Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Keith hears Lance scream, the sound shrill and painful. It cuts through the dark of the forest like a knife. It takes everything Keith has not to shout for him. It won’t do Lance any good if he’s captured too. All he can do is stand there and listen, trying to pinpoint where it’s coming from.

They were just supposed to come explore. It was supposed to be an easy mission, quick in and out. The last known inhabitants of the planet were isolated and far less technologically advanced than Earth or Altea. They weren’t supposed to be a threat.

Still, Allura and Coran had hoped to find resources of some kind, maybe some new food materials for Hunk.

They’d meant to fly under the radar so Keith and Lance had taken a shuttle down instead of their lions. If they’d come across the inhabitants they were to remain unseen, observe them if they could, and not engage. Lance had made some joke about Star Trek and Prime Directives Keith hadn’t understood.

They’d found no sign of the locals, assuming they’d managed to avoid them. Instead they’d been quietly stalked, ambushed, and separated. Keith had bolted. He hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone and had chosen to run, not to engage. He’d thought Lance was right behind him.

Instead they natives had captured him and now Keith is left to fumble in the dark.

He and Lance must have come in close to the end of the light cycle for the planet. Now with night fallen Keith is next to blind. He’s been unable to track but does the best he can, worried the light on his armor would draw too much attention. It leaves him to pick his way forward through the dark. Lance’s sudden cries are his only clue Keith is close.

He follows the sound of Lance’s screams, picking his way between the trees. There’s nothing he wants more than to go running headlong towards him but one wrong step could mean a snapped ankle. That’s a risk he isn’t willing to take.

His stomach twists but Keith has to be able to carry Lance out if he needs to. And it sounds like he might need to.

“Hang on,” Keith whispers, praying Lance knows he’s on his way. “I’m coming. I’m coming Lance, just hold on.” He’d tried to contact him through the comm in their helmets but there’s been no response. He’d almost gone back to the shuttle to ask the others for help but he isn’t sure where it is either. He’d gotten turned around in the dark. And then he’d heard Lance scream.

Fear rakes through Keith’s mind like nails on a chalkboard, making up horrific scenarios of what the inhabitants could be doing to him. He’s never heard anyone shriek like that.

Keith thought he’d imagined the worst in the time it takes him to see the firelight through the trees. Nothing prepares Keith for what he sees when he enters the clearing. 

Lance is nailed to a tree, a thick spike through each of his hands, suspending him above the forest floor. He’s been stripped to the waist, slashes cut across his arms, crisscrossing down his chest and torso. They're black with blood in the harsh firelight.

Torches ring the clearing. Towering warped figures of tree limbs and animal bones are everywhere, their twisted shadows cutting and jagged in the flames. A large bonfire in the middle fills the night with searing heat and Keith can feel the sweat rising on his skin. Or maybe it’s the fear. The whole area reeks of death and a cold knife cuts through Keith.

Lance is sobbing, shivering with pain, blood streaked down his arms and face. Keith feels like he’s stuck in his worst nightmare and it takes him several seconds to move, to make this his reality. His legs drag through the needles and bones scattered across the clearing. He can’t take his eyes off Lance.

He’s probably putting them in more danger by not paying attention to the environment but he can’t help it. He can’t wrap his mind around someone doing this. It’s unreal.

Keith’s heart gives a devastated kick seeing someone he cares about like this. He’s had nightmares but nothing like this. He’s unbearably frightened.

When he’s within a few feet of him Lance starts screaming again, writhing and kicking, fresh blood streaming from the wounds. It's a miracle the spikes haven't torn clean through his hands.

“It’s me,” Keith croaks, hand extended but not touching. He’s choking, afraid to hurt Lance further, trying to get through to him.

“Sweetheart, it’s me.”

Lance sobs, eyes finally opening and his head sags. Keith’s shaking fingers rest against Lance’s thigh and he looks up at Lance though tears. Blood and tears drip from Lance’s face.

“H-help.”

“I’m gonna get you down okay?” Keith promises. His chin quivers as he struggles to keep it together for Lance.

Lance, the kindest, sweetest person he’s ever known. He’s obnoxious and loud, sure, but he’s also compassionate and patient, fiercely protective and loyal. He’s always been there when Keith needed someone. Always. And Lance needs him now.

He’s only a foot off the ground, arms stretched over his head, but it’s high enough Keith can’t reach.

