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Thanks to life experiences, Lance could claim to be a lot of things. For example, he was easily the best dancer of the Voltron Force, and could eat any spice level that was given to him and thought of jalapeños as a light snack. He was excellent at dealing with kids, and could name most of the countries of the world alphabetically.
But dealing with the cold?
Now that was impossible.
Turns out that Norwegian tundras are incredibly cold, and bundling up in at least three of Sven's thick winter coats can't keep out said cold out. He was finding it hard to walk, even the few meters through the thick snow back to the Land Rover.
Sven was somehow walking beside him like nothing was wrong, chattering happily about the blizzards they sometimes get whilst somehow wearing a shirt and a single fleece-lined jacket, as oppose to the layers of insulating plastic that Lance was busy shivering under.
"Sven," Lance cut him off, breathing heavily, "how do you even cope here?"
"I grew up here, didn't it?" Sven replied with a chuckle, earning a pout from the paladin next to him. "You learn to deal with it, like how you can deal with your world's Cuban heatwaves."
"They're not heatwaves," Lance shot back, "just warmer temperatures."
"Yes, and this is just light snowfall."
"Touché."
The snow, as if on cue, began to fall heavier, fat flakes drifting and sticking in the wool of Lance's beanie cap. Around their feet, the mounds of snow they were already trudging through were quietly building up; he could feel snow melt on his socks and in his shoes, and judging by Sven's sudden grimace, he could as well.
Another gust of wind blew over the white plains, and Sven's breath curled in front of his face in a smokey cloud.
Lance wasn't going to admit he was looking at the flush of his cheeks as the wind changed direction, or the way the grey light from the sky lit up his cheekbones in a very particular manner.
"We should be getting back," Sven eventually mused, hopefully not noticing Lance's sigh of relief, "if the snow builds up much more, we might not be able to drive back."
"So what if we're stuck in the car, all night?" Lance asked coyly.
"Then we'd run out of petrol for the heating by about midnight and freeze until the morning or someone manages to rescue us," Sven replied, smirking at the fall of Lance's face, "all in good time, Sharpshooter, don't rush it."
"This better be a quiznaking nice cabin you booked," Lance grumbled, the snow squelching under his boots.
Pulling some car keys out of a trouser pocket, Sven clicked his tongue and ran the small distance remaining to the car. "You can be the first judge."
Lance's grumbling continued until the duo were safely in the car, forcing Sven to crank the heating up until it hit one that Lance considered a more sensible temperature and Sven considered way too hot, but wasn't going to debate.
"So where were all the elks or whatever then?" Lance asked, pressing his nose against the window in an attempt to see through the increasing snowfall.
"You'll see them tomorrow, don't worry," Sven said with a patient smile, "I have a friend who runs a nature reserve, there's lots of elks to observe there."
Lance turned round suddenly. "You have a friend who owns an entire nature reserve? How many pies do you have your fingers in?"
"I'm a well-known space explorer here, I can call in a lot of favours," Sven responded, "like how this cabin isn't technically on the market, but I knew the owners, so..."
He trailed off, laughing slightly at Lance's awed face. "What's this cabin like, then?"
"You'll see."
Lance pouted and leant back in the chair, folding his arms. "You keep saying that."
"And you need to learn to wait for things," Sven snarked, "you're very impatient for a member of a team who actively takes out Galrans using endurance hunting."
Lance narrowed his eyes. "And you're, uh..." he trailed off, Sven humming playfully at Lance's inability to create a comeback, "you're annoying!"
"Whatever you say, my love, whatever you say."
Lance huffed, turning back to the window. "The snow's easing off now," he said absentmindedly, as the windscreen wipers slowed down to a much more regular rate.
"Just in time, we're almost there."
"God, Sven, this place is amazing!"
