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Razzle Dazzle
Act II: The Price of Pride
Lotor strode to the loading bay of his ship with a swagger and smirk that he felt was wholly deserved. He had just crippled the rebellion and brought Voltron to its knees after all. A toast was in most certainly in order. After he'd had a chance to greet his guest of honor, of course.
It had not even been difficult, he mused, boots clanking down the hall while Narti followed like a silent shadow behind him. For all its lore and legend, Voltron had not put up much of a challenge. And how could it, when he gave them no quarter in which to do so?
The universe was made up of fools. Fools who put all of their faith in a single entity as though it would save them. A small band of heroes, he sneered at the word, who thought they were capable of turning the tides of a ten-thousand year war. The Paladins of Voltron were no heroes though. They were a small, ragtag group without the resources and support necessary to keep up with his constant barrage thanks to the backing of the entire Galra Empire.
Too easy. He could not believe his esteemed father, he let out an undignified snort, with all he had at his disposal had not previously been capable of taking them down. He had thought too broadly, too concerned with shows of power and might when he should have been wearing them down with small attack after attack, forced exhaustion making them slow and predictable. It was not quite the glamour Lotor himself would have preferred, but it had proven effective. His lip curled up. Yes, it had indeed gotten him what he wanted.
For there was one surefire way to end Voltron and the rebellion and she had been delivered to him now on a silver platter. He really ought to thank them for making the error of putting their treasured Altean princess on the forefront of the battle lines, making her so much easier to access than behind her castle walls.
The universe was made up of fools indeed. His father included. For when Zarkon had possessed the princess he could have ended it then in one fell swoop. Instead he had gotten greedy, that damned obsession with the Black Lion, and was now laboring on his deathbed for his troubles.
Lotor would not be making that mistake.
Voltron had but two options. Surrender completely and he would let them live out the rest of their short, miserable lives in despair. Or resist and he would kill the princess on the spot without batting an eye. Either way he won. The Voltron Alliance would crumble without their figurehead and it would be child's play to eliminate the last rebel groups.
"Sir," Axca slipped into step from an adjoining hall, one measured pace behind him. He inclined his head ever so slightly. "There is no sign of pursuit and Ezor accounted for all of Voltron's Lions prior to jumping."
"Excellent," Lotor smiled. "And our guest?"
"The bay has continued the crystal pulse rendering the Blue Lion inoperable and its Paladin unconscious according to our scans."
"Thank you, Axca. You may return to the bridge and ready the transmission feed. We shall be along shortly with the princess."
"Sir."
Lotor paused a moment later outside the bay door, elegant fingers darting over the keypad outside to shut off the crystal pulse so he and Narti would not be affected. Once it blinked to alert it had been neutralized he opened the door and strode in, hair flying behind him at the brisk pace he set for the monstrous metal beast.
It was lying on its side, limbs splayed like a broken marionette. It was truly a marvel of Altean technology and alchemy, he would allow that. But it had fallen before him as everything did.
"Narti," he commanded and she silently slipped past him to place several small bombs of Zethrid's design on the underbelly of the Lion ship. Lotor did not even flinch as they went off, his hair and cloak whipping wildly in the blast.
A gaping hole loomed up before him from the explosion and Lotor gracefully entered, turning right to head to the Lion's cockpit where his trump card awaited. There was no noise emitting from the front as the pilot should be well and truly unconscious from the pain, but Lotor drew his sword nonetheless. He would take no chances this close to his victory.
The pilot's chair came into view, its occupant hidden by the high back save for a limp white-armored arm hanging over the armrest. Lotor rounded the bend, prepared to cast his gaze upon the universe's last real hope.
But no Altean princess greeted him.
It was one of the human males instead, he observed, slumped unconscious with blood trickling down his forehead and staining the glass of his visor. He somewhat resembled the princess; tall and thin with a similar if lighter mocha colored skin, but he was most definitely not the prize Lotor had sought.
He would not bring the Voltron Alliance to its knees.
