This Nice Little Pearl
He stared. He couldn't help himself. Propped up against a pillar, arms partly crossed, as one hand was lifted to hold a goblet of something which smelled sweet, but packed a powerful kick to it. At least it wasn't the shit-tasting Nunvil Coran favored. No, this was a deceptively mild-tasting drink that masked the fact that more than one glass would knock most people on their asses.
Keith was on his fourth.
Maybe it was the Galra genes that prevented him from ending up facedown under one of the heavily-laden tables lining the one side of the ballroom. Krolia never mentioned there was an alcohol inhibitor or something that lessened the effect of alcohol on a Galra. He only knew it took a lot of alcohol to get him drunk.
This particular drink was starting to affect him, giving him that giddy feeling. He didn't want giddy. The sharp anger shooting through his chest, tightening it every time the bright smile flashed within his view, pushed him to take another gulp. Something had to loosen up the constriction.
The noise of the room was assaulting his ears and unraveling his nerves and his patience. The music, a stilted Altean melody dragged from the depths of the archives by Coran and given to the Altean musicians to bring centuries-old music once more to the universe was beautiful. However, Keith was in no mood to enjoy the harmonies weaving in the stifling air of the ballroom played on instruments that were vaguely similar to what he'd find on earth.
People avoided him, giving him a wide berth. He shouldn't be doing this, standing alone with a thundercloud bursting over his head – metaphorically of course. Keith knew his expression was anything but congenial. Anything but approachable. Even the other Paladins avoided him. Pidge and Hunk, at least. He saw Hunk walking his way at one point, carrying two plates full of hors d'ouevres probably handmade by the big man, only to get one look at Keith's face and do a comical u-turn, spinning on one foot mid step and taking off back from whence he came.
With a room full of dignitaries from across the universe, Keith stood alone, glaring at everyone there. He knew it was childish. He knew Shiro would give him his signature disappointed look if he could see Keith. He knew. It wasn't diplomatic of him. He should at least muster up a smile and greet everyone. Mingle the way the leader of Voltron should.
He was too irritated.
The irritation focused on the bright and shining former Paladin, spinning some beautiful princess from some planet Keith had never been to across the floor with a charming grin on his face and a sparkle in his eyes. The damn marks on his fucking cheeks were glowing, too, which set Keith newly aflame.
He'd been watching Lance all night. Keith wasn't ignorant of the charm Lance oozed from every single perfect pore on his body. Keith was more aware of it than anyone. Hadn't he always had eyes for Lance? Hadn't he watched on the sidelines as Lance attempted a half-hearted romance with Allura? Hadn't he kept his mouth shut on the top of the Black Lion before they left Earth that night…held back from saying what had been in his heart for years because Lance was enamored with the Altean Princess?
That had been years ago. Much had happened since then, including the loss of said Princess. Lance, now older and healed, was the proverbial Belle of the Ball at this annual celebration of Allura's Day.
Lance looked forward to the celebration every year. He loved to bring the former Paladins together, the reunion bringing him a joy that overflowed, influencing each of them into a euphoric gathering. A few years after Allura's sacrifice, Coran and Lance planned Allura's Day, which over the years had developed into a week-long celebration of the Princess, capped by a lavish ball (Lance's idea, of course) stuffed full of planetary nobility and important beings from all over the Coalition.
Lance was in his element, flitting from guest to guest, turning on the charm and leaving broken hearts in his wake. He wooed and flattered with no compunction, from kissing the appendage of a King from Islax to tucking the hair-like extensions from the head of a noble from Stryixan. Each interaction was watched by the dark, angry eyes belonging to the leader of Voltron, scowling his best scowl near the dessert table.
"Just go grab a dance with him."
The voice of his oldest friend sent a wave of annoyance through Keith. He threw his glare at the smiling visage of Shiro, who mimicked his stance (sans glass of alcohol) against the pillar. Shiro, of course, didn't wear the frown that furrowed Keith's expression into something scary. No, Shiro looked as friendly, calm, and approachable as he always did.
"I wouldn't want to interrupt his fun," Keith spat out.
"I highly doubt he'd object," Shiro dead-panned, rolling his eyes.
Keith simply grunted, then took another gulp of his drink. He lifted the glass to eye it. Almost gone. He signaled to one of the servers circulating among the guests.
"How many of those have you had?" Shiro's voice was light with amusement.
"Four."
Shiro let a little chuckle out, probably to annoy Keith even further. "I don't know why you get so angry. He does this every year."
Keith chose not to answer, slogging down the last of the drink in time to put the empty one on the offered tray and grab a new one. The Altean server gave him a surprised look before Keith's frown chased him off.