The cabin was, without a doubt, the most luxurious place Lance had ever been in. The living room was the length of the cabin itself, all oak panels and floor-to-ceiling windows that gave a lovely view of the snow-doused plains and forests, and was furnished with plush sofas, minimalist wall hangings, and the biggest fireplace Lance had ever seen in his life. The kitchen was compact but high-tech, and was stocked with all kinds of interesting looking food that he hoped Sven knew what he was doing with, and down the hallway was the bedroom, containing a heavenly looking bed.
There was only one bedroom.
Lance's heart may or may not have skipped a beat.
"That good, eh?" Sven confirmed, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on a pair of faux antlers near the doorway.
Lance hummed an affirmative, collapsing on the sofa nearest the window and lazily undoing the zips to his many coats. "Can I just stay here forever?"
"Well, if your definition of forever is seven days, then by all means, yes."
"You know what I mean," he replied, poking his tongue out to the other man, who laughed and pulled his coats out from underneath him.
"How does hot cocoa sound to you?" Sven called once Lance's coats were hung up.
"Sounds fantastic."
"Then get up off your arse and help me then."
A beat.
"On second thoughts I can survive without."
"Lance!"
"Alright, I'm coming!" He replied with a laugh, pushing himself off the sofa, "but if you're one of these weird people who eats the powder straight out the tub, I'm teaching myself to drive and going back to the ship."
Once he was in the kitchen, Sven shot him a smile and tossed him a block of chocolate. "Who said we were using powder?"
"Marry me."
The cocoa was eventually made, but only after Lance decided to try and eat half of it, sneaking cubes away when he thought Sven wasn't looking.
"Hey, Lance, look at me?"
"What's up-"
That was when he felt Sven's lips softly crash onto his, squeaking in surprise before melting into the kiss. His eyes fluttered shut as Sven tilted his head, pushing into it, and-
Sven pulled away, smirking widely.
"So it was you that was stealing the chocolate," he said, turning back to the pot of hot milk on the stove, "don't try to evade your guilt."
"That's-" he stalled, still somewhat comprehending what happened, "that's cheating!"
"You would have denied it if I asked," Sven sing-songed back, finally tipping the hot liquid into two mugs, "I'll go set the fire up, come in when you're ready."
The hot cocoa really was good, and Lance plonked himself next to Sven on the sofa in front of a roaring fire. "Dude, this is incredible,"
"You like it?" He asked, stretching an arm around Lance's shoulders, who in turn took that as an invite to snuggle into his side and rest his head on Sven's shoulders.
"I love it."
"That's good." He took a long sip of the cocoa and pressed a kiss into the top of Lance's head. "I was worried I had gone a little, uh, over the top."
Lance looked up at him, confused. "How?"
"Well, I wasn't sure if it was all a bit-" he gestured to the rooms decor- "too much."
"Sven, babe." Lance put a hand on his cheek, and moved his head so he was looking at the smaller paladin. "I couldn't think of anywhere else I'd rather be right now."
"And your team-"
"Can survive without me for a week."
Sven hummed in reply, reaching down to press a proper, tender kiss into Lance's lips. He tasted like the cocoa, all sweet and milky, and Lance gently pushed back into it, sliding his mouth open to deepen it. Their heads tilted slightly, and Sven placed his mug on the table sloppily to place his now free hand on Lance's jaw.
"I'm sorry," Sven eventually said, pulling back with a pant, "I should control myself."
Lance gave a breathless laugh. "Babe, I honestly couldn't care. That-" he stopped to catch his breath- "that was great."
Sven hummed again, leaning in for another quick kiss before sneaking a sip of the now lukewarm cocoa. "Are you hungry?"
"For you? All the time, babe," flirted Lance, snapping his fingers into a gun-shape and pressing it into Sven's cheek.
"For food, Casanova."
"Oh yeah, sure."
Sven certainly knew what he was doing with the food.
Lance had wandered into the kitchen after getting his breath back to see his standing over a large pot of something that smelled fantastic, and Sven was beckoning him over to help.