Lotor resisted the urge to curse, taking a deep, calming breath instead and his hand clenching on his sword hilt. What had changed, he wondered, taking in the boy's face tight with pain. All of their intel and experience had shown that Princess Allura was the pilot for the Blue Lion and she had been such just vargas ago. This human, Lotor scowled, was obviously a Paladin of Voltron but he was in the wrong Lion.
The red one, he realized after a moment of thought, recalling the face from the propaganda for the rebellion. Lance. The red Lion had been blasted apart earlier and this was its pilot, although he strangely wore blue armor, as he had during the shows Lotor had grudgingly watched. It was necessary to know one's enemy after all; a near fatal flaw of his father's, and what the Voltron Alliance seemed to forget was that anyone could tune in, even the enemy.
He'd learned many things from his forced viewing of the shows. For example, for whatever reason, despite the fact that the Princess Allura announced herself as such during impassioned speeches, she went under the moniker of Keith during the show.
Lotor was also not blind to the fact that not a single Paladin pictured ever wore the red armor. Keith, he could only presume, had been a former Paladin that had likely piloted the Red Lion. It might explain why he now found a blue-armored human in the Blue Lion if that were the case. However, he did not know what had become of this Keith despite his searches, but in the end it did not matter.
And all of his intel had been leading up to this moment, except that now he had obtained the wrong Paladin. But Lotor did not suffer failures after all and so this would not become one.
The Galran prince took another breath, calculating eyes narrowing as an idea slowly formed. He could still make this work. The boy might not have the same status as the Princess of Altea but he was a Paladin of Voltron and, as he'd seen from the propaganda, a popular one. A smirk pulled up his face. He could use that.
"Grab him," he ordered Narti and without a sound she dragged the human from the chair and flipped him over her shoulder. "Come," he said, already striding from the downed beast. "We have work to do."
xxx
"I can't find them." Pidge's voice was quiet and close to tears and it took all she had to not throw her tablet on the ground. "I can't find them," she repeated. "They're… they're gone."
"They can't be gone," Hunk implored desperately, swinging his head between Pidge and Shiro. "What about his armor? Can't you track it?"
Pidge shook her head, wincing at the movement. "The signal isn't there. I… I don't know…"
"Shiro," Hunk turned to their leader. "We have to find him."
"We will," Shiro said. "We'll figure this out."
He hoped so at least. Because right now they were floundering in the dark. What had seemed like a somewhat standard for them robobeast attack had turned into Lotor arriving on scene and both beast and Galran prince had gone after the Blue Lion with an intensity that bordered on ruthless.
Shiro had thought sending Lance with Hunk back to the castle to draw Lotor - since he seemed intent on soley attacking the Blue Lion - would be the reprieve they needed to figure out the robobeast and the castle could push Lotor off.
But a cloaked ship had materialized as Lance was trying to make the strategic retreat and he had Blue had crashed straight into it. Shiro had at first thought that was going to be the worst of it; just another enemy ship to combat, but then bright yellow light had shot out of the ship and wrapped around the Blue Lion and…
Shiro winced, pressing his flesh hand to his forehead as though that could chase the memory of Lance's agonized screams away. He had been helpless to do anything, pinned down by Lotor's now assault on the Black Lion and Pidge and Hunk had become the new targets of the robobeast.
They'd had but seconds to take in what was happening before the entire front panel of the ship that Lance and Blue seem to have been magnetized too opened and swallowed them up. The ship had blurred out then as it dashed to the planet's atmosphere to wormhole away and Lotor's battle cruiser had followed seconds later. The only good thing to come of it was the robobeast had pinned the Yellow Lion down beneath it and Hunk had opened fire with everything his Lion had left and the creature had collapsed, dead.
They'd wasted no further time rushing back to the castle so Pidge and Coran could attempt to pinpoint where the Galrans and Lance had gone, but they had had no luck as his armor and the Blue Lion seemed to be offline and all residual energy from the wormhole jump and already disappeared. Shiro didn't want to think of what could be happening to the younger boy right now. His prosthetic grinded as he clenched his fist.
