#do i even make sense anymore or do i just spout random sap about gazes and love

[moonb-eam]

ok i just saw the p&p confession ask and i could not resist: so if eliott was so unsure about if lucas would read his letter, how did he feel when lucas came to arbrenne? what was his pov during that dinner when lucas tried to make him smile and all? and also, why(i know why but i need his thoughts) did he cry when lucas said he loved him too? was he not expecting the kiss bc he seemed confused about lucas saying he'll keep the jacket? anyway i love love love your writing!!!

ahh thank you love!! 💛💛

so, let’s see...

(this got a bit long so i put it under the cut)

Eliott had no idea whether Lucas read his letter or not, and it weighed on him, nearly as much as the thought that Eliott may very well never see him again weighed on him.

He hates the possibility that the letter will remain unopened, and that Lucas will forever hold this impression of Eliott in his mind that is sour and warped - an impression that was cultivated on Charles’ persuasive nature and Eliott’s own foolishness.

He tries to make peace with it, that the letter was his last chance to explain himself to Lucas, and as the days pass: spring slipping into summer, fading to fall, hardening to winter, and returning to first blossom of spring once again, Eliott tries to accept that Lucas will now exist only as a memory to him. A distant dream just out of his reach, a star that he can only ever admire from the surface of the Earth.

He doesn’t have faith in magic and fate like he used to as a child. He’s not hoping for any divine intervention that will point their twisting paths back together, but then.

There’s a warm, sunny day when Eliott returns home early from his trip to Paris, when he surprises Daphné at her piano, and in the midst of spinning them both in a circles, both of them laughing, he hears a faint gasp, notices a flash of brilliant blue in the gap of the open door.

And there, Eliott is wondering if he needs to start believing in magic and fate and all manner of things unexplainable again, because he knows those eyes.

Eliott would know those eyes anywhere.

His chase after Lucas is a bit ridiculous, his subsequent awkwardness embarrassing, but he cannot be blamed for his own lack of decorum, not when he’s standing before Lucas on the steps, watching the way the sunlight kisses his skin.

He’s here. He’s at Eliott’s home.

What are you doing here? Eliott wants to ask. Did I conjure you from thought? From dream?

Did you read it?

Lucas gives a hasty explanation - he’s travelling with friends around Loire, admiring the castles, and they came for a tour, as Madeleine claimed the house was open for tours.

Eliott takes all of this in stride. He knows that people are curious about Arbrenne, knows that Madeleine is always eager to show of the house she works so tirelessly to run, and knows that, often when he’s away, she will show these people around, taking them through the sculpture gallery, the garden, the formal dining room.

But that is people. People who Eliott may never meet, who wander the halls his family built, admiring the architecture. People. Not him. Not Lucas.

Lucas, who is shy with Eliott, in a way that feels oddly incongruous to the image of him Eliott has in his mind: brash and loud, with a tongue like a whip. This Lucas stares everywhere except at Eliott, while Eliott can stare at little except him. This Lucas has his hands clasped neatly in front of himself. He gives stilted and abrupt answers, and it worries Eliott. It makes him think he’s making Lucas uncomfortable.

Maybe he didn’t read it.

Or maybe he did read it, and now he doesn’t want to be near you.

Except he is there. Here. Right in front of Eliott, as mesmerizing as he’s ever been, and Eliott must not have a sliver of self-preservation left because he’s asking Lucas to stay, trying to invite him for tea, trying to do anything to keep him there, to stop him from disappearing on the spring wind like a secret uttered between lovers.

The fragility of Eliott’s invitation, however, is unnecessary. Because Lucas’ friends arrive, and with them, an instant  feeling of camaraderie Eliott did not expect.

Basile Savary and Arthur Broussard. They have an infectious energy about them, an unselfconsciousness that Eliott is a bit envious of. They’re loud and they seem - or at least Mr. Savary does - to speak without considering their words, and Eliott is fond of them immediately.

