Disclaimer: WEP owns Voltron, not we. (Though we’re positive that there would be a definite market for an anatomically correct Voltron Force.)
Under the Radar
“It really is getting quite late. I should go.”
Lance slid his eyes sideways towards Sven. He and his dark haired friend were standing side by side at one of the many windows splayed along the ‘informal audience room’, as Romelle was wont to call it.
Lance frowned slightly. That was the fourth time Sven had said that in less than an hour. Each time, he’d become more and more agitated, shooting meaningful glances in Romelle’s direction from beneath his stern eyebrows.
Romelle, in turn, had tried to coax Sven out of whatever mood he was in, cajoling softly with earnest tones: reminding him they seldom saw their friends these days; couldn’t he stay a little while longer, just for them; another half hour, that’s all. The more agitated he became, the more tense she became, until the unspoken meanings underlying their words hummed and danced like high wire artists performing a deadly waltz.
It was all very… off, in Lance’s book.
It would do no good to rib Sven out of his mood, either, he knew. After the second time Sven had stated that he should go, Lance had grinned and nudged him with an elbow, winking. “What’s the matter, Sven? Got a hot date?”
Sven had looked back at him with icy disdain, his face a cold mask that had stolen all of Lance’s humour away in an instant, and had not deigned to answer. Feeling foolish and not quite knowing why, except that Sven often made him feel that way, Lance had turned back to the others, aware that his face was red.
Romelle’s concern had taken a slightly more desperate tone after that.
Funny, he thought suddenly, looking out the corner of his eye at the tall Swede standing next to him. Why wasn’t it Sven who contacted us about the infiltration? Is that why he’s acting so weird?
Romelle had sent the Voltron Force a message a few days ago, anxiously relaying the information about a potential Doom infiltration on Pollux. Since then, Pidge and Keith, with occasional help from Hunk and Allura, had worked out a security system to link the two planets more closely. Right now, they were discussing how to implement it, and how to code the messages so that even if Doom intercepted them, they would appear to be normal traffic.
As he glanced around, he could see that Allura was looking worriedly at Sven. It occurred to him then that Sven might still be surly about Allura flying Blue rather than he.
But no, he recalled that even when Keith had offered Blue back to him, Sven had refused.
His frown deepened, and Sven’s attitude preyed on his mind as the discussion went on around them.
The sun was just about to dip past the horizon a few minutes later when Sven turned to Lance. “You’ll be here still in the morning?” he asked Lance curtly, his back stiff with some unknown defensiveness.
Lance blinked. “Yeah, sure, buddy,” he replied, growing even more apprehensive. “I don’t think Keith’ll be bugging out of here until he’s ironed out all the kinks, do you?”
Sven seemed to relax at that, nothing more than a slight easing of the shoulders, but enough that Lance knew it was ok. For now. A warm, familiar hand landed on his shoulder as Sven moved away from the window, grip tightening in reassurance. “It’s gutt to see yu,” Sven murmured, and his voice seemed to catch slightly even through the uncommonly strong lilt of his accent.
Lance smiled back and placed his own hand over Sven’s. “You too, buddy,” he whispered back. For a moment, he could have sworn they were sharing something, just between them.
Then Sven was past him, the warmth of his hand gone, and Lance was left holding nothing. He watched as Sven circled the room, heading for where Romelle stood near Allura. Allura’s face was calm, but even from here, Lance could see the way her jaw tightened, as if she was afraid that Sven would reclaim his position on the Voltron Force and she’d be stuck being nothing more than a princess again.
But even she had to smile as Sven sketched a bow, the elegance of which would not have been out of place at the grandest court of a galactic emperor. He said something, but Lance could not make out the words. Romelle let out a breath, gave a lopsided smile when he straightened and clasped his hand. She said something to Sven, softly enough that the sound didn’t carry to the windows, but he nodded, nothing curt about him now and retreated from the room.
Curiosity piqued, Lance sidled over in the direction of the princesses. After a few moments, Romelle excused herself and turned to speak to Keith. Lance seized his chance.
“What was that all about?” he asked Allura, pretending nonchalance.
“He said something to Romelle about knowing how dangerous it could be to walk outside the city after dark,” she replied.
Lance raised an eyebrow and looked at the door through which Sven had disappeared. The man who survived Doom, afraid of the dark? I don’t believe it!
It was all still bothering him a short while later while he sat, chair pulled away from the long table that was covered with platters of light finger foods, glassware, and decanters of some of the finest wines Pollux had to offer.
Around him, the conversation, refreshments and platters moved swiftly – old friends catching up on new times while he sprawled in the fancy chair with a distracted frown. He’d propped one ankle up on his knee and a glass of rich red wine was swirling absentmindedly between loose fingers, only occasionally sipped at. While his eyes focused on the wine sloshing around in his goblet, his mind picked apart Sven’s strange behaviour.
He wasn’t getting anywhere.
Seated opposite him close to the head of the table, Allura was leaning in to her left, laughing conspiratorially with her cousin over some silly story Romelle was recounting with teasing looks to her younger brother at the other end. Bandor shot back an equally dry remark about sisters who shouldn’t eavesdrop, and Romelle succeeded in startling Lance somewhat from his introspection by deftly tossing a lump of her roll the entire length of the table, where it disappeared with a yelp from the young Prince down his shirtfront.
Lance chuckled a bit, the sound soft and out of place amongst the raucous laughter that went up. Keith looked over from where he had leant past Allura to make some teasing comment to Romelle, and his smile dimmed as he took in Lance’s distant expression. Lance flicked a half hearted smile back and mouthed ‘Guess I’m just not in the mood tonight’ with a brief shrug.