"Why would they take Lance?" Pidge murmured, voice breaking, holding her tablet to her like some would a pillow.
"I do not think they were after Lance," came a pained if firm voice from across the bridge.
"Allura!" Hunk whirled around, spotting the princess being supported by Coran as she made her way to them, still clothed in the cryo-pod suit and a blanket thrown about her shoulders. "You're not supposed to be out yet. Your wounds-"
"I will manage," Allura interrupted, her face pale beneath her words. "Retrieving Lance takes priority and the worst of my injuries have been stabilized."
"What do you mean not after Lance?" Pidge asked as Coran helped Allura to sit in the Blue Paladin's chair and she hunched forward, clearly still in pain. "They were clearly targeting Blue."
"Yes," Allura murmured. "But who pilots the Blue Lion now?"
"You," Shiro breathed, pieces clicking in his sleep-addled mind. "They were after you."
She inclined her head. "I believe that to be so."
"Back on Scacad," Shiro said quickly, words spilling over one another, "they tried to take you. I didn't even think anything of it. I didn't… and now Lance is…"
"None of us are thinking clearly," Coran offered although guilt colored his tone. "We are exhausted and it is impairing our logic."
"This is my fault," Allura tilted her head down.
"Don't say that," Hunk admonished although she was somewhat right. Allura had known the risks of joining the battle on the frontlines but it had been a necessary one at the time with Shiro gone. And when Keith had opted to step down as leader and focus his efforts with the Blades of Marmora Allura had kept her role and no one had thought to suggest otherwise.
However, with the popularity of The Voltron Show and its universe-wide broadcast, her face and Lion had become well-known across the universe. Everyone knew the Princess of Altea moniker Keith piloted the Blue Lion.
It had just never meant anything until this moment.
"Why though?" Pidge asked. "Why would Lotor be after you? Why now?"
"The Coalition," Shiro said slowly. "It's gaining support. A lot of it. They need to quash it now before too many start to join to where they'll actually have to fight back."
"But you are our leader," Allura pointed out. "If the Galra wished to make a statement then-"
"No," Shiro cut her off. "I may lead Voltron but you, Allura, lead the Alliance. You're the figurehead." His eyes widened. "You're the statement."
"Or the bargaining chip," Hunk put in. Eyes swiveled to him and he continued, voice unnaturally serious. "Think about it. Zarkon already tried it once."
"But they don't have Allura," Pidge said, her stomach tightening. "They have Lance. And to them Lance…" She wavered, feeling a sudden pressing chill and she saw the same dawning understanding on the other's faces.
"To them," she repeated in a whisper, "Lance is expendable."
xxx
Lance awoke to muffled voices and a throbbing that seemed to extend from his toes to his aching head. He lied still, not sure what was happening but some instinct he had long ago learned to listen to told him now was not a good moment to alert anyone to the fact he was awake.
Because, as memories trickled in, he had the feeling he was not with friends.
"Strip him. I want the armor confiscated."
The words came from a clear, sharp voice that carried a similar exotic accent that Allura and Coran had. He was so focused on the tone that the words only registered as he felt a hand descend upon his shoulder.
Lance wasn't even aware he had reacted until his body was moving, rolling to the side and away from the offending hand, feet kicking out with force built up from years of playing fútbol and connecting with something that sent reverberations up his entire leg.
His hands pushed against the floor but before he could even try and lift himself up what could only be a clawed foot smashed against his back. It pressed down with such a force he swore he heard the armor crack and he gasped at the sudden pain.
Before he could even try to figure out his next move a second weight was added but this time to his head and if it hadn't been for his helmet his skull may have been flattened. As it was his nose smashed into the bloodied visor that obscured his vision. Not that it mattered at this moment as all he could see was metal floor beneath him.
