"You should know that I am sorry for leaving you there,"
"The Rift?"
"Yes."
Lotor looks contemplative; not exactly upset but certainly not enthused. Perhaps begrudgingly forgiving. Allura hopes so.
It's been a good two and a half phoebs since Lotor's arrival to New Altea. His punishment in servitude continues, but it won't continue eternal. There have been moments, times of progress and healing, along the way. Allura has made efforts to slowly shape his servitude into a position of honor rather than a mental torture. Her goal has never been to simply have him suffer; she wants him to truly regret what has been done, then work to make it right. Feel the pain she feels in her heart a hundred-fold to dissuade the thought of ever doing something like that again. Then mend their bond with proper empathy.
The Galra are far from being the only society that uses pain as a teacher. Though called by a different name, Altea employs its own-- albeit less intense-- Palen Bol with its adolescents. She can't exactly say that hers is less intense in this instance, or that Lotor is an adolscent, but she's employed it all the same.
To teach him and to help her to forgive, not to forget.
This being, it only seems fair that she apologize for condemning him to the agony of the Rift. For whatever little her apology is worth.
"You have little to apologize for, your Grace," Lotor mumbles thoughtfully. His gaze goes to the sky, dangerously close to where Fari, Altea's sun star, hangs overhead. "I admit it. . . was not pleasant, but it gave me some time to. . think."
"Think?" Allura asks gently. She hopes she isn't prodding too much.
"Reclaim. Consider. Reflect, as it were," his eyes find hers again and Fari's bright morning shine turns his cobalt eyes into mesmerizing crystals. Lotor's pause is drawn out as they peer at each other pensively, the wind picking up their hair and blowing Lypix lilly petals onto their blanket. The emerald grass sways lightly at the tips. Lotor's lips purse as he picks his next words carefully. "I. . . regret a lot of things."
Allura lets the words hang. She waits patiently, watches as his eyebrows furrow with trepidation and his crystal eyes reflect Fari's light in forlorn fractiles. "The. . agony reminded me that I don't want the colonies to be one of them."
Allura sighs silently. Her heart feels one long, hard throb.
"I should thank you--"
"Don't."
Lotor blinks at her, looking openly confused. He's been doing that a lot lately-- being open. It makes Allura feel worse since she hasn't been very honest with him.
"Do not thank me for leaving you there," she demands, voice harder than she intended. She has to look away from him when stinging hits her eyes. "The decision haunts me to this day."
"I deserved it-- needed it. After the way I responded--"
Allura scoffs. "Please. You had every right after I lost my bearings first. The way I turned on you. . ." she mumbles the last miserably under her breath, glaring at the ground, "I've regretted losing my head since the moment you were taken from the ship."
Lotor is silent after that. He stays that way, and the wind picks up in a strong, full gust of warm air to fill the silence before settling down again.
Perhaps too honest.
"In any case, we were both out of line then," Allura continues (no turning back now), and she turns to find his face again. Lotor looks back at her with an unreadable expression, but at least the tension in his brow has eased. "I hold no ill will towards you for what transpired. But the second colony. I am. . . learning to amend what happened there. What you did."
Lotor tilts his chin down at an intrigued angle and the light from Fari hits his irises just right once more. They shine like a teleduv submerged at the bottom of the bluest ocean, blinding, and Allura almost gasps. She hardly catches what he says next.
"Why?"
Allura softens.
"You were passionate-- are passionte. I can see that. Your passion turned to desperation when your father came too close. You made a hard decision. I fault you for none of that. And I. . . I forgive you for not knowing any better. In your absence, I have had some time to think as well," Allura falters as his eyes flicker with a shadow of something she can't place, and she immediately wants to know what he's thinking-- how he feels. She continues despite it. "And your. . misfortune in Oriande always seemed to be the heart of things. I realized that life surely had a different meaning to you than it did to me. Not that you didn't care about it, but. . . your own life. . . were you willing to give it?"
"I could not. There was too much left for me to do. And even if there wasn't, the Alteans. . ." Lotor frowns, his eyes looking down, his claws nipping the blanket. "They needed me. At least, they did then. Before you. And Voltron. I had no idea. . ."
Allura sees the tip of one of his fangs lightly worry his bottom lip before receding and allowing a frown to mar his face; she hates how uncomfortable she's obviously made him. But this is a conversation that needs to be had.
"If I had known," Lotor continues, "I'd like to think that I would have. But that is perhaps giving myself too much."
"And what about now?"