Keith seemed to accept that, if reluctantly, but was quickly distracted by something Hunk was saying, seated between Keith and Bandor. With Pidge laughing with the young Polluxian prince at the far end, several seats away, and Romelle’s attention to his right still preoccupied with Allura, Lance was quite content to sit back and take it all in without interruption.
In fact, he may as well have not been there.
He was just about to excuse himself for a walk in the castle gardens – which always helped clear his head on Arus – when Bandor started telling a story, eyes twinkling down the table at his sister. Romelle flushed and looked around for something else to throw.
Relaxing back into his seat, Lance decided that it would be rude to leave now, and instead watched his friends and teammates smiling and laughing at Romelle’s expense. Romelle took it in as good a spirit as could be expected, and grinning wickedly, warned Bandor that some frogs from the castle moat might find his bed an interesting resting place for the next few days.
Over the roar of laughter, Bandor simply stuck his tongue out at Romelle and went on.
Everyone else was distracted enough by the Prince’s story that Lance was certain that only he and Romelle noticed the servant who discreetly tiptoed in. The man swiftly walked to Romelle’s chair and bowed. Watching sidelong, pretending to be absorbed in Bandor’s tale, Lance saw the servant hand Romelle a folded slip of paper, and then the man disappeared again, as quickly as he had come.
Brows quirked in a puzzled frown, Romelle unfolded the paper. Her eyes widened slightly and she tilted it slightly away, so Allura, laughing and turning to her cousin, would not be able to read it.
The note was written in Polluxian, but by now, Lance was proficient enough in Arusian, a close linguistic relative, to be able to read it.
Unknown ship closing. Suspected Doom origin, but unable to confirm. Course plotted to landing point outside capital city, approx. 1 km N. Request HRH presence to authorize action.
“Romelle?” Allura’s soft soprano broke both Lance’s and Romelle’s attention away from the note. “Is something wrong?” Allura was studying her cousin’s face in concern.
Romelle smiled reassuringly at her. “No, it’s nothing to worry about, just some mix-up in the kitchen for me to sort out.” With her years of training, not to mention an innate grace, there was no way that Romelle could look anything but stately as she swept toward the door.
Lance, however, noticed that her step was just a little too quick to be truly regal.
Pondering the message, he stared down at the wineglass he still held, still half-full. The wine was so deep a red that it nearly looked like blood.
Why would Romelle ask us here to help with a possible Doom infiltration and then not show Keith and Allura that note? Or at least ask their help to warn off the ship? I mean, if the Princess of Arus and Captain of Voltron are here, why not use them? Between them, I’m sure they’re enough to send whatever Doomite general is on his way here back home with his tail between his legs...
Something wasn’t adding up. He couldn’t put his finger on it, and that irritated him.
Frowning, he tilted his glass, watching the fine crystal refract the light. Short shattered rainbows of colour washed over him, red through violet streaking his clothes. All the colours of the Lions, he thought distractedly. Though the blue looks particularly intense...
It hit him, then, what had been niggling at him since Romelle had hurried out the door. Carefully, he put his glass on the table, and stood. He had everyone’s immediate attention.
Wearing his best apologetic smile, he said, “I’m just gonna go for a walk in the gardens. I’m not feeling myself tonight.”
Keith nodded, relieved.
Allura smiled at him. “That’s all right, Lance,” she said warmly. “I hope you feel better later.”
He nodded thanks at her, then made an awkward bow toward Bandor before heading for the door.
Once out the door and far enough down the corridor that he was unlikely to be seen, he broke into a run.
Blue like the Blue Lion. Sven’s Lion. Sven’s shirt.
Sven had told them all this afternoon when they arrived that they would have to visit his tree-house.
It was located just about a klick north of the capital city.
I’ve got to warn him!
It hadn’t been easy, trying to follow Sven’s vague directions while riding an unfamiliar horse through the gloom of the early evening, but Lance thought he’d found Sven’s tree-house at last.
“It’s due north about a klick, a little west, in a clearing near a big bend in the river.”
Of course, Lance thought disgustedly, tying his horse to a sapling, Sven had been expecting to lead us here, not for us to find it ourselves.
All was quiet. He could see a light dancing high above the ground, through a cross-paned window. It clearly defined where Sven’s strange new dwelling was situated.
It was too quiet. He couldn’t even hear any of the usual noises of the night. No insects chirping, no animals or birds out on the hunt, nothing.
Nerves strung tight with tension, Lance pulled his gun from inside his jacket and peered through the deepening darkness. He saw nothing. Reluctantly, he fished out an ancient book of matches, and struck one.
Before it burned down to his fingers, he was able to see that there were heavy footprints leading through the grass, right up to the ladder to Sven’s home.
They were big, obviously booted feet. Striking another match, he followed the trail back a short ways, and saw that whoever had made them had a long stride, and tended to pound his heels.
Immediately, Lance blew out the second match and started up the ladder. Lotor! And he’s already up there!
He climbed up as silently as he could, and eased himself up onto the wooden platform surrounding the tree-house, so the wood wouldn’t creak and give him away.
The door was ajar, letting a sliver of light escape from inside, as if it had been slammed shut and hadn’t latched properly.
Gingerly, he pushed the door open further, just enough to slip inside, and slid it just to behind him.
He was in the small main room of Sven’s house, where there was a single lamp lit, giving off the dim glow he’d seen from outside. Off to one side was an area obviously for cooking and eating, and to the rear, directly in front of him, there were two doors, both shut, with light sneaking out through the cracks between the doors themselves and the floor.
Lance took the safety off his pistol and held it ready, then threw open the nearer of the two doors, aiming even as he steadied his grip. “Freeze!
