotor said in a quiet voice:
“You look stressed, my love.”
“It was just so much easier when he was a baby,” admitted Keith. “You just
needed to feed him, change him, and burp him. I could sit him in the corner and
forget he was there. I – I don’t know what to do any more; every day when Shiro
and Ulaz leave, I’m all alone with him and he always wants so much attention.I
just want to work and rest.”
“Shiro and I have been discussing your situation,” said Ulaz with a slight bow.
“We understand how difficult it must be for Lotor to split his time between two
worlds, as well as for you to serve as Thace’s primary caregiver in his
absence, and – as such – we would like to offer you some further help. We are
at a place where financially I am able to quit work, which means I can watch
Thace for you as often as you need. It is no problem.”
“I – I couldn’t ask you to quit work for us.”
“It is fine. Shiro and I were considering trying for a second child; our first
was the greatest success of our lives, and we would find great joy in sharing
that love with another.” Ulaz nodded to Keith and smiled a sincere smile. “I
would cease my diplomatic work regardless, as we do not wish to engage with
babysitters or childminders. I would have the resources to thus watch Thace for
longer hours, even for some nights if you wish.”
“A kind gesture, but unnecessary should Keith come with me,” said Lotor with a
sideways glance to Keith. “I do keep pleading with him to return to the planet
of our people, but – alas – he has far too many sentimental ties to this . . .
place. I found so many different races, far more biracial people of differing
origins, and all so discriminated upon.”
“I know you had it rough growing up,” said Keith, “but that –”
“Tell me, how many friends does our son have?”
Keith winced and looked over to the shack. It was a small building, with just
enough space for an office and kitchen downstairs, with the extension serving
as a workshop for smaller appliances and motorbikes, and the upstairs was just
barely enough space for himself and their son. He thought to how Ulaz home-
schooled Thace, as well as to how Shiro baby-sat over the weekends, and he
realised – with a heavy heart – they were perhaps Thace’s only two friends, if
they could be called that. Keith let his face fall and pale.
“I thought so,” said Lotor.
There was no time for a reply, as the doors to the shack opened up. The quiet
between the adults was now over; Thace stood on the porch and looked around,
his blue eyes looked over Keith and Ulaz with pursed lips and a furrowed brow,
but then his eyes fell upon Lotor and his entire expression changed. It was
exactly how he looked at Christmas, when a mountain-sized pile of gifts waited
for him, almost all from Lotor and his uncles. 
The boy jumped up and down, while Shiro stepped behind him, but – before Shiro
could scoop him up into his arms – Thace ran at full speed toward his other
father. It was an admirable speed, broken only by how Thace jumped a good foot
or so from him, only to be lifted high into the air by two toned and muscled
arms. Lotor threw him several times, each time bringing forth loud squeals and
laughter, before dropping him to his hip and holding him close, with his nose
buried into black hair. Thace laughed and hugged back, as he chirped:
“Daddy, you’re home!”
Lotor frowned and looked to Keith. Keith simply raised his hands in mock
surrender, while his brother wandered over and Thace continued to pull upon
Lotor, sometimes tugging clothing and sometimes yanking at his hair, but – all
the while – he babbled aimlessly about his day and studies and favourite
cartoons. The wind picked up, which led to Ulaz gesturing them toward the
house, and soon they stood upon the porch. Thace continued to babble.
“At least one considers this rock ‘home’,” chided Ulaz.
“He will one day be required to return to our planet.” Lotor let out a hiss of
breath, as his eyes fell to the child sat upon his hip. “It is vital for him to
learn about the people he must rule, as well as the history of our empire which
must never be repeated, and he must acquaint himself with the climate and
culture of our home world. This is not a place for him.”
“Well, why not?” Keith argued. “You spent your childhood here, but the Galra
consider you to be a great emperor. Plus, you still spend your time travelling
the universe and a lot of your time here, so what’s to stop Thace from doing
the same thing? It’s all good, right?”
“I hoped he could do what I will not.”
Ulaz cleared his throat, as he gazed between them. He reached out with his
hands toward Thace, who – with great predictability – clung to the father he
desperately missed and buried his head between arm and chest, and Lotor simply
smiled and rested a free hand upon his hair, as he smoothed away kinks and
creases. Ulaz coughed again. Lotor shot him a dark glare, unwilling to let go
of the child he was parted from for so long, but – with heavy reluctance –
gentle attempted to slide Thace over into the arms of his uncle.
It did not go well.
Shiro winced from inside the shack, while Keith covered his ears from the
porch. Thace screamed long and hard, as he kicked at Ulaz and clawed at Lotor,
and it was clear to all of them that there would be no way to separate son from
father without causing great distress to a boy too young to realise that – no –
Lotor wasn’t handing him off just to immediately leave him once more. Ulaz
gnawed at his lip, with focussed eyes, before he finally backed off.
The air grew cold as night advanced. Keith shuddered with the chill, missing
the excessive warmth of the day, and he watched over Ulaz’s shoulder while
Shiro walked about the office area turning on lights and moving things about.
It was a space that could double as a social area with effort, but not ideal
with four adults and a small child. Thace started to quieten his cries, as he
sobbed a few times almost in warning, and his eyes were red and puffy from his
earlier cries. Ulaz looked to him and softened in sympathy. He whispered to
Lotor:
“You cannot talk with him present.”
“We’ll find a way,” said Keith. “It’s been a whole month. I think he’s just
scared that Lotor’s going to leave again; we can keep telling him it’ll be a
good few weeks before he has to leave, but it’s not like he’s going to get that
at his age. He’s just scared.”
