Work Text:
Stepping into the throne room, Shiro felt vastly overdressed. His armor was still covered in the grime from the mountains and the yellow blood of the stonecrabs he had slain. While he had cleaned, had taken several baths in the three day journey from the Arusian Fields to remove the smell of stonecrab blood from himself, his armor had not been so kind. Neither of his squires nor the attendants that traveled with him and his team of knights could fully remove the blood.
It saddened Shiro, that he would have to replace his armor. While it was rather simple, it was still the armor he had started out with, before he had garnered the title of the Black Paladin.
Still, he hoped that it didn't smell. The awful smell wasn't something he wanted to grace the royal family with.
Walking up to the throne, Shiro knelt, getting down to one knee. He closed his eyes, listening to the room. It was late in the afternoon, so there was no one present to greet him. Shiro was fine with that, considering when he had returned. It was the kingdom's centennial, and the entire kingdom was celebrating. His team had passed several villages that were setting up some kind of event in celebration.
The centennial was the entire reason why Shiro had pushed to complete the routing of the stonecrabs so quickly. Not just that he wanted to be present as the Black Paladin, but that he wanted to view the festivities. The royal family had a history of using fireworks at midnight, the alchemists using their magics to craft the fireworks into seemingly impossible shapes, telling the story of the kingdom's creation, of the tales of the Lions of Voltron, and their Paladins. As the current holder of the title Black Paladin, Shiro himself had a section dedicated to his own tales and feats.
The city surrounding the Castle of Lions too held a festival, stalls filling the streets with games and foods both local to the kingdom and beyond. The games were always fun and the food always delicious, but each year Shiro wished he could celebrate with someone he would come to love. This year, however, Shiro had a love.
Ever since he was a child, Shiro had wanted to stand beneath the open sky, as the fireworks played the history, and kiss the most beautiful person ever, kiss them softly and tell them that he loved them.
And this year, Shiro swore to fulfill that promise.
“Sir Shirogane.” A door to the side swung open, and King Alfor stepped into the throne room. He looked regal, even in plainclothes, and hardly looked like he was nearly fifty. He stopped before Shiro, offering a hand for Shiro to take. “You're back early. I admit, we were not expecting your return until well after the centennial.”
Shiro smiled accepting the offered hand and returning to his feet. The dried stonecrab blood shone in the afternoon light, and he bit back a wince. Even if King Alfor had enjoyed his own misadventures across the kingdom (indeed, once bearing the title of Red Paladin before conceding it for his kingdom and family), Shiro still hoped that his armor didn't smell too badly.
King Alfor followed Shiro's gaze, and burst out laughing at the yellow staining. “Is that stonecrab blood? Goodness, Sir Shirogane, your armor is ruined.”
“My attendants did all they could,” Shiro admitted, sheepishly. “Still, I was hoping that your alchemists could have a look. Maybe they could remove it.”
“There isn't an alchemist in our kingdom or beyond who can remove stonecrab blood, I'm afraid.” King Alfor shook his head, but he didn't stop smiling. “But this at least means that you can finally be fitted for your new armor!”
“Please, your majesty, no.” Shiro froze, eyes wide at his whine. “I mean–”
“I know exactly what you mean.” King Alfor hummed, glancing at the throne before setting a soft look on Shiro. “I was hesitant to set aside my own armor for that of the Red Paladin myself. But don't worry—you'll still be you, Shiro.”
Shiro blinked. “That... wasn't what I was worried about, your majesty.”
“Oh?” King Alfor raised a lone eyebrow. “And what was it you were worried about?”
“Is that Sir Shirogane?”
Shiro turned, staring at perfection himself.
After the death of his wife, King Alfor had remarried, adopting Queen Maritza's children as his own. Although they were not in line for the throne, compared to Alfor's first child Allura, still the five children flourished within the castle. Of them all, Lance was the youngest.