He looks up at her. "What about now?"
"Would you give your life to save another's?"
Lotor looks out across the field, over the slope of the hill they're on.
". . .I do not think I will ever be as selfless as you, your Majesty. But for them," he nods towards the residence area of Sucili, hair fluttering, glancing at her once more with a hesitance clear in his face as he measures his words, before finally adding, "and for you," softly, as if the words were something delicate, "I would do anything."
Anything.
"I take it this punishment of mine was meant to teach me that," he says knowingly, "What life means to you."
"Yes," Allura tilts her head to the side to peer up at him curiously, still recovering from his admittance to be willing to sacrifice himself for her, "and whatever more." she says.
Lotor raises a single brow at her. Allura actually giggles at his response, unable to help it, violet earrings bouncing tantalizingly with each bubble of mirth that escapes her. He feels his heart lurch forward in his chest, as if it's trying to escape him and capture some of the joy she feels. He suddenly wants to whisk her away from the throne and have her for himself.
"You suffered enough in the Rift, and you've learned your lesson," Allura says once she's calmed, though her radiant smile remains, "I want you to enjoy this."
". . . Enjoy?"
"Yes,"
Allura looks into his gaze again. And this time, her eyes are incandescent with Fari's shine. Blue Altean skies of peach and white shone in each iris.
"I forgive you, Lotor."
-: : /\ L T E /\ : :-
Their picnic in the morning is not the only time that they see each other; Allura makes time. She's determined not to waste anymore time away from him now that they've made amends. She misses the long conversations they would have. The pleasure of simply being with one another. It's something she wants back even after all this time.
It's early evening, Allura and Lotor are situated in the royal study. Fari's golden glow flushes the room in opulence through the crystal pane window they sit by. On the small table with seats for two is an herb case, a pot of hot water, and two cups, one for each of them. They've made their tea the way that they like it. Allura and Lotor sit across from each other with nothing but silence in between them as Allura works on a holopad, going over some recent statistics about the kingdom that her historian has brought to her.
She hums thoughtfully once she comes across some intriguing information, breaking the silence, and blows up the screen for Lotor to see. "As I expected," she says, pointing to a specific figure and watching as his cobalt eyes are drawn to it, "your return is a good thing; crime on Altea has dropped by an astounding margin."
"Crime?" Lotor inquires innocently, looking up to peer curiosly at the stats on her board. He hasn't much considered Altean misdeed, it seems.
Allura raises a bemused eyebrow. "Altea has always been known for its irregularly low conflict rates, but we are not perfect, you know."
Lotor blinks. Allura swears there's the tiniest hint of red in the tips of his ears. "Of course," is his response, though it's absent of any true acceptance, and Allura begins to wonder what his impression of Alteans actually is. As she does, returning her holopad to normal size, Lotor goes back to sitting in idle, watching Fari lower itself onto the horizon, his hands settling on either side of his warm tea. Allura quickly finds herself considering him instead of her work, as she has found she is wont to do in recent days.
He seems to be faring quite well now. There's hardly any evidence he feels uncomfortable or perturbed, just the slight crinkle in his brow as he becomes lost in his musings, a sign that he hasn't forgotten. And unlike his first day on New Altea, he sits comfortably wherever he is. With the townsfolk, the nobility, the elderly, her; he is in a constant state of peace and reflection.
What she'd wanted for them both eventually; to forgive but not to forget.
Eyes scanning his handsome profile for the nth time, Allura notes with a certain flutter in her chest that these days he wears a lot of jewelry. She knows it's all from her subjects; at the end of each day, he goes to his shrine in the East Wing and sits in the room full of incense, looking at each and every gift he's received-- new and old-- and chooses a new ensemble of sparkly jewels and gold and silver to wear the next morning, let their people know that their gifts are received and appreciated. The gesture warms her heart, and, if she is being honest, serves as an. . . enticing complement to his beauty.
Allura muses curiously that the flicker of abashedness which had flared in her stomach whenever she thought of Lotor in such a way has gone; she's grown out of her bashfulness concerning her attraction to him, unashamed. He is indeed very attractive by Altean standards, and they've been intimate with each other enough times for it to not matter anymore. Besides, whether he is privy to her appreciation or not, she likes to think that he wouldn't mind.
"What's on your mind?" he asks suddenly, no doubt noticing her staring. Allura wonders what he thinks of it.
She smiles. "What's on yours?"
Lotor smirks slightly in amusement. "You first, your Majesty."