He forces himself to think through the panic and the growing void in his chest, to find a log and roll it over to stand on. He bites his lip, quickly finding another a little shorter, pressing it beneath Lance’s feet. He’s too far gone to realize what Keith is trying to do.

“ Cariño, I need you to stand okay?” Keith isn’t sure what it means but he’s heard Lance say it often enough when comforting the other paladins. Or talking to Blue when he thinks no one can hear. It’s always soft and filled with affection. Keith hopes it will bring comfort now.

He takes Lance’s ankle, pressing his foot to the top of the log.

“Get the pressure off your hands.” He blinks through the tears and acid in his throat, burning him from the inside out. “I need you to stand.”

The log wobbles but Lance’s feet finally find purchase, balancing precariously. Lance sobs in relief, his wounds no longer stretched open, his own weight dragging on the spikes through his hands.

Keith can’t believe someone would do this to Lance.

“I’m sorry. Oh baby I’m so sorry.” Keith has never been one for pet names but the terms of endearment fall from his lips now, utterly sincere and full of comfort and love.

It’s all he has to give. Keith knows it’s not enough.

He scrambles onto his own log as Lance sobs.

“-out.” Lance chokes, shaking his head over and over again.  “Please -out,” he begs, words disjointed and broken. He’s in too much pain for anything else.

Keith studies the spikes in the harsh light, feeling helpless and weak. He doesn’t know how long they are, how deeply they’re buried in the trunk of the tree.

When he touches them they don’t so much as wiggle. The spikes are in deep and Keith’s stomach twists as he realizes what he has to do. He isn’t strong enough to pull them out. He pulls off his helmet, tossing it aside. Fear grips Keith, deeper and colder than ice water.

“I- I can’t pull them out. They’re too-”

Lance screams, pain and rage and fear as Keith speaks. There’s no other way to express it. He’s never felt so trapped.

“Isn’t real, isn’t real, isn’t real,” Lance cries, utterly denying what’s happening, shaking his head back and forth.

Keith presses his forehead to Lance’s, steeling himself for what he’s about to do. He wants to hug him more than anything. 

The lacerations to Lance’s body gape like dark mouths as he sobs, opening and closing, weeping blood.

“I’m sorry.” Keith puts one hand on the tree to stabilize himself as the log wobbles beneath him. 

“Forgive me.” He screws his eyes shut, wraps his fingers around Lance’s wrist and yanks.

Keith feels the spike pull on cartilage, tendons grinding and broken bone snapping before Lance’s hand comes free. There’s a gout of blood and Lance’s scream cuts out.

Keith opens his eyes, terrified, only to find Lance’s mouth still open, neck strained. He realizes Lance is still screaming, he’s just lost his voice. Keith thinks he’s gonna be sick.

He brings Lance’s hand down as gently as he can and Lance cradles it to his chest. He chokes on wretched sobs and wails of pain as his voice comes back. Keith doesn’t know how he’s still standing. He can feel Lance shake with pain where they’re pressed close.

Keith cups the side of his face, pressing kisses to Lance’s bloody cheeks before reaching up and taking Lance’s other wrist.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpers, face pressed close to Lance’s. “I’m so sorry.” His fingers are sticky with blood but he can’t help noticing they wrap all the way around Lance’s wrist.

He’d never considered Lance to be delicate but he feels as delicate as a porcelain teacup now. Deep spiderwebs and fissures cutting through the strength and resilience Keith knows so well, threatening to shatter at any moment.

“Fuck,” Keith chokes, “I’m sorry.” He screws his eyes shut.

Lance’s other hand doesn’t come free as cleanly as the first and he has to pull it a second time. Keith grinds his teeth, forcing himself not to be sick. Lance never stops shrieking.

On the second pull Keith uses too much force and they both wobble dangerously. Lance’s knees finally give out and his deadweight hits Keith full force and they fall.

Keith protects Lance as best he can as they hit the ground. Something sharp digs painfully into his back and he feels blood beading on his skin.

Lance shrieks as he hits Keith’s breastplate, wounded hands knocking hard where they’re pressed between them. He’s sprawled across Keith’s chest, sobbing and screaming as he hyperventilates. Keith wraps an arm around his waist, dragging them both into a sitting position. 

Lance cries and sobs and wails, Keith cradling him close as he can, trying to be gentle. He presses kisses to Lance’s face, not caring about the blood smearing across his mouth as he does. He doesn’t know what other comfort to give. With the wounds to Lance’s body he can’t hug him like he wants to.

