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The throne room was tinted gray in the dimmed light.
The king sat on his throne, legs crossed at the knee, a hand nursing a goblet of wine, frowning slightly at the piles of paperwork that littered his thrown, ashy streaks of white against the smooth metal of the floor.
Voltron this. Voltron that. Some stupid kids racing around the universe to make themselves think they were heroes.
What a bunch of nonsense.
A headache was throbbing at his temples. Haggar hadn't let up this morning when she had called him in to a meeting, flanked on either side by Druids, pinning him down with more and more evidence that Voltron had been lurking amongst the outskirts of the last port they had stopped by. Did he really think he was smart enough to out-menouver them? Did he really, honestly think that just because his father had passed him responsibility of the throne, that he could just do whatever he liked?
Lotor had been stuck in there for over an hour, being grilled into an angry, throbbing mess. He had stormed off as soon as he could, his generals flanking behind him like shadows, trotting along as he marched down the corridor to his chambers, and Haggar's scolds had dissipated like the wind.
He'd sent them off about thirty minutes ago, to go their quarters, to practise, to do something useful or not, he didn't care. He told them that he wanted time by himself, away from the daily ruckus of running an empire and being chased by a gang of teenagers who thought they knew better.
The four of them were smart enough to know what he really meant by that.
Lotor sighed, long and drawn out, rolling his shoulders and grunting as he felt the bones click under his skin. His neck had been stiff since last night, when he had spent four hours pouring over maps of the nearest planet, and he still hadn't been able to roll the crick out of it. Those plans now littered the floor by his boots, flowing lines of hills and desert of the planet, the symbols of the indigenous aliens carved into the hills that surrounded them. They were a peaceful race, more focused on appeasing the gods the believed lived amongst the hills, than with the war that raged and roared across the stars.
They were easy fodder for the empire.
Lotor sighed again, and sunk down further into his chair, stretching his cramped legs out beneath him.
And then he heard it. The sound of heels, clicking softly against the metal floor leading up to the throne room.
He sat up as though he'd been shocked to face the doorway, his heart beginning to thump in excitement at who he knew would come through those doors.
There was the beep of the code being tapped in, and then the doors were sliding open, silently opening to let in the figure that stood silhouetted against the bright purple of the lights outside.
For the first time in a long, tiring day, Lotor allowed a warm smile to cross his face, stretching out his free hand.
'Darling,' he said, voice soft, 'Come here.'
Lance smiled.
He walked over to Lotor, his hips swaying enticingly in the dim light, before reaching out and slipping his hand into Lotor's, and slipped onto his lap, spreading his legs to sit atop his thighs.
Lotor brought his bare hand to his lips and kissed the back of it, revelling in he warmth, the softness of the skin against his lips, the distant smell of the hand lotion that Lance used nowadays; sweet and powdery.
He looked up to the boy sat in his lap, feeling his smile grow and reach his eyes as he took him in.
Lance had been beautiful before he had taken him in. Lotor had been skulking around the distant outskirts of Tora Fe, poking through the wreckage of an old Galra when he had heard a snapping of twigs and the thud of footsteps in the background and had dove, head first no less, into a pile of dead leaves. What had emerged looked to be, at first, a beanpole, a long, lanky thing, all legs and small head, mooching through the clearing, in blue pants and a green jacket. Lotor had raised his head to see if he could make out any features and whacked it against a large overhanging branch. The crack - and the curses that followed - had caused the being to face him, and for a moment, Lotor felt the pain transport itself elsewhere, forgot the cold mud and water, the leaves tangled in his hair, could only hear his breathing echoing in his ears as if from some distant place.
It was a boy. A beautiful, beautiful boy, with glossy skin, fluffy hair, and wide, questioning blue eyes, the colour of the sky, the colour of the stars, the colour of a thing that flared up, echoing and beating and flaring in Lotor's chest and stole his breath away.
He knew he had to have him, and Lotor always got what he wanted.