Allura sighs almost wistfully and takes her warm cup into her hands. She cradles it close arbitrarily, simply a being of warmth and comfort. Then she shrugs some with a loose hum, relaxed. "Well, if you must know, you're quite pretty."
The blush that manifests on Lotor's face is instant, flushing his lilac cheeks with violet. His eyes, wide, look at Allura with a surprise the queen finds almost cute. But Lotor is quick to compose himself when he sees her almost mischevious smile, determined not to embarass himself.
"Oh? I've--" Lotor coughs into his fist and looks back out of the window, his features schooled, though the blush remains on his face (Allura is more brazen than he remembers). "I've never been called. . pretty. . before."
"No?"
"Never."
"Well, you are," Allura says, this time making sure he knows it, because it is true, and she wonders why she hadn't told him this before. "And I must confess that I was appreciating how sparkly you've been recently. I can't help but think that you might have more jewelry in your possesion now than even I do."
Lotor glances at himself a bit self-consciously, fluster gone; he's never been one to flaunt. Anything. Not unless doing so would provide him with some sort of tactical advantage. He feels heavy everyday covered in fine metals and precious gems, both in the literal and figurative sense, and the idea that he might be wearing too much too often is something he constantly worries about. He touches a rich blue stone the color of his eyes and the size of the pad of his thumb with careful claws, the corners of his mouth downturned.
"Is it too much?"
"No, not at all," Allura reassures, her heart swelling with warmth, "your intentions are clear in your manners. And I must admit that I. . well, I like to see them on you."
"Hm," he hums thoughtfully. He touches the shell of his left ear, ornate with several earpieces, and seems to consider them.
He's wearing a lot of silver today. Allura thinks it complements his hair and teeth. And his claws too, well-manicured as they are and finally bereft of the gloves that used to cover them; they are surprisingly pearly.
"What were you thinking about?" she asks, hopefully changing the subject to something he's more comfortable with.
"Fari," he answers. His gaze goes back out the window, far away. The look in his eyes is familiar, a look she's only seen him with: like he can see into the future.
"What about it?" she inquires.
"It's. . . have you ever seen a supernova, Majesty?"
"Yes."
"Fari is far too young, and yet it shines as if perpetually on the brink of exploding," Lotor's lips pull into an awed smile, "It's fascinating." he says.
"You see Altea in it,"
He glances at Allura's knowing grin with one of his own, his expression soft and somewhat guilty; it would seem that they are alike in the feeling. "I see Altea from above," he says fondly, "and I see a reflection of Fari's brilliance. A bright people with so much to offer. I think about it quite a bit."
Allura nods, her own gaze going out the golden window. "As I understand it."
Lotor doesn't mention that also he sees every bit of the Queen in Fari's blinding shine whenever he looks at the sky.
"You've done an amazing job cultivating this new world, Allura," he says instead, just as softly as his face looks, and at this, Allura flushes, "Not long ago the Altean people were still finding themselves and struggling to become the image their ancestors had envisioned. You have provided them with so much more. I am eternally grateful to you for loving them when I could not."
As she always does when Lotor surprises her with an expression of deep sentiment regarding his past with the Alteans, Allura begins to feel elation, guilt, and a love that burns so fiercely she fears she'll collapse and past be damned kiss Lotor full on the mouth.
He speaks of the Altean people as if they are his children. And in an odd way, Allura thinks, they are. He's old enough to have found the Alteans scattered across the sector of their universe, fostered them, and watch as the generations came and went and as Altean society grew and grew. He's known some Alteans from the moment they were born to the moment they died; Lotor has even regaled to her the shocking experience of being asked to assist with an Altean woman's birth, so faithful and loving was the family of him that they were convinced his hand would bless the baby.
It's heart-wrenching to hear his stories, both heart-warming and bitter, but she finds that she can't get enough of them.
She simply can't help what she says next.
"Some of them call you Father, you know." she tells him. Her voice is honeyed, fond. She smiles at him.
His reaction isn't what she expects.
"I've heard," Lotor almost spits.
Allura peers at him sideways, her brows furrowed as she tries to find his eyes. "You're. . . upset?"
"I don't deserve it, Allura," he looks at her, "I've been no better a father than Zarkon."
"You are so much better than Zarkon, Lotor."
"Do you really believe that?"
Allura hears him, and she knows that he doesn't ask because he truly doubts it. He asks because he doubts her, because there's more that she hasn't apologized for or reassured him against; words she hasn't absolved. Allura feels his disbelief with a powerful regret, the corners of her mouth downturning in a frown.