"Well, well," came that voice again that made Lance's stomach curl with unexplained dread. "That was unexpected. I had thought a species of your strength would still be under the influence from the crystal pulses." A laugh, cold and cruel sounded. "Humans really are such fascinating creatures."
Something pressed on the side of Lance's neck and he realized that whoever his captors were had found the helmet latch. It unclasped with a soft hiss and the pressure lessened slightly for it to be removed.
Lance picked his head up, chin brushing the ground, prepared to… to demand his release or something of that nature in a way that would make him look like a Paladin and not the terrified teenage boy that he current felt like, but any words died on his tongue as he took in the person crouched in front of him.
Lilac purple skin with was framed with thick, white hair that had it been any other instance Lance may have asked what kind of conditioner was used to give it that almost glow. Pointed ears peeked out against the white and a set of yellow eyes with dark violet pupils gazed down upon him. But it was the smirk, a soft, dangerous thing, playing across the pointed chin that gave him the most pause.
"Lotor," he breathed. He had never seen him in person, had no idea what their enemy even looked like. But this could be none other.
The man smiled and it sent a shiver down Lance's spine. "My reputation precedes me it seems. However—" His hand darted forward and grasped Lance's chin like a clamp, dragging him to look up and making his neck scream at the angle. "I believe you meant to say 'Prince' Lotor."
Lance summoned up his best glare even as his heart was beating out a timpani into the floor. He wouldn't give Lotor the satisfaction of his fear. "I meant to say asshole," he corrected, words only slightly distorted from Lotor's fingers digging into his cheek.
Lotor to his surprise grinned, but it was not a nice smile. It was all sharp canines with a promise that its bite was worse than its bark. "I think I preferred it when you did not speak."
It was all the warning Lance got as Lotor pinched so hard he had no choice but to choke open a breath and in that second something thick and coarse was shoved into his mouth and then yanked back, grating into his cheeks and secured behind his head.
He tried to snarl as best he could around the gag as if that could tamp down the growing panic of what the quiznak he had gotten himself into. He couldn't let them see fear. He knew that, but Dios that was easier said than done as his heart raced and blood thrummed in his ears as he was forcefully silenced.
Lotor's hand moved to dig into Lance's hair, summoning reflexive tears to his eyes as his head was once more pulled back.
"Now," Lotor said, still with that same cold smile, "Let's try this again, shall we? Narti?"
The pressure on his back immediately disappeared and Lance would have taken a full inhale of relief that whoever this Narti was had removed their foot, except that Lotor had other ideas. The hand tightened more in his hair and then he was being dragged upwards to his knees.
His hands were still free, Lance realized, even as they hung limp at his sides. The rational part of him said it was beyond stupid to try and take a swing at the Galran prince when it wasn't going to lead anywhere but the other part reminded him that he was a Paladin of Voltron and Paladins didn't surrender at the first threat. They fought.
He had barely formed his right hand into a fist when something cold pressed against the back of his head with a sharp click and he froze.
"I would not do that," Lotor advised although he sounded like he would like to see Lance try. "I endeavor to see you keep your pretty little head a while longer. I have use for it and while it would work best attached to your shoulders I can alter my plans. Your life is forfeit at my whim. Do you understand?"
Lance did. Only too well. He knew where he fell in the grand scheme of things and he knew that Lotor could easily make good on his threat. As much as he hated it, he needed to not be like a certain reckless mullet and try to fight his way out. He'd be dead before he could stand.
Some type of acceptance must have shown on his face because Lotor smiled that dangerous line. "Now," he released Lance's hair and took a step back. "Strip."
Lance remained kneeling, fists trembling at his sides and heart racing as the command echoed in his head. He knew what this was. He'd read enough, seen enough, to understand the tactic, the vulnerability it created.
He wished he could play this off as he did most things. If he made a joke of it, made it appear as though he wasn't bothered by what was being asked, then maybe it wouldn't affect him so. But he'd already shown his hand when he had stopped fighting against the gun. And, he swallowed thickly, he wasn't sure he could force bravado in this situation at this point. It was an act, always an act, and despite the spotlight shining right now he did not feel capable of playing the part.