Lotor looked up from where he sat, calm as you please on the edge of Sven’s bed, bent over with one boot in hand and an eyebrow slowly sliding up sardonically. Lance blinked back in surprise.
To Lance’s consternation, his eyes seemed to have acquired a mind of their own, raked over the powerful figure of the Doom Prince completely without his permission. Then again, he could be forgiven, he supposed – it wasn’t every day he got to see Lotor naked to the waist, pale skin glistening in the heat of the evening.
He swallowed heavily, gaze fixed. He didn’t even notice the slight tremor in his hand. Then Lotor spoke, and his attention snapped back into place with new resolve.
“Well, well, well. Lookie who’s come to visit.”
Lance tightened his hands on his pistol as the droll words washed over him. The gun stopped trembling, aimed straight at Lotor once again. He pushed his shock well down; after all, he’d come up here expecting this...
Well, all right, maybe not this exactly, but...
And why the hell was Lotor taking off his boots? Not wearing a shirt?
“All right, Lotor, what have you done with...”
“Vhat’s going on? Vhat vas... Lance?”
Sven’s somewhat breathless and very puzzled voice seemingly right beside him made him want to turn, but training and a faint tickle of unreality kept his eyes and gun locked on Lotor. Out the very corner of his eye, he could just see Sven’s form, standing in a doorway he hadn’t noticed before.
After a moment of silence, he gave in to the urge and flicked his eyes over to Sven. Water dripped from sodden black hair, droplets streaming down over his chest. There was a flash of white at his waist, which Lance assumed was a towel.
And he was just staring at the tableau in front of him, mouth slightly agape, looking at Lotor, then at him and back again.
To most others, the change in Sven’s expression then would be imperceptible. A slight furrow of the brows, grey eyes turning intense beneath those dark curves. Lance knew that look: it was Sven’s ‘thinking’ look. The ‘how do I get out of this’ kind.
A sense of uneasy dread settled in the pit of his stomach. “Sven…?” he demanded cautiously. “What the fuck is going on here?”
For a long moment, Sven didn’t answer; he was still sunk in thought. Lance, growing more nervous with each heartbeat, divided his attention between Lotor and Sven as best he could, eyes darting from one to the other. “Sven? Answer me, damnit.”
Sven lifted his lips in the faintest trace of a smile, as he came out of his thoughts. “Vell, Lance,” he said softly, “vhat does it look like?”
Lance’s expression faltered, dumbfounded. “What does...?” he began, incredulously.
Then Lotor stood up, all rippling muscle and challenging smirk, and took a step towards Lance. It was all Lance needed to snap back to attention. Whipping his pistol up straight again, he glared at Sven’s intruder and barked, “You, stay where you are!” Then he turned his glare on Sven himself and demanded, “What the hell do you think you’re doing!?”
“Lance... I know you’re not as innocent as that. This is just what it looks like.” He indicated his own towel-clad form, and Lotor’s half-naked one.
Lotor’s expression was bland, belied by the predatory light dancing in his eyes. He watched Lance evenly. That amber gaze was just a little too intense, and Lance found his nerve beginning to weaken, even as he stared back over his gun.
Then Sven’s words hit him, and his jaw dropped open, his head whipping around, to meet Sven’s eyes. “What?”
Sven finally broke the plateau by moving into the room to stand next to Lance. He pushed on Lance’s hands, trying to get him to point the pistol at the floor. “Please don’t. I’d really rather you didn’t shoot him before we got to have sex.”
Lance just stared at him; he was too scared to open his mouth, in case all that came out was a squeak. “Y-you...” He tried – honestly, he tried! He just couldn’t get his head around it.
Snap out of it! he told himself. It didn’t work.
Preoccupied with trying to fit this Sven – a smug, almost cheeky Sven – with the sullen, broody character who had stood beside him at the window this evening, he didn’t see Lotor move... until it was too late.
The butt of his gun was carefully but firmly wrested from his grasp; he heard it thud somewhere out in the front room, but his attention was too caught up with noticing how damn close Lotor was now behind him to be worried about that.
“Hmm,” he heard that deep voice muse thoughtfully. “Yes. Yes, you do have good taste, my friend,” Lotor grinned at Sven wickedly.
Sven inclined his head minutely. “I’m glad you think so.”
Just when Lance thought they couldn’t stun him any more, they went ahead and did so. Lotor and Sven complimenting each other? It was even more unbelievable than the fact that they were… lovers.
The hands on him were hot where they made contact with his skin, and huge when he dared glance down at them. One was wrapped around his wrist, the other on his shoulder, pressing down heavily on him.
He looked toward Sven again, and noticed how his chest and abdomen were defined by the drops of water still trickling from his hair. It distracted him enough that it took him a few seconds to remember what he wanted to say.
“Sven... this... how...”
Obviously, remembering what he wanted to say and getting his mouth and brain to coordinate were two separate things.
The grip on his wrist tightened fractionally, the slight pinch eased by a firm thumb rubbing back and forth in a motion that was almost soothing... almost.
“Hmm... lacking a bit in the thought department, though,” Lotor remarked. The casual tone grated on Lance – it sounded as though he was up for auction in some shallow meat market!
Sven chuckled, and Lance’s temper ignited. “Oh, yeah?” he shot back, his tone belligerent. “You find your best friend about to hop into bed with his worst enemy and see how well your brain works!”
Sven rolled his eyes, that silly smirk still twitching his lips, and Lance could have sworn he’d heard the Swede remark sotto voce, “Now, that’s an interesting image.”
Lotor’s chuckle caught his attention again, and again he didn’t know which one to look at.