Prince Lance gangled, all legs and lithe muscles as he neared his twentieth birthday. And although he didn't seem the part, Shiro knew that Lance's own beauty was only outshone by his kindness.
“Well hello there, Sir Shirogane.” Prince Lance smiled, entering the room. He was dressed in a loose doublet, the shirt beneath half-buttoned and showing off his eye-catching chest. And it very much was eye-catching, because Shiro couldn't stop staring at it. “Did you come back early for the centennial?”
“He did, yes.” King Alfor sighed. “Lance. Aren't you supposed to be overlooking the preparations? The fireworks–”
“Are well-looked after,” Lance replied, rolling his eyes. “Allura's already overseen their set-up. Now she's confirming the courtyard's ready with Luis, Veronica, Marco, and everyone else.”
“Is she?” King Alfor glanced at Shiro, frowning. “I should check on that myself. Allura's overextending herself once again, I fear.”
“You'd think she'd be better at this,” Lance conspiratorially replied, leaning in close to whisper at Shiro. “Allura's all set to lead, and we're all here to follow her.”
“Lance, don't speak ill of your step-sister like that.” King Alfor grimaced. “Even if you're correct. By the ancients, she's becoming more and more like me every day. I don't know if I should be proud of that or worried. Come along, Lance. You should be doing something yourself.”
“Yes,” Lance replied, throwing Shiro a lewd grin. “I should.”
Shiro coughed, covering his mouth as the whole of his ears burned bright red.
“And Sir Shirogane, you should get out of that armor,” King Alfor called back. “Even if it has been several days, stonecrab blood still has a way of getting its stink all over you.”
Now in his room, Shiro let out a deep breath. The King was kind, and the ease at which he could be approached felt almost worrying. Much of King Alfor’s actions didn’t show that he was one of the world’s most skilled fighters.
Lance—Prince Lance, on the other hand, was too much. He was easygoing, but with a sharp mind that always surprised Shiro. Talking with Lance was like crossing a bog field; Shiro didn’t know what to do to react to some of the things that Lance did. Lance was beautiful, distractingly so at times, but Shiro couldn’t help but worry over him. If that worry meant that Shiro was watching Lance’s legs while he walked along the gardens or danced in the ballrooms, or stared at Lance’s back while he drew a bow… that was all for Shiro to know.
And that look. Shiro didn’t know what to make of it. Lance was teasing, more than flirting, and Shiro really needed to get out of his armor.
Shiro had plans, to confess to Lance during the festival, to know for sure that his interest was requited. But not his love, not yet. Shiro loves Lance, of that he was certain, but he couldn’t—he wouldn’t ask the same of Lance. He may confess his love, but he wouldn’t force Lance to respond in kind all for the sake of making Shiro happy.
But the festival was several Vargas away yet, and Shiro needed to remove his armor, have a bath, and dress for the centennial.
Shiro’s quarters were lavish, large enough to be its own wing. As the bearer of the title Black Paladin, Shiro was given the residence, although he tended to stay away from it. Something so lavish wasn’t in line with Shiro’s desires.
Looking around his antechamber, Takashi frowned at the lack of attendants. He knew that his trek back to the castle was taxing, but surely there were some people present to help him out of his armor.
“Hello?” He peered around at the other rooms, from his bathroom to the balcony to his bedroom and sitting room, frowning all the while. He hadn’t spotted anyone, and hoped that this wasn’t a subtle nudge from King Alfor to go to the armory, getting rid of his current armor and accepting his paladin armor.
The central door opened, and Shiro blinked in surprise as Lance bustled into the room. Lance seemed to think he was being sneaky, his attention more focused on the hallway outside than on looking inside. The door was carefully shut, Lance hunched over and pressing his face against the wood to make sure that no sound was made. Shiro wanted to cover his mouth, but his armor would make a sound, rusting from the stonecrab blood and the years of use. Instead, Shiro was left to bite his lips, swallowing his laughter as he watched Lance. Once Lance was sure that nobody had noticed his entrance, he turned around.
