Disclaimer: I don't own Voltron. Or Lotor :(
Notes: I was listening to Sick of Losing Soulmates by dodie, Bad Idea from Waitress, and Night Changes by One Direction for like,,,, an hour while writing this and I think you should listen to them while reading this. Sick of Losing Soulmates is what inspired this in the first place.
This is an AU where Allura and Lotor knew each other before Altea was destroyed, and takes place during a gala on Altea a few weeks before the war began. Enjoy!
Word Count: 2526
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Since learning her place in the universe, Allura has had plenty of time to learn more about the kind of person she is and the kind of princess-one day queen- she hopes to be.
She decides that she isn't the type to run away from her problems.
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But that doesn't mean
she doesn't run.
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Compared to the ballroom inside, the wind of the empty beach feels like a thousand chilling needles scraping over her flesh, but it still isn't enough to cool the heat winding through her core. The air is thick with the tide and as Allura stares into the moon, she swears she can still feel his gaze; her skin tingles with memory, and no matter how she tries to distract her mind, nothing seems to be able to make it go away. As she races along the sandy beach, sandals clutched tightly in one hand and the other left holding her gown up so she can run, Allura can feel the trails of sweat freeze where they drip along her spine, and she is sure that at least one or two of the intricate curls that her mother spent so much time on have finally slipped free.
It is only when she feels she is finally far enough away that she remembers how someone might be looking for her and she stops, curling over to rest her hands on her knees and to catch her breath. The fine white sand nearly glows under the luminescence of the moon, but the rest of the world around her is dark with the open expanse of rolling black waves, and it is here that she finally gets her moment of respite. In this moment alone, in this place apart, Allura doesn't have to pretend. She knows she should return immediately, lest someone worry, but she's breathing in the fresh air of the ocean and feeling the mist of stray seafoam kissing her eyelids for the first time in what feels like ages, and she realizes something critical.
She's not ready to give it up.
I'll go back in a minute, she tells herself, chest heaving as she tries to absorb the moment. All I need is just a little bit more... and then I'll go back to the gala and forget everything that just happened and get back to business. That's all I need. One minute.
But as much as Allura has learned about herself over the course of the last few weeks, she is still only just starting to realize that just one is never quite enough.
She takes her time on the return journey, her toes slipping into the wet sand with each easy step. It is comforting and she is so absorbed in her thoughts and the feeling of being immersed in outer tranquility—even when her inner-self is anything but—that she doesn't notice the presence of another on the beach until his silhouette has already begun to break through the shadows of the castle's lights just a bit farther off. Her immediate gut-reaction is to do something drastic, but she's been told that impetuous is her middle name, and she's trying to break that habit. Thus, she continues her steady pace, not changing her gait even when they meet, and they say nothing as he turns on his heel and begins to walk alongside her in the sand.
He is at least two feet away from her and yet she is so aware of his closeness that she's convinced she is more in tune of his steps than her own. She's not sure what angle he's working or what counterattack she should prepare, but she feels the sedation of the beach give way to a barely extinguished ire, and by the time they are able to just see the moon's reflection in the castle's white towers, she is essentially back where she started. When he finally speaks a few long paces later, her frustration has all but mounted.
"Didn't make it very far, did you?" Lotor remarks, seemingly innocuous, but she knows better and she can hear the suggestion in his voice. Allura's not sure what he's implying—is he criticizing my abilities again, or is he calling me a coward?—but she's already pissed off enough as it is, and he's not going to make it very far himself if that's the game he's come out to play.
"I thought it was far enough," she comments icily, glancing his way for the first time. "But apparently not."
The look he gives her, like he's masking irritation with amusement makes her fists clench instinctually. But she keeps trudging forward, content to act as if he weren't there beside her, and hopes the he'll take the hint... but the stars and spirits have other plans in mind for her tonight, and he keeps along at her side in the silence. The sound of her heart beating in her ears begins to overwhelm the soothing sounds of the nearby waves and Allura thinks—well, isn't this just terrific?—that there is probably very little else he could do to ruin her evening at this point, so she turns to him and demands, "Is there something you need?"
"Impatient, are we?" Lotor turns toward her, looking down his long nose into her eyes, and Allura wants to break his teeth.
"What the hell kind of game are you playing, Lotor?" she hisses suddenly, creeping in closer to show him how unafraid of him she is.
"You tell me," he says quietly, severely, and the charade is dropped. His eyes are stern and questioning, and Allura is all the more angry because she's the one who's asking the questions here.
"If you're going to try to play me, princess, you better be prepared to get played yourself."
"Like you didn't try to play me first," she spits, roughly shoving him back and he stumbles, still not expecting such strong force from so small a frame and it never fails because she is always, always underestimated, isn't she—even by him.
She advances, pushing him back another step as she shoves the heel of her palm into his shoulder, grinding out the words as if they are suddenly too much, and she is hit with the sudden realization that her father would be furious if he knew what was happening on this beach. Disrespect towards the son of a trusted friend and important ally. Lotor is brushing his shoulder off with slow, intentional fingers and Allura thinks that even though it might usually be his style—though it might actually be worth the shot—she has the feeling that she doesn't need to worry.
This is one match they will both savor.
"If you think that was the only reason for what is happening what, then you're even more stupid than I thought," he seethes, and Allura is confused but furious, and it clouds her mind. She thinks that maybe he's trying to tell her something but she is too far done with his shit, and she doesn't want to care, doesn't want to know, doesn't want to have to think about this anymore. She's already invested too much in this game, and all she wants is for things to go back to the way they were, when she could focus on the fight and the win and not the heat in his eyes.
"The only thing I care about where you're concerned is finding the most satisfying way for you to take a sucker-punch to the face," she whispers, eyes blazing.