“So,” Lotor purred, soft and deep as he loomed closer at Lance’s back, “it looks like you have your chance now, Sven. Interested?”
“Chance?” Lance turned so quickly from Lotor to stare at Sven that he nearly gave himself whiplash. “Chance for what?”
Sven was looking at Lotor over Lance’s shoulder, smirk disappearing, his eyes becoming hard and glittering. “Lotor... yu have a big mouth,” he said, anger... and something else... thinly concealed in his voice. Then his gaze landed on Lance.
Lance sucked in a breath, stunned at the heat within those normally cool eyes. And then the smug look was back. “Chance for what, Lance?” Sven asked – no, purred. “A chance for this...” He leaned forward, hand sneaking inside the jacket to brush against Lance’s chest, while his lips rested feather-light on the angle of his jaw, slowly moving, nibbling, until he could take Lance’s lips.
Shock, more than anything, froze Lance in place. He... I... he... Coherent thought was definitely out of the question as Sven coaxed a reluctant response from Lance.
A bare brushing of lips and tongue, a little more nibbling, then a soft mew of distress from Lance as Sven suckled his bottom lip as he pulled away.
“Good choice.” That sounded like approval from Lotor, but there was something else hidden there, something darker that made Lance’s spine tingle in warning.
But before he could turn and see what – if anything – showed on Lotor’s face, Sven took the option away from him. Throwing another black look at Lotor over Lance’s shoulder, Sven dove in, this time his mouth more demanding, tongue probing and prodding until Lance opened and allowed it in.
Whimpering as the sensations rocked him, Sven’s tongue exploring his mouth, the hands roaming his body, Lance felt his knees start to give way, and was grateful for the rock-hard body supporting him from behind.
He thought, though, that he felt the reverberation of a groan through his back. It was quickly stifled, and then Lotor’s hand was gripping his shoulder even more tightly.
“So, you agree?” Lotor sounded husky to his ears when Sven finally let him come up, gasping for air.
At first, Lance tried to get his mouth to co-operate and voice his protest. Then Sven’s reply cut through, and he realized the Prince wasn’t addressing him at all.
“Yes. But I don’t like it.”
Agree... ? Wha... ?
“I hardly think we have much of a choice, do you?”
Sven huffed and scowled at his feet, one hand still stroking Lance’s hipbone just beneath his shirt. “I still don’t like it.”
“Ch-choice?” He winced at the way his voice came out, reedy and breathless and questioning, but damn it, Sven had stolen away all of his air with that kiss.
“Yes.” Lotor’s voice was deep and warm in his ear and rumbled eerily down his back. “We can hardly have you running back to all your little friends with this, now can we?”
“But... I...” Frantically, he sought Sven’s eyes, but Sven would not look at him, was glaring over his shoulder at Lotor once more. “Sven?”
“Lotor...” Sven began in a warning tone.
Lotor kinked an eyebrow in Sven’s direction. “You deny it,” he challenged. Then his voice dropped to a husky pitch. “You deny you want it?”
Lance watched Sven’s mouth snap shut, watched those hot grey eyes turn back to him. Something in them reached out to him, or maybe it was the way Sven’s hands burned him through his shirt, or the way that Sven’s towel clad lower half was pressed up against him. Whatever it was, it made his breath stop, just for an instant, and he shivered in between them, despite the heat they’d created around him.
“I can’t,” Sven whispered, staring at Lance.
“He wants you,” Lotor murmured into Lance’s ear. “He’s always wanted you.” By the feel of the hard body also pressed up behind him, Sven wasn’t the only one.
A shudder rippled through his body, but whether it was because of Sven, or Lotor, or fear itself, Lance had no idea.
Sven felt the shiver, and pressed even harder into his body. “I can’t deny it...” he said softly, and then his mouth descended on Lance’s again.
But his hand left Lance’s hip, skated down into the illusion of space between his body and Lotor’s, and stroked where the Prince’s front rubbed against Lance’s back.
Lotor’s groan was loud in his ear, and the way the Prince’s body curved into his own let Lance know just how interested Lotor was in what he had tempted Sven into.
Sven’s lips were devastating, blistering his skin as they trailed from his mouth down his neck, across every inch of sensitive flesh they could reach. Lotor’s grip tightened even more on his shoulder, until he was certain that he’d be able to see the Prince’s fingerprints in the bruises forming.
Then the hand was gone, releasing his shoulder, but only for a moment, and then it came to rest on his free hand, guiding it toward Sven’s damp body. “Touch him,” was whispered huskily into his ear.
Those deep, husky words seemed to snap him briefly from whatever spell he was under, and he recoiled instinctively. “No... I... I can’t.” His eyes caught Sven’s, and he could see the hurt of rejection there. He winced. “You’re my friend, Sven... I...” He shook his head again. “I can’t.”
Lotor’s voice rumbled behind him again. “Seems he needs some convincing.” He cocked an eyebrow at Sven and tilted his head in the direction of the bed with a wicked glint in his eye.
Sven bit his lip, looking down into Lance’s face. The fact that he was apparently considering Lotor’s words... Lance began to worry. “Uh... Sven?”
Then he saw Sven’s decision was made, in the way that the grey eyes cleared, the way his jaw firmed. But then he saw no more, closing his eyes as his friend leaned into him again, droplets of water soaking into his shirt and the front of his jeans as Sven buried his hand in...
But he never felt the tug, the warm hands against his scalp, and opened one eye warily.
In Lotor’s hair?
Eyes wide now, Lance tilted his head back against Lotor’s shoulder, blocked in by Lotor’s arms – every bit as big around as Hunk’s, he guessed, dazed – and the press of their bodies against him. Lotor was kissing Sven eagerly, his hand releasing Lance’s own, passing under his arm to pull Sven closer. There was no escape.