She leans forward and takes his soft hand in hers. Despite his displeasure, Lotor holds her hand back, his long thumb pressing comfortingly against her knuckles. He looks down at their joined hands pensively. Allura places a gentle touch to his chin to make him look at her, her eyes looking straight into his own with warm conviction.
"I do believe it." she says. She wills him to believe her.
Lotor's blue eyes search her gaze for sincerity. Allura doesn't know if he finds it, but that's all that she feels-- sincerity. Truth. She presses her palm flat against the angle of his chin and wills him to understand it.
His cobalt eyes come closer, shining like shards of scultrite with violet hearts. Fari looks good in his eyes, she thinks; beautiful, just like they did in the morning.
They come closer still, growing in beauty as they do. Allura feels mesmerized, drawn. Her eyelids fall slowly as she presses her stomach against the edge of the table in order to lean foward even further, and she can feel Lotor's body bending towards her, sloping nearer. The blue of his eyes is slowly curtained too.
There's a feather-light brush of skin against skin, lips against lips--
"Your Majesty,"
Allura starts.
She knows it should be no question, but she can't decide whether or not she wants to ignore the call and kiss Lotor, or stop and tend to her duties. In the end, kiss Lotor wins, but Lotor backs away before she can act on it, making the decision for her. He smiles softly at her pouting face, a hint of amusement in his eye. Allura wants to kiss him even more now. She gets lost in him again.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," the attendant says.
And Allura starts again.
She sighs; right, they're not alone anymore. She has duties to attend to. People to serve. A world to rule.
"No worries, Falil," Allura says kindly, turning in her seat to look at her attendant standing by the door with his hands clasped politely behind his back. She smiles gently, "Please, what is it that needs my attention?"
A dark-skinned Altean, Falil's passion-orange marks are bright and beautiful on his stern face. Their unique color shimmers in Fari's warm light and color his expression something softer than usual. His eyebrows rise with a careful bit of amusement. "Your ship, Majesty. It's at the central docking bay, waiting for you. It is prepared to depart as soon as you're aboard, as requested."
Allura's eyebrows knit together. She looks as perplexed as Lotor feels. "Depart for what?" she asks.
One of Falil's eyebrows falls, leaving the other raised in curiousity. "Your meeting with the IPA?" he says.
Allura jolts upright onto her feet, looking frazzled and probably alarming Lotor in the process. She doesn't really have the headspace to care.
"Oh stars, that's now?!"
"Yes, your Majesty."
"Goodness, I've forgotten to pack,"
"Coran and your dressers have already taken care of your apparel, and all supplies for the meeting and your basic needs have been taken care of. You are all that is needed."
Allura sighs with audible relief. "Good, splendid. Thank you, Falil, I'll be there shortly."
"If I may," Lotor begins, rising to his feet beside her with a bit of urgency, "what is the IPA?"
Allura feels a little nervous at the innocuous query. While the IPA is certainly no secret, she fears how Lotor will feel about her not telling him about it; it's something she should have brought up ages ago, and most definitely with him.
"My Lord," Falil addresses Lotor with a bow of his head, "the IPA is the Intergalactic Peace Association. They have maintained order and harmony between all member planets and systems for the last twelve decaphoebs. The association was founded just after the Great War ended, and is now spearheaded by former Paladins of Voltron and Coalition members, including her Majesty."
Lotor glances sidelong at Allura, who avoids his gaze, before asking, "May I attend this meeting?"
Allura blinks. She feels relief flood her system at the neutral tone to his voice because that means, at least for now, that while he has certain feelings about her withholding the information from him, he isn't angry with her. She clears her throat a bit conscientiously still.
"I think it is certainly time that you attended. But I want to know how you feel," the Queen turns to her attendant, "Falil."
"Me, your Grace?"
"Yes. If Lotor comes to the meeting, he will be a representative of Altea. Do you agree, as an Altean, to have him as your image?"
"I believe that I speak for all of Altea when I say that His Greatness is always welcome to represent us. But," Falil gives his attention to Lotor again, bringing his hands from behind his back to press his palms together, "I don't presume to know how to tell you to spend your time, my Lord."
"Nonsense," Lotor says, and he is far from unkind. Allura even thinks that she might see a shimmer in his eyes. "I have far too much time. I would like to be there."
"Then it would be an honor, my Lord, to have you."
