Disclaimer: WEP owns Voltron.

… May Care… You Say …

Almost in spite of himself, he liked the costumes, he really did.  Sven had no idea why Allura had chosen to have a costume party for her birthday this year, but she did have great taste in choosing the outfits, he had to admit it.

“The theme is opposites,” Allura had announced.  The team had been in a tizzy – well, at least Keith had – because, while she had told everyone more than a month ago that it would be a costume party, she had expressly forbade the team to get their own costumes.   As the time of the party drew closer and closer, the boys – yes, especially Keith – had begun to worry that there would be no “good” costumes left for them to wear.

Allura had taken care of that only this afternoon.  The whole time she’d passed out the long flat boxes containing the costumes, she’d worn a grin that Sven could only describe as wicked.  When she’d taken him aside and asked that he not give his partner the costume she’d selected until it was nearly time to arrive, that expression had been downright evil.

Now, he could only shake his head in awe at the way her outward exterior of purity and innocence concealed a mind that was nothing short of devious.

As a result of that cunning schemer, Keith and Lance were going dressed as a cop and a robber… except Keith was the one wearing the bandit mask and Lance the badge.  Lance had gloated over that for several minutes, while Keith looked positively ill at the mere thought that Lance would have handcuffs.

Privately, Sven had to admit that that would be a dangerous combination. 

But if Keith wanted sympathy, he’d have to look elsewhere.  Once he’d escaped from the Princess’s audience, he’d laughed himself silly at the expression on his former captain’s face.  Lance had been twirling the handcuffs about one finger, leering, and Keith had been watching those silver bracelets with a look one step removed from horror.

That’s what you get for rebuffing a princess, he’d thought with a chuckle.

Hunk and Pidge were little better off.  They had been given extra boxes that contained old bowler hats.  Hunk had pulled his out curiously and plopped it on his head, then peeked in at his outfit, Pidge looking over his shoulder. 

Pidge had paled immediately and looked back up at Allura, green eyes begging.  “No, Princess, please, no…”

“Go on, Hunk,” Allura encouraged, still with that fiendish smile.  “Take it out of the box.”

“Oh, please, Princess…” Pidge had his eyes closed in dread.

Puzzled, Hunk pulled out an extremely old fashioned suit.  It was completely black, with a black string tie, and the shirt had a stiff collar that stood upright.  “I don’t…” he began, then stopped as Allura reached into the pocket of the suit and pulled out something that resembled nothing so much as a long haired caterpillar wearing too much hairspray.

“Don’t forget this,” she said.  She was trying very hard not to laugh as she held it in place beneath Hunk’s nose.

“Please, Princess, not this…” Pidge groaned piteously.  “Not Laurel and Hardy…”

Truly, Sven marveled in relief, we made out the best of the lot…

He couldn’t help but grin at his reflection in the full-length mirror across the bedroom from where he stood.  He was leaning against the wall near the bathroom door, one foot propped up, waiting for his partner, who had peeked into the box and immediately disappeared into the bathroom, looking a bit… flustered.

Well, it had been rather skimpy… Sven snickered, but quietly.  After all, it wouldn’t do to get on his partner’s bad side.

He took a moment to admire his reflection.  It had come as rather a shock when he’d finished donning the outfit and realized that it really was him in the mirror.  His costume was composed almost entirely of black leather.  The shiny black boots came up to his knees, with a flared top that could be worn folded down or up above the knee.  He’d decided he’d liked the unfolded look better.  The pants laced up the sides, the soft leather clinging to him like a second skin, and outlining muscles he wasn’t even aware he had.  The vest he wore was equally tight, thankfully lined with soft fabric so it would not chafe.  It was also short; the bottom was about an inch above his navel, and the zipper topped out about three inches from the base of his throat.  Combine that with the low-slung waist of the pants, and much of his abdomen was on display.  Wide studded leather bands encircled his biceps.  There had been a fake tattoo in the box as well, of intertwined vines with thorns; he’d applied that above one of the armlets.