Lance had neared them, still holding the lovely princess in his arms. Keith didn't know her name, though he'd been introduced to her at the beginning of the night. It was her first time at the ball, attending with her parents. She was young, but not too young. Humanoid, for the most part, save the four eyes and pinkish skin. Her blue hair was intricately braided and coiled about the horns on her head and even Keith could appreciate her beauty, especially dressed in a ballgown reminiscent of something he'd seen in Cinderella. How the fuck would a being from another planet know that?
Wait. Earth culture did spread throughout the universe through the coalition, so maybe it wasn't too surprising.
He glowered as Lance shot him a look, accompanying a wink that made Keith grind his teeth together. With a little laugh Keith only just heard over the music and general chatter of the room, Lance pulled the Princess closer, his hand flexing on her waist and bringing their chests together. The princess' laugh tinkled along behind Lance's and it took Keith a lot of strength to not stomp over to the laughing asshole and drag him off the floor.
That wouldn't be dignified and he knew if he moved one muscle, Shiro would prevent him.
"You need to stop being so jealous. This is how Lance is, Keith. You should know that by now. He loves the attention and loves to flirt. He wasn't called Loverboy Lance for nothing during the Voltron show," Shiro said. "The boy was born to charm."
"I know," Keith ground out.
"And, as I said, he does this every year during the ball. You should be used to it."
"Doesn't mean I like it."
Shiro let out a long sigh as Keith kept glaring at the man dipping the princess backward, forcing her to cling closer to him as her laugh tinkled across the floor again. "Just don't stab anyone, okay? We stopped the war and we don't want another one starting because you can't control yourself. You did leave your Blade in your room, didn't you?"
"I left my Blade there," Keith said slowly.
"But you brought something else," Shiro said in a knowing voice.
"Just a dagger. Or two."
"No stabbing," Shiro repeated. "And try to enjoy yourself."
"How? You said no stabbing."
Shiro reached up with his real hand and squeezed Keith's shoulder. "No stabbing."
Left alone again, Keith downed another gulp of his drink, draining half the glass in one go. A little burp and he settled back against the pillar, content enough to glare at Lance as he charmed his way through the night.
The Paladins, of course, lodged in the newish palace, the one Coran built in memory of the one on the original Altea. Keith, along with his teammates, felt no urge to hurry from the ballroom. Technically, they were the hosts and were required to stay until the bitter end, bidding each guest a fond adieu as they left to their rooms or own accommodations outside of the palace.
Keith felt ashamed as he gave each brief, gruff goodbye and thank you for attending. It wasn't surprising to their guests. No one gave him strange looks at least, and Keith thought it was either his reputation as a standoffish Paladin, his reputation as a member of the Blade, or the fact that he wore an angry countenance all night. He should learn to do better.
The gushing goodbyes from Lance at his side must have made up for Keith's aloofness. At least after saying their farewells to a broody, angry-eyed half-Galra, they stepped over to the charming effusiveness of Lance, the steadiness of Shiro, the warm-hearted Hunk, and the surprisingly kind Pidge. Not to mention the vigorous hand/appendage shakings of Coran. Keith hoped the rest of his team gave a better impression to departing guests.
As the last of the guests filtered out, the staff scurried around the room, quickly putting the ballroom to its normal elegant glory. Meaning they cleaned the spills, broke down the tables, hastened away with the leftovers, and polished every gleaming service. The musicians packed up their instruments and disappeared, and soon the former Paladins and Coran were left alone in the echoing room, eerie in the silence after having been full of noise and music for the last six or so vargas.
"Party endings are always depressing!" Lance declared, striding forward a few paces toward the center of the dance floor and spinning in place, arms thrown out in a dramatic pose. Keith frowned at him, while the others laughed indulgently. He still looked as fresh as he did when he stepped into the ballroom early that evening, with dark tight-fitting blue leggings, a lighter blue tunic embroidered with silver in an intricate design that Keith wanted to trace with his fingers. The tunic showed off Lance's collarbone and shoulders beautifully. It was a simple outfit, similar to the other Paladins; deceptive in the simplicity, because they were quite elegant. The tailor who had outfitted them had the unoriginal thought of dressing them in the colors of their original lions.
Everyone wanted to put Keith in red. How fucking annoying.
Lance flaunted blue with a careless grace that made Keith's mouth water. Keith had to admit, blue was his color.
"Well, I'm off to bed. Shay went a few vargas ago with a headache," Hunk announced.
"Same. Well, except for the Shay part," Pidge mumbled through a yawn.