Shiro was delighted to see Lance leap practically a full three feet in the air, legs performing a split as he shrieked, scrabbling along the door for purchase. Unable to hold his laughter any longer, Shiro bend double, arms covering his stomach as peals of laughter echoed through the room. Lance was gasping, wide-eyed, one hand clutched to his chest, before huffing in annoyance.
“What are you doing here?” Lance demanded, glaring so hard that Shiro almost didn’t notice the pout to his lips, which set him off once more. “Hey! You’re not supposed to be here!”
“Neither are you,” Shiro pointed out, taking hold of a nearby table to steady himself. He gestured around at the empty room. “But then again, neither are any of my attendants.”
“Yes. I know. I sent them away.” Lance’s pout faded into a full frown, and he walked forward to look over Shiro. “I wanted to surprise you, but you got here first.”
“Yes, well, I did have a head start.” Shiro smiled, unable to resist Lance. “How did you get away from King Alfor? He seemed certain that you should help with setting up the festival.”
“Everything’s already being taken care of,” Lance said, waving him off. He put a hand to his hips, humming thoughtfully as he looked Shiro over. “The festival, fireworks, feast, and even the party are set to go smoothly. I’d only be underfoot if I tried to help at this point. So I told all your attendants that they have the rest of the centennial off and to go celebrate with their families.”
“That’s–” very kind, Shiro wanted to say. But he didn’t, because admitting that would loosen his tongue too much, and then everything else would come blurting out. Shiro liked to think that he had better self control than that. He had worked too hard to have it all fall apart so quickly. “That’s nice of you.”
Lance grinned, a beaming smile that melted Shiro’s heart. It was the kind of smile that left Shiro wanting to give everything for Lance’s happiness, all so that he could see Lance smile for the rest of his quintants.
“Well, I wanted to help you,” Lance said. He reached for the armor, before catching a whiff and pulling back with a mildly disgusted face. “What is that smell ? It’s like a cabbage died but didn’t have the sense to realize it died so it still clung to the roots and got all muddy and baked under the sun.”
Shiro burst out laughing, his cheeks aching and his abs burning, but he couldn’t help it. Lance had a way of lighting Shiro’s life, even if he was talking about dead cabbages mud-baked in the sun.
“It’s stonecrab blood.” Shiro gestured at the bits of yellow that stained bits of his armor. “It’s… yeah, it’s stinky.”
“It’s disgusting.” Lance slapped at Shiro. “Take this off. Take this off right now!”
“Help me, then.” Shiro held up his arms, waiting for Lance to move. “You sent away my attendants. They usually do this.”
Lance made a face, before moving in close. His nimble hands unclasped Shiro’s breastplate, before moving up to his shoulders and the gauntlets on his arms.
“You know, I expected to surprise you, but this isn’t what I had in mind,” Lance muttered. Shiro quirked an eyebrow, reaching up to pull off his breastplate and toss it aside. Lance gave it a final glance before yanking off Shiro’s gauntlets and gloves both. “Also not what I imagined when I got to undress you.”
Shiro blinked, placing a hand over Lance’s as his cheeks flushed a deep red. “You imagined undressing me?”
“What?” Lance straightened up, staring wide-eyed at Shiro. “Where did you– how did– you– no ! No, I most certainly have never imagined you with your, your arms and your chest and your thighs all naked before me!”
“My thighs?” Shiro desperately hoped that his voice didn’t squeak. He stared at Lance, seeing the prince’s face flush as deep a red as Shiro could feel his own face. Some deep part of his mind delighted in knowing all this about Lance, and emboldened him to continue. “Not my butt? That’s what people usually imagine. These suits of armor aren’t the most flattering there. There’s all kinds of armor out there, with abs and everything.”
Really, Shiro didn’t like that he kept being offered newer armor and they all had better abs than he could ever hope. Keith had been subject to many hours of Shiro’s complaining, ever since he saw that one knight with that kind of armor shirtless.