When he grinned, he hardly needed the small horns and pointed tail to proclaim him the devil.

And he’d taken a good, long look at that “angel” costume that Allura had picked out before passing it along.  He could hardly wait to see it on.  What little there was of it, that is.

Not abandoning his position, he reached over and rapped on the door.  “Hey, are you finished yet?”

The reply was accompanied by a muffled snort.  “No, and not likely to be, either.”

Sven grinned.  “Why not?”

“Do you know how damned short this thing is?”

He raised an eyebrow.  “And the problem with that is…?”

This time, a gusty sigh was his only response.

He glanced at the clock on the bedside table.  “We’re going to be late.  You know that the Princess will skin us both if…”

“All right, all right.  Just let me adjust… There.”  Finally, the bathroom door opened.

The sight in the mirror was so unbelievable that Sven had to turn to make sure it was real.

God, what a sexy beast!

Never mind the fact that he thought Lotor was a sexy beast anyway. 

While he’d distrusted Doom’s Prince when he’d first fled to Arus and sought sanctuary, it hadn’t been long before he’d seen that Lotor had really changed.  Or perhaps all the brash talk and bravado had been the show, and he’d been like this all along – a bookish, intelligent strategist, who was unfailingly courteous to almost everyone – well, except for Keith, that is, but the reasons for that were patently obvious to anyone who glanced at the battle records. 

The former brat Prince never made any untoward advances to Allura, had even claimed that he’d only pursued her so ardently to please his father.  Allura, for her part, was absolutely delighted to have someone about other than Coran with whom she could discuss policy, and other perils of royalty.  And Nanny, far from flipping her wig at his presence, had declared him a perfect gentleman, and said pointedly that there were several other young men who would do well by following his example.

Sven hadn’t been the only one suspicious of Lotor’s sudden defection from his father, and his mistrust, perhaps deeper than anyone else’s, was not the first to be worn away.  But after a while, his heart no longer gave that little extra jolt when he came upon Lotor in the library.  (Well, it did, but, it wasn’t accompanied by the slightly lost thought of “This is so wrong,” any longer.)  Eventually, he came to accept Lotor being about, and, to his own shock, actually liked being around him.  He didn’t even mind the fact that Lotor seemed to seek him out more than he did any of the others, including Allura.  Quite the contrary, he rather enjoyed it.

The day that Lotor snapped and attacked him with harsh, almost frantic kisses, he wondered vaguely when he’d admitted his attraction to the blue skinned Prince, but shortly after that, he lost the capacity for rational thought.

Much like now, in fact.  Lotor made one hell of an angel.

The wings were of many different shades of white, and they glittered as if tiny crystals made up the shaft of each feather.  They were long and dramatic, sweeping out from behind Lotor’s wide shoulders, making them seem even broader, and created a fine contrast with the light blue tone of his skin.  The harness that supported them was disguised in part as a jeweled collar about his throat, though most of the weight was supported by the belt that encircled his waist, cinching the short, short kilt in place.  His chest was bare.  The skirt was of some semi-sheer fabric, decorated with golden embroidery at the hem that barely came to the tops of his muscled thighs.  Lotor’s long legs were also uncovered, and he wore what Sven thought of as Roman sandals – a flat sole with a single strap over the top of his foot, and leather cords that crisscrossed and tied just above his ankle.  His white hair gleamed and flowed over his shoulders, nearly indistinguishable from his wings.  A small golden hoop was pinned rather lopsidedly to the crown of his head.

This was no messenger that was come to give good news, no angel of God.  No, Sven thought, his eyes raking up and down that perfect form, if he’s an angel, he’s a falling angel.  Not a pure creature of light at all, but an angel of temptation, ready for sin, and oh, so very willing and able.

Seeing Sven staring at him, jaw working soundlessly, Lotor folded his arms a bit self-consciously over his chest.  “Do I look that bad?”