"I will not ask nicely again," Lotor said and there was a touch of impatience now. "Strip. Or I will do it for you."
After a long second Lance gave the shortest of nods. Apparently this was going to be inevitable and, he shook, he would take this small bit of control – although was it really control in this situation? But he could stall too. Pidge was hopefully tracking him as he knelt here and any second now the team would be crashing in and rescuing him from… from whatever this was.
He slowly brought his hands up to the back of his head, looking for the knot to the gag. But the gun pressed harder and Lotor clucked his tongue. "Leave that," he ordered and Lance hated the glint in those yellow and purple eyes as much as he hated the way he lowered his hands and felt hot shame coil in him. It felt too much like surrender, but he didn't have much of a choice.
Lance carefully braced one of his legs to stand and the gun lifted off his head. He took that as an okay and rose to his full height, which was still an entire head shorter than Lotor, who merely cocked his with a smile.
He reached for his arm braces, left arm first. He pushed the release lever and the forearm one raised slightly. He went to lift it off but his eyes widened as he took in the indicator lights that were most definitely not glowing teal.
His armor was not active.
Lotor seemed to sense his gaze and he gave a light chuckle. "Oh, did I not mention? Any technology has been rendered useless thanks to a crystal pulse."
Lance swallowed, nearly choking on the coarse cloth. It only seemed to entertain the Galran more.
He went back to pulling off the arm pieces, not in any hurry to finish. He placed both gently on the floor by his feet and from there set about releasing the knee covering and his lower leg guards. Those were joined by the upper leg ones and the boot coverings.
His hands hovered then on his utility belt, the third to last piece of armor left.
"Go on," Lotor encouraged, leaning up against the far wall in the otherwise empty room, feet crossed at the ankle and looking far, far too amused.
It fell to the ground with a dull clunk that made Lance wince and that only made him wince more at the fact he had done so in the first place. So much for even trying to act the part of a Paladin.
His hands were shaking now as he pulled the shoulder guards free. He held one in his hand, debating the odds of chucking it at Lotor. His aim was good. He knew he could hit the smirking face.
But the unknown figure was still behind him and armed with a gun. He wouldn't get more than a pace before he was shot and no matter how humiliating this was at least he was alive. That meant more than his pride, but even that knowledge was not enough to stop the shame.
All that was left now was the heavy chestplate, the first piece he had put on just vargas before. How had everything gone so wrong since then? He risked a glance at Lotor, finding that same pleased smile and irritatingly casual posture. What did Lotor want with him? He wanted to ask, demand, really, but he wasn't going to embarrass himself further by spitting out unintelligible sounds into the gag.
Villains always liked to monologue, right? The familiar thought almost made him smile, except the coarse cloth reminded him that wasn't such a good ideas as it cut into the corners of his mouth.
He just needed to stay alive until the team rescued him; that was the plan. And to do that… he took as deep a breath as he could around the cloth. He needed to do what Lotor wanted. Just until then.
He pictured his space family then as his fingers pushed at the multiple latches, feeling it pull away from his chest as the compression lessened. Their smiling (or scowling, thanks Keith, even in memory he looked grumpy) faces were with him as he pulled the chestplate and neck guard up and over his head.
"Drop it," Lotor ordered as Lance held it near reverently in his hands. Trying to muster up a glare and knowing it fell pathetically short, Lance did and this time at least prided himself on not flinching at the loud clatter.
"And now the rest."
Lance had known it was coming but the command froze him. It was just like the beach, the pool, he tried to tell himself, fingers tucked just barely under the hem of the compression shirt.
But it wasn't. This was wrong and he felt sick. He wanted to raise his head, jut his chin out in defiance and tell Lotor he could not be intimidated.
