Summary: Lance knows he's ruined their life, their chances at saving the Universe. Everything that comes down to him is something deserves.
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Someone unattainable dictates my emotional stability
Mesmerized with how disinterested you are with me
— Crywank, I Don't Know About What Happened (Because Once You Start Writing It All Becomes Fiction)
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When Lotor enters his cell, it's been days since Lance has even seen anyone. He looks up hopefully, as if the man who once was his saviour would want something to do with him now. Two tall, heavy guards flank him then, holding laser spears in their hands. One of them slaps it into his open palm, a show of dominance that has Lance cowering, hiding with a sob and a cry.
"Please don't hurt me!" he begs, remembering clearly how he has been beaten the first time he was brought in here.
On Lotor's order.
And then he came in, framed like the neon lights of the hallway, like a fucking angel, the pale hair crowning him like a halo, extending a hand. He had called him a cute name. Sweetheart. Sweet cheeks. Lance had gripped him tight.
Once again, it's similar. Lotor smiles, too sweet to be real, kneeling as he gives him a hand.
"You've been good, my dear," he says this time. "You are a traitor, but you've done good for me by bringing him the Red and Black paladins."
Lance feels his lips twitch – he wants to smile, but he's not sure if he should. He just wants Lotor to call him good. Please, please, let him be good. He wants to do good for him, for the man who's done so much for him, he wants to give back. He lowers his head, waiting for more, waiting to hear more words from him. Maybe he'll be able to speak later. For now, he can't even make a sound, too scared to even let out a noise. If he did wrong, he'll beat him up. Lance still sorely remembers the sticks on his body. He's still covered in bruises and shallow cuts.
"Now, come on… don't look so scared, little bird," Lotor croons, lifting his head with his clawed fingers. He's shorter than the rest of the Galras, skin smooth and lilac, long white hair framing his handsome features. Lance feels like he's a sparrow and he's an eagle, just from his bone structure and the claws. Lotor looks regal and Lance feels like he's the dirt he's stepping on.
"You've done much good for me," Lotor begins again, wiping at his stained cheeks, a lazy smile still sprawled over his face. "You need to have some form of thanks from me. I was thinking… you've been in love with that Red paladin you've been telling me about mmh?"
Lance doesn't know what to say. So he doesn't speak. Just nods. Nods, agrees. He's been in love with Keith since he saw him in the Garrison hallways, frowning before Shiro approached. He's had his heart broken ever since he saw them hold hands in the castle, ever since Shiro kissed Keith's now lilac forehead when the changes appeared after he shifted to a more Galra appearance.
Keith can't be a reward. Lance wishes he was, in a way, as terrible as the idea is. He's well past regretting morally inacceptable actions, now. He's brought the three of them here and his need for affection has put the three of them in very different cells. A cold, clammy one for him. Silks and gauzes of the seraglio for Keith and the chilling arena cells for Shiro, once again.
If there's one thing he does regret, it's bringing Shiro back here. The haunted look on his face when Lotor had told him the crowd had missed him had made him vomit.
But good for him, he'd thought, somehow, still viciously jealous that he had Keith.
He loves him. He wants him.
And he's already proven he's a piece of shit. There's nothing he can do to be forgiven, now. Lotor knows, even if he says he loves him, that he's no good. Just good enough to bring him the paladins and he can't be trusted. He's betrayed his friends. He's right. Lotor was right all along. He's less than the useless wheel of the coach, he's the dirt they roll on.
And he's right – so why would Keith even give him the time of the day if he's so worthless? Voltron truly is a joke is if the Blue lion chose him, even with its low standards.
"Come now," Lotor says, pulling him up with a pat to his shoulder. He looks terrible in the skin-tight suit of prisoners, the shirt he wears a paler lavender compared to Shiro's purple one. "I have a gift for you, for all your good deeds for me, little bird."
His hands are chained together with a luminous purple link, stretching to only about a foot wide. Lance is used to the restraints, lets Lotor guide him, one hand over his shoulder as they walk long the dim-lit corridors. Galras can't see in the broad light and Lance thinks it's why Keith was always so squinty on the castle and yet, so efficient during missions on these ships. It doesn't matter now. Keith won't fight anymore, never again.
He's an Omega. His father is a noble Galra, his mother a noble Altean from a surviving colony, making Lotor very interested in obtaining him, if only for the fact he has a functional womb.
And Lotor needs a heir. He promised Keith wouldn't be harmed. Lance believes him because each time he sees Keith at gladiator games, he looks as angry as ever. The first time, he even fought to get to the ring, seeing Shiro outnumbered by scaly beasts. But he had pulled through. Lotor had laughed. Told Keith to sit down or he'd send the dessert down there. He'd been using Shiro against Keith and vice-versa, hanging the threat of letting his generals use the Omega as they pleased hang over them like a Damocles' sword.
Lance knows he's ruined their life, their chances at saving the Universe. Everything that comes down to him is something deserves.
When they step in the Research Wing, Lance expects the worst. He can't read Galra very well yet but… there's something about Omegas on the door. This time, the worst takes a turn so insidious he tightens his legs, pushed inside by Lotor. Maybe this is it. Lotor wants to have a better use to him, wants something more practical, quicker. When the door slides to the right, it reveals not a druid in robes and gloves, but Keith, tied to what seems to be the equivalent a gynaecologist's chair, his legs spread obscenely wide, attached to the stirrups.