“I– abs?” Lance blinked, his flush fading as he stared at Shiro in confusion. “That’s what you’re hooked on?”
“They’re fake abs, my prince,” Shiro replied, glaring at the far wall instead of continuing to look at Lance. “You think you’re getting a look at what the person looks like underneath it all but all those abs do is lie. The abs lie, my prince.”
“But not the butt?” Lance asked, and Shiro glanced back to see a canary-eating grin slowly grow over his face. “Butts don’t lie, do they, Sir Shirogane?”
Shiro felt his flush returning, and bemoaned that he had spoken so much. Lance was just too beautiful for Shiro to have any semblance of the self-control he liked to have. Lance was too beautiful, and Shiro was but a weak human.
“My armor is ruined,” Shiro chose to say, hoping that a subject change could salvage his dignity before his lips became any looser. “I will have to start using the armor of the Black Paladin.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Lance hummed, staring at Shiro’s discarded armor thoughtfully. “I’ve seen the paladin armor. It’s very elegant. You would look good in it.”
“Perhaps.” Shiro huffed, reaching down to undo his greaves and free his legs of the armor. He still wore his chainmail, and beneath that a leather jerkin, a simple shirt, and leather pants. But for those, while Shiro wanted Lance to stay and help him out, perhaps even drawing him a bath—and joining it–the truth was that Shiro couldn’t handle being so forward. “I still hope the stonecrab blood can be removed. I like my armor.”
“But it’s not paladin armor.” Lance stared at Shiro, as though he was trying to piece together a puzzle. “Wouldn’t you want to be recognized as the Black Paladin? I’d love to be a paladin myself.”
Lance sounded so wistful, so longing, that Shiro stared in surprise. Lance talked like he wasn’t the sort of person that could be a paladin, and that wasn’t true.
“You could be one,” Shiro blurted out, before biting back a wince when Lance turned his sharp gaze onto him. “You would make a great paladin.”
“Perhaps,” Lance said, echoing Shiro’s own words and tone back at him. He grinned. “Do you really believe that?”
“I’m being honest.” Shiro straightened up, stepping out of the last of his armor. Grabbing the bottom of his chainmail shirt, Shiro pulled it up and over. “You’re caring of others, and whether or not you’re a great fighter is second to that. You’d fight in the defense of others, protecting them with your all. That certainly sounds like paladin material to me.”
Lance flushed, a goofy, ear-splitting grin alighting his face, and it warmed Shiro’s heart and soul. If asked later, Shiro wasn’t sure what made him speak up, but he did.
“Are you… taken?” Shiro froze, the words sinking in as they left his lips. “For the festival! Not– not taken in the… romantic… sense…”
Lance snorted, his blush fading some while his smile became something softer, and fonder. “I’m not. I am woefully single. Why do you ask? Are you planning something, Sir Shirogane?”
“Shiro,” Shiro said. “Call me Shiro. Please. And yes. I am asking you to attend the festival. With me.”
“You’ve got such a way with words.” Lance laughed, his eyes crinkling into joyous crescents. “But yes. Absolutely yes. Let’s go to the festival together, Shiro.”
“It’s a date,” Shiro breathed, feeling like he was pulled up into the clouds. He could already imagine it, taking Lance to the balcony, confessing his feelings, professing his love. A wild part of him took the fantasy further, where Lance would—
Lance grinned, leaning in and placing a soft kiss to Shiro’s cheek, bringing the fantasy to a halt because it happened in reality . Lance’s grin kept up, even as Shiro’s face flushed a deep red, his ears burning.
“I look forward to it.” Lance gave Shiro a quick peck on the lips, and Shiro was gone. “A small promise, for later.”
Shiro grinned, goofy and besotted, as Lance pranced out of the room, leaving Shiro alone. They both had a date to prepare for, and a promised kiss to fulfill. One that Shiro intended to do with fireworks lighting the night sky.