"It is settled, then." Allura declares. She primly straightens her gilded white sundress and begins to prepare herself mentally for the movement ahead. "Falil, please have someone come and take away the tea. Lotor, come with me."
Falil bows to her. "As you wish,"
Allura leads Lotor through the ornate double doors from her study, into the open castle halls. Her pace is brisk, but Lotor's long legs have no trouble keeping up with her at his regular pace.
"You did not tell me of the IPA," he says once they are alone.
Allura winces. "Would you believe me if I said I forgot to?"
"Not for a second."
Allura smiles. "You know, I never missed that about you," she says, "it ruined surprises."
Lotor, not all that angry to begin with and wanting to avoid even small arguments, accepts the shift in conversation. "Well you've surprised me this time," he tells her.
"You cannot tell me that you hadn't already formed your own conclusions about today's peacekeeping," Allura remarks, "The news of the IPA is not a surprise to you; it is impressive at best."
Lotor chuckles, the levity between them nearer to the way it used to be than ever before. He relishes it. "And you implicate that I am too perceptive."
"Well, you are."
"I did not deny it. I just think you should know that you are not the only one who struggled with surprises."
Allura looks at him then, a bright smile on her face. "Oh?"
"Surely you were aware that I hadn't brought you to Canolus to simply stargaze?"
Allura shot him a look. "Or to Fle'ir to study ancient ruins?"
Lotor raises a brow. That was exactly what he'd brought her for. "Did you not like it?"
"No, I loved it."
"Then. . ?"
"I just mean that not all of your surprises were a surprise; we knew each other too well. We still do."
Lotor nods to her with a gentle look that's almost nostalgic. "Indeed."
Then again, Allura thinks, maybe not; Lotor has lived over ten thousand decaphoebs of life, and she is only privy to the latest eighteen. In terms of experience, she knows next to nothing about him. And he hadn't even been born until after Altea fell and the war began, so he knows nothing of her life before. Their personal lives were shaped by the war also, so anything they might have done in peace while they were together was warped into something else that they might not have done otherwise. Allura wonders if she should ask about his life before they'd met, if it would be okay. But pursuing that thought will have to wait; they've arrived to their destination already.
"Lotor," Allura starts, feeling giddy, her hands on the handles to the doors in front of her, "welcome to your new rooms."
-: : /\ L T E /\ : :-
Lotor steps in and looks around.
He honestly doesn't know what to say.
It's not a fantasy, but it is. He's much too old to really be blown away by any degree of splendor, but this isn't just any splendor, it's Altean, and it's his. This is his room, his furniture, with his things; his Galra obsidian and his Altean sapphire; his spriggan and his sprite. And as he walks about the commons area in front, he actually spots small things of his own from before landing on New Altea, like his maps and starcharts on the walls and some of his mind games on the low table.
He stops at the table when another item catches his eye, winking purple at him in the late daylight. Lotor picks up the little violet and black paperweight made of tough stone from on top of the dark table. He stares at it in a daze, rolling the unique shape of it over in his hands. Once he's confirmed that it's real, he can't believe it; he'd thought that he lost it forever.
The last piece of Daibazaal.
Lotor looks to Allura, who is still by the door.
"How did you get this?" he breathes.
Allura walks all the way into his room, closing the doors behind her. She stops just a few paces away from him.
"When the war ended, the Blade of Marmora took ownership of all Galra resources," she starts, her fond gaze on the paperweight Lotor holds. "They planned to turn what remained of the empire into a republic, and to use the new resources at their disposal to support the economies devastated by the war. With the capital ship also under the Blade's control, I was allowed clearance to traverse it and check what I needed to. I was allowed first on all of the cruisers as well, as I requested,"
"Despite our falling-out before the end. . . I wanted to preserve you-- your things. I admit that I didn't even know what I was going to do with all of it at the time, but. . . I had a feeling that it was wise to collect them. I kept them in storage here, in the new Castle, where they have been properly cared for. And once we made amends, I began a project."
"My rooms." Lotor concludes.
"Yes."
"You moved all of my things in here?" Lotor wonders aloud, looking up and all around, still in a daze. The ceilings are high and the curtains are black and the walls are platinum and the carpets are blue. Violet and gold accent the lavish things, and all of his room stands washed in Fari's radiance from the large window above. He is elated.
"Well, not everything," Allura admits reluctantly, "but a good deal of it, yes," She pauses, mouth silently open for a few seconds as she considers what she'll say next. Her mouth closes as Lotor puts the rock back down on his table, then opens again with words. "Do you like it?"