The feel of them against him, front and back and equally excited... it just made his senses reel.
The noises they made, the wet smacking sounds and stifled groans, were loud in his ear, and as he watched, as he listened, he felt his reluctance slowly seeping away.
They didn’t so much break apart as redirect their attentions; Lance groaned softly as one set of lips roamed down his neck to suckle at the base with long, heady strokes, and the other set moved up to nibble at his jaw, his ear, his lips.
He barely felt the gentle tug from behind, or the feeling of his feet shuffling, or the pull of the arms around him as he was drawn carefully down onto the soft mattress in a tangle of limbs.
He only knew that, for this one moment, he didn’t want it to stop.
He didn’t recall taking off his jacket, or his shirt, but the next thing he knew, there were heated hands running over his chest. Sven was kneeling above him, leaning down, suckling, nibbling at his neck, his collarbone, hands stroking his flanks, while Lotor’s fingers caressed him, down his stomach, to the fly of his jeans.
Without him realising it, the button eased from its closure, the zipper parted without a struggle, and a broad hand slipped into the enclosure...
... broad hand...
“Stop!” he gasped, struggling upright as much as he could and grabbing Lotor’s wrist. Then Sven nibbled lower to take one dusky nipple between his lips, and he forgot all about protesting as he arched his back with a reflexive groan at the pleasure, and bucked against the hand that had snuck into his open jeans and grasped him firmly through his briefs.
“Oh, gods!” he groaned, then gasped again as Sven nipped him lightly and Lotor flexed his fingers around Lance’s length and moved, ever so slightly.
“Not quite,” he heard the Prince chuckle softly, “but I’m sure we can get you there.”
Smug bastard ran through his head in a distant way, but then Sven’s mouth wandered across his chest, all hot breath and tickling tongue, and his lips curled around his other nipple. Lance shuddered in want, discovered his hands were free and buried them in Sven’s damp hair.
He wasn’t trying to get away anymore; couldn’t even remember why he’d wanted to. He just needed more – of Sven, of the firm-gentle touch against his shaft, of the warmth that was centering in his groin and promising great pleasure...
He whimpered, hips grinding upward against Lotor’s hand. Lotor just laughed quietly once more.
Then he felt Sven shiver on top of him, and opened his eyes.
Lotor was touching Sven now, too, was running his free hand down Sven’s back, over the cheeks of his rear. “How do you want it, Sven?” Lotor whispered, and Lance felt it rumble through him. “How do you want this?”
As if he could feel Lance’s eyes on him, Sven looked up, mouth open slightly. Lotor’s hand disappeared from Lance’s sight. When Sven shuddered and moaned, Lance realized that Lotor was teasing him, caressing his buttocks, perhaps even delving between them.
“Well?” There was just a hint of impatience in Lotor’s tone when he spoke again.
“I... uh!” Sven groaned, and a warm bead of perspiration spattered on Lance’s chest. “I want...” He dropped his head to Lance’s chest and murmured against his skin, “Want you inside me... Lance...”
Nothing in creation could stop the shudder rippling through him like a strong wind, just as forceful, just as indomitable, at the feel of Sven’s whispered words caressing his chest, his soul.
Lance groaned softly as an answering quiver shook Sven’s body, pressed so tightly against his own.
Then a pair of strong, insistent lips nibbled at his neck on the other side, roaming up so that Lotor could chuckle seductively in his ear. “See. I told you he made good choices,” Lotor murmured, nipping at Lance’s earlobe and nuzzling carefully.
Hands began to wander everywhere, stroking, discovering all his hidden places; Sven’s mouth, Lotor’s, hunger feeding hunger, until Lance couldn’t say which way was up any longer.
“Will you?” Sven mumbled along his collarbone, hand growing still where it played along his stomach. Lance could feel his apprehension as clearly as if it were his own.
“Yes,” Lotor whispered in his other ear, fingers drifting down to trace along his hip. “Will you? Will you take him and claim him, like he’s wanted you to? Like you know you want to?”
Lance’s whole body shook as Lotor’s breath warmed his ear, as Sven’s desire and hesitance claimed him. He nodded, barely knowing what he was agreeing to any longer; it was all he needed to know was that the pleasure would not stop if he only agreed...
And it did not. Lotor’s hand was hot as it slipped beneath the waistband of his briefs. Sven’s mouth burned him as he dropped kisses on his neck.
But it was the look in Sven’s eyes, the way the grey seemed to glow when he looked up at Lance through his eyelashes. That was what got him, what made him really deep down glad he’d agreed.
Even though they were still doing unspeakably exquisite things to him... He arched up into their hands, their mouths, whimpering.
Lotor laughed again, a warm ripple against the nipple he was mouthing, then he swiped his tongue around that particular nub and enjoyed the strangled groan Lance couldn’t control. His hand worked beneath Lance’s briefs with slow, measured strokes that were one step away from torturous; he caught Sven’s eye and grinned.
“Someone’s overdressed here, my pet,” he purred, indicating with a little nod of his head what he wanted Sven to do.
And Sven didn’t pause a moment before doing as Lotor had directed. He slid down Lance’s body, mouth paying homage all the way, across taut muscles that quivered under his lips, until Lance felt him at the soft cotton of his briefs.
Then, delicately, he slid his fingers beneath the elastic band, his fingers brushing against Lotor’s, against Lance’s hot shaft. At the touch, Lance jerked beneath him, gasping for breath, hips lunging upwards, seeking further contact. He whimpered plaintively when it was not forthcoming.