Eliott invites them all for dinner, because the notion of their dining room being filled with laughter all night is a pleasant one, and because Eliott is sure the Daphné will be endlessly amused by all three of them together.

It’s only then, once Mr. Savary and Mr. Broussard have accepted as Lucas watches on with an indiscernible expression, that Eliott realizes he chased after Lucas without re-buttoning his shirt, and it is with as much dignity as possible that Eliott scurries away from them, clumsy fingers fumbling against the thick material.

Daphné, of course, teases him mercilessly for it.

“Look at the state of you,” she says with a laugh, tying up Eliott’s cravat for him while Eliott sits on the arm of the sofa, pouting. “Running after his with your neck all bare.” She shakes her head. “It’s a basic level of seduction, but it is still seduction, and for that, I commend you.”

“I’m not trying to seduce him,” Eliott complains, ignoring it when Daphné lets out another laugh. “I’m trying to be his friend.”

Daphné pauses, looking up to meet Eliott’s eyes. There’s a soft turn to her mouth, a caring, gentle expression, that makes her look just like their mother. “But you love him, don’t you?”

Eliott sighs, lowering his eyes to his knees. “Yes.”

“So, you want to be more than his friend.” She says it as if it’s the simplest thing in the entire world. As if it could be as simple as Eliott says, Lucas, I want to be everything to you. As if he hasn’t already tried that.

“I don’t think he wants that from me,” Eliott says quietly, and Daphné nudges him under his chin, forcing him to look up and meet her eyes.

“Then he’s a fool.”

“But-”

Daphné shakes her head. “You’re the best person I know in this world, Eliott. And if he can’t see that, then he doesn’t deserve you.” The conviction in her voice, is strong, sure, and it’s almost enough to make Eliott believe her words as if they’re his own, the way Dr. Daucet tells him to speak to himself whenever he falls into a cavern of self-doubt.

I am deserving of good things.

I am deserving of happiness.

I am deserving of love.

Sometimes, when he says these things out loud, he almost believes them too.

“You’re right,” he tells Daphné and she grins, smacking a wet kiss to his cheek and running a hand through his hair.

“Now,” she says seriously, “we have to make you look presentable.” She hums, considering. “Presentable, but in a rogue-ish sort of way.”

“Daphy,” Eliott says, just as seriously. “I don’t think I know what that means.”

They eat dinner together, all of them, including a man named Herman, who has the most wonderfully entertaining stories Eliott has ever heard. They eat together, and it’s perfect, the way they are all able to come together. It’s perfect, because Eliott sits across from Lucas the entire meal, and he gets to watch as Lucas’ shyness morph into something else: something that’s still sweet, but a bit bolder, shades of the Lucas that Eliott has seen in ballrooms: quick and clever and so funny that Eliott nearly snorts wine into his nose from laughing.

He glances up, hoping no one saw him, except there’s Lucas, smiling at him from across the table as though there’s a private joke they’re both in on.

(And well, Eliott supposes there is.)

The weight of Lucas’ gaze is utterly intoxicating.

Eliott feels himself melt under it like sugar under his tongue.

Daphné won’t stop nudging her knee against his under the table, but Eliott barely notices. He’s consumed by a thought. Not even a thought, but a word. One word that encompasses an entire ocean of meaning.

Eliott feels Lucas’ gaze on himself and the word comes, arresting and gorgeous and hopeful: maybe.

Now, as far as Eliott feelings in the field scene, I’ve touched on that a little bit here.

But the best way I can explain it is like this:

Something happens, and it’s something you’ve been dreaming of for so long that it feels like memory as it unfolds in front of you, and it takes a moment for you to realize that no, this is real. This is not me hoping, this is something happening to me right now. And it’s like, the happiness inside of you is too much to contain. Your heart is a comet. Your soul is a sunrise. Your hands are the wings of a morning dove, but at the same time, you are so wholly, utterly yourself. You are at home in confines of yourself, infinite in your limitations. You are loved. And you love. And you are loved.

