Written for Day 9 of Sheith Month: Memories.
Black woke from a restful doze at the quiet feeling of a troubled presence entering his hangar. He had been listening to the distant murmurs of his sleeping pride, still fresh enough from their long absence to feel the pain of it and to consciously mark their presence with him.
His Paladin was crossing the floor towards him, dressed not for battle but dishevelled as though he too might have been sleeping. Or should have been, perhaps.
Black lowered his head as quietly as he could - not very; as all the others save Yellow liked to point out, he was not really built for stealth and it did not suit him - and opened his jaws. Shiro brushed a hand over one of his lower fangs, gentle, and then ascended.
"Hey, Black." Shiro said softly as he climbed up into the cockpit, and Black rumbled in response, sliding into a momentary purr when Shiro smiled.
Shiro's fingers trailed over the wall and consoles as he made his way to the pilot's seat. Black pulled him forwards once he settled into it, but not right up to the controls. Shiro didn't feel like he wanted to go flying, and he did feel tired and heavy.
Black could correct for any clumsiness from a sleep-clumsy Paladin's flight, especially as Shiro would willingly allow him freedom to do so, but he didn't think that was what his Paladin wanted.
Shiro curled into the pilot's seat a little and stretched out a hand to brush over one of the steering columns.
"Hello." Shiro said again, still soft.
Black rumbled and pushed - gently - against his Paladin's mind.
Shiro opened - and invited Black deeper than he usually did; Shiro was willing to meet Black in their bond with amazing trust, but Black had only seen fleeting glimpses of deeper memories before. Shiro hummed, almost a purr himself, and ran mental 'fingers' over one well-worn memory, which Black took to be him leaving . . . home?
Shiro looked so young, there, barely a lanky-legged cub, but happy. As a cub should be, to be stumbling out into his own life.
Black murmured curiosity to his Paladin, and Shiro shifted a little, the back of one arm brushing along the seat. He offered Black a complex picture-word-feeling network that gave Black an impression of the Galaxy Garrison, the place Shiro-cub had been heading.
It was connected with happy memories and excitement in Shiro's memories, but also exhaustion and worry and a twist of anger and fear threaded through with betrayal. Black rumbled, not sure he approved of these memories.
Shiro showed him an older male who had been kind, nurturing the Shiro-cub's love of the stars and answering his questions even when he sought the male out away from the other packs of cubs. Shiro didn't join in with those packs save for classes, it seemed, though; his memories were quieter, full of busyness and little joining in with their play.
Black shaped a feeling-question and Shiro laughed. "We weren't children," he said aloud, showing Black an even tinier Shiro-cub among other tiny human cubs, playing games and even then - always - looking up for the stars, "and I was too busy studying." He showed his adolescent self again, surrounded by books, pale and tired.
Still, Black thought quietly, a lonely life for any, particularly a half-grown cub. Even if he wasn't tiny, that Shiro-cub was not fully-grown, either - and even for a fully-grown male, to be without a pride. . . Black had always had his pride around him, since very soon after Alfor had created him, and their millennia-long wait had thrown into bitter relief the 'unimaginable' horror of being separated and alone.
Shiro's memories swirled through classes and teachers and books and flashes of flights in tiny, relatively unsophisticated craft. Then another juvenile cub wandered into Shiro's memories, even thinner and lankier than he, and quite small - the boy looked much like Green's clever little Paladin, and Black remembered her speaking of her Paladin's lost family, the search for them that drove her.
Quiet snapping arguments between the two males became common threads in Shiro's memories, but only over papers and books and occasionally as they attempted to drag each other outside or into new groups. Each exchange ended as friends. Frustration tipping over or young males barely playing at aggression, not true fights. Especially as Shiro, the larger and stronger male, was always free with a smile or an apology.
Then a more familiar face appeared, a shaggy, dark head slipping around the periphery of some of Shiro's classes and slinking through the Garrison hallways alone.
The younger version of Red's beloved Paladin was even more slender and small than he was now, though he moved with none of the awkwardness or lack of awareness that Shiro's other friend displayed constantly.
Quiet and withdrawn with the other students, he excelled in the air - no wonder he had suited to Red, Black thought idly, watching Shiro's memory of one of the young male's first flights; he had taken to it instinctively, and flown dangerously but well - and pushed through classes with steady determination. He bowed his head and passed by other youngsters and the teachers alike, seemingly uncaring of either.
Shiro's memories skipped and tangled, as memories often did, between places and feelings that connected in some way within his mind. One flight brought to mind others; a particular class led to searching through the library for books led to squabbles with the skinny male over studies for it; noticing the loner in class became noticing him everywhere became looking for him became seeking him out to talk became sparring with him in play. True sparring, unlike with the other boy, strikes and kicks and tumbles and even little growls from Red's Paladin.
A wary look in stormy eyes when they met Shiro's - bold and unafraid - became a tiny smile became fondness and a closeness Black had seen between the two males in the present - a closeness that Red's Paladin seemingly allowed no one else in the past.