Instead, since Lance had raised his hips, Sven pulled the briefs down, letting the fabric brush tantalizingly over sensitized skin, and it wrung a groan from Lance that came from his toes, his desire fanned even higher.
Then... nothing happened. Nothing at all.
They had all become perfectly still, until Lance’s eyes fluttered open to look down towards Sven with unabashed apprehension.
He barely caught Sven’s mischievous grin directed at Lotor, before he felt the Prince’s hand being forcibly removed from its play at his cock. He watched, stunned mind trying to focus, as Sven placed a firm kiss to Lotor’s palm, eyes firmly fixed on his lover.
Carefully, Sven laid the Prince’s hand to one side, wrapped his fingers around Lance, and slowly lowered his head.
The touch of moist heat against the very tip was electric. Lance’s cry mingled with a strangled groan from the man beside him as Lotor drew Lance closer to rest, back to chest, against him.
Lance could do nothing except lay there, encircled by strong, muscular arms and feeling Lotor’s hot breath panting heavily against his shoulder as his former teammate sprawled between his legs, slowly driving him out of his mind with pleasure.
He whimpered softly as Sven carefully traced the head of his cock with long, practiced strokes, and again as he caressed Lance’s shaft with a knowledgeable hand, engulfing as much as he could with his mouth, working it with a deep, hungry suckling.
He could feel Lotor, hot and strong and hard behind him. He couldn’t deny the forbidden pleasure of feeling the Prince’s trembles as he mouthed Lance’s shoulder and neck with an urgent passion, and somewhere inside relished the experience in all its heady glory.
“Oh gods, but you’re good,” he heard Lotor groan against his skin. He knew who those praises really belonged to, though, and as Sven’s mouth sank even lower over him, he couldn’t help but agree.
Lance heard Sven chuckle against him, and knew that he’d read his reaction to him, to Lotor, to what they were doing to him. That humming noise made his breathing go ragged, though, and Sven pulled away after only a brief bit of torture.
Or perhaps it was Lotor’s breathing; he could feel those amber eyes locked on them both as Sven pleasured him.
Lance whimpered pitifully when Sven released him, and Sven ran his fingers over his spit-slick length as if to soothe him.
“I’m ready,” he heard Sven say quietly, directing the words toward Lotor. Then he crawled and caressed his way back up Lance’s body, back up to his throat and jaw, and nipped and suckled there, while he rummaged in the small table next to the bed.
Lance surprised himself and Sven, though, diving across Sven’s body, grabbing the tube from beneath his fingers, then dragging him over to sprawl on his back. Before Sven could protest, Lance had his fingers delved deep into dark, silky hair as he crouched over him, devouring his lips completely.
Sven surrendered beneath him immediately, closing his eyes and moaning willingly into Lance’s searing mouth.
He wasn’t sure how much more he could take – just that it couldn’t be too much.
Then the only sound was the distinct pop of the tube and a rough whisper floating past his ear, as Lotor ordered Sven to spread himself wide.
Lance felt Lotor’s hands pulling him to one side. It annoyed him, and he struggled against it until one of his hands was taken firmly and drawn down to wrap around Sven’s hot, eager erection.
Sven instinctively bucked beneath him, his groan mingled with Lance’s, and suddenly it didn’t seem such a bad idea after all.
“Go on,” Lotor whispered in his ear, like the very devil himself. “Enjoy it.”
Oh, he was, he was! The feel of Sven, writhing beneath him, of his hand sliding over Sven’s hard, hot cock, of Lotor’s leg twining with Lance’s as he reached between the two pilots to seek out Sven’s entrance with slicked, urgent fingers... he almost couldn’t take it.
Sven whimpered and jerked beneath him, and Lance knew that Lotor’s fingers had entered him. Mesmerized, he stared down, unable to look away; Sven’s mouth had fallen open, and his breath was hard and fast. His eyes were closed, and his hands fisted in the sheets of the bed.
When he groaned, it seemed to come from the depths of his soul, and Lance bent down to kiss him, varying the movement of his hand, now fast and hard, now slow, lingering, while Lotor’s fingers worked his opening.
Then Sven arched beneath him, head thrown back, gasping loudly, and dimly, Lance understood that Lotor’s long digits had brushed that place.
“He’s ready for you,” Lotor whispered, his slick fingers trailing up over the hand Lance still had wrapped around Sven’s cock. “He’s so very ready...”
The harsh breath against his ear, the words, the feel of Lotor hard behind him – all made Lance shudder, need surging through him in an uncontrollable wave. Graceless with passion, he moved, pulling away from Lotor until he was kneeling between Sven’s legs.
Once he was in position, Lotor moved too, behind him once more, arms stretching around him... and Lance bit off a sharp cry as the cool lube coated his aching cock. Lotor’s hand engulfed his shaft, and he gave it short little teasing strokes, heightening his arousal while readying him to take Sven.
Sven raised his hips, whimpering, mutely pleading to be filled, hands reaching out to Lance as he shuddered in Lotor’s arms.
“Isn’t he beautiful like this?” Lotor husked into his ear, following it up with a lap to the side of his neck. “So wanton, begging for it...”
Lance quivered again, surrounded by Lotor’s heat, and then he felt a hand on his hip, nudging him forward, while the other kept up its maddening preparation of his cock.
“Slowly, slowly...” Lotor whispered against his shoulder, guiding him to Sven’s entrance. Then, when he was there, the head of his shaft nestled against the puckered opening, he felt pressure on his back, his rear, pushing him gently forward.
Sven cried out as he was breached, tossing his head back and forth against the bed. But it was clearly in pleasure, because he kept thrusting up, trying to force Lance to enter him faster.
And Lance would have, was wild to be fully seated, to thrust fast and hard, but Lotor controlled the pace.
