A/N: Another entry for badthingshappen bingo over on tumblr (feel free to follow me there at 'heyheroics'). The request was "You said you'd let them go" with Lance. As these are stories written in response to prompts, please be aware that they are one-shots and there will not be a follow up. Thank you for understanding!

Please enjoy, and do leave a comment if you did :)

XXX

"Lower your weapon. Kick it over to me. Slowly."

For a moment, Lance does nothing. Considers not listening. There are four Barbosians but he keeps Brutok in the crosshairs, finger aching to pull the trigger.

If he's quick, he can take them all out with four precise shots, with only slight risk to himself.

But Allura and Coran are here too, both slumped to the floor at Brutok's grubby feet, apprehended when Lance dared to let his guard down. He won't risk their safety again. Can't.

"If you don't, I will end their lives here and now."

Cowards.

"If I lower my weapon, you step away from my friends," Lance counters, stroking the trigger. He holds his fire, though. He isn't the hot-head - that's Keith's thing.

The Barbosians look to one another before Brutok drags Coran up by the scruff of the neck and pushes the sharp edge of a dagger into disheveled orange hair. "No. You kick your weapon over to me or this creature's insides become his outsides."

Lance tries not to flinch at the thought, but the hitch in his breath is audible. If Brutok and his goons hear it, they give no indication.

If he squeezes right now, he can send a shot right through Brutok's left eye, but Coran had taken a long, hot shower only two varga ago and it would be a shame to spray hot Barbosian blood all over him.

So he takes a deep, controlled inhale, lowers his gun and breathes out. His blaster clatters to his feet, where he shoves it away with his foot. Just like that, a piece of him is missing. Without his gun, he is basically useless.

"Stupid human," Brutok cackles, scooping Allura and Coran into one arm with ease and turning to leave with them. One of the other Barbosians collect his surrendered blaster and aims it at him to keep him from following.

"Wait!" It comes out of his throat before any form of rational thought can go through his head. "Where are you going? You have to let them go, I did what you said!"

Brutok does not stop. In a few more ticks, he will be out of Lance's sight, with Allura and Coran in tow.

Lance feels the exact moment his composure slips.

"Please wait! I'll do anything!"

Sure, maybe it's an idiotic thing to do, but if being an idiot keeps Allura and Coran safe, he'll play the fool every time.

Brutok pauses and turns, dumping the Alteans messily to the floor. His fellow goons are chuckling and Lance suppresses the urge to crumble under the sound. Brutok lifts a meaty finger and beckons him to come closer. Lance does.

As soon as he's within reach, a large hand smashes down onto his helmet, forcing him to all fours. Even with the armor, the crash of his knees against the ground pulls a yelp out of him, but he balances out the sign of weakness with the most heated glare he can summon.

But Brutok is not phased.

"Meet my eyes, human, and I will put skewers through theirs. Resist me and I will gut them like a Gloptrop. Speak, and I will sever their tongues. Hesitate to obey me and I will make all of these things seem like acts of mercy."

Lance imagines Allura's beautiful gem irises as gaping black holes and of Coran's jovial voice gurgling on blood in a tongueless mouth and he wants to vomit. He doesn't know what a Gloptrop is but imagines their insides being ripped out at the belly and feels the muscles of his abdomen ripple in repulsion.

He stays on his hands and knees, limbs shaking, and says nothing.

Weak.

"Now. Remove that ridiculous headpiece."

Eyes still cast to the floor so Allura and Coran can keep theirs, he rips off his helmet and dumps it to the wayside.

"Good." A large hand appears before him and Lance can't help flinching, but instead of striking him, the hand just hovers there, jagged knuckles mere inches from his face. "Worship me," he's told, and Lance's eyes come to focus on the rings and jewels crammed onto Brutok's enormous fingers. His stomach rolls.

"Worship me."

Lance brings trembling lips to Brutok's decorated fingers, and peppers them in light kisses.

"Slower."

He can't help the hiccup that stutters his breath, but he says nothing as he presses his lips more firmly, lingering a few ticks longer in a way that feels… sensual. Lance keeps his stomach tight, unwilling to spew all over Burtok's hand in fear of the punishment it would land on Allura and Coran.

The hand receiving his affections flips, then, grasping at his chin and directing his head downwards. The note of joy in Brutok's voice is sickening. "Now, worship the ground I walk on."

When the hand releases him, Lance lowers himself, nose barely brushing against the cold, hard ground, wondering if he's really expected to start making out with the floor.

Brutok's clawed hand drops to the top of his head and pushes, sending him face-first to the ground, clacking his teeth painfully and Lance can feel something in his nose shift on contact. Pain stretches across his entire face; it hurts to pucker his lips to press into the ground but he manages, tasting dirt and grime and the salt of his own blood. He closes his eyes because if he looks, he can see little red stamps where his lips have touched.

In front of him, Brutok shifts his feet closer, seemingly wanting Lance to kiss them as well. But the movement disturbs the dirt and it creeps up his busted nose, ripping a coughing fit out of him. Lance brings a hand up to stifle it. He is not at all surprised when his fingers come away bloody.

Brutok notices as well and hauls Lance to his feet by his hair, pulling a whine out of him in the process. He is dragged so close to Brutok's face he can see the yellow flecks in his irises.

Rancid breath washes over his face as Brutok practically croons, "I hear human blood tastes sweet."

Lance nearly chokes on a sob as his bloodied fingers are brought to the Barbosian's hungry mouth, lips wrapping fully around the digits to suckle at them. He can feel a course tongue lapping at the pads of his fingers, sharp teeth nibbling at the joints. For a moment he fears the strength of Brutok's jaw will snap his bones in half.

He's going to puke, he's going to puke, he's going to—

It is an empty retch. He doubles over, wanting to expel something but ends up dry heaving instead. His fingers slip out of Brutok's mouth with a wet pop.

"You may take them to central command," Brutok tells the others. Lance watches as two of the spectating Barbosians pluck the Alteans up off the floor while the third continues to aim his own blaster at him. He makes to step forward regardless, even as his blaster hums to life as a result.

"Y-you said…" he fumbles, dragging his forearm across his face to wipe off the sweat and spittle and disbelief. "You said! You said you'd let them go!"

"Pitiful creature. If everyone was true to their word there would be no hierarchy. You want to get ahead? That big heart of yours will always hold you back."

Lance just stares, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. It is not the first time someone has told him that his good intentions are a bad thing.

"In other words," Brutok grins, teeth still stained with Lance's blood. "I lied."