“Very well, but remember leaving his home will also cause distress.”
“We are his home,” spat Lotor.
Ulaz hissed in breath, as he stormed into the shack. The door slammed shut
behind him. Keith winced at the heavy noise, before allowing a heavy sigh of
relief, and he reached out to ruffle Thace’s hair with a dull smile. Thace
smiled back with bright and sincere eyes, as he cocked his head and laughed an
innocent laugh at finally being reunited with both parents, and there was
something to be said that they could truly make a home wherever they could be
together. He just knew that neither he nor Thace could leave Shiro or Ulaz.
“You don’t have to be so mean,” said Keith.
Lotor winced and his expression softened. He lifted his son a little higher, so
that tiny arms could lock around his neck and he could cuddle the boy against
him, and he buried his head against Thace and breathed deep the scent of his
hair. Keith stepped beside him. The porch lights came on, forcing him to blink
to adjust his eyes, and he realised – as he looked around – night was finally
falling upon them. Lotor whispered with a broken voice:
“They wish for you to stay here.”
“Well, yeah,” muttered Keith.
“I am twenty-five.” Lotor smiled and kissed Thace’s head. “I believe I am ready
to settle down; this means that I wish for us to reside within one residence,
which will eliminate how often I need to part from my family, and I also wish
for another child so that this one – even if he never makes friends elsewhere –
shall never suffer loneliness as we suffered.”
“See, that’s the thing. I don’t want another kid; don’t get me wrong, I love
Thace more than anything, but it’s hard work. I think I’m done. Plus, this is
where my support base is. I don’t want to leave Shiro and Ulaz, and I don’t
want to leave Katie and Hunk.”
“I do not wish to leave behind my planet and people, any time I seek to spend
time with my husband or child,” added Lotor in a terse voice. “I do not wish to
leave behind Acxa, Ezor, Zethrid or Narti, yet I must do so every so many weeks
or months. We have both suffered greatly in life, Keith, as such I will not
make demands of you to leave all that you know, but nor can I expect myself to
continually make those same sacrifices.
“Our compromises are no longer compromises. It must be that either I sacrifice
my throne, or you sacrifice your life here, else we continue to split our time
and life between two worlds, and I do not know how sustainable that is in the
long-term. The only other alternative is to part ways and split the year so
that Thace is shared by us both. I do not like that.”
“I don’t like it either, but you’re asking me to leave my family!” Keith winced
and ran a hand through his hair. “Just like I’m asking you to leave your throne
. . . fuck, this all seemed so much easier when we were kids. None of this even
mattered back then.”
“You said a naughty word,” muttered Thace.
They both stopped to look upon their son. Thace was barely clinging onto his
father, small hands slipping while his head rested upon an armoured chest, and
his lips pursed and pressed in a strange continuous motion. He looked less red
about the cheeks, while his eyes were fluttering open and closed in a rhythm
that became progressively slower, and Keith could only reach out to stroke his
hair and gently hum an old song taught to him by Shiro.
Thace was on the verge of sleep; he would probably spend the night tucked
between his fathers, too afraid to let Lotor out of his sight, and that would
probably lead to shared bathroom trips and shared showers and shared meals,
something that – at the very least – gave Keith substantial more time alone,
which was a vast relief. Still, the idea of having Thace out of his sight was a
terror more than he could bear, and so he knew joint custody with the year
split into two would be out of the question. Keith asked in a quiet voice:
“We need to talk, don’t we?”
Lotor let out a shuddered breath, as he pressed another kiss to Thace. Keith
came beside him and rested a hand on the small of his back, while his other
hand came up to stroke soft patterns upon their son’s hair, and together they
basked in the moment of quiet. There were no pressures from the world around
them. It was as if the universe contained only the three of them and nothing
more, as they stood looking out at the stars and sand.
“Another day?” Lotor blinked away a tear. “I love you too much to contemplate a
life without you, but I do love myself too much to contemplate a life of
sacrifice. Allow me a day spent playing with my son, and a night spent enjoying
my husband, and perhaps by the following day I shall be in a better place to
discuss something so potentially life-changing.”
“Seventeen was way too young, wasn’t it? Don’t get me wrong, because I don’t
regret a second I spent with you or that Thace came to us so early, but if he
could have been born just a year or two later . . . once we had all this sorted
. . . I don’t know. . .”
“Let this evening be about family,” begged Lotor.
Lotor pressed a chaste kiss to Keith’s forehead, and then his cheek, and then
his lips, until soon they were locked in a passionate kiss with only their
sleeping son between them to prevent from any extreme form of distraction. The
tears fell upon their lips, so that the kiss was salty and bitter, and they
pulled away breathless and realising that something had to give for them to
both be truly happy. Keith was grateful the past was finally behind them, but
somehow the future was more frightening than the memories that lingered. Lotor
begged:
“Tomorrow? Let us talk about this tomorrow.”
“Yeah, tomorrow,” agreed Keith.
 
 
 
***** Epilogue: Lance *****
Chapter Notes
     Not yet proofread, so do pardon slight typing errors.
Epilogue:_Lance
‘Hey, no way! That’s great.’
The voice broke something inside Hunk.
Even so many years onward, it was recognisable. It was that familiar high-
pitched sound always so expressive and emotive, filled with slang and
colloquialisms, and that brought back too many memories, both painful and
pleasant. He recalled nights awoken from sleep as his roommate argued on the
phone, or laughter during classes as his classmate whispered jokes in his ear,
and he remembered well the defence upon the stand from a virtual stranger.