“Oh, God... Lance!” Sven’s broken whisper shattered his composure. His arms shook as he tried to steady himself, braced as he was over his former teammate, his head bowed and eyes tightly closed against the sheer need that engulfed him. If he didn’t control himself now, it was all going to be over before he could even blink.
The hand on his back caressed his trembling muscles in soothing approval. He could feel his fringe, damp and heavy with perspiration, brushing Sven’s chest, his friend’s shuddering and panting feeding the hunger.
To distract himself, he counted beneath his breath, slowly. Two. Three. Four. Then suddenly, with an impatient grunt, Sven’s strong hands grasped Lance’s shoulders as the Swede thrust his hips towards Lance’s, urgent and demanding.
That was all it took. All thought dissipated as Lance surged forward, closing that last bit of space until he was settled against Sven completely, hips to buttocks, leaving them both gasping.
A strangled sort of groan whispered across his bare back. He could feel Lotor’s warm, hard muscle slide against his as the Prince slipped in behind him. Strong thighs brushed the inside of his, a broad chest and rippling muscles seeming to envelop both he and Sven together as Lotor reached around Lance to caress the line of Sven’s thighs.
“So beautiful,” Lotor murmured against the sweaty skin of Lance’s shoulder, right before he kissed it with trembling lips. “Both of you. So beautiful. It’s no wonder I can’t stay away.”
That husky admission was enough to make Lance open his eyes and look at Sven, in a way that he never had.
Even in passion, Sven somehow retained a touch of that same elegance that made Lance feel just a little inadequate. Even though he gazed up at Lance with drowsy, turbulent eyes, his breath an unsteady panting, his lips dry and kiss swollen, his dark hair tousled and sweat-damp – still, that innate sense of refinement shone through.
Yes, he could definitely see why a man like Lotor would want Sven. What he couldn’t understand was why Sven would even imagine wanting someone like Lance.
Then Lotor pressed a kiss to his shoulder again, one hand sliding across Lance’s hip to dip behind, seeking, probing carefully with a single, slicked finger. For a moment, Lance stiffened uncertainly, until Lotor whispered in his ear. “Don’t.”
Sven shifted to cup Lance’s cheek with his hand. “Let him,” he said softly. “It’s ok. It’ll be wonderful, I promise.”
Lance looked down at Sven, at his friend, between whose legs he knelt, and saw the sincerity and longing in his grey eyes. Sven wanted this, wanted to have both him and Lotor at once.
Truth to tell, he did too; wanted to be sandwiched between his friend and his enemy once again, as he had earlier. Such heat and delight as he had known between them... he’d never thought it could exist.
And he wanted more of it, wanted it all.
So he jerked his head once, all the assent he could give, and Sven’s smile was blindingly bright.
Lotor had waited – waited! – for his agreement, but now that slick finger worked its way into him, almost too fast. He rocked with the movement of Lotor’s hand, and Sven keened beneath him, eyes closed, clutching his shoulders, face slack in pleasure as Lance drove deeper into him.
He shook his head, striving for some control, and sweat must have spattered onto Sven, because he opened his eyes again. A bit of compassion mingled with the lust on his friend’s face, and he reached up to brush his cheek. “Lotor,” he whispered, trying to soothe Lance’s shudders by brushing his hands over his cheek and hair, “hurry...”
“I am,” came Lotor’s deep grumble from behind Lance, sounding vaguely put out at taking orders, and Sven grinned. Then he gasped as Lance pulled back, to meet Lotor’s wicked hand, then lunged forward again, to fill him once more.
“NOW, Lotor...” Sven commanded, panting harshly.
“Oh, gods, now, please,” Lance echoed, whimpering.
“All right, all right...”
Involuntarily, Lance moved to meet Lotor’s hand, so lost in sensation that he nearly forgot he was buried in Sven, and even that small movement had made his head spin. He could feel two thick fingers inside him, scissoring him open, stretching him, and he groaned like the damned. “More, please, more...”
Then, thank the gods! He could feel Lotor moving into position behind him, could feel the hot crown of his cock against his prepared opening. He moaned and pressed back, trying desperately to relax the muscles that wanted so to clench in response to the pleasure.
The broad hand that ran soothingly down his side to settle on his hip was shaking, even as it gripped him with bruising force. Then, every sense of awareness scattered as carefully, blissfully, Lotor sank into him, right to the hilt.
He had no idea who moaned, who whimpered, who cried out; it didn’t matter any more, they were all joined together anyway. Instinctively, he arched back onto that impaling heat, gasping when Lotor groaned into his shoulder and reacted by driving deep into him, forcing him right back into a softly mewling Sven, then stopping stock still.
Gods, he wanted it all! Taking Sven, being taken by Lotor – he had to move, for gods’ sakes! He dug his knees and palms into the mattress and bucked, trying to force Lotor to actually do something.
That bruising hand was still at his hip, now biting hard enough to bring him back to a semblance of awareness. He noticed that Sven was quivering and panting, hair tousled and sweat-soaked, eyes squeezed tight – so incredibly delicious, so close. Lotor’s forehead was resting on the rise of Lance’s shoulder, and Lance could feel the Prince’s hot, shaky breath mingle with the damp sheen on Lance’s skin.
He bucked again, then groaned when Lotor’s hand tightened again to hold him still.
“Don’t... move!” Lotor growled at him harshly.
There wasn’t enough menace in his tone to distract Lance from feeling every inch of Sven’s body beneath him and Lotor’s behind, and without thinking he rocked his hips a little, need driving him.
“Don’t!” Lotor snarled. Lance felt the shudder that rippled through him, and knew it was going to be a very close thing indeed.