"I'd like to see you try, Princess."
"I'd like to see you try to stop me."
"Oh, with great... pleasure," he says smoothly, and Allura tries to focus on the anger and the indignation instead of his voice and his proximity and when did he get so close again?
"Pleasure's all mine, Lotor."
He laughs, deep and low and rich. "All right, then. As soon as that next dance starts, I'm coming straight for you," he whispers as he pushes forward, and it sounds like a threat, but Allura hopes it's a promise. "You gonna be ready for that?"
"Counting on it."
And suddenly they are back in the dimly-lit alcove in the castle's, toe-to-toe all over again, but Allura thinks that can't be true because there is the smell of the ocean in the air and the voice inside her head that is calling out for her to just lean in is so much louder. She resists the urge, enraged by its very existence, but she is wavering and she can feel it. Like the angles of his face, his eyes are sharp and clear against the surrounding darkness, and there is no thought, no chance, no hope—no desire—for escape. As the sounds of the crashing waves continue to blur her senses, she feels something shift within her and, to her utmost annoyance, she sees the recognition pass through his eyes.
"I've seen you training." He says smoothly. "I could show you how real royalty fights."
Allura would be tempted to laugh in his face if not for the fact that, through the haughty arrogance, she can hear a genuine flicker of something—hope?—seep into his voice.
"In your dreams."
"Probably," he smirks, and Allura scoffs, shaking her head incredulously at his shamelessness. She is so frustrated by this game of cat and mouse that he always seems to want to play—especially because is it ever like I know who is who?—and she wants to wipe that smirk off of his face, but she's struck by the wandering thought that perhaps this, whatever it is that they are doing, might be different. That instead of playing the same set of tricks, Lotor might have something special rolled up his sleeve for her, and she doesn't know if this idea is presumptuous or off-base or just plain stupid.
"You might just change your mind, Princess."
"Don't hold your breath."
He smirks, and Allura stills as he leans in just a little too close. "You shouldn't hold yours."
She maintains her ground for as long as she can, but it's not long enough, because he is still watching her with knowing eyes when she finally releases a breath of air that she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Anger floods through her as his eyes fill with laughter at her expense, and she decides that she hates him because now there's really no denying it to herself, the effect he has on her, and worse, there might be no denying it to him.
"Let's get together again, shall we?" he suggests before she can redeem herself with another scathing comment. "I'm a very busy guy, but I could make some room in my schedule for you."
"The only reason I'd ever want to see your face again would be to beat you into the ground," she flares, and they both know that, while mostly accurate, it is undoubtedly not the whole truth. But they're both young and naive to know anything different than this game of cat and mouse, this frothing cauldron of what ifs they've been swimming in for years.
"Such appealing options," he observes huskily. "But I'm willing to accept those conditions. It's a date then."
For a moment she is unable to respond, and all she can do is stare at him in open-mouthed, unabashed wonder. "Are you even listening to yourself?" she asks with utter disbelief. But then she thinks that this might not really be the real issue at hand; the bigger problem could very well be that she is actually listening to him. Allura tries to tell herself that it has nothing to do with what he's saying, and that it's just his damning, irritating voice, which is marginally better—though really no better at all—but it doesn't change the fact that she still is still here, listening, and that she hasn't walked away. Or demolished him. Or —
"Don't tell me you're going to chicken out after all."
"I never agreed to this in the first place."
"You're the one who suggested it."
"You took a lot of liberties with what you think I said."
"So does this mean you're admitting that you're scared?"
"You are not going to corner me into anything and especially not with such a stupid tactic."
"Princess," he says evenly, and he is suddenly serious. For some reason this only throws her even more off-balance. "Do you want to dance with me again or not?"
She hasn't even danced with him the first time, at least not in a very long time, but there is just something too good about this deal to pass up, something too sweet about the image.. so she cocks her chin up and tells him the truth.
"I want to."
He smirks, a brow quirking at her wording, but he is pleased and, in a way that terrifies her just as much as it thrills her, so is she.
"That settles it then."
"Fine," Allura says crisply. She feels better knowing that this is just a dance—even though it's not—but she'll be damned if she isn't going to be the one calling the shots from here on out. "The next gala, two Phoebs from now. Just you and me."
He looks at her then, and even through the abrasive persona she is still trying so hard to wear, she is halted by way his lips have formed because Lotor doesn't smile, he smirks, and yet there it is—a devious but genuine smile staring her straight in the face. "See you around, princess," he says smugly as he saunters off. "I suppose we'll just have to wait and decide exactly how to spend our evening when we get to it."
"Whatever," she huffs, rolling her eyes, but there is hardly any venom. Still a little stunned, she watches him leave with something like anticipation curling through her, and when she almost smiles back, she catches it, hiding it away with the promise of saving it for later.
But as she bends to retrieve her sandals and sees his form recede farther into the distance, she realizes that she is unsatisfied. There are a thousand and one things more to say, but there is only one that she currently has the voice or mind to understand.
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"Lotor!" she calls out to him.
The wind begins to swirl in soft currents along the open shore, but it curls her hair into her eyes, and she tangles the fingers of her free hand into the wild, billowing strands to keep them from masking her face.
She watches him halt his steps in the sand, and when he turns his smirk of a could-be smile gleams in the moonlight, matching the mischievous gleam of a could-be warmth in her eyes, and they share a knowing look.
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"One dance," she calls.
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One dance.
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"One dance," he answers.
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Only they never got the chance.
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When he hears of Altea's destruction, knowing that she's gone with it,
Lotor promises himself to not be that naive ever again.
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When Allura wakes from her slumber,
she promises herself to never be that naive ever again.
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fin