Hunk dropped the grocery bag to the ground. There was a shatter of glass and a
pop of various tubes, and dark stains appeared on the brown paper, as a river
of tomato sauce trickled past his feet and onto the tyres behind him. It
steamed from the hot tarmac, while the scent of tomatoes overwhelmed his
senses, and – as he tried to still his racing heart – he struggled to breathe
through a dry mouth and shallow breaths. He panicked. A cold sweat broke over
his skin, while he leaned upon the roof of the car for support.
The parking lot was mostly empty; there was the occasional ramming of a horn,
as two people tried to take the nearest space despite the entire lot being
free, and there was the almost comforting sound of wonky wheels of a trolley
being navigated over pot-holed tarmac, while parents nattered endlessly to
their children as they walked. It took Hunk a few seconds to pinpoint the voice
to the owner, until his eyes fell upon a mother-and-child spot.
‘So you got straight A’s, huh?’
A large seven-seat hatchback took up the space. Hunk saw a little girl by the
legs of her father, perhaps seven or eight at the eldest, and dressed in an
Altean dress that looked more expensive than anything Hunk owned. He saw how
long brown hair cascaded down her back, complementing her brown skin, while her
bright eyes looked up to her father with a bright smile, and – as she stood
with hands on her hips and legs apart – he cringed to realise how much of her
body language was learned from the generation above. She looked just like him.
The mother swung around with a young baby in her arms, which bore a mop of
white hair just like hers, and – judging from the choice of attire – he assumed
them to be a young boy, maybe six-months at the eldest. He saw balloons inside
the car for someone aged thirteen, which clearly wasn’t one of the two children
with them, and he looked around instinctively to see whether they forgot a
child in the chaos of trying to get their family home. No one.
“H-Hey,” called out Hunk. “You forget a kid or something?”
The father furrowed his brow and stood straight. He folded his arms across a
somewhat fancy suit, while he pursed his lips and glared straight at Hunk, but
– as Hunk nodded to the balloons – his expression softened and his shoulders
sagged. A few seconds passed, as the father opened his mouth ready to speak,
but then realisation dawned upon him. His eyes widened. His jaw dropped down.
He looked between his wife and Hunk with several sharp movements of his head,
until he burst out into laughter and waved wildly over to Hunk.
“Hey, buddy!” Lance shouted. “How long’s it been?”
“Judging by those balloons, I’d say thirteen years at least.”
Lance bounced on the heels of his feet. He looked ready to run over at any
second, but somehow found the sense to whisper an apology to Allura and drop
down to place a kiss to his daughter’s forehead, and – with quick steps of long
legs – ran over to Hunk and threw his arms around his long-lost friend. Hunk
stood with arms frozen by his sides, until he drew in a deep breath and forced
himself to return the embrace. Allura waved from across the way.
Hunk watched her from over Lance’s shoulder; the two children were bundled into
the car, where a screen in the headrest played an old cartoon, and – for a
terrifying moment – Hunk almost expected to see Coran’s show playing for them
to watch. Instead, it was a cartoon version of Alfor and the Paladins. Allura
nodded to him with a smile, before she slid into the front passenger seat and
closed the car doors. The sudden quiet unnerved Hunk, as he let out a shuddered
breath and swallowed hard, and he gnawed at his lip as he looked to Lance.
There was a grey streak through his brown hair, while lines appeared at the
corners of his eyes and marked him as far older than the old memories. The suit
was stained a little with sweat under the armpits, while the collar was loose
and the tie hung low, and bags appeared underneath Lance’s eyes as if he barely
slept. Hunk rapidly blinked and ran a hand through his hair, as he struggled to
find something to say that would break the silence. Lance chirped:
“Oh, hey, you drop your stuff?”
Hunk looked down to the mess of groceries. Lance dropped down onto his heels
and sorted the salvageable from the non-salvageable, and – as he handed up
various items – Hunk quickly swore and fumbled to open the car door to drop
them inside onto the floor. It took only a couple of minutes with some help,
while Lance wrapped up the remains and dropped them into a nearby trashcan,
before he ran back and stood proud before Hunk. Hunk leaned back against his
car and fiddled with the keys in his hand, as he muttered back:
“Eh? Ah, yeah, thanks.”
“So, this is pretty weird, huh?” Lance scratched at the back of his neck. “I
never thought I’d run into you like this, if I’m totally honest. We were just
driving through town to get to pick Alfor up from camp, wouldn’t usually ever
head here else, and – well – we thought we’d chance stopping off for some party
supplies on the way. No one recognised me, thank God.”
“Alfor? I’m guess he’s the dude who’s just turned thirteen?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah. He’s our eldest,” said Lance. “He’s the spitting image of
Allura; white hair, dark skin, violet specks in his eyes . . . he’s really
passionate about music, so he begged us to let him go to a music camp for
summer, and – you know – couldn’t say no.”
“Yeah, Rax and Vox are absolute terrors.” Hunk smiled and shrugged. “Rax wants
to be a chef like me, so he’s constantly following me everywhere I go, and he
spends all his money on recipe books and ingredients and kitchen equipment. Vox
just wants to play and read and watch TV, though, so it kind of evens out in
terms of ‘easiness’. One’s pretty high-maintenance, but the other’s super low,
so . . . yeah. It’s cool.”
“So you guys have two boys, huh? That sounds nice.”