He was though. He was and he was terrified by that. Lotor was not like Zarkon. Not like any other enemy they'd met. There was something… primal about him, a deadly conviction that lurked beneath the smooth face and made him feel as though he really was but a child that his age told him he still was.
"Fine," Lotor pushed off the wall elegantly with his foot. "Then I shall do it." He strode to stop just inches from Lance, who willed himself not to step back to put more space between them. He could at least manage that. "Hands," Lotor smirked. "On top your head."
Lance clenched them into fists instead and in answer he felt an all too familiar muzzle light on the back of his scalp. Lotor raised an eyebrow and arms trembling Lance lifted them, placing them palm down as though he was the criminal and Lotor was the police officer. It was wrong. It was all so, so wrong.
Lotor flicked a knife into existence and Lance did take a step back at that, more out of surprise than anything he tried to convince himself. The gun pressed harder into his hair and Lotor himself reached forward and gripped Lance's chin once more in his hand. "Stay," he ordered, like Lance was some pet.
Lance glowered but Lotor only grinned and then shifted his other hand holding the knife to pat down twice on Lance's head. "Good boy."
The knife came up again then, sinking into the raised neck of the shirt and Lance forced himself to remain still lest the blade slip and sink into his throat instead.
"You must be wondering," Lotor said conversationally, drawing the knife down Lance's chest and to his surprise not cutting into his flesh, "what you are doing here."
Lance said nothing. Wouldn't have even if he could. But he did allow himself a tiny, internal smile, because it looked like he was going to get that monologue after all. Typical.
"I will be honest," Lotor continued, having cut now to the bottom of the shirt and was pulling the split fabric open, sending cold air tingling across Lance's now bare chest. "You are not who I was after."
Allura. He'd been right. The thought did not comfort him. But at least she wasn't here. He could take comfort in that as Lotor rent the thick fabric by his right shoulder and dragged the blade to trace his arm all the way up to his wrist. Allura was safe. He released a breath and it gave Lotor pause.
"This pleases you," the Galran observed. "How interesting." He yanked on Lance's shirtsleeve and the entire thing ripped away with a tear, fluttering like a fallen banner to the ground.
Lotor turned his attention to its match. "You are an interesting specimen for certain, Paladin Lance." Lance startled at the sound of his name, eyes lifting from where he had been fixedly staring at the opposite wall to meet those glowing yellow.
"Oh, I know all about you." Lotor's hand went to pull on the other now cut sleeve. He smirked. "Lover boy Lance."
Lance's breath caught in his throat and he would have stumbled back save for the gun holding him in check.
"Yes," Lotor near purred, hands alighting now on the ripped open shirt and grabbing a piece in each hand. He pulled deftly and with a last splitting of seams the fabric was torn completely free and leaving Lance bare on top with only a spattering of bruises to cover him. "Lover boy Lance, a," he smiled, fang peeking over his lip, "star of the Voltron Show. You have quite the fan base," he said, hands trailing down Lance's chest, coming to rest above his heart, which was racing so fast it could have been an engine motor.
"And no wonder," Lotor continued. "You are a quite beautiful, are you not?" One hand came up to cup Lance's face, long finger brushing over his cheek. "So brave. So strong, this Paladin of Voltron." His hand curled, nails digging into Lance's flesh. "And now look at you. Completely at my mercy."
Horror was filling Lance in two very different capacities as Lotor patted his cheek. They knew. The Galra knew. The Galra had been watching them. How had none of them ever realized that they were broadcasting straight into the enemy's living room?
Their terminology was fake, yes, but they weren't. Their formations weren't, their skills and abilities were their own. They shared location information with each live broadcast, shared their physical status based on who was or wasn't out on stage. They publically announced which planets had aligned themselves, including those just getting on their feet and helpless to a real invasion.
Dios mío, what had they done?
But that was paling in light of the current dread that was curdling inside him as Lotor's hands slid down his sides, nails raking sensitive flesh. What was this? He couldn't suppress the shiver as the knife sliced a line from hip to knee.