It had been almost a year since that day - Lance had remarked it the other day when they lay in bed, Lotor trailing patterns down the hollow of his spine - and out of all the events that had followed, what always surprised him the most was how easy it had been to persuade Lance to come with him. Lotor had spluttered, blushed, stammered, humiliating for the heir to an empire, the son of the most feared being in the galaxies, but the boy had come with him. He had nodded, helped Lotor stand to his feet and asked him where his ship was.
And that had been that.
Lotor only knew he was a paladin when the videos came two months later. Of that girl who he had known since childhood, eyes shining with desperation, face stricken with grief and poorly-concealed anger, who demanded he hand over Lance.
Looking up at him now, Lotor had never been more glad that he had laughed at her pretty face.
If Allura could be considered beautiful, it was nothing, nothing to compared to Lance now.
The black chiffon shirt, see-through in the correct light, with a black bejewelled choker wrapped snugly around his throat, a droplet of sapphire glowing against the delicate hollow of his throat, clung to his shoulders, the burgeoning muscle of his arms that had begun to grow since he had entered Lotor's care in a way that made his throat go dry, and the velvet strapless dress fluttered down his body, curled around his waist, splitting at the jut of his hipbones, and his thighs emerged from the depths, deliciously enticing against his thighs.
Lance brought up his free hand and ran it down the side of Lotor's face, smoothing away the fatigue and worry that remained.
'Long day?' he asked softly.
That was the other thing Lotor had come to appreciate about Lance. This ability to simply know what to say, to not push him, to be kind, and gentle and loving.
Things Lotor had lacked, and had no idea how much he craved them until the day Lance had reached out to him and touched his shoulder in a way that meant 'I'm here, I'm not leaving, I'm staying.'
Lotor murmured, 'Yes.'
Lance sighed. 'Haggar again?'
Lotor hummed in agreement.
He rolled his eyes and laughed, the sound like a gurgle of sunshine in the otherwise dim room, a ray of warmth in Lotor's bleak life.
'Don't listen to her, babe.' Lotor felt the tips of his ears flush at the nickname Lance had christened him with, even though he had called Lance far more extravagant. 'She's just frustrated and taking out on you. She doesn't mean any of it.'
'I know, I know...'
'Hey,' Lance cupped his jaw, bringing his face up to look him eye-to-eye; yellow to blue. 'Hey.'
Lotor stared at him. He'd applied his makeup this morning - the eyeliner thicker than his fingers, carved to a point, painted sleekly over silver eyeshadow that glittered every time Lance blinked, and - Lotor felt his insides go a little mushy - the purple lipstick Lotor loved the most on Lance, glossy and gleaming.
He looked more beautiful than anything Lotor had ever seen.
Lotor smiled, bringing his hands up to Lance's back, leaning up to kiss him on the lips, soft and warm and wet. He nibbled a little on Lance's bottom lip, revelled in the slight sigh it brought.
They broke apart, a tiny string of saliva keeping them connected.
Lance whispered, smug, 'Feeling better, your highness?'
Lotor whispered back, 'Of course, my love.'
Lance smiled, eyes brimming and shining, and hummed. 'Good.'
Lotor felt the words leave him, uttered as though he was not the one speaking them, felt his lips move on his own accord.
'I love you.'
It was hushed, like a secret that only Lance could ever know.
But pretty much everyone knew. Anyone who spent two minutes in the company of Lotor and Lance would know with one look. And it wasn't the first time Lotor had told Lance this. The first time had probably been within five minutes of their meeting, since Lotor couldn't really remember what it was he told Lance as they made their way back to the ship as he stumbled, embarrassed and flushed back to the ship.
But Lance smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners, and whispered back, 'I love you too.'
He leaned in, resting his head in the crook between Lotor's neck and shoulder, snuggling against him.
Lotor brought his hands to rest on Lance's shoulders, turning to press his face to his arm, breathing in his sweet smell, closing his eyes and letting himself go slack against the body against his.
The empire could wait another day.