Hunk gripped his keys hard enough to draw blood. The grooves dug into his palm,
cutting into flesh, and it was only when he heard a drip upon the tarmac –
rhythmic and hypnotic – that he swore and felt the pain for the first time. He
threw his keys into his pocket and brought his hand to his lips, where he
suckled at the wound and glared to Lance who looked genuinely concerned by his
pain. They stood together in silence, while Lance raised his hands in a gesture
of surrender, and the heat grew stiflingly hot. Hunk spat out:
“No one recognised you?”
The humidity grew until Lance was forced to grab at the collar of his shirt,
and – as he wafted it back and forth – he sighed in mild relief and looked to
the supermarket doors. It was the same layout inside, although Mr Schroeder
retired long back and ‘Junior’ took over as manager instead, but the subtlest
and strangest things had changed over time. The lobby now held an array of
potted plants instead of just a bare space, while the walls were now a light
pink instead of the yellowing magnolia, and more contemporary music played over
the airs.
Hunk often ran into new students at the Garrison, as well as their families,
and various commuters and tourists who used the town as a stopping point, but
always – no matter how many years passed – the locals never went anywhere else
to get in their daily necessities. It was so easy to make friends and catch up
with old ones, as you would see entire generations be born and grow and live
just by haunting the same old haunts. Lance sighed.
“It’s been over two decades,” said Lance.
“Yeah, but it may as well have been yesterday.” Hunk clenched his fists. “These
things scar the community, dude. It’s like – It’s like a living memory
imprinted on the town. There are still people who don’t ring the police when
something goes down, and no one lets their kids play out front any more, and
it’s like . . . like the trust has gone. You did that. You.”
“I – I know. It’s why we’re staying at motels outside of town, just to be safe.
I know I’ve aged a lot, plus I’ve got the suit and new style and all, and I –
er – changed my surname so people can’t recognise that when I hand ID over.
Lance McClain is now Lance García.”
“Great. Good for you. So you’re – what – an office worker now?”
“Accountant, actually.” Lance blushed and ran a hand through his hair. “I was
never much good at Garrison classes, plus it’s not as though I could work
anywhere with or near children, and I couldn’t work again in law, either, so .
. . I retrained and became an accountant. It pays well, but we also work way up
North, so we don’t run into anyone from my past life.”
“Your ‘past life’? Is that what we’re calling it? I’m going to be honest with
you, Lance,” said Hunk in a very low whisper. “I’m fucking pissed. You raped
Keith and nearly ruined his life, but here you are like nothing even happened!
Why do you get to move on and be happy, while he has to live with the memories
every second of every day until the day he dies? It’s not fair! I mean, I don’t
want you to suffer, but I also don’t -! I – I don’t know.”
Hunk dug his hands into his hair. He turned and swore, as he kicked at a stray
piece of glass from a broken jar, and blinked away the tears in his eyes. Lance
made to reach out to him, but soon pulled back his hand and winced. They said
nothing, but Hunk caught the eye of Katie who ran out of the supermarket with a
plastic bag in hand, but – even as their eyes met and she waved – he knew she
didn’t recognise Lance in the slightest. It was as if he were a ghost among the
living, something there and not quite there. Hunk swallowed hard.
He waited for Katie to run across the road, before he looked back to his oldest
friend, and saw how Lance paled and played with the cuffs of his shirt. There
were thin lines around his wrists, raised and silvery in nature, and Hunk
furrowed his brow for a closer look, only for Lance to jump and widen his eyes.
Lance wrapped his arms around his chest and kept his wrists flush against his
body, thus out of sight, as he whispered back:
“I – I did try to kill myself.”
The words hung heavy in the air. Hunk opened his mouth and let it stay open, as
he looked back to the car – where Allura was turned around with a wide smile,
gesturing to the baby as she sang along to the DVD – and wondered where things
had taken such a dark turn. He slumped his shoulders and bit at his tongue
until he tasted iron, and kept his head low to avoid looking Lance in his eyes.
The hot weather was no good for the tense conversation, and Hunk loathed how
his clothes clung to his skin slick with sweat. It was uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry, man,” said Hunk.
“No, it’s cool,” murmured Lance. “I know why people want me to suffer, because
it’s exactly how like I wanted Coran to suffer. He did unspeakable things and
every time I saw him happy it was like . . . like a blow to my chest. I was so
angry. It was like karma and justice were just childish dreams, empty concepts,
and I wanted to see him suffer like he made me suffer, because it felt like the
only way to get closure and regain control. I – I was in pain.
“I knew everyone hated me. I couldn’t go back home, because my house was
trashed and vandalised, and people kept trying to beat me or scream at me or
steal whatever it was I was holding or using or looking at . . . I couldn’t
even pause in the street without people thinking I was going to take a kid or
something. I deserved their hate, I know that, but at the same time I just
wanted to be better, but they kept telling me I couldn’tbe that! It got to a
point I started to think I was doomed to be like Coran, and killing myself was
the only way to protect people.
“Well, I failed. I was such a failure I couldn’t even kill myself right. They –
ah – actually forced me into therapy, which helped more than I can put into
words, and I was released around a year later and able to start retraining for
a new career. It’s where I met Allura. I was taking classes and she was also
taking classes, because she wanted to learn more about Earthling culture and
laws and history, and . . . we hit it off. We fell in love.”
“Here I thought you only had a thing for kids,” goaded Hunk.
“To be honest? So did I.” Lance shrugged. “It’s something I learnt in therapy;
I’m a pretty sexual person, but I was also pretty traumatised by what Coran did
to me. I was kind of both stilted and stuck as I was at that age, but also
terrified to be intimate with adults, because I couldn’t bear to endure
anything like that ever again. I was attracted to kids, because I had total
control . . . I couldn’t be the one abused or beaten or ignored. I was safe.