Lotor was playing with him. Like… like he was some toy. And he couldn't do anything about it. Not if he wanted to stay alive, anyway.
He should. Shiro wouldn't stand here like this, being literally cut out of his clothes without a protest. He would fight. He would remind them that you didn't mess with a Paladin of Voltron. Even if the end result was the same, if they had to restrain him to finish the job, Shiro wouldn't be so passive in this. He'd have kept his pride.
But he was no Shiro, and he was no leader of Voltron, someone of importance who was worth more alive than dead. He was just Lance, a child with a gun pressed to his head and too scared to risk his life for something like that. But, he tried to hide the sob, what was a life without honor and pride?
What did Lotor want?
Frigid air cut across him as the sound of ripping fabric breached the room and Lance was left standing now in just his shoes, boxers and gloves, hands still pressed in surrender atop his head and feeling so, so exposed.
"Hm," Lotor mused, taping a long finger to his own chin, looking Lance up and down like he was a piece of meat, "Just one piece left."
His hands went to Lance's hips, resting on the navy spandex and Lance most definitely felt his breath hitch. He shuddered even as he told himself to at least try and not be a pathetic mess. One of Lotor's fingers slipped down the side, brushing against his hipbone and Lance flinched and earned a chuckle from the prince.
And then, to his surprise and relief, the hands left, raising to tip Lance's chin up so he had no choice but to meet that predatory yellow gaze. "You have been very good," Lotor praised and Lance hated the mixture of revulsion and shame that swept through him. "You may keep them." His grin turned into a leer. "For now."
Lance blanched and Lotor laughed again, caressing Lance's cheek.
"You are a beautiful creature, Lance the human, Paladin of Voltron. And I admit, I do enjoy the finer things life has to offer. Perhaps," his hand tightened almost painfully, "should you continue to endear yourself to me you shall yet live to see the end of this war, however quick it may be."
He released Lance's face and stepped back. "Remove your shoes and gloves," he commanded then, "and I will leave you unrestrained."
It was a game, Lance realized as the gun was lowered and he was allowed to bring his hands back to his sides. A game for the prince in which he and only he knew the rules and changed them at his whim to whatever amused him most.
It was entertaining, he was sure, to leave your captured enemy unbound , dangling hope and escape so readily but with all the assurance that it would not come to pass. It was humiliating in the worst way, Lance thought, as he removed his gloves and let them drop to the clothing-strewn floor.
His jaw clenched, only reminding him of the gag that he could so easily undo but yet could not. Would not. Hot tears sprung to his eyes and he blinked them back, kneeling to remove the combat boots and socks that made up the last of his uniform.
"Excellent," Lotor purred as Lance straightened back up, bare save for his shorts and the cloth trapped in his mouth and curving around his face. He stepped forward and this time Lance stood his ground without the encouragement of the gun, forcing his eyes to remain stationary as Lotor circled about him like a lion to a gazelle.
He stiffened as Lotor's hands descended from behind to rest on his shoulders.
"Come," Lotor whispered, breath ghosting past Lance's ear. "It's time for the show to begin."
xxx
Author's Notes:
Hm, yes, well. *toes curling* Anyone else?
To be clear, this is about as non-con as it's going to get and there's nothing romantic in nature going on here. Lotor just appreciates pretty things and Lance… well Lance is a pretty thing. Plus, he sees how uncomfortable its making Lance and a good villain (oxymoron?) manipulates a situation to their advantage. Lotor *thrives* on making people uncomfortable. Lance is most definitely not weak but he's realistic and he knows that Lotor would as surely kill him as let him live and right now is not the time to fight back. His best bet is to wait to see what Lotor wants and for the team to rescue him (somehow).
Also, plan is to update this Mondays/Thursdays and finish by March 1, just in time for season five :)
Enjoy the show? Please do show your appreciation with a review. I'd love to hear what you liked best! Thanks to everyone who popped in last chapter. You're awesome and I love you!