He rips off his gloves wiping at Lance’s tears.

“I’m here. It’s over cariño. It’s over. I need you to breathe.” He pushes Lance’s hair back from his face, struggling not to cry himself. “You’re gonna pass out.” Keith thinks it would be a mercy if he did. He can’t imagine the kind of pain Lance is in.

“Lance,” he whispers, fingers in Lance’s hair, tender and kind. He says it over and over again until it’s just sound with no meaning but his voice seems to help. Lance shudders but his sobs quiet and he presses into Keith, tear soaked face against Keith’s throat as he cries.

“I’m so sorry baby.” Keith holds him and cries with him. He's still hoping this is a nightmare and he’ll wake up; they’ll be back on the castle and Lance will be next door, all smiles and teasing laughter. Not this shivering ball of pain in his lap.

He cups his hands over Lance’s mouth the way Shiro had taught him to do when he was starting to hyperventilate as a child. He continues to murmur to Lance as he does, letting him know what he’s going to do before he does it, not wanting to frighten him.

When Lance’s breathing stabilizes, Keith removes his hands, damp with Lance’s breath.

“I have to try and stop the bleeding,” he says gently and Lance hiccups, hands still cradled to his chest and shaking. Keith is sick at the sight. He can see through the holes.

Keith strips off his own chest plate as quickly as he can, unzipping his undersuit and hacking through the sleeves. He cuts it into strips and tries to press the fabric into one of Lance’s hands. The minute he makes contact Lance flinches and screams, the sound cutting in and out as he loses his voice.

“Okay. Okay I won’t touch.” Keith holds up his hands and backs off, Lance’s cries quieting as he does. The wounds to Lance’s arms, chest, and torso are still weeping openly and Keith is scared. In the dark he can’t tell how much blood Lance has lost but he’s been painted with it.

“Can you let me bind some of the ones on your arms? Or at least pull this back up?” He touches the material hanging around Lance’s hips. It’s wet under his fingers.

“The compression should help stop the bleeding.”

Lance doesn’t respond, head tucked low, arms curled into his chest. Keith is afraid he’s going into shock.

He cuts through Lance’s sleeves resting on the ground, cutting as high as he can so Lance doesn’t have to put his hands through them. Lance lets Keith pull the suit back up, the hand on his elbow helping guide him through the holes.

Keith zips him up, Lance whining at the pressure against his wounds as the collar closes about his throat. Keith hopes it will be enough.

“I know,” Keith soothes, touching Lance’s cheek. “We’ll be home soon.” He quickly wraps the slashes to Lance’s arms as gently as he can, forcing himself to tie them firmly even as Lance whimpers.

“We have to get out of here. Can you walk?”

Lance doesn’t seem to hear or process what Keith has said. He just cradles his ruined hands to his chest and cries quietly, rocking back and forth.

Keith tucks his hair back, needing to touch him.

“Okay, I’m gonna pick you up.” He whispers what he’s doing as he does it, cradling Lance against his chest as he stands. It’s not the smartest way to carry him but Keith won’t put him in a fireman’s carry, not with lacerations to his chest.

He just hopes he can get Lance back to the castle before he bleeds to death.

Chapter Text

Keith doesn’t think to radio the castle on their way back. He’s too focused on Lance next to him, fading in and out of consciousness. Keith keeps up a string of idle chatter, trying to keep Lance awake, to reassure him that he’s safe. He doesn’t know how successful he is.

~

When he docks back at the castle, carrying Lance from the shuttle he’s confused to find no one there waiting for them. Lance is hurt, why is no one here? He feels dazed, everything far away, fuzzy and distant.

Keith stumbles across the hangar, Lance’s weight making his arms burn as the doors hiss open. He steps into the hall, Shiro and Coran falling to a stop mid-conversation as they see him.

Keith looks like something out of a horror movie. His armor is streaked with Lance’s blood, smeared across his mouth, tears still on his cheeks. Both Shiro and Coran look at him in horror, the smiles from whatever they’d been talking about dying.

“Help,” Keith manages in a raw voice and they burst into action.

Shiro and Coran run to close the distance between them, Coran taking Lance from his arms as Keith’s body starts to give out. The four of them sink together to the ground. Keith can’t feel his hands anymore. The castle feels like it’s shaking around him.

Shiro checks Lance’s pulse which flutters under his fingers. He’s ashen and unconscious and Shiro’s expression hardens.