That is what Eliott feels, standing in that dew-fresh field as Lucas confesses to him.

That’s why he cries.

[fizzyren]

NSFW prompt (Lance/Possessed/Angst) from way long ago for @usagi-monet, :,) sorry I’m late, I didn’t forget you. This is on AO3!

Hunk/Lance, possession, alien sex, overstimulation, in heat, multiple orgasms, dry orgasms, pwp, the whole nine yards yall just...read it. 

“Oh god, oh god, quiznak I- guys, guys- ” Lance gasped, frantically patting his hands over his armor, trying to touch for cracks, for some entry point.

“I-I think something just went inside of me, oh my god. I’m going to die . I’m-”

“Lance! Calm down.”

Hunk sighed out beside him, looking at the blue paladin as if this was another joke of his. Lance looked at Hunk pleadingly when he pulled his foot up out of the sticky goop or sap or whatever was coming out of these trees and coating the planet’s surface.

“Hunk, did you not see that-that thing go inside of me!?”

“I didn’t see anything at all other than you shooting at random shadows. Stop playing around, man.”

Hunk shook his head before turning back around, his bayard activated in it’s larger gun form, resting with the end towards the ground.

Lance made a small noise of apprehension, still looking down at himself and then behind as if he might see the figure once again.

Just as quiet as the forest they were in, so too was the...apparition. Lance had no idea what to call it. It had no definite shape and had seemed to float listlessly towards him. Had he been paying more attention to the trees around him and not getting sap off his boots, he could have probably easily dodged the thing. But as it was, Lance looked up right as the opaque fog-like being ran into him with barely a cold touch. It had startled Lance’s bayard to activate and his clenching hand shot a ball of hot plasma into the ground. Hunk’s echoing scream as he whipped around matched Lance’s when he too turned to try and find the source of the fog.

And now it left a sour taste in both their mouths. Hunk upset with Lance scaring him, and Lance upset that there was some whisper-y motherfucker that just waltzed right through him.

They didn’t have long to bicker about it. Lance suddenly felt like a fire had been lit inside his armor. When he looked up to Hunk, ready to ask him if he felt any different too, he paused.

Hunk was staring at him, or more accurately, Lance was staring down the barrel of Hunk’s activated bayard cannon. Confused, Lance took a half step back and held a hand up.

“Woah, hey. What the heck?” he tried to say, but instead what came out was a monotone, “don’t shoot.”

Hunk’s grip on his bayard tightened and Lance could see the narrow of his eyes behind his helmet’s visor. Lance’s voice came out again, devoid of any emotion and fluctuation.

“I will not hurt you. Please put away your weapon.”

“I’m not doing anything you say.” Hunk all but growls, and the yellow gold light of his bayard goes brighter like he’s preparing to shoot. Lance feels himself panic, or is it whatever has suddenly taken over him that is startled?

“You will not shoot your friend. He is precious to you.” He says, or... it says. Like it knows how deep his and Hunk’s bond runs.

Hunk stays quiet and doesn’t move. The...entity takes that as signal to continue or get to its point. Lance, meanwhile, is freaking out at his lack of control on his own body. It feels strange. As if there are blankets wrapped around each of his limbs and holding him close like a swaddled up baby. It doesn’t help to calm him down as his inability to move creates more problems than comfort.

“I will explain more when you take me to your leader,” Lance wants to rolls his eyes at the cheesy line, “all I wish is to seek council with your authority. We are in trouble.”

“And who is we?” Hunk asks carefully.

Lance’s eyes do roll this time, though more on the entity's part.

“Were you listening? I said I will explain only with your leader present.”

“How do I know you’re not just trying to kill us all?”

“Were we in any position of desire to harm you and your team, it would have happened as soon as you entered the forest.”

There’s silence before Hunk finally sighs and lowers his bayard. Lance’s fluttering heartbeat returns to normal as he sighs.

“What did you do to Lance?”