At last, Sven recovered his senses and smiled at the uncertain tone.  “Oh, no,” he replied softly, “that’s not it at all.”  And with that, he reached out, grabbed one of Lotor’s wrists, and jerked him forward.  The Prince stumbled slightly, startled.  Grinning triumphantly, the devil claimed the angel’s mouth in a heated kiss.  Lotor’s lips were slightly parted in surprise, and Sven took full advantage, working his tongue into the other’s mouth, while one hand threaded through the fine white hair and wrapped around the back of his neck.

Lotor melted after the usual token struggle, returning Sven’s kiss with equal fervor.  Sven ground against him hard, his free hand snaking around Lotor’s waist.  The leather pants were suddenly painfully tight.  Still delving hungrily into that hot mouth, he maneuvered them around, with nudges and pushes of his hips that served only to increase his need, until Lotor was standing with his back to the bed.  It would only take one more little bump to make him fall back…

Suddenly, Lotor managed to break away from the kiss.  “Wait,” he gasped.  “The wings…”

Thwarted at recapturing his lips, because Lotor moved his head when he tried, Sven nipped sharply at his ear instead, having to stretch up a little to do so.  “What about them?” he purred, sliding a hand up under the kilt to cup Lotor’s ass, unsurprised to find that there was no underclothing to bar his way.  Because the material is so thin, Sven thought, grinning and suckling on the earlobe he’d caught, the lines would show, unless maybe he wore a white thong.  Thank goodness he doesn’t have any…

With an effort, Lotor wrenched away, pushing his lover back, and holding him off, hands on Sven’s shoulders.  “They’re not mine, you idiot!” he gritted out.  “I don’t want to break them!”  Then he blinked, finally taking in Sven’s costume.  His grip relaxed a bit, his eyes glazed over and his breathing roughened slightly.

Sven grinned again and slipped from Lotor’s grasp.  He pressed against Lotor, hands once again on that shapely rear, and started to slither down his body, kissing all the way.  Lotor moaned softly at the sensation of leather against his skin.

On his knees, Sven glanced up.  “Leave them on,” he breathed.  Slowly, he slid his hands down the length of Lotor’s legs, then up again, raising the short skirt.  “I’ll be careful.  Just don’t bash me with them when you kneel up.”  With that, he took Lotor’s cock in his mouth.

“Uhhn!”  Lotor closed his eyes, his hands coming to rest on Sven’s hair, dislodging the small horns that poked out from the soft black strands.  “Only… only if you…”

“Mmm?” He raised his eyes again, but did not leave off what he was doing.

Lotor rallied briefly.  “Only if you promise not to be so… good…”

Sven chuckled, still laving his tongue over and around the member in his mouth.  The vibrations made Lotor’s eyes roll back in his head, and he thrust forward, driving his swollen cock further into Sven’s mouth.

He worked Lotor for another minute, then released him and stood, unlacing his pants.  Lotor was whining quietly, wanting the incredible pleasure his lover was so capable of giving, even though he knew more was coming.  Sven spun him around and shoved him toward the bed.  Lotor prostrated himself upon it, flipping up his kilt and raising his ass. 

Sven was just about to plunge into him when Lotor raised his head.  “Do… do we have time?” he asked breathlessly.

His only response was to sink slowly into that inviting heat.  He bared his teeth in a feral growl as Lotor writhed beneath him.  After a moment, he began to move, rocking his lover with the strength of his thrusts.  “Ja,” he panted.  “If we’re quick…” Then he grinned, and bent to kiss Lotor’s back between the two feathery arcs.

There was no need for Lotor to know about the note that had been folded in with the tattoo.  I told Lotor that the party starts at seven, Allura had written.  But really, it doesn’t start until seven-thirty.  So don’t worry if you’re a little “late”.  I plan to amuse myself by watching Keith try to avoid getting handcuffed to Lance… or rather, by watching Lance when Keith fails.  Have fun!

No, no need for him to know about that at all.

***

July 27, 2003