“Get him prepped for a blood transfusion,” he orders. “Now.” Coran nods, lifting Lance into his arms and bolting down the hall.

Shiro puts a hand on Keith’s shoulder as he stares vacantly after them. He’s rocking slowly back and forth, eyes unfocused.

“Keith?”

Tears stream down his face unchecked but his expression is blank. It’s like he doesn’t know Shiro is there.

“Help,” he manages again before his throat closes up and he can’t speak.

Shiro pulls him into his arms, holding Keith close as he cries.

There’s a ping through the intercom a few minutes later, quiet as can be. “I need you, Number One.” Coran’s voice echoes down the massive hallway. Shiro hopes it’s limited to this hall so as not to wake the other sleeping paladins. “You’re the only universal.”

Shiro nods like Coran can see him.

“I have to go,” he says to Keith softly. “Do you want to come with me?” He rubs a hand over Keith’s back where he’s still clinging to him. Keith doesn’t respond.

“We’re gonna go see Lance.” Keith’s skin is cool and clammy and when Shiro checks his pulse it’s thready.

“Shit, we have to get you to the medbay, you’re going into shock.” He hauls Keith into his arms, hurrying after Coran.

~

When they make it to the medbay Shiro puts Keith in a chair, dropping a blanket around his shoulders, pulling it tight. He yanks off his shirt and sits on the bed next to Lance as Coran hooks him up for the transfusion.

“Keep an eye on him,” Shiro tells Allura, gesturing at Keith sharply. “He’s going into shock. Do not let him stand and make sure he keeps breathing.”

Allura nods seriously and goes to kneel next to Keith, taking his hand. She talks to him quietly and while he doesn’t answer he does seem to focus on her. She brings a bucket over when he looks like he’s going to be sick and pulls his hair back, still talking to him softly as he vomits.

Coran has put some kind of clear gel on Lance’s wounds after stripping him out of what remains of both his armor and the undersuit. It will help stem the bleeding, fight off infection, and begin the healing process until they can stabilize him for a pod. Coran has sedated him and administered some painkillers. Sleeping like he is, he looks like a corpse.

Lance’s entire body is a mottled red-brown where he’d continued to bleed inside the suit during their trip back. It’s a morbid pattern of lace across his body and the sight of it is enough to make Keith sick again. He sees Lance nailed to the tree, feels the way the spikes had ground through Lance’s hands when Keith had ripped them free. The sensation is trapped in his fingers like a ghost imprint, one he'll never forget. He heaves until his stomach is empty and sore. It feels like vomiting up his heart and he can’t stop crying.

Shiro watches intently as blood flows down the tube in the crook of his elbow to the one in Lance’s arm. The gaping holes in his hands are crusted with blood, bits of white bone peeking out from them.

“Can you do anything about his hands?” Shiro asks softly.

Coran hums thoughtfully. “I believe so. It will require some delicate surgery before going into the pods but if we can stabilize him all should be well. We can rebuild what has been damaged.”

Shiro looks at him in surprise, taking his eyes away from the wretched holes.

“You can do that?”

Coran smiles and for a moment Shiro can see the age around his eyes. “Steadiest hands in the fleet,” he says softly. He claps Shiro on the shoulder, his tablet monitoring how much blood Shiro is losing. He gives a firm nod before he goes about carefully rinsing Lance’s hands. He looks ashen against the white sheet.

“Would you like me to wake the others?” Coran asks.

Shiro pinches at his eyes. “I...don’t know. It’s the middle of the night but if we’re going to lose Lance…” He purses his lips. “They’d want to be here. They deserve to know.”

Coran flicks his fingers over his tablet, checking Lance’s vitals. “He appears to be stabilizing. If you would like me to wait until after the transfusion is finished I will get them. We don’t want to take too much.” He winks at Shiro but Shiro doesn’t smile.

“Take however much he needs,” he says solemnly.

Coran looks ready to protest for a moment before he looks at Lance and closes his mouth. He nods firmly before setting back to work.

~

Once the transfusion is complete and Shiro is confined to a bed with a foul tasting kind of gel to eat, Coran leaves to get Hunk and Pidge. They’re both horrified but immediately jump into action.

Hunk begins washing the blood from Keith’s face, pressing a hot water bottle into his hands to hold. He’s slightly more responsive than before. Instead of sitting like a stone he’s vibrating, twitching. His fingers tap idly, knee bouncing, rocking back and forth.

Pidge