Friendly squabbles over books with the other boy were joined in Shiro's fondest memories by quieter shared studies with this one, and then young Shiro's focus and drive faded for the first time Black had seen in these memories and the books lay open but ignored as Shiro's eyes followed slender, battered hands and fixed on the sharp planes of a familiar face.
Not a lack of focus, then, Black thought, faintly surprised, but a new one.
Shiro's memory turned to the room they often used to spar - Shiro standing there, face bloodied, calling out to the other male as he all but ran away.
At the call of his voice, though, Keith stopped. Turned, hesitant. There was blood on his knuckles. Shiro cradled his hand and smiled sheepishly at him, talking until the harsh lines of Keith's face softened and he came close, brushing his fingers over Shiro's face, the injury he had caused with a mistake in their playful scuffle.
That memory slipped to another marked by Keith's hands on Shiro's face; this time his stormy eyes were warm, not wary or distressed, and his lips curved in a sweet smile. He nuzzled Shiro affectionately, with a soft almost-purr, and surrendered to being pulled close and kissed without a fight, though his whipcord-thin body tensed when Shiro pulled at him.
Black sent another curious feeling to Shiro, and he smiled and hummed, idly stroking one hand back and forth over part of the pilot's seat. His pulse fluttered and his memories tumbled through more affectionate contact and kisses, building the story of a standoffish young male slowly allowing space for another to pull him close.
He was wary and guarded still in Shiro's memories, but Shiro was welcomed with softness never shown otherwise. Shiro bubbled with warmth and adoration, delighting in every moment spent with the other male now treated as his mate. He excelled as much as he ever had in his studies, but he was happier and lighter than he had been even with his friend before Keith.
Shiro's memory flowed through a blurring sequence of classes and kisses and flying and sparring and nights spent together under the stars and days of snatching moments between classes or venturing together out under the desert sun.
Black watched lingering goodbyes, the memory full of excitement tinged with longing and distress at being parted when Shiro walked away and into a ship, which faded into pain and muddled confusion as Shiro was trapped - strapped down as he yelled - by people from his Garrison. And then Keith was there, sharp and fierce and angry, then suddenly soft as he approached Shiro, as he was only for Shiro.
The bittersweet twist of fear and betrayal connected to the Garrison, despite all the happy memories, now made sense to Black as he realised that the people Shiro had considered his pride, in a way, if a distant one, had treated him as an interloper when he most needed help. But not Keith, of course.
Were they still-
Shiro smiled, memories turning in answer towards bright rooms here in the Castle, a whipcord slender body under now mismatched hands; tough, slightly battered smaller hands gentle as they mapped out a body hardened and scarred in the time the mated pair had been forcefully parted.
"Shiro?"
Black startled as he heard the Red Paladin's voice - he had sunk into his bond with his Paladin so much, so absorbed in Shiro's memories, that he had paid little mind to anything else, and he had not heard Keith enter the hangar. He paused, considering, then opened his jaws once more.
Keith approached without hesitation, bold little thing that he was - so like Red - and paced up and inside. "Aa, Shiro." Keith said softly, sliding a hand over the back of the pilot's seat and onto Shiro's shoulder.
His face lit with a warm smile as he turned enough to see Keith, and Shiro raised a hand, encouraging Keith closer. He let himself be pulled down mostly into Shiro's lap with a gentle openness about him, curling into Shiro.
"I missed you in bed. Is everything okay, love?" Keith asked, stroking Shiro's face.
He clung to Keith around the waist and nodded, but hid his face against Keith's shoulder. "I came to talk to Black." Shiro said, and Keith hummed, acknowledgement and warmth, and didn't ask anything more, stroking Shiro gently, letting him hide and stay silent if he wished. Keith neither tried to leave himself, nor urged Shiro to return to - their? - bed.
Black rumbled a purr as soft as he could, and watched the mated pair curl together in his pilot's seat. They suited well, he thought, still sorting through Shiro's offered memories.
Shiro loved him deeply, Black had seen it and felt it, and in return Keith adored Shiro with all the devotion his fiery heart could hold.
Shiro held Keith in his lap - and though both males had shed the awkwardness of half-grown adolescent bodies, Keith was still quite small enough to cuddle there comfortably - but Keith squared his shoulders and shielded Shiro's body, cradling his head and stroking his neck and back comfortingly.
No wonder he made such a strong right hand for you, my Paladin, Black concluded, thinking of both Keith's piloting as part of Voltron and the way he stood up at Shiro's side, backing him up or defending him.
I told you; he loves him.
Black grumbled at Red's self-satisfied tone. She wasn't as bad as Green, but Red was always so smug and insufferable.
We all are, Red said, rumbling with laughter, it's part of what we are, Black. Prideful.
Black snarled at her half-heartedly, and Red snickered, but 'pushed' against him gently, like stroking her head against his shoulder. Red had always been closest to him, and. . .
It is good to have Paladins who have trust and love between them again, Red murmured, and Black sighed, returning Red's affectionate gesture.
Yes. It was.
My headcanons about the Lions and their personalities, let me show them to you. .
Also, Red and I are both side-eyeing you pretty hard, Black, for somehow not noticing Shiro's love for Keith, at the very least.