Lance stands there dumbfounded, hearing the cheers and cackles of the guards behind him. Lotor lets out a pleased noise. Keith is making tiny noises of distress, folds slick with juices and lavender skin covered by sweat. There's a plum flush to his cheeks and shoulders and his chest has filled in a little. The thick scent of heat fills the tiny room. Lance is pulled out of contemplation as Lotor kisses his cheek, pushing him toward the display.
"See? This is your surprise. We've induced a heat in him… don't you love him? For Galras, siring an Omega a kit is a very high proof of love," he purrs, touching his thighs, finding what joins the pants and shirt of the suit to pull them down, palming his crotch. Lance moans softly, looking around the room, as if expecting something terrible to come out.
Keith lets out a keen, cunt clenching over a glob of slick in front of him. He looks like he's been there for hours, red medical gown sticking to his skin – red, red for the sexual slaves, in a fitting irony –, skin marked by the leather-like restraints. He's so hard he's leaking pitifully, the head of his cock flushed a deep purple.
Keith looks like he can barely see him, cursing, eyes rolling back into his skull.
"This is a special drug," Lotor explains. "He's pumped full of hormones, that makes him so wet and needy…"
There's a soft call for Shiro. His mate. His Alpha, even though he's not quite the deal, but proved to be just like them in the Arena, strong and capable to siring. Lance heard Lotor talk of breeding Champions later, maybe, with other strong slaves. He's cattle to him and Keith isn't much better. The heady smell gets to his head slowly, being there, staring between Keith's leg to the stark pink of his pussy against the lavender skin feels to surreal. He's swimming in disbelief. Lotor is touching his cock, making him hard as he pushes him closer.
Lance braces himself on Keith's thighs, plumper than he remembers, the muscle loss to the ideal Omega's soft flesh. He's still skinny but he lost all his strength through the forceful hormones they've given him to truly awaken his fertility, giving him a womanly shape Keith seems to abhor.
"But he – is he…" Keith looked far away, eyes glassy, shivering…
"He's an Omega," Lotor answered with a bite to his ear, rubbing the head of Lance's prick against the wet, wet hole. Lance moaned, Keith did the same. "Omegas in heat need this. You have to give him what he needs, don't you think? He needs it. You've taken his life from him and now he's just a whore, just a slave… he'll get ill if you don't help with the heat. Would you want to hurt him or waste your gift, Lance?"
"But, but he—," the boy tries to speak, tries to say this feels like… it feels like – like rape. He shudders, the world feeling vile into his mind, so vile he can't bring himself to say it. Keith is so warm it almost burns him, soft and wet.
"He's an Omega. Omegas are made for this, sweetheart. Come on, just give him what he needs. You need to be good."
Lance shudders. What will happen if he's bad? He doesn't want to know. And Keith is… he does look like he's dying, panting and gyrating against him. He calls for Shiro again and when Lotor pushes him a little more, his cock slide right into the wet heat. There's a mewl from his crush and Lance feel his own throat rumble with need, leaning over Keith to touch at his chest. He's firm, nipples hard as he plucks them.
Lotor rubs his cock against his ass, still clothed but thick and filled. It's been so long since he had any attention like this – is he happy with him? Lance shudders at the idea, both from the idea that Lotor could be happy with him and that it makes him harder, makes him drive a little deeper into Keith. He leans over and hugs Keith against him, keening.
It's soft and damp in there, tight and burning around him, like Keith's trying to milk him. He makes noises right out of a cheap porno and Lance feels his ears burn up. At least, when Keith clamps down in an orgasm, he sounds a little better. He's not over still, crying for more, pushing back against him, hair spread like ink brush strokes on the white pillowcase beneath his head, panting harder – harder, more.
It doesn't take long for Lance to finally come, feeling Keith's cunt tighten again around him, as if to gain more of the spunk, as if to drain it out of him. Lotor grins against his neck, pulling him out as he turns to pull his pants back up.
"Did you like your gift?" Lotor asks, tucking him back in.
Lance opens his mouth to speak but he doesn't know what he could say. He swallows. Keith looks like he's awaking by now, eyes looking around the room blearily. He's propped up enough to notice the abundant cum.
"Did you like it?" Lotor asks again, gripping his chin to have him look at him.
This time, Keith turns to the noise, eyes widening as he notices who is with him. He looks ill, trashes against his restraints and looks at Lance like he's just stabbed him.
Lance feels terrible. But he has to speak, he has to say, "Yes. I loved it. Thank you, your Grace."
Keith looks even more betrayed, like all words have been stolen from his lips. Lance stares pointedly at his feet, feeling a sob rise in his throat. Lance feels sick and he knows he is the one in the wrong there.
"And what are you thankful for?"
Christ.
"For… for letting me…" He has to stop speaking not to heave. "For letting me use your…" There's no words for it. His thing. His object. His incubator seemed to fit the deal. Keith was a womb to push his heir into.
That seems to be enough for Lotor. He turns his head to look at Keith again and Lance avoids his angry gaze.
"See what you've done here, pet?" Lotor says, petting his hair as he forces him to look at Keith. "You know what you've done to him, don't you?"
Yes, yes; he does. It still feels vile, even more when he has to look in Keith's eyes. Hatred. Just hatred. Something burning there.
"He might be an Omega who needed it. But that doesn't change what you've done. What a bad friend you are, pet."
And he's right. And he deserves it. He deserves Keith's hate.