“Your friend is still here. We are simply borrowing his form. Our species is unable to communicate with others without a medium.”

Hunk still looks wary. Lance inappropriately thinks he looks quite handsome like this, a half glare-scowl on his face and his shoulders squared up to make him look straighter. He looks big, strong, worthy, the little voice rooming in his head purrs.

Hunk turns around before speaking, “Hey, Keith? Got something on our end. Mute Lance’s com when you respond though.”

Lance makes to complain but he knows that it’s probably for the better. They don’t know what this thing is. They don’t know if it’s really a friend and not a foe. And right now, Lance is completely compromised. He just wishes it was a little more comfortable.

He expected to still be cold, for that entity’s chill to settle in now that he was….possessed? Inhabited? But there’s been an ever growing heat inside, starting at his toes and fingertips and crawling up.

The entity must sense his unease because it relinquishes control and suddenly Lance can move and speak. He stumbles back when he has to focus on his weight on his knees and feet.

“W-Woah-“ he mumbles, blinking away the sudden dizziness. Hunk turns around in alarm only to see Lance almost fall back again.

He’s saved by the hand on his forearm, holding him upright and Lance’s heartbeat washes the heat over him in stronger, faster pulses. It rises and rises and Lance groans from feeling suddenly lightheaded.

“Lance? Hey, what’s wrong? What’s happening?”

His view of Hunk suddenly blurs into two, and somehow that’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen in his life at the moment and he catches the back end of his own chuckle before he passes out.

Waking back up is, in every sense of the word, hell. Before he can even open his eyes heat swallows him. It burns a headache behind his sinuses and his joints grow stiff. His chest is burning but his stomach and pelvis are boiling.

He doesn’t want to open his eyes, too scared that he’ll see charred skin and bone where his body should be. That thought becomes a fever dream when a chilled hand lays across his forehead. Lance groans and turns into it, not caring who it is, just hoping they stay a little longer.

Cold pressure rubs across his brows and down the bridge of his nose and Lance mumbles Hunk’s name, recognizing the touch.

When he blinks, trying to make sure it really is Hunk, he’s met with a dark room and Hunk’s shadow hovering over him. He looks worried and Lance has an apology on the tip of his tongue ready to make that worry go away.

Heat suddenly pulses through his veins, interrupting that line of thought. It comes again, stronger with the gasp he takes. Hunk’s hands draw away and Lance sobs because that’s so much worse. It makes the heat so much worse. He can hardly see anymore, vision fuzzy and caving in. There’s nothing for him to hold onto as his body feels like he’s been spun around, rotating on one point like an empty bottle.

Hunk’s hands come back on his shoulders and chest when he rolls, trying to stand up. A stupid idea, probably, but it’s too hot to stay laying down anymore. The sheets and mattress under his back were trapping too much heat.

There’s something squirming inside his head. He can feel it pressing between his brain and his skull, slipping through tissue and vessels. He’s suddenly so nauseous he can’t breathe. Words are being spoken to him but he doesn’t understand their meaning. Up becomes down and left becomes right.

Hunk eases him to the floor from where he’d stumbled forward and then he can’t tell where the rest of his surroundings are. Every point of contact between him and Hunk burns ice cold and it’s a drug Lance wants more of. The world falls away.

Hunk however...Hunk is very much freaking out. Not only does his best friend get possessed by a creepy planet alien ghost, but now he’s acting weird. Well, weird doesn’t come close to it. Hunk is just glad Lance is still breathing and not spouting that ‘take me to your leader’ crap.

The situation he’s facing now, might be in the running for being worse, though. Lance is feverish, mumbling in some strange language that Hunk can’t put a name to, and trying to walk away to quiznak knows where. He’s also, somehow, become incredibly strong. Every time Hunk tries to sit Lance down, he’s pushed away.

It’s all fine and controllable until Lance gets Hunk on the floor, flat on his back and hovering with this dazed sway that makes him look like he’s a breath away from passing out again.