The others wandered off, murmuring their goodnights, Shiro reminding Keith there were meetings tomorrow and not to stay up too late. A ridiculous request, since the party had gone on past the midway part of the night and it was already 'too late'. Keith shrugged at his friend, who chuckled and suggested Keith loosen up and not be too mad at Lance.
Keith waved him off, his eyes intent on the twirling figure on the dance floor. Lance, oblivious (or maybe not) to Keith's anger continued a little dance to the music he was humming. Once alone, Keith approached him, arms crossing again when he stopped a few feet away.
Lance ceased spinning, giving Keith his most devious grin. "Did you have fun tonight?" the little shit asked.
"You know I didn't."
"That's your own fault," Lance told him. "You should have been out dancing instead of helping that pillar hold up the ceiling."
Keith chose not to answer.
Lance spun again. "You didn't ask me to dance," he said.
"You were otherwise occupied."
"I will always save a dance for you, Keith. You know that."
Keith grunted, looking away.
After a few moments, he felt a hand gently land on his crossed arms. "Are you really jealous?" Lance's voice sounded incredulous.
Keith gave him a side-eye glare but didn't answer. Instead, something caught his eye and he fully turned his head to look at Lance. Specifically, the new pendant hanging by a chain around his neck. "What is that?"
"What?" Lance asked, looking down. "Oh, this?" He plucked at the large, round, white ball that looked something like a pearl, but Keith could tell it wasn't. There were light streaks of purple through it. "Princess Selasia gave it to me."
"Who?"
"The Princess I was dancing with almost all night. She was quite charming."
Keith's stare went flatter. "She gave it to you?"
"Yeah! I don't really know why," he admitted. "But, it is pretty, don't you think?"
"What did you do to earn it?"
Lance's gaze turned back up to him, reproachful in a way that squeezed at Keith's heart. "That question is uncalled for," he snapped.
"Sorry."
"Look, I know you can't control your jealousy, but you honestly can't ask me questions like that. It hurts."
Keith sighed. "I know. I'm sorry. I just…"
"I know."
"Is it a pearl?" Keith asked to distract Lance from this conversation direction.
Lance's look turned disappointed. "Nice redirect," he said, knowing exactly what Keith was doing. "No. Not a pearl. But looks enough like one."
"It does."
Lance squeezed his arm getting Keith to look him in the eyes. Keith was surprised to see the sly expression that glinted there, indicating Lance was up to something. "You've never given me a pearl necklace."
Keith nearly choked as the hidden meaning filtered into his brain. "Lance!"
Lance laughed. Not the little false tinkle of a laugh Keith had heard on the dance floor all night, but his full-on snorting laugh he let out when he found something really funny. Keith was not amused.
"Oh, come on Mullet! Don't be such a sourpuss! Is there something I can do to bring a smile back to your pretty face?"
"Nothing," Keith snapped out.
Lance slid his hand up along Keith's arm, over his bicep and shoulder to rest his palm against the side of Keith's neck. The skin felt on fire. "I'm sure there's something," Lance said in a purr, pressing himself a little closer.
Keith felt his anger fall away. His jealousy seeped out of his feet onto the same floor where Lance inspired it in the first place. The figure which had been teasing him all night pressed against him, forcing him to step back. Lance always had this effect on him. He could never stay mad for long, because the asshole knew exactly how to charm everyone, including Keith, into loving him.
"I can't think of a thing."
"I can think of a few things," Lance said. He kept crowding against Keith, hand firmly on his neck and other hand slipping up to Keith's waist. He matched every step backward Keith took with his own step forward, guiding Keith eventually to the very same pillar Keith had leaned up against most of the night.
"What are you doing?" Keith asked, knowing very well what Lance was doing. Or, at least, had an idea what Lance was up to.
"Me? Oh, nothing," Lance said a little too innocently. The hand on Keith's neck slid back to his nape, tangling fingers in the braid there, catching in a way that made Keith wince.
"Stop fucking with my hair," he complained.
"The braid looked good tonight," Lance said, giving said braid a little tug.
"Fuck you."
"Wow, the things you say in response to compliments," Lance said, clucking his tongue. He grinned, though. The hand moved to Keith's face, fingers gently stroking his skin and smoothing out the frown lines on Keith's forehead. "Seriously, please stop frowning so much. You'll be a wrinkled old man before you're forty."
"I would stop frowning if…" he clamped his jaw shut.
Lance rolled his eyes, distracting Keith with those soft touches. The frown lines did disappear and Keith relaxed somewhat, though his arms remained crossed. His muscles, however, weren't tense anymore, but he had to keep up the façade.