“Even with Allura knowing what I went through, it was difficult as hell. I used
to flashback or get panic attacks with anything below the belt, and – when we
got to that point – I’d sometimes just . . . disassociate . . . like I was
outside of my body and just watching the sex stuff happen to someone else. It
was another couple of years before I was fully comfortable.”
“So you’re not a threat any more?” Hunk asked. “You sure?”
A tear fell from Lance’s eye, which he wiped away with the back of his hand.
Hunk’s chest seized up, as he was left breathless and suffocated, and he
wondered – with the trauma this painful so many decades after – whether Keith
would endure the same hardship. It was difficult to reconcile how someone so
pained could choose to inflict that pain upon others, as if his empathy were
non-existent, and Hunk was torn between sympathy and hatred. He looked to Lance
and saw how he smiled despite his red-rimmed eyes and trembling lips.
“I won’t lie,” admitted Lance. “I think it’ll always be with me.”
“The attraction?” Hunk asked. “Aw, man . . .”
“No, see, that’s the thing. I learned that attraction doesn’t equal action.
I’ll always be in control of my actions. Me. No one else. It doesn’t matter
whether the world tells me that I’m doomed to offend, or how attractive I might
consider someone like Keith, because none of them have power over me. I can say
‘no’ and Ican make the choice not to offend.”
“But what about your own kids? Isn’t that like . . . a temptation?”
“Hey, you’re straight, right? Well, does that mean you’ll be attracted to your
mother or sister or whatever just because they’re female?” Lance smiled and
shrugged. “It doesn’t work like that, dude, and I’ve never once felt that for
them. Other kids? Sure. Not mine, though.”
Hunk winced and curled his lip. It was a sobering thought; he looked back to
the children in the car, who laughed and played with total innocence, and
something dark and cold gnawed at the pit of his stomach, as he feared that
something might befall them in turn and all he did was watch them knowing yet
unable to protect them. He chewed at his lips and wondered whether he could
realistically report Lance for a potential crime, just as he wondered whether
he would only be causing Lance more pain over something he might never act
upon.
“Okay,” said Hunk. “What about Keith in all this?”
Lance hugged himself tighter. He followed Hunk’s gaze back to his car, where
Allura’s skin paled and her lips pursed in apparent concern, and – as he waved
to her – there was a tremble in his hand that caused her to grab for the door-
handle. Lance threw up both hands in surrender and signalled for her to stay
put, as he forced a smile and waved in an attempt to dismiss her fears, but she
continued to star intently at them with narrowed eyes. Allura was protective of
Lance, enough she clearly didn’t perceive him as a threat.  Lance asked:
“How is Keith?”
“He’s moved off-planet,” mumbled Hunk. “He got hitched to Prince Lotor, so I’m
kind o’ surprised you missed the news. Well, Emperor Lotor, I suppose. Anyway,
he’s had a kid ages back, and – last I heard – they had a second kid, too.
Shiro and Ulaz have got a boy of their own, even live over there with them, and
it all seems to be going pretty well. Shiro comes back every year to visit,
which is nice, and they seem . . . happy.
“Keith had it rough for a while. He kept doing sexual stuff with all the kids
at his school, because he thought it was the only way to get people to like
him, and he was in therapy right up until his late teens, I think? He might
still be in therapy, actually. It messed him up, even caused problems between
him and Shiro for a while, but he’s okay now. He’s good.”
“Do you think he’d want me to suffer?”
“I don’t know, man,” said Hunk with a sigh. “It sounds like you suffered
enough. A part of me thinks it’ll never be enough, but another part of me
thinks it’s stupid for everyone to be miserable, at least when everyone can be
happy, but what Keith thinks . . . I don’t know. I think he would just want you
to keep away, because he doesn’t want to relive it.”
Lance made to speak, but Allura climbed out of the car. The young woman – who
hadn’t aged a day since being unfrozen all those years back – glared at Hunk,
as if he were the problem and not her husband’s past actions, and Hunk resisted
the urge to glare back. Lance laughed nervously and scratched again at his
neck, while he flapped a hand in the air as if to appease her, but it was clear
she was past appeasement. Hunk sighed and looked between her and the children
in the car, before he looked back to Lance with narrowed eyes.
They stood in awkward silence. Hunk heard Katie laugh from afar, while her
nieces ran down the street, and he knew it was only a matter of time before
Matt spotted him and came over to say hello, at which point Lance would be
recognised. Lance kicked at the floor, as his free hand fidgeted and moved
about his body, as if unsure what to do and how to act, before he stepped
toward Allura and made his choice to finally depart. Lance asked politely:
“Er, hey, do you want to grab dinner together later?”
“No, I really don’t,” admitted Hunk.
“Ah, right. Okay.”
“Still, I wish you well and I’ll always care about you.” Hunk smiled and
shrugged. “Keep in touch, okay? Email or write or phone. It’d be nice to know
that the family is doing well, even if I’m not really up to hanging out or
letting my boys near you. I don’t hate you, Lance, I just hate what you did and
I don’t think I’ll ever get past that. I’m sorry.”
“No, I get it. I did something unforgiveable, and I made it ten times harder
for any minor-attracted-person that ever wants to come out to people, because I
just reinforced those old stereotypes, and I . . . I hurt Keith. I can’t ever
undo that or apologise enough.”
“Yeah, I just wish we could go back in time and undo everything.”
“I’ve wished that every day since I got caught.”
