a/n: i'm so sorry i haven't been active! i changed my url on tumblr and i'm much more active there i swear. i'm also going to be writing a shit ton of lotura from now on because omg? this ship owns my ass. anyways, enjoy, and if i ever have time, feel free to leave a prompt in my inbox and i might write it. (note: i ship sheith, so if you're not comfortable, don't follow/harass me there, thanks!) my tumblr is softflowerwitch. enjoy!
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"May I, princess?"
The first time he says it his tongue curls just right around the words and his voice nearly sings to Allura. She looks to him and of course the answer is yes.
His hair tumbles down his back like water and when he turns from her, Lotor looks so regal and so elegant just with how he moves that Allura thinks he looks as if he's dancing—he's always expressive like that, and always overflows with charisma.
Her heart jumps in her chest for a moment. Again and again, she knows she wants to hear him say those words, and it strips her of any shadows of doubt. They linger in her head and swell around her.
It feels right. Lotor feels right like anything that has ever felt right, and by Altea he feels safe, like she can confide in him.
It is a strange thing.
When he says it again it is kind, and he hovers around his words in greeting to her, because it feels like it's been millenia since they last saw each other—it hasn't quite been that long but any time apart has begun to feel like too long and their reunions never soon enough—and Lotor's hands curl around her helmet, lift it away from her face gently. He is careful to not pull any strands of hair from her neatly pinned style.
His voice is low and sweet, and his hands grip her shoulders and she smiles so dearly at him he knows they were meant to meet each other.
Allura's hand runs over his and her fingers twine into his messily. The tears spill over and Lotor is overwhelmed by the urge to gather her into his arms because he knows—he knows so well that she cares deeply for him, and truth be told, she makes him feel as safe as he does her.
"Will you come stay at the castle?"
"Would I ever refuse you?" And pink tinges her cheeks when he is quick to reply, the smirk gracing his lips familiar. His voice quiets when he says you (and really, he appreciates the invitation but she is the reason he always accepts, he would never deny that).
"No, you wouldn't." Allura challenges, smiling up at him. It sends his heart into his stomach and he revels in how good it feels.
She's still smiling when he looks away.
She is alone on one of the castle's balconies, and she's quietly contemplating to herself. He knows by the way she leans over into her hand, how her brow creases. It was nearly her fault that Keith had been hurt on their most recent mission, but she shoulders all the blame, just as she has always done.
The door slides open and she turns to find him there, already crossing to her. They stand there for a moment, the air between them tangibly thick with tension, until his voice conveys his worry.
His hands come up, and his nails are tipped—she'd learned that they'd always done that under stress, and rather than be fascinated by it now, she looks to him with her own concern—so they hang there in the air for a moment, almost retreat to his sides.
Her hair curls around her face, pours down her shoulders and brushes away from her form in the wind. Finally her shoulders drop and she nods, visibly eased.
Lotor's arms eagerly curl around her center, pull her flush against him. It feels intimate, like this is how they were always meant to simply hug—
"Are you alright?" She whispers, wraps her arms tight around him, too, and she shivers when his head drops to her shoulder and somewhat turns to her.
"I am."
They stand like that for a long while until he is the one to break away, his hands gliding along her arms up to the base of her neck. He leans down and presses his forehead to hers, breathing in deep and having to stifle the urge to catch her lips with his own. But her hands skim along his chest, and then his neck, and move to cradle his face between them, and he is met with difficult choices. He either has to move away or move closer, and he has no will left to do either, so he stands still instead.
"May I, princess?" He murmurs, a breath away from her.
And Allura, headstrong as always, tugs him down to her level and he crushes his lips against hers, moving deftly, softly. It feels natural that they should do this, that they should be here. She sighs into him and it takes everything in him to not have more of her.
She pulls away this time, buries herself in his chest. He caves and brings his head down again—silently musing how absolutely precious it is that he is a whole head taller than her—to kiss her once more.
Lotor decides then that he won't ever tire of the feeling. She's the only one that has ever made him bow his head without shame, after all.
"You were gone so long," she growls, and she angrily throws her helmet at him from across the room, angrily stomps towards him, angrily grabs him and puts her hand up to slap him.
She doesn't though. Her hand falls back down and she spins around in a whirl of white curls. Her arms cross and her shoulders tighten.
"I thought you betrayed Voltron. I thought you betrayed me," she accuses him in one hoarse whisper, and she holds herself, hands held tight at her arms like she might fall apart. He wants nothing more than to give her the comfort she needs.
"I'm here now, princess. Forgive me."
"Forgive you?"
"There's nothing more I can ask," his hand lands at her shoulder, and just feeling it there brings back memories Allura thought she would have to bury in his absence. They grow and climb back out from those depths—clearly unforgotten.
"Stay. Don't leave anymore," she commands of him, and she knows eventually he will have to leave but she just wants to hear his voice now.
"I'll stay, Allura. I'm here now."
Whirling around again she faces him head-on, gaze refusing to falter. She's so proud he wonders if that is his downfall—he melts when she's angry and proud and simply so Allura.
The sense of loneliness her voice bears, wound tight in the air between them, is painfully apparent. It's not something he can ignore.
His fingers reach to pull hers delicately to him. When he drops to one knee she stares in confusion until he pulls her hand to his lips and he ghosts a kiss over her hand. Rising once more he steps closer and smiles.
"May I, princess?"
Neither are sure of what he's asking of her, but she says yes all the same. He kisses her, perhaps longer than he'd intended, to let her know he is there to stay.
She reciprocates with heart.
Lotor's eyes are his guide when Allura is standing there, the threshold between them wide and seemingly impossible for him to cross—he worries for once that he will not be enough—following the curve of her back, down her bare legs, back up to her lightly defined shoulders. She turns to him only halfway, but he sees the nervousness written on her face, with how her lips pull down and how she furrows her brow.
He steps forward, his own bareness suddenly apparent. Pressed to her back and to her arms he finds her hands and lifts them up, then brushes his lips at the base of her neck.
Where she rises up against him he falls.
"May I, princess?" He says this along Allura's neck while his hand skims over the skin of her stomach and again she rises, curling into his form and her hands grasping where she can find him. His teeth drag along her shoulder and a shiver erupts along her back.
"Please," she sighs, turning to let him gather her into his arms and place her gently on the sheets below them.
Though Lotor is the one above, she guides him through touch and sound. His hands find the right places and she is unafraid to arch into him and let him take lead. The way she whispers to him is like a song he's known all his life—and only he knows it. He rises then, and she falls into him. It is like worship.
Lotor bows to her and her alone.
His endless question comes again when she rolls over to him in the morning sun, bathed in white light, her skin nearly glowing.
Her hair covers most of the marks on her skin; Lotor can see the faint ones where his teeth had sank into her skin a little too deep. His thumb and forefinger tilt her head up to his but she overpowers him, immediately crawling over him and slamming her lips against his.
"Good morning," and she smiles wide, biting her lip a moment later.
"Allura, you are very, very naked."
She wriggles her hips. "Are you complaining?"
"No." He throws a smirk her way and they make their way from the bed, pulling on their clothes. He wears an Altean blue and white and it reminds her much of what her father used to wear.
He finds her crown and holds it up to her, and holds it just out of arm's reach when she tries to snatch it from him. He beams at her when she pouts and places it over her head.
"May I, princess?"
Allura decides to play coy. "May you what?"
One hand moves to grip a strand of her hair and bring it to his lips to kiss softly. "Might I make you my queen someday?"
Her cheeks immediately flush red, but her pout is erased away when she nods and smiles up at him.
"You may, my prince."
Only then does he place her crown upon her head.