"Cutlery is in the first drawer on the left, and plates are up here," he instructed, pointing to a cabinet by his head without ever taking his eyes off the pot.
Throwing an arm around his waist, Lance leaned in to look into the pot. "This smells amazing."
Sven sent him a genuine smile, reciprocating the hug around his shoulders. "It's my mother's recipe, I hope you enjoy it."
"Compared to the food goo I've been living on for the past year or so, it's gonna' be the best thing ever."
It really was. Lance decided that, if he had to eat one thing for the rest of his life, it would be that. The lamb practically fell off the bone, and the cabbage was sweet, rather than the slightly slimy variant that his dad used to try and make. To top it off, he'd never seen Sven look quite so genuinely pleased as he did when Lance tried to groan his appreciation around a mouthful of food.
"I'm glad you liked it," he later murmured into Lance's hair as he passed behind to put some washed plates back away, "I was worried it wasn't going to be up to your tastes."
Stifling a laugh, Lance spun on the ball of his foot and wrapped his arms around Sven's neck, grinning up at him. "Dude, you literally could have given me plain pasta and I would have thanked you."
"Really?"
Lance nodded. "It's not food goo."
"I don't know what this food goo tastes like," Sven mused, sliding arms around Lance's waist, "but you're making it out to be something I should never try."
"Ugh, for good reason." Lance's face pressed into Sven's chest and he groaned. "It tastes of nothing! Absolutely nothing! And has the texture of literal mush!"
Lance scowled at Sven's continued snickering. "Did you never have to put up with the goo?"
"Nope," he replied through laughs, "we got monthly supply deliveries containing actual food, although most of it was dehydrated."
Lance moaned again. "I would have actually died for dehydrated food sometimes."
"Tsuyoshi couldn't survive without actual food, so blame him rather than me."
"Neither can Hunk, but we don't really get a choice, y'know?"
Lance yawned suddenly, jaw snapping open and ears popping with a crack.
"Is someone tired?" Sven taunted whilst Lance shot him another scowl.
"No, it's just been a long day."
"Then why don't we just go to bed, then we can start tomorrow early."
"Alright."
He had hardly finished his sentence before he felt Sven's arms move from his waist, and a hand around the backs of his knees. Next thing he knew, his feet weren't touching the floor at all, and Sven was holding him horizontally with one arm under his knees and the other supporting his back.
"Are you comfortable, my Prince?"
Once Lance had gotten over his shock, he tossed an arm over Sven's neck and pulled him down for a short kiss. "I can't believe my knight in shining armour was here all along."
Later, Lance was cocooned in duvet and Sven had happily pulled him into his arms, taking their legs together and tucking Lance's head under his chin. The pale light from the moon that filtered through the snow clouds made the window glow, casting soft shadows in the room and giving everything a silvery lining, and the residual warmth from the fires kept the room pleasantly warm despite the thick duvet.
"So, tell me," Lance whispered, voice muffled and scratchy from rest, "what's the difference between elks and moose, just so I know for tomorrow?"
Sven hummed in thought for a moment, causing Lance to squirm slightly in his arms and his breath ghosted his ear. "It's all in the name, my love," he stated simply, "what is a moose to you is an elk to me."
Huffing, Lance rolled over, careful not to crush Sven's arms as he buried himself further into the larger man's chest. "Why is there even a difference in the first place?"
"Because you Americans are a strange, strange people."
"And yet, I'm not even American," Lance shot back, pressing a soft kiss into his collarbone with a smirk. He felt a hand mingle in his hair, working gentle circles into his nape and neck. Sven's general presence was nearly overpowering, but perfect all the same; all Lance could smell was his musky body wash, and the faint scent of the cocoa they'd had earlier that day, and all he could feel was Sven's arms around him and the hand in his hair whilst the other held him tight around the middle.
"G'night, Babe."
"Sleep well, my Lance."
He dipped off to sleep, replaying the lilting voice of the man next to him in his head.