He felt his abs constrict when the hand at his waist slowly slid across his stomach, twitching fingers along the waistband of his leggings. As he had noted earlier, they were simple leggings, made of a stretch material with no extra buckles, buttons, zippers, or ties. Easy on and, most notably, easy off. Lance's forefinger dipped between the waistband and the skin directly under his navel, getting his breath to catch.
With a smirk, Lance nodded. "That's it. There goes that frown," he said in a knowing voice that brought a brief frown back to Keith's expression, only to disappear when the other three fingers joined Lance's index finger behind his waistband, tickling his happy trail.
"Asshole."
"You don't mean that," Lance whispered. His other hand moved from Keith's face to his waistband too, ducking behind the stretchy fabric and teasingly pulling it down slightly.
"We're in the ballroom," Keith objected.
"There's no one here but me and you, Mullet. Let me put a smile back on your face."
When Keith didn't answer, Lance must have taken that as a yes. With a grin Keith wanted to either punch or kiss off his face, Lance slowly lowered himself to his knees. "Fuck, Lance," he breathed as Lance pulled his pants a little lower, stopping just before any of Keith's dick could be shown.
"No underwear, Mullet?" Lance asked. "Huh, thinking you might get some tonight?"
Keith growled.
"Ooh, the Galra comes out," Lance teased, looking up Keith's body to meet his eyes. "Didn't think you'd get any leaning up against this pillar all night? How wrong you were."
As he spoke, he pulled Keith's pants down lower, agonizingly slow, until Keith's dick popped out. He wasn't even ashamed at how hard he was. He'd been half-hard most of the night, his anger fueling his arousal, which, to be honest, made him somewhat ashamed.
"Already hard, too," Lance continued with a little chuckle. "So hard. Watching me dance with others all night fuels your fire, huh?"
"Fuck you," Keith repeated.
"Later, maybe," Lance said with a little shrug. "First, I think you need to relax and release that anger. I don't need you giving me an angry fuck or anything like that in bed."
Keith gulped. No, he didn't want to fuck Lance when angry. Maybe this was a good idea after all.
"That's my good boy," Lance praised him, leaning forward. The feel of those perfect lips sliding over the head of his cock made him slam his head against the pillar, giving him a little shock at the pain which momentarily clouded the pleasure, but Lance's talented tongue soon reminded him. All his focus went to that heat as Lance took in as much as he could until Keith's tip reached the back of his throat.
Lance had no gag reflex and took Keith fully, the sensation so overwhelming that Keith nearly came simply from that. Sensing it, Lance clamped his hand around the base of his cock and slid it out of his mouth. "So eager, Mullet," he whispered, then dove back in, only instead of taking Keith into his mouth, he teased his tongue over the head and shaft, giving Keith kitten licks that blew his mind more than the deep throat.
"Lance," he groaned, his voice echoing through the large room, giving him a momentary thrill of fear at being discovered. God, imagine Shiro coming back to check on them? Or Pidge? Or Jesus fuck, sweet and innocent Hunk? He'd never be able to face them.
"Mmm, let go for me, baby," Lance said, ducking down to lick at his balls, making Keith's knees so weak he had to lean more against the pillar for support, one hand reaching back to press his palm against the smooth marble, while the other reached to clutch at Lance's hair. He thrust slightly forward, chasing the feeling of Lance's tongue again.
Lance responded, drawing Keith back into his mouth, bobbing on Keith's cock with the enthusiasm he always showed in everything. His little moans and slurps fueled Keith as much as the wet heat. Keith swore in multiple languages as Lance worked him, constantly bringing Keith close to the edge, but backing away when Keith showed signs of coming.
It was driving him crazy.
But, Lance crossed the line. While sucking on the tip of Keith's cock, holding the shaft in a tight squeeze, he slid his other hand to fondle Keith's balls. That was fine, but in a quick move, Lance pulled his mouth away, sucked briefly on his index finger, then wriggled his hand between Keith's thighs to probe gently at his entrance.
"No," Keith snapped.
Lance, Keith's cock once again in his mouth, let out a muffled squeak, rolling his eyes up to look at Keith with surprise.
Keith hated to see the flash of insecurity in Lance's eyes. Even after all these years and all his show of confidence in everything, he knew deep down Lance had doubts about himself. Keith never wanted to be the one to bring those thoughts forward. However, he knew Lance would forgive him soon.
Lance whined as Keith leaned down to push him by the shoulders from his cock. "Keith," he complained, reaching up to wipe at the spit on his chin.
"You're not sticking anything up there."