“Hurts- ” he whines, breathless when he straddles Hunk’s hips, “it burns. Do something. Please, do something-”

Hunk’s tongue turns to stone in the back of his throat when Lance pushes down without warning, pert bottom rubbing circles on top of Hunk. He has a firm grasp of Hunk’s shirt hem, pressing against his stomach like it’d keep him down while he grinds into him again.

Whatever heat Lance is feeling blends up Hunk’s cheeks.

Now that Lance has gotten a good rhythm for himself, he doesn’t look like he’ll stop any time soon. His head rolls back on his shoulders as he sighs, moans on his next thrust forward and again when his hips swing back. Hunk chokes on the pleasure.

“Th-this is like... the least best way to handle this-” he pipes up, not loud enough it seems. That, or Lance is definitely ignoring him.

“It’s so hot,” Lance moans, filthy and airy and oh quiznak are his eyes glowing?!

Lance’s head rolls again like he’s only upright because of a single string. His eyes are barely open but Hunk can still see the white glow pouring from behind his pupils. The color of his irises bleeds out, turning the glow a baby blue shade that falls on his cheeks.

Hunk finds himself sweating under that gaze. Or maybe he’s sweating because Lance feels like he’s been sitting in an oven for five hours. He’s sweltering hot in his lap and Hunk might actually melt. He’s too scared to touch Lance. Worried he would literally burn himself.

The layers of clothes between him and Lance are suddenly a blessing. Deliriously he thinks, there’s a reason you wear oven mitts when taking something out of the oven.

Hunk remembers that they’re actually in the middle of some negotiations with these alien entities. Whatever is inside of Lance is also somehow inside of Shiro and they are holding a meeting with Allura and the rest of the paladins.

Lance was unable to join, seeing how he’d been unconscious on their return. And with his steady rising temperature, Hunk didn’t want to leave him alone. The problem at hand is….still manageable.

Lance suddenly begins to pull on Hunk’s pants and that “still manageable” runs in the other direction.

“Woah woah woah, what are you doing?” Hunk goes to grab Lance’s hands and gets swatted for his effort. Hunk makes a stressed noise and hovers his hands, not wanting to get slapped again.

“We shouldn’t be doing this. Like really really. You need to be laying down.”

“It’s hot. Don’t wanna lay down. Wanna-” Lance trails off, words slurring to incomprehensible mumbling and murmuring as his heated fingers pull Hunk’s cock free from his boxers. “Burns inside” he gasps.

Hunk meets Lance’s eyes again, and even though the glow is starting to hurt to stare into, it dims when something passes over the light source inside. That something being, what looks to Hunk to be a ball of circles and cubes. The shape is almost crystalline and oh so very tiny. He loses track of it when Lance blinks sluggishly.

It was enough of a distraction that now Lance is completely naked on top of him, and his pants and boxers are bunch up under his knees.

“Oh man- Lance we really shouldn’t be doing this. This is such a bad idea.” he mutters more to himself than anything because Lance isn’t listening to him anymore.

Lance is sweating, body finally unable to handle the dangerous temperatures that his fever is working up. Lance is also trying to seat himself down on Hunk’s half hard cock like it’s nothing.

In a blind panic Hunk grabs Lance under the knees and lifts. They go toppling off to the side and Lance sobs like he’s been shot. He thrashes to try and get free, screaming like Hunk has done something wrong.

“Lance! Lance, stop! You’re going to hurt yourself!”

“A-aaah- I-I can’t-“ Lance’s voice wavers between that monotone pitch and his own frenzied voice. He’s fighting it. Hunk can tell that Lance is trying to be good but whatever is inside him isn’t budging.

Lance moans again before his eyes drop down, looking at Hunk with a burning sort of hunger he knows that he won’t be able to get away from.

“If I give you want you want you have to leave him alone,” he says suddenly. Lance doesn't seem to hear him until his head rolls back and a laugh comes free.