Lance keened, every muscle straining with the act of not moving. He stared down at Sven, watched as Sven’s eyes opened again. “Shh,” he hushed, reaching out to stroke Lance’s damp hair, to cup his cheek. “Just be still for a moment.”
Lance’s arms nearly buckled then, and he bent his head to rest it against Sven’s heaving chest, and his breath sounded more like sobs. “Please, more, let me...”
“Shh, just wait.” Sven continued to soothe Lance, until the trembling subsided a bit, running his hands through the tangled brown locks, over the taut muscles of his neck and shoulders. All the while, though, Lance could tell he was listening to Lotor’s rapid breath, waiting for it to steady some, waiting for the signals he must have known well, that indicated that it was safe to proceed.
Finally, behind him, Lotor swallowed, slowly released his hold on Lance’s hip. His breathing continued harsh and rapid, and Lance realized that it was probably going to be a very fast ride indeed. He looked down at Sven, watched as he swallowed and met Lotor’s eyes over Lance’s shoulder. I’m ready.
He urged Lance up again, whispering in his ear that it was all right at last, after that seeming eternity of stillness.
Lance nearly wept – the need to move, to find that pinnacle of pleasure was overwhelming, and it had taken all his will to obey Lotor’s heavy command. Tentatively, he thrust forward, Lotor pulled back, and Sven groaned beneath him, sweat-slick skin sliding against him.
His head spun as he pulled back, and Lotor entered him again. He cried out as the sensation swept over him, filling and being filled. Lotor’s fingers digging into his hips again, not to keep him from moving, but urging him to do so.
Lotor’s breath was rough and hot in his ear, and he could hear Sven’s pleas for more, and then the rhythm took over his brain – forward into Sven, backward onto Lotor, faster, more, faster...
One of Lotor’s hands abandoned him, reaching around him awkwardly, to wrap around Sven’s cock; he could feel it rubbing against his stomach.
Sven sobbed as that broad hand engulfed him, and Lance felt him buck up into that touch, felt the heat build in him even more as he watched., It was only a few strokes, only a few as he kept plunging into Sven, before Sven arched his body up into Lance’s as he climaxed, unable to even cry out, the pleasure was so intense.
Sven rippled around him, and then Lotor hit that spot inside him, and Lance nearly howled as he came.
Dimly, he felt Lotor still thrusting inside him, once more, twice, and then there was a savage bite to the back of his shoulder, and he felt the Prince’s body behind him wracked by a massive shudder.
Slowly, his arms gave out, bearing both his weight and Lotor’s, and he slumped down onto Sven.
Sven grunted. Lance snuggled his face against Sven’s neck, completely wrung out and unable to move any further.
“Jesu, you two are heavy!” he heard Sven gasp in his ear. “Could you move, please?”
“Nnnggggh.” Lance moved his lips against Sven’s neck, but that was the only sound he could make.
“I don’t know, this is pretty comfortable...” Lotor’s words rumbled though him, just as a nose nuzzled his nape. Lance shivered at the pleasurable sensation.
“I... can’t... breathe!” He felt Sven shove weakly at his shoulders, and twitched again.
“Oh, all right.” Carefully, Lotor raised himself, pulling out of Lance at the same time.
Lance whimpered at the loss.
“Lance, please?” Sven grumbled in his ear, and he realized that, yes, he was supposed to do something here, too. Oh. Right. Move. Damn.
Somehow, he made his body co-operate, although it was all a bit of a jumble in his mind. Shagged absolutely fuckin’ senseless, he thought to himself as he collapsed on the other side of the bed. He wasn’t sure if he should be pleased about this or pissed off as hell, and he was too damn exhausted to even try to work it out.
He was vaguely aware of the backs of Sven’s fingers brushing along his jawline. He just lay there, eyes closed, not really sure how to respond or what to do, and not really sure if he cared much either, right at this moment. Everything was just too muddled to make sense of right now.
Then Sven shifted so he was curled away from Lance and towards the man that had – apparently – been his long time lover, and the moment to respond was lost anyway.
Something wet landed on his stomach, and he mustered enough energy to crack open an eyelid and glare balefully at the cold washcloth puddled there. He groaned, flopping back and draping an arm across his eyes. He didn’t want to deal with anything right now, not even this. “Let me sleep,” he grouched.
At that, Lotor gave a lazy, tired chuckle. “Bossy, isn’t he?” he murmured sleepily to Sven.
“You’ve no idea,” Sven whispered back, just on the edge of Lance’s hearing.
The bed shifted slightly, and the sheets ruffled as Sven and Lotor settled themselves. He managed to pry his eyes open, and saw Sven’s back, Lotor’s bulk beyond him. A vague sense of loneliness sifted through him, muted by his exhaustion, by the little aftershocks of pleasure that still sparked through him. He wanted to be part of that, somehow, to be sandwiched between them again.
Just then, Sven twisted an arm backwards, fingers flicking against his chest and tickling him. “Lance... closer.”
It felt like it took the very last of his reserves, but he obeyed, flopping closer, until he was pressed up against Sven’s back, arm curling over his side. Sven’s midnight hair teased his nose, the scent of his shampoo a fresh contrast to the musk of sex still swirling about them.
Sven hummed, left his arm draped across Lance’s flank.
Lance’s arm brushed Lotor’s, where the Prince also embraced Sven. Tension coursed through that muscular arm, as if...
But then Lotor seemed to relax; the unease flowing away, and Lance closed his eyes again, the inexplicable sense of danger that had tingled in warning fading away.
Tomorrow... But he was too utterly confused – and too tired now to make sense of his confusion – to finish the thought.
Within moments, sleep claimed him.