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Keith flicks through the security report as his foot skims the purple flowers in the garden below. He’s been ordered to be polite, to be open, to make himself available to their Altean hosts. He wouldn’t half mind, but all the sunshine and pastels are a tad much, and he’s pretty sure he’s developing a pollen allergy.
Still, he’s heard the speech enough times not to bother protesting.
“Guardsmen, you stand in the legacy of Voltron! Voltron: a shining symbol of the peace and prosperity that we can all experience when our races stand together, united by bonds of brotherhood and love.”
Yada, yada, yada.
Look, it’s not like he has anything against Voltron, or the concept of cooperation (at least in theory). But no matter how many speeches the top brass gives or how many weapons they allow the Honor Guard to carry, nothing can change the fact that this is diplomatic duty, and his sworn oath iss...to defend an Altean courtyard.
“To the death,” he snorts in a mock salute to an overly curious honey-catcher that has decided his hair might be some special new flower, worthy of investigation.
A pair of boys with cotton candy hair enter the peaceful enclave, screaming in childish joy as their shared kite takes to the wind (before promptly getting tangled in a tree). They’re soon followed by an older girl who seems more seafoam than Altean, so wild and overwhelming is her gauzy dress and loose-bound hair. The boys pull on her hands and entreat her to rescue their kite from its new home in the iridescent leaves of the Balaa tree. Keith sees her point in his direction and he has to suppress the sudden and intense urge to flee, dereliction of duty be damned. Sure enough, moments later his relatively peaceful existence is shattered by two chattering boys, who fall over themselves as they beg him to retrieve their paper dragon.
“Uh, that’s not really-”
Big eyes look up at him. Holy flames, are they crying? Over this?
He imagines the security debriefing, where he has to explain why Senator So-and-so’s child was weeping about evil Galra, and admits defeat. With his luck, these are probably royal princes and that kite is actually some sacred treasure.
“Alright. Let’s...go climb a tree, I guess.”
The boys scream in ear-splitting joy as they grab two gauntleted hands and drag him to his quarry. This is not what he intended when he joined the garrison and declared his intent to become a great protector.
...
Climbing the tree takes an embarrassingly long time.
The Balaa is taller and smoother than it appeared on first glance, and when Keith pulls a dagger to help with his ascent, Ms. Mermaid nearly faints before the boys, (brothers, it turns out), explain to him, as if he’s very young and very stupid, that the Balaa tree is very sensitive and very special and he can’t, under any circumstances, damage it.
Because of course the kite had to get caught in a magic tree. Because that’s Keith’s luck.
He ends up having to give up his weapons, his boots, and his gauntlets before he’s allowed to continue his valiant efforts at conquering the tree. At some point, his audience offers to let him give up, their faith in their hero dwindling with each failed attempt. But Keith is stubborn. This isn’t about the tree or the kite anymore, it’s about his honor. As a Galra. As a man.
That’s how he ends up alone and stuck in a Balaa tree as the sun sets and the moons rise. Soap-bubble leaves seem to giggle at him as he gives up and lays flat on his back, waving his prize in the air, making laser sounds with his mouth as he imagines it’s one of the Empire’s fighters instead of a pastel toy.
“Need some help up there, Ace?”
Keith looks down and locks eyes with one of the Altean guardsmen, a tall man with dusty lilac hair, softly shining armor, and brilliant, luminescent markings that shine like stars in the fading light of the walled garden.
Keith coughs and tries to hide the toy behind his back, which necessitates sitting up, which upsets his balances which...is how he ends up falling directly into the arms of the smarmiest Altean he’s ever met.
Look, mistakes were made. He just hopes none of the other members of the garrison are seeing this.
“Wha-? How?”
He blinks up in confusion, something his rescuer takes full advantage of as the Altean fires off a dazzling smile and leans in close, whispering:
“I’m Lance, and you’re right here in my arms.”
Keith wonders if punching counts as rudeness in this situation. He sighs. Probably. Instead, the grumpy Galra reaches forward and pinches his rescuer’s cheeks, the surprise attack giving him time to find his own feet and to enjoy the positively undignified (and very un-Altean) squeak that Lance lets out as he rubs at his markings and glares at his not-so-grateful comrade.
“Oh, come on! What are you, part snick?”
“Yeah. It’s an ancient Galra secret. We all have secret pincher powers.”
Keith sets down the kite while Lance pouts. If the kids care about it, they can come find it in the morning. For now, he turns away from Lance and starts putting on his discarded armor, hopping awkwardly on one foot as he tries to force a boot back on. Lance, cheeks and self-confidence rapidly re-inflating, tries to make small talk with the very cute, very distant Galra Honor Guard. He’ll woo him right here in a stunning adaptation of the beloved romance opera, “Rielle and the Forbidden Meringue.” This is his chance to showcase his intellect, his ardour, his way with words:
“So...you like gardens? Altean gardens, I mean? You...come out here often?”