Hunk is busy watching the way Lance’s skin pulls across his collarbones and ribs as he tips back. They’ve not has any way to get UV light but Lance still looks like he’s been on the beach for the weekend. There’s almost this glow to his skin or maybe it’s the sweat, maybe it’s the alien inside him doing something.

When their eyes meet Lance has that backlit look to his eyes again and the monotone voice from the entity inside him actually sounds amused .

“You’re smarter than you look, Paladin.” it purrs. Hunk isn’t amused.

“You didn’t come here to talk with us, did you?”

That laugh comes again, more frantic when Lance squirms and pushes his hips into Hunk’s.

“Your friends have not lasted as long as you in resisting the temptation. Will you allow your Lance friend here to burn himself out? This really is a painful way to go,” Lance’s eyes glow brighter as a sharp grin curves his mouth. It looks eerily out of place on him.

Hunk takes Lance by the jaw and presses in frustration. He can’t hurt this alien without also hurting Lance.

The entity seems to have thin patience the longer Hunk tries to stall.

“The longer your friends fornicate with me the longer your lover here suffers,” Hunk wants to make a comment about them being lovers but the alien continues, “we’re waiting for you. Complete the link.”

It’s cryptic. It makes no sense, and Hunk has a growing feeling that whatever this alien is getting at means that the other paladins are in a similar state as Lance. Probably already fucking each other. Hunk doesn’t know what this thing means by completing the link but he knows now that if he doesn’t Lance will die. Will this affect spread to the other paladins?

He doesn’t dwell anymore on it. He’d made his decision and as a Paladin of Voltron, he has a duty to save people. His fellow teammates included.

Hunk and Lance end up back on the bed again where he can reach the lube he has stashed.

He spends the time prepping Lance despite his protests. And he’s glad for it once he starts to press inside because Lance is almost too tight.

Lance reaches down to grab at the top of Hunk’s thighs, nails biting in as he gasps. The glow in his eyes flickers before fading away and Lance looks Hunk over with clear blue eyes for the first time since this started before shivering. His bottom lip gets caught between his teeth when he stares lower at where Hunk is still inside him, holding still, waiting for a go ahead or for Lance to stop wincing.

It takes a whole awkward three seconds for Lance to finally start making little movements with his hips, up and down to test the feeling. He pushes towards Hunk’s hips and his eyelashes flutter and Hunk has to squeeze his eyes shut to stop looking.

His crush on Lance is nothing new. They practically grew up together. Lance has been with him through everything. And as annoying as Lance is, Hunk has always found himself drawn to the other. Hunk prides himself in being the person Lance is most comfortable with and he takes every casually tossed arm over his shoulder and hug and bump with pride.

They’ve talked about it before too. Lance is very aware of Hunk’s crush. Not because he could see it, course not he’s dense on that romance stuff, but because Hunk had made a mistake of confessing one night at the Garrison as they snuck out to look at the stars and talk about their futures.

Somehow with all of that, they didn’t date. Hunk kept his crush and Lance conveniently didn’t bring it up or voice any feelings that would suggest he felt the same. He just made sure that Hunk knew he wasn’t bothered with it. It made things like this a little tougher.

“Oh god … you’re so big- ” Lance whined, leaning in to slip his hands to the back of Hunk’s thighs and pull. His legs rest up on Hunk’s hips and he grinds down.

Hunk’s chest hurts watching Lance’s head fall back and a moan tumble free. It feels more than good when Lance clenches around him with that noise.

His eagerness is a little unexpected but Hunk could have it worse. He guesses Lance could be actually dead by now. Or trying to hop on someone else’s dick. It’s a though Hunk doesn’t want to linger on.

“Ngh - yeah, yeah right there Hunk I-” Lance gasps, pulling at the back of his thighs harder when Hunk rocks forward with power behind his hips, “fuck yes that feels good!”