A chill ran through Hunk. He looked to Lance with wide eyes, as he shuddered
and saw the sincere regret that was writ all over his features, and yet – as he
looked into half-closed blue eyes, with head lowered and lips a thin white line
– he wondered where the regret lay. Hunk shook his head and fumbled with his
keys in his pocket, until he turned around and desperately sought to undo the
car door and make his mistake. He was so lost in his task that he jumped when
Lance spoke to him, and half-turned only to keep him in eyesight.
“See you around?” Lance asked.
Hunk paused with his hand upon the handle. He saw Vox’s baseball rolling about
the front passenger side, while loose photographs of Rax littered the backseat
ready for his school project, and a few wrappers of fast-food stuck out from
his glove-box. Hunk half-smiled in the knowledge of how much his family were an
ever-present aspect of his life, and then frowned to think of how he could
never trust Lance again. Hunk lied in a quiet voice:
“See you around.”
***** Epilogue: Keith *****
Keith stirred awake.
The sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting the large
suite in a warm glow that left nothing in shadow, and the view beyond – as he
blinked away sleep – revealed the incomparable landscape of New Daibazaal. A
beam of light reflected off the smooth stone of the balcony and hurt his eyes.
He rolled onto his back and looked up at the arched ceiling; it was the same
black that matched the Galra aesthetic, and if there was one downside to such
luxury and expense, it was the constant black-and-purple décor. Keith sighed.
A hand fell upon his chest.
He turned his head to see Lotor beside him. The young prince lay with white
hair splayed about the many pillows, with eyes half-lidded and lips pulled into
a smirk, and Keith – seeing a slight spot of sleep in the corner of his left
eye – laughed a little at the sight of his husband in such a natural state.
Lotor was naked save for a thin black sheet draped over his waist, low enough
that the trail of white hair could be seen from bellybutton to the tip of the
groin.
Lotor – even with pillow creases upon his cheek – looked deeply erotic, perhaps
even more so for the many imperfections, and Keith struggled to hold back his
morning wood, already more than a little aroused. He drew in a deep breath, as
those long fingers traced smooth and gentle patterns around his areola, before
they tweaked and flicked his nipples into an erect state, and Keith swallowed
back a slight cry as his chest flushed red. It was hardly a secret that his
nipples were his greatest erogenous zone, a fact Lotor often used to torment
him.
Those fingers took the opportunity to trail lower, until they massaged his
stomach muscles and tickled lightly upon his sides, and soon Keith experienced
a slight pain in his penis, as pre-come leaked profusely from the head onto his
abdomen. He quickened his breathing. A warm sweat broke over his skin. The hand
went lower and lower, until rationality entered his mind and he shot down his
hand to grab Lotor’s wrist and held him still. Lotor respected his wishes and
kept still, even going so far to let his fingers curl to make it clear he would
not proceed without explicit permission. Keith let out a shuddered breath and
hissed:
“I thought I said I don’t want any more kids.”
“True, but do you truly think me the sort to hold intimacy hostage?” Lotor
chuckled, as his free hand lifted a human condom slipped between two pillows.
“We can continue a dialogue upon the matter of a spare to match our heir later,
but – for now – I require my husband to help satisfy my urges. While I am happy
to act without you, these things are better with company. Unless – of course –
you wish for a show? Me touching myself . . . spread wide.”
The mental image seared itself onto Keith’s mind. He remembered all too well
being late from work or from evenings out with Shiro, only to come home to his
‘punishment’ set by Lotor, who was usually naked upon a furred rug centre in
the room . . . ‘look, but do not touch, for you have forfeited that right’ . .
.there were sometimes toys or hot wax to one side, another side handcuffs and a
long cane, but always – always– was the sight of Lotor with back arched and
fingers deep inside him. Keith mewled and whispered:
“Okay, fair enough. I guess that’s something I can get behind.”
“Or inside as the case may be,” added Lotor.
Lotor growled and flipped them over. He sat astride Keith, both naked and both
covered in a light sweat, and Keith’s erection pressed itself firmly between
two firm buttocks, where the natural lubrication from Lotor’s hole mixed with
his pre-come. Two hands pressed against his chest, forcing him to lay flat and
prone and vulnerable. Keith licked at his lips, relishing in the lack of
control and the sheer trust at play, and looked up to his lover.
The condom was still between two of Lotor’s fingers, now with cold foil
touching upon his skin and warming against his body, and he wanted nothing more
than to see Lotor rip the foil apart with his teeth and slide the rubber over
his dripping length. If he were lucky, he would feel those warm and wet lips
encase his erection, while Lotor used his mouth to push the condom firmly into
place. Keith groaned and reached upward to grasp at the bedposts, grateful that
Lotor allowed for a human bed in a Galra suite. He wanted more.
He chanced a glance to the windows; the fear lingered that someone might see in
from the royal gardens, despite being reassured so often that the technology
made them mirrored from the outside, and he squirmed underneath Lotor who
leaned down to nip at his lips. Keith opened his lips in search of a kiss, but
a noise came from outside their doors. It was muffled and quiet at first, but
soon was enough to make both men stop. A voice called through:
‘Hey, can I come in?’
The doors opened before they could respond. Thace appeared – eight-years old,
still as tall as one several years old – and rubbed at his eyes with a wide
yawn, and thankfully he seemed oblivious to how his parents threw themselves at
opposite sides of the bed and yanked the sheets up to their chins with dark
blushes of embarrassment. Keith was still tucking the sheets in by his sides,
when Lotor threw a pillow over his crotch to hide his straining erection, and
the two men shared an awkward look, as they struggled to sit upright against
the headrest.
