2019 Voltron Whumptober Collection

21 Laced Drink

Word Count: 1,804

The lights were flashing.

The music was loud.

Everything was just so bright.

He didn't like it.

He didn't like it at all.

As usual (it was getting weird how he considered things like this usual, but he'd seen a lot of things in space, so, in space terms, he guessed this was pretty usual), the paladins of Voltron were invited to, what the natives of that planet called, a gala.

Turns out, it was more like an actual party than a gala, with flashing lights and loud music. There was a bar sitting along the far wall of the room, serving up all kinds of alien drinks, some beings walking around in skimpy dresses and wide smiles, offering small snacks and sloshing liquids in ordinate little cups on trays.

The dance floor was a mess of swaying and twisting bodies, too-tight dresses, and potent perfume. Beams flashed from the ceiling, a bright array of blues, greens, and pinks, shining out over the crowd as they moved to the music, making the whole mess of it an even bigger mess with the lights turned down.

Away from the DJ-looking booth and walls of flashing lights sat a more calm corner of the room. Couches and chairs sat scattered across the floor, some pressed against the massive glass window overlooking the alien city far below them, the streets a rush of headlights and lamp beams.

It almost reminded Keith of home, er- at least his days at the Garrison. He remembered more than a few nights Shiro would take him out to the bustling city not far from the campus, the views from rooftops taking his breath away.

But, all of the alien chatter behind him, the unfamiliar music, the ship that flew by the windows hundreds of feet from the ground brought him back to the hard reality that this was not Earth, and this wasn't an earth party.

So he had to stay on his toes.

Because he didn't like this.

He didn't like this at all.

"Aw, come on, Mullet, lighten up a little, will ya? This is a party, we're supposed to have fun." Lance sundered over from the midst of dancing bodies, clutching a glass sloshing some green liquid around in the cup. The Cuban's blue-themed tie was missing, his jacket unbuttoned (they had dressed for a gala mind you, they were all kinda stuck in their formal wear).

Keith watched with a somewhat bemused thought as he watched Lance pause for a moment after draping a limp arm over Keith's shoulders, the cup sloshing some more as the teen brought it to his lips again as he thought (probably for a little too long) on what to say next, "You do know what fun is, right?" He finally settled on the sentence, fixing Keith with a mocking wide-eyes expression.

Keith shook his head, rolling his eyes, he pushed the teen's arm off his shoulders, going to cross his arms a little tighter over his chest with a barely contained smirk. How many drinks has he had already?

"Of course I know what fun is."

"Do ya?" Lance challenged with a quirk of his brow, "I don't know, that's pretty hard to believe since you are just standing here."

If Keith had any bone in his body about Lance's picking, he would've scoffed at the accusation.

He shrugged, "So? You're standing here too."

Lance's face fell, obviously having no comeback for that remark other than, "Yeah, well, it's your fault for making me walk over here."

Keith raised a brow, "Really? Because I don't remember calling you over here."