Lotor wrenches his gaze from the window and smiles at her. "It's lovely."
Allura visibly relaxes. But as Lotor makes his way into his sleeping quarter, she tenses up again.
"It's not finished," Allura warns as he runs his claws over a soft Altean comforter lined with Wyx fur-- another wonder, something only found on Daibazaal, "I wanted to wait a while longer before I brought you but you can't go to the meeting in your casual attire and I thought-- oh!" the queen exclaims as she remembers what they have come for, "I almost forgot, you need to get ready! Come, let me show you,"
Allura takes Lotor by the arm and drags him towards a set of double doors across the room from the head of his bed. Lotor blinks a bit owlishly at her, his mouth threatening to hang open with genuine surprise.
There's more?
Allura places him in front of the doors before pausing with her hands on their handles, looking back at him a bit nervously, and ceremoniously pulling them open. The extension is revealed to be a walk-in closet. And what's inside is nothing more than what is expected of a closet.
It shocks him nonetheless.
"I will admit it, Allura," says Lotor with a brilliant smile, a new happiness in his voice, "I am surprised."
Along two parallel racks, one on each long wall, are just enough tabards, coats, and pants to probably last only a phoeb, but they are not just any tabards, any coats, or any pants. They're all of unique design, a mesh of soft, lush Altean and unmistakable, severe Galra. Harmoniously combined. Brilliant.
"And. . . do you like them?" Allura asks. Her voice is a little quiet, a bit unsure. Timid. Different from the Queen he is learning.
Lotor looks at her as if she has lost her mind.
"Do I like them?" he says somewhat exasperatedly, "Allura, they're amazing. You've outdone yourself."
Allura's cheeks flush, and the red runs all the way up to her ears. She looks away from him bashfully. "I didn't do much. After you landed here that first cycle, I had my best tailors try to put together a king's collection in your dimensions so that you would have more to wear. It was my idea to have the clothes display both Galra and Altean style," she admits with a shy shrug, "but my friends should take credit."
"Allura-- your Majesty--" Lotor brings one of his hands to hover under her elbow, checking his former mistake, "thank you. You must know what this means to me."
"I do," Allura takes his hands in hers and lets their smiles see each other, "I can't fathom being forced to choose half of myself and then being denied no matter what I choose, but I understand the importance of embracing who you are. And there was a time when I was terribly unfair to you, Lotor. I judged you for who your father was and not who you were, and I made a horrible mistake because of it. I want you to know that I'm sorry for that. This is my atonement."
"It is more than enough," Lotor says to her with gratitude, bringing their joined hands closer to his chest, leaning down towards her, "Thank you."
Allura instantly feels lighter. She can hear the relief in his voice, the forgiveness. It makes her want to cry, almost.
She leans towards Lotor naturally, her body responding to his. Their lips grow close and their eyelids lower like before, in her study. But the moment isn't the same. Allura makes them touch foreheads instead of lips, savoring their renewed friendship, not wanting to-- as the Paladins would say-- fuck this up.
They stand there for a full dobash, just looking at each other, at the floor, at their hands. Lotor feels a tightening in his chest at the loving gesture; at the gesture of faith and gratitude of the highest respect. His cobalt gaze widens at the intimacy. Gaze looking up, towards the place where his skin touches her crown, he feels Allura sigh softly.
Allura's eyelids threaten to fall shut and she begins to feel oddly cozy. Her skin begins to heat. Lotor feels so warm this close, so. . .
"Well go on," Allura forces herself to say with a laugh to hide her nervousness, her need to abort, while nudging Lotor towards the closet; she was getting far too comfortable. "Try one on! And be quick, we're late enough as it is."
"As you wish, my Queen," Lotor says as he walks into the closet, looking as calm as she doen't feel, to assess his new clothes up close. He holds the soft fabrics in his hands, "Though I recall our tardiness being a result of your forgetfulness."
"You know," Allura pretends to muse, "Coran's always ready, perhaps he would like his spot back as my counsel for the meeting. . ."
Lotor only chuckles at this and begins to disrobe. Allura goes to sit in the commons while he changes, ecstatic, anxious energy coursing through her body. She runs a hand softly over the black material of the Altean divan once she's made herself comfortable on it.
She can't help but smile at it with a belated sting in her eyes; not very long ago, she had thought she would never have something like this again. Now she has it and so much more, so much she'd given up hope for--
she glances back towards his resting quarter, eyes lingering on the open doors she could see just around the bend
--and that included Lotor.