Lance sat back on his heels, still rubbing his chin, his expression surprised as he looked steadily at Keith. "Oh, really?"
In response, Keith leaned back against the pillar once again, reaching for himself and clenching his fist around his dick. The first smile of the night slipped onto his face as his eyes half-closed, smirking at the way Lance's eyebrows raised. When Lance shifted to lean forward, Keith snapped another "No" to him.
"Keith!"
"Just watch," Keith growled out, squeezing himself and moving his hand forward, hissing at the sensitivity of his skin. Thankfully, his dick was slick from Lance's spit.
A flicker of interest flashed through the blue eyes watching him. Lance reached to palm himself through his own leggings, but Keith shook his head. "No touching yourself."
"That's not fair!"
"Never said I…was…" the 'was' coming out in a little groan as he added a twist of the wrist as he slowly pumped himself.
"Since when did you get so fucking bossy?"
"Since I'm your leader, cargo pilot, that's when."
"Fucking brat!"
"Says the little shit who's been cock-teasing me all night."
"I have not!"
"You knew exactly what you were doing."
"No-ooo," Lance drawled out.
"Liar."
Through their short exchange, Keith continued to fist his dick, watching Lance watch him. "My mouth could get you off faster," Lance claimed as his eyes swallowed up the sight of Keith pleasuring himself, licking his lips every couple of minutes.
"Maybe, maybe not."
Lance scoffed, though the noise had no bite to it. It sounded needier than anything. Keith smiled, a sly one that Lance didn't notice, so focused was his gaze on Keith's cock. Keith thought about drawing this out, making Lance wait and watch. There was something hot about the exhibitionism of this moment. The way Lance watched him with a hunger that heated Keith's body. The way anyone at any time could simply walk in to find Lance on his knees in front of Keith – a Keith with his pants down to his knees and his hand sliding up and down his shaft. The thought alone tightened his balls and pushed him to the edge.
"Let me," Lance begged, shuffling an inch or two closer on his knees, half-lifting one hand.
Keith grunted, curling a little in upon himself. "No," he gasped, ending the noise with a moan that drew a keen from Lance. "You wanted a fucking pearl necklace," he managed to get out.
The surprise on Lance's face was worth it. Worth Keith being harsh with him. Worth Keith going against his whole nature and acting like an ass for the last five minutes. Fuck, the way Lance's mouth dropped open, his eyes lighting up with delight, did it. With a delicious burst that sent stars in his eyes, Keith came.
Lance was close enough that Keith's cum landed on him. It didn't exactly end up as a necklace – at least not in the way Keith understood the term to mean. Keith wasn't in any position to aim, nor did he think of it in the moment. His hissed curses faded from him as the tremors in his cock did. His closed eyes opened, peeking through his lashes at Lance, still on his knees in front of him.
They were silent for a few moments, Keith letting go of himself and quickly pulling up his pants. Lance reached up and wiped at a blob on his cheek. "Your aim sucks," he commented. "Not exactly around my neck." He popped his finger into his mouth.
Keith sagged against the pillar, gasping for breath. He did feel better. His anger ebbed away with his orgasm. "Sorry," he said finally, his voice cracking.
Lance shrugged, getting to his feet with a grunt. "I'm getting too old to be on my knees like that," he commented. He wiped at a few more blobs of cum. "You got one on my neck at least. This nice, little pearl." He licked that one off his finger, too.
"There's some in your hair."
"No!" Lance exclaimed, reaching up and touching his perfect hair, effectively wiping Keith's spunk through it like gel. "Now I need a fucking shower."
Keith laughed, a rusty sound since he hadn't most of the day. "Sorry," he said again.
Lance turned his gaze to him, his expression oh-so-fond. "It's okay." He closed the distance between them, putting his hands on each side of Keith's face. "Do you feel better?"
"I do."
Lance let out a sigh, tilting his head to press their foreheads together. "You really shouldn't get so jealous."
"I can't help it. You're dazzling when you're the center of attention."
"I like it, but you know better, my love."
"I know I do."
Lance leaned back, reaching down for Keith's left hand. He lifted it and pressed his lips against the band of silver around Keith's ring finger. "I wouldn't have put this here if I would ever want someone else. You're all there is for me."
"You're all there is for me."
"Good. Now, let's go to bed, mi amor. If you're not going to let me stick anything in your ass, you're more than welcome to top tonight."
Keith felt a jolt of excitement. They switched often, but Keith usually preferred bottom. Tonight, though, after watching his beautiful husband be his charming self all night, Keith only wanted to press him into their bed and make love to him.
"Anything you say, Loverboy," Keith said, kissing Lance's ring finger in turn.