Thace was dressed in an old shirt of Keith’s, which touched nearly upon his
ankles, while his left hand clung to the arm of a plush toy that Shiro bought
him for his birthday. He continued to rub at his eyes while he kicked the doors
shut behind him, and wandered over to the bed where he spent so many nights
after nightmares and during movie nights and sometimes just to be close to his
favourite heroes. Keith swallowed back his annoyance and asked:
“W-What did we say about knocking?”
“I don’t remember,” lied Thace. “I feel really sick.”
“What is wrong, my love?” Lotor asked.
Thace climbed onto the bed beside Keith, who draped an arm around him. The
shirt enabled him to avoid skin-to-skin contact, but it didn’t quite seem
enough for the boy who crawled over him and threw himself between both parents,
and – as Keith rested a hand upon his shoulder – Lotor pulled him close and
allowed for a warm embrace. It looked so familial and intimate that it left
Keith at a loss for how to comfort the young child. He gnawed at his lip and
rubbed firm circles upon Thace’s back, which caused his son’s muscles to relax.
“I have a tummy ache,” mumbled Thace.
“Shiro came back from a summer trip to Earth,” said Keith to Lotor. “He bought
a lot of chocolate and candy for Thace, and – judging from fudge matted into
his hair – I’m guessing someone ate everything in one night and then fell
asleep on the remains.”
“Hmm, does Shiro not miss Earth? It surprises me every time he returns.” Lotor
stroked at their son’s hair with a frown. “He does look somewhat pale, does he
not? I suppose one day away from his studies will not make too much difference.
I have no meetings or work today, so I can stay with him while it purges from
his system. How tiresome.”
“Hey, it’s not his fault. It’s a part of growing up, right?”
“I suppose it’s a mistake he won’t make again.”
Lotor looked down to Thace with narrowed eyes, but Thace simply looked back
with a sheepish expression and a slight wince to his features. It was rare that
he came to them for support with his illnesses, at least since the move from
Earth to New Daibazaal, and Keith remembered well how Shiro and Ulaz spoiled
him during the first few weeks. There were midnight ice-cream binges in the
kitchens, mid-afternoon trips to the park, and early-morning cartoon marathons
with the television blaring so loud it was heard through walls.
Keith was grateful, as he stroked loose patterns on Thace’s back. He would
never have been able to leave his family, but his family had been willing to
leave everything to be with him. It was rough for Shiro, with too many memories
of his personal trauma, and – to this day – Keith never knew the full story of
Shiro’s past. He simply knew that Sendak was still in exile, as well as that
Shiro’s arm would be forever destroyed, and flashbacks pervaded his day-to-day
life. Still, any time Keith needed advice, he only needed walk down the hallway
of the palace to their suite and knock. He smiled and closed his eyes.
“Hey,” mumbled Thace. “Can I ask a question?”
Keith jolted awake, forced out of his thoughts. Thace curled up on the bed,
attempting to get underneath the sheets, but Lotor managed – with great and
practised skill – to keep him on top of the sheets and found a discarded
blanket at the foot of the bed to pull over him. He nuzzled into it, as he
curled up underneath Lotor’s arm, and Keith felt his heart sink into his
stomach to see him so unwell and not his usual bubbly self. He blinked away
tears and asked:
“What do you want, kiddo?”
“A baby brother.”
Keith choked on the air. He entered a severe coughing fit, while Lotor simply
chuckled and smoothed out the locks of black hair from their son’s sweat-
covered face. Keith realised his cheeks were bright red, while his body hunched
forward and hand hung awkwardly in the air, and he looked between son and
husband with flickering eyes. He swallowed hard and made a mental note to call
in sick to work, while he ran a hand through tangled locks.
There were quick footsteps outside the door to their suite, followed by even
quicker ones and a loud cry, and he suspected that Shiro was chasing after Ren.
Keith winced. The memories of those early years rushed back . . . constant
attention, continuous demands . . . he curled his lip and narrowed his eyes,
until he saw Thace looking up at him with a trembling lip and outstretched
hand. Keith sighed and slid down in bed to lie down, and rested a hand on
Thace’s leg where he rubbed light circles with his thumb to comfort him. He
asked:
“Who’d look after this baby brother?”
“Er . . .  Uncle Shiro?” Thace asked in a confused tone. “He – He looks after
me and Ren, and – and – and he lives here, too! Uncle Ulaz always stays here,
even when Uncle Shiro goes to Earth, so the baby wouldn’t be alone! Ren’s a
baby; I can’t play with him or blame stuff on him or beat him in games, but if
I had a baby brother then I could do all that.”
“If you had a brother, he’d still start off as a baby, too,” said Keith. “You
know that, right? I thought we had this talk with you ages back. Besides, it’s
supposed to be the people who have the baby who look after the baby. I don’t
really want to look after a baby.”
“Why not?” Thace asked with a sniff.
“Well . . . ah . . . you were so perfect the first time that no other baby
could compete. It’d not be fair on the baby to have a big brother so awesome
that nothing they do would ever be as good as you, so we decided to stick to
just one really perfect child. That’s all we need.”
“This is also a discussion for the adults,” added Lotor with a kiss to Thace’s
head. “We are not saying you will never have a sibling; your father is only
twenty-five, and – while that may seem very old to you – I can promise you
there are still many years left for a child to be born, should our situation
alter and his mind be changed. In the meantime, know that we love you.”
“If we had another child, we’d have to split out attention,” mumbled Keith.
“Ah, yes, that means you would have to share the hugs.”
“And kisses and love and chocolate from Earth.”