Keith, newly rebooted, looks up and quirks an eyebrow.
Smooth Lance, real smooth.
“Well, it’s my duty station. So yes, I’m here often.”
Lance waits for a continuation of the conversation, maybe some playful banter, but he’s bound for disappointment. That’s okay though. He’s a stubborn man, according to everyone who knows him and several who don’t, which he considers a point of personal pride.
“My posting too, but I guess our shifts don’t overlap.”
“Lucky.”
“Huh?”
Keith sighs and looks around as he picks up the abandoned security report and looks out across the darkened courtyard, enjoying the way the moons bathe the sleeping foliage in hues of plum and cerulean.
“This is my first time seeing it, but...I like it better at night. The colors, the sounds...it’s more like home. You’re lucky to be alone under the stars instead of suffocating in the sun.”
He blushes faintly and looks away while Lance restrains himself from breaking into song and dance at getting a multi-syllabic reply. He’s the smoothest in the garrison. He knew it!
“Huh..Well, do you want me to show you around, then?”
Keith hesitates.
“Come on, you might like it! And after all, what kind of guardsman would I be if I didn’t try to make you feel more at home?”
There’s a long pause as Keith weighs his options and his interests.
“Fair enough. What kind of guardsman would I be if I didn’t accept the chance to learn more about my post?”
The two men walk in a lazy and winding patrol, their stride occasionally broken by Lance’s antics. First, it’s the way Lance casually slides his arm through Keith’s while explaining the history of a particular birdbath. Then, it’s the way he pulls Keith down to smell a moon-blooming Orva, soft but insistent that his new friend/hostage just has to take a sniff. Keith’s not sure if these are pre-planned or the result of genuine puppy-like enthusiasm, but he finds he doesn’t mind, either way. He’s...enjoying himself, against his better judgment.
They’re at the far side of the garden, where the smooth walls and manicured lawns give way to the trees, when Lance grabs Keith’s hand and pulls him into the forest, heliotrope eyes locked on some small and fluttering thing.
Any protestations that Keith might make die on his lips as he’s pulled into a glade, where a small lunar moth rejoins its fellows, creating an undulating vortex of bioluminescent wings that beat softly around the two guards. Keith feels his mouth tip open as he lets his eyes follow the dives and glides of the creatures against the night sky, their gentle glow tricking his eyes into imagining them reaching all the way to the heavens. Lance has seen the dance of these moths for decades now, but he can’t help but be swept away anew as he watches the way the Galra’s eyes shine like molten gold, the way his lips part in awe as he watches.
He feels Keith’s hands squeeze into his, eyes still bewitched by the patterned and swirling wings.
“It’s...beautiful.”
Lance keeps his eyes on Keith.
“Yes, beautiful.”
Something in the other man’s tone breaks Keith’s focus. He looks down from the moths and the fog clears, pink slowly spreading like a bruise under mauve skin. He’s here, in a glade, in the moonlight, in Altea, holding hands with a stranger, surrounded by…
Wait a second…
He leans in close and can’t resist smirking at the way Lance’s eyes widen at his approach. He’s never been one for romance, but he tries his hand at a seductive whisper all the same:
“Hey, Lance?”
“Un- Yeah?”
“Is it just me, or is this straight outta ‘Rielle and the Forbidden Meringue?’”
And….the spell is broken.
Lance blushes all the way back to the barracks, spastic hand movements and insistences that it was just a coincidence continuing to the unguarded doors just off the side of the garden.
As Keith continues to smirk, Lance jams his hands into the pockets of his cape and mumbles about stupid Galra Diplomatic Envoys and how rude it is to show sacred films to young cadets and ruin the romantic overtures of the native population.
Keith hums to himself as he inputs his security code and turns back to the still pouting Altean. He clicks his tongue good naturedly and reaches out a hesitant hand, first planning to reach for his cheek but panicking at the last minute and instead settling for a head pat.
The rollercoaster of emotions that that simple action incites is enough to break Lance’s mumble-rant.
“Uh?”
Keith gently ruffles the other man’s hair and smiles good-naturedly, hoping he’s not giving himself away too easily. Wow, his hair is soft.
“Film or no, thanks for the tour. Honestly.”
Before Lance can come up with a charming response, Keith leans over and presses a quick kiss against the side of his mouth, nerves and low-lighting throwing off his intended trajectory just a smidge.
While Lance’s brain short circuits, Keith slips into the safety of the barracks, his courage not lasting quite long enough to see how his clumsy attempt at romance was received. It’s a shame, because it means he misses the way the Altean traces the memory of the kiss with trembling fingers, the way he leans up against the wall and smiles up at the moons like a man reborn.
Keith, huh?