The words keep falling past Lance’s lips like he hardly has any control over it and Hunk is almost embarrassed to admit that it’s getting him turned on. But he’s come to accept that Lance sets all sorts of fires in him a long time ago. He’s had plenty a fantasy of having Lance under him like this, whining and begging for his cock.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, deeper. Go deeper Hunk,” Lance babbles again, starting to squirm in his lap. Hunk is stumped for the first time.

He’s quite literally as deep as he can be. Balls pressed up firmly against Lance’s spread open hole, wet and dripping with lube.  He can’t go any further than this despite Lance’s pleading. But damn if he doesn’t try.

He leans over Lance with one arm, other curling under his waist to keep him at a good angle before pulling his hips closer. They slot together a little better this way and it almost feels like he’s deeper even though he knows there’s not much of a difference.

It’s what Lance apparently wanted. He moans, croons to himself while he scrambles against Hunk’s broad back until he’s squeezing his shoulders and biting.

The pain makes Hunk wince, starting to fuck into Lance in hopes it will get him to let go with gasps and noises; It partially works. Lance moves away from biting and scratching to screaming. His eyes are gathering up that glowing charge again as he stares blankly off at the ceiling.

The change almost makes him worried if Lance is about to pass out on him but he keeps mumbling Hunk’s name between pleas for more, deeper, faster. He doesn’t sound different other than his voice being tighter.  

But then he’s clenching around Hunk’s cock and gasping, no actual noise coming from his parted lips. His skin stretches against his throat when he shoves his head back, arch of his neck a mirror to the one in his back.

Hunk pulls Lance closer, kisses under his jaw and chin until he’s shivering and finding his voice again.

“Hunk, keep moving,” he whines, “don’t stop, don’t- oh fuck- fuck, fuck, fuck right there, yes, yeah, right there just like- nnggh-“

Hunk leans back a little, hands finally settling on Lance’s hips when he asks, “are you okay?”

He’s not expecting the full body shudder, Lance’s eyes squeezing shut and head falling back. Hunk doesn’t think it’s in reply to the question, but maybe to the small and shallow thrusts he’s keeping. Even that he’s having doubts about, Lance just came, right?

After a few shaking breaths, Lance tenses up again, toes curling and this time a moan pressing out past his lips, “ah- Hunk-”

“Lance?”

The breathing under him picks up again, whining growing tighter the more Lance squirms. He calls out for Hunk again, lips trembling and eyelashes wet. Hunk tries to comfort him through whatever is happening.

He rubs his hands over Lance’s sides, up over his chest and shoulders to gently cup his face, thumbs swiping away the tears that start falling. He hates seeing Lance cry, but it’s a strange situation and Hunk has a hard time coming to terms with the fact he’s still hard inside of Lance.

“Cum in me,” Lance slurs, head lolling off to the side and then back in the other direction as he tries to open his eyes and focus on the face hovering above him, “gotta- I need it inside!”

Lance’s head bobs once more before the glowing comes back and his voice changes, but even now, the voice sounds out of breath and well-fucked, “complete the link, Paladin.”

Completing whatever stupid link this thing wants isn’t something Hunk think he knows how to actually do, but completing inside of Lance is. That’s easy to do. He’s already wound up so much from Lance squirming on his cock and squeezing around him every time he shifts around on the bed.

There has to be something wrong with him too to have cum so fast, and on command like that, but Hunk doesn’t care anymore. His mind goes peacefully blank for a few seconds, softly lulled through with Lance’s sighing and hands rubbing his shoulders and chest to encourage him or just show his appreciation.

When he comes back to reality, Lance is quiet and unmoving, arms by his sides now rather than trying to touch anything he can reach. His chest is moving slow in time with his breathing and Hunk assumes this is it.

As he pulls out slowly, he wonders if he should be more panicked than he is. This whole thing feels surreal.

The last thing he sees is Lance’s gaping entrance, wet and leaking pearly white onto the sheets. The last thing he hears is that monotone voice in his own head, purring gratitude against every nerve and driving the world black.