klance drabbles

embers

     The screaming was so loud, Keith thought his head might implode.

     It came from every direction, cornering him on all sides, blaring down on him from above, piercing up through the floor. No matter how hard he pressed his palms against his ears, he couldn't drown out the hideous, desperate wails, the aching cries, the calls for help that pounded at him from all angles.

     The voices blended together into a horrific symphony but if Keith focused hard enough, he could pinpoint each individual cry. Doing that brought faces to mind, pained expressions stretching familiar features into something monstrous and sickening. They were calling out to him - for him - begging for help; his fellow paladins, his few friends from the garrison, even people and creatures he'd never known. Even the strangers felt oddly familiar, and it dawned on him that they were likely members of all the races Voltron had failed to save, individuals who were eliminated before the paladins could liberate the rest of their kind. Even those voices cried his name, so loud and sharp it was almost taunting.

     Keith felt like his ribs were closing in on his lungs, squeezing the breath out. It was like a forest fire was raging in the pit of his chest, smoke curling its way through his insides, eating up the little oxygen that remained. He couldn't breathe, couldn't see, couldn't think, not with all of them closing in on him, not here, not surrounded by every failure, every mistake, every regret. He couldn't save them, couldn't save any of them; not the aliens, not his friends, nobody. Even the silhouettes of the parents he'd never known wailed for him, shadowy limbs reaching out, just out of reach of his shaking hands.

     He could feel the ground shaking beneath him, knocking him off balance, and he tumbled to his knees. The floor kept shaking even as he curled into a ball, burying his face between his knees and squeezing his eyes shut. It wouldn't stop - it would never stop, because they couldn't stop this, couldn't stop Zarkon, and the Galra were going to kill everyone he cared about. They'd take planet after planet, entire galaxies, they'd take Allura, they'd take Coran, they'd take Pidge and Hunk and Shiro and Lance - god, they'd rip Lance right out of his hands, and they'd laugh knowing the same blood that ran through their veins tainted his, knowing he was just as much of a monster inside as the rest of them, and alone and scared and completely lost, he'd finally be forced to believe it.

     The room kept shaking, relentless and violent like the tidal waves crashing in Keith's stomach. He was so focused on the shaking that he didn't notice the voices dying down, first into a monotonous buzz, then into near silence, the only one left a hoarse, rattling sob.

     Once he identified it as his own, it cut off with a choked sound. The quiet that followed was deeply unsettling.

     Keith considered himself lucky that another voice was quick to fill it. It was a softer voice, not a scream but practically the opposite. It was gentle and steady and it murmured words to him that he couldn't recognize, not yet, not when his brain was still vibrating in his skull. They were calming, though, so he tuned into those. There was one that eventually stood out to him - Lance - and then something clicked for Keith.

     Of course the voice was Lance. It made sense that the arms wrapped around his waist, rocking him gently from side to side, would belong to Lance, as well as the voice that had snaked its way inside his head and curled up there, steadying the shaking in his skull. The voice - Lance's voice - kept talking as the body next to him - Lance's body - slowly shifted closer, until Keith was practically curled up in his lap. Blissfully, the boy didn't mention the tremors that continued to run through Keith's frame. Those, unfortunately, hadn't steadied yet.

     Keith was beginning to regain his grasp once more, but he was grateful that Lance continued to talk, explaining where they were. They were still in the castle. Everyone was safe; there'd been no invasion while Keith had slept, unless you counted Hunk raiding the kitchen. Keith wanted to laugh, but the invisible fluid that had seeped into his lungs was still slowly draining, so he let Lance handle it for him with a gentle snort.

     The shadows of the room were familiar after so many nights spent sleeping there, but Keith could see figures swimming in them tonight, so he buried his face in Lance's chest. There was no complaint, just the feeling of Lance's slender fingers carding through his hair, familiar in a good way, not like the wicked dream that had taken hold of him minutes ago.

     Minutes. Had it only been minutes? It could have been longer. He could never really tell with things like this. He made to ask, opening his mouth against the thin fabric of Lance's t-shirt, but all that emerged was a shaky sigh. A soft hush rang out from above. "Not yet," the voice murmured, chest rumbling against Keith's forehead as the words left Lance's lips. "Give yourself a second."

     Keith obeyed, letting his arms snake around Lance's lanky torso. He felt the warmth of those arms - spider arms, he always teased - curling around him in return, cradling him close. The scent of Lance's endless beauty products filled his nose - face creams and conditioners and hair oils, all part of his nightly routine. He waited until the shaking left his body, until his lungs were full of air again, until he could control his fingers enough to let them reach up and cup Lance's face. He leaned back to look up at him, finding bold blue eyes already shining down at him. "I still don't understand how you do that." Keith normally would've cringed at the abundance of emotion in his own voice as he ran his thumb over the boy's cheek, but this was different. Nights always were.

     Lance smiled, a genuine smile rather than his usual smirk, one that lit up his face and scared away all the shadows that toyed at the corners of Keith's vision. "Practice. I couldn't even get you to stop swinging at me a month ago, remember?"

     "Sorry about that."

     "Don't be," Lance laughs. "I know how to handle you, and you know how to handle me. Do you think Coran would be able to get me to stop bawling when I think I sent the whole team crashing into some alien moon?"

     Keith rolls his eyes with a snort, but it doesn't dim Lance's beaming expression. "No, but he'd probably feed you, at least. You can't say he doesn't try."

     "I will admit, the man does his darnedest." Lance tucked his face into Keith's hair once more, exhaling quietly. Keith toyed with the fabric of Lance's shirt, curling and uncurling it inside his fingers.

     Silence settled over them like a blanket, curling around them like a gentle beast - like their lions. Keith could swear he felt the purring of his counterpart in his chest, but then again, that might just be Lance's steady breathing. It was some time before Keith could bring himself to speak again, his face tucked into the crook of Lance's neck, fingers finding his companion's to hook them together in his lap.

     Lance nearly missed his murmur, tipping his head to look down at him. "Mind repeating that?"

     Keith sighed, his voice a near whisper, but just a bit louder per Lance's request. "Love you."

     "Love you too, Keith."

     The room may have been dark, but Keith's felt his insides glowing like a flame.