Here You Are ( altean lance-klance )

Chapter 5

Keith was struggling to keep his composure. As the team soared through time and space itself, things didn't seem to be moving fast enough. His concern only growing, the worry boiling in the pits of his stomach as Keith's intestines went on a joyride.

Of course, his lion was well ahead of the team, Allura fast behind him, screaming and begging for him to slow down his pace. "Lura, I'm sorry, but I don't even quite understand why the hell it is that I'm so concerned. So, please, don't ask me to slow down and keep up instead!" Keith urged, his voice on the brink of cracking as the panic seeped in.

'What if we can't find him? What if Lotor has him locked up and alone? What if.. What if!' Keith's mind screamed, the paranoia engulfing him as he drove straight into an asteroid.

"Keith!" The team yelled in concern, approaching Keith, worry written on their faces whilst they piloted their own lions.

Keith felt dazed, his head was a flurry, heartbeat pounding through his ears, the blood rushing through his veins as his body reacted to the impact. "I'm fine, guys. Just wasn't paying attention." Keith reassured, massaging his throbbing temples; his lion having took the blow very well, of course, he knew she would.

The dive for impact with the asteroid was planned, no hesitation when Keith dove, no regrets when it was over. It woke him up, his eyes were on the prize again. Saving Lance of Altea.

Saying Galra headquarters was huge didn't do the ship justice. Lance inhaled, his stomach doing a summer-salt as Lotor hurried him along in front of him. He was awestruck to say the least; the ship was enormous, exquisitely crafted, and terrifying for a young prince who hadn't seen a ship of this grand stature for 10,000 years.

Lance, one of the last remaining Alteans alive, sworn enemy of the Galra Empire, was aboard their mother-ship. Prim and proper in his Altean suit, the receiver of menacing glares from anyone he made eye-contact with, but never once did he let his head drop.

He was representing what little remained of his people; Lance held his head high for those who couldn't anymore. For his endearing father, for his loving mother, for his loyal people, and for his beautiful big sister, even if he was fortunate enough to still have her around.

The glares only grew nastier, but Lance's posture never faltered. The clicking of his heels on the metal flooring having provided his stride with a rhythm. '5-6-7- glare!' Lance would sing in his head as he made heads turn with a single puff of his chest. It was like dancing, but without the complicated steps; it was just the counts.

Lotor seemed to having taken a liking to Lance's confidence, deciding to quicken his pace and walk beside him. He didn't speak, he just observed as Lance's jawline continuously pointed straight forward, no fear apparent on his face.

It was infatuating for Lotor really. Seeing Lance be so headstrong, even when he was so deep in a mess and there was clearly no way out. Hell, he was at Galra central command and all Lance did was walk proudly. Bringing attention to himself. It was astoundingly odd, but interesting nonetheless.

"Aren't you being a bit cocky?" Lotor irked, leaning in as he spoke down Lance's neck, sending shivers down his spine. Lance shuddered, but quickly recovered and instinctively providing him with a response.

"If you ask me, I'm being completely normal, Lotor." Lance barked, smiling sweetly through his bitter words. "Oh, Lance, my dear prince, you are in the middle of enemy lines, yet you hold your head high. Don't tell me you aren't being cocky." Lotor laughed, running his nimble fingers through his long, free-flowing light hair, whilst he tilt his head back in a moment of sheer euphoria.

Lance didn't understand what was so amusing, but his confidence boost only lasted for so long before quiet, not-so-outspoken Lance made his way back to his rightful place in the spotlight.

Without another word, Lance continued to waltz his way through the grand ship, Lotor, practically beaming, always at his side, and graciously accompanied by Lotor's four generals.

Eventually, they reached what Lance assumed was the throne room. It was quite large, glass paneling all around the back to elude to the idea of there being more space, a red carpet sprawled right down in the middle leading straight to the throne. Quite straight forward if you asked the young Altean prince, but he wasn't about to complain.

Then Lance saw him, a man he'd lost respect for long ago, a man he used to love and care for, a man he called "uncle" when he gave him piggyback rides around the town square, Zarkon. Lance clutched his stomach as bile rose in his throat, the sight only worsening his view on the whole matter.

Zarkon, equipped with dark quintessence, which was supplying him with life, sat menacingly on his throne, his glowing eyes ceasing to break eye contact with Lance's navy-blue irises.

"Father, you have summoned me and I have arrived. Is there something of importance that you needed me for?" Lotor spoke tensely, not allowing himself to let his charm evade the conversation. His father, was less than impressed , but regardless, he simply responded to his pest of a son. "I summoned you for business matters, which I blatantly refuse to discuss in front of the Altean, or your half-breed generals. They can all wait outside." Zarkon concluded, seeping further into his throne chair, as Lance and the generals began to be escorted out of the room.

Before, Lance was even close to the door, Voltron came smashing in through the glass paneling Lance had so fondly admired minutes earlier. Sirens were blaring, Lotor had latched onto Lance's arm like a leech, probably because of fear but maybe because he didn't want to lose his sex slave, Lance might never know.

"Lance of Altea,we've  come to take you home."

((A/N: Stressful. Stressful. Stressful. Argh, I'm so so sorry!! Please forgive me for the shitty, short chapter!! Thank you for reading btw, lots of love. Out of curiosity, how old do you think I am?))