Thace dropped his mouth wide open. It was difficult to stifle a laugh, as Keith
puffed out his cheeks with the force of holding his breath, but he somehow
managed silence as Thace looked between his parents with equally wide eyes. The
chocolate may have made him too sick to properly walk, but it was a worthy
sacrifice in the eyes of a child. There was still the hint of a chocolate
moustache about his lips, while his hands were so sticky they accumulated a
layer of fluff, and that was why what he said next surprised Keith.
“I can share,” said Thace.
Lotor laughed long and deep, as he slid down the bed to lie down in turn. He
looked Keith in the eyes, even as Thace copied them and threw himself flat on
the bed, and Keith was willing to admit that another child like Thace wouldn’t
be that bad. At the very least, he knew they would have a lot of fun trying for
another. He scratched at his neck and watched as Lotor pulled Thace flush
against him for a large hug. Lotor asked:
“Are you happy here, Thace?”
“Sure,” chirped Thace. “Everyone looks like me! They don’t pick on me in
school, so I get to talk to other kids. They say my ears are ugly, plus some
don’t like that I’m a bit human and a bit Altean, but I just tell them they’re
stupid and I’m a prince and if they don’t like me then I’ll send them to an ice
planet. One boy cried because he doesn’t like ice.”
“That – That’s a bit too mean,” mumbled Keith. “You can’t say that.”
“Why not? It’s my planet. He has to do what I say.”
The pout on his lips was almost adorable. Almost. Keith sent a dark glare to
Lotor, who looked away with a passive expression, and – as Lotor rolled onto
his back – he brought Thace with him, so that the small boy lay across his
chest. Thace played with his hair, but Lotor was unable to ignore the way that
Keith’s glare intensified. It caused his heart to race, as Keith slid closer,
until their bare legs touched beneath the blankets, and soon Lotor was unable
to ignore him and turned his head back to meet his gaze.
“I may have failed to teach him duty,” admitted Lotor.
“You think? Isn’t this how Zarkon started?”
It was Lotor’s turn to glare. He narrowed his eyes and slid Thace onto Keith’s
lap, before he took one of the sheets and expertly wrapped it around his waist,
and – even as Thace’s colour turned and he groaned in pain – a bowl was
procured from the bathroom and rushed beside Keith, as if somehow Lotor knew
what their son needed before their son knew. Keith rubbed circles upon Thace’s
back, as he sat upright and plopped the bowl on Keith’s chest, where he sat
astride him and leaned over ready to be sick. Lotor asked, as he dressed:
“Otherwise, are you happy?”
“Yeah, you don’t leave me any more.” Thace rubbed at his eyes with tiny fists.
“Papa smiles more, too, and Uncle Shiro and Uncle Ulaz are always here. I’m not
lonely, honest; I just don’t like being half-Galra, because people call me
names, but I still have friends and the guards are nice to me and my tutors
teach me a lot. I like how the sun here is a bit more red, and I like how the
air is a bit more cool, and the food tastes much nicer.”
“Hey! I always cooked for you back home,” chided Keith.
“I know,” said Thace. “You can’t cook.”
“Well, at least he’s honest.” Lotor burst out into laughter, as he added: “I
had hoped that moving to an exclusively Galra planet would cease with this
discrimination, but I suppose that is something we must continue to work upon.
Still, I believe it is a worthy sacrifice so as not to abide your awful cookery
skills. I guess we still have much to work upon.”
Keith stared hard at Lotor, caught between laughter and insults, but he said
nothing as he watched Lotor dress slowly – sometimes even seductively whenever
Thace looked away – and mentally cursed how their son required so much of their
time. It was a sacrifice he was willing to make for one child, but he knew he
couldn’t make that sacrifice for another. He cherished their private time too
much. He looked to Thace with a sigh and looked up into blue eyes, while Lotor
finally finished dressing and stood to one side. Keith asked:
“But you’re happy, though?”
Thace smiled and pushed the bowl to one side, before he collapsed down upon
Keith. Two tiny hands fisted into the sheets around his chest, while a tiny
head rested just above his heart, and Keith felt the tiny breaths warm against
his skin as Thace quietened down. He raised his hands to rest them upon his
son, holding the boy close with a warm smile. There was a heavy scent of cocoa
and cologne. It smelled as if he’d doused himself with the liquid.
He remembered letting Thace stand beside him some weeks earlier, as he ‘taught’
his son how to shave with a ruler and a lot of shaving cream, and how Thace
wasted the shaving cream every say since to prove how much he learnt. Keith
made a mental note to hide the cologne, before he pulled Thace further up and
buried his head into the crook of his neck. It brought tears to his eyes. It
was true the benefits far outweighed the negatives, which he couldn’t deny as
the bed dipped and Lotor say beside him. Thace giggled and said:
“I’m happy, Papa.”
Keith let his tears fall. The truth was that he was more than willing to do the
sleepless nights, the diaper changes, and the temper tantrums all over again,
because the reality was the laughing babe thrown high and caught with a hug,
the drawn pictures with a badly written ‘I love you’ on the back, and the
mornings spent cuddling in front of cartoons with a bucket of popcorn sat
between them. Keith laughed through his tears, when Lotor asked:
“What about you, my love?”
The silence between them was comfortable, as Lotor reached out to stroke upon
Thace’s hair and leaned down to place a kiss to his head, and – as he sat back
up – Keith shot out a hand to pull him back down. They shared an intimate kiss
to a loud heckle of ‘ew’, before pulling apart with laughter and tears, as
Keith nodded and finally uttered the words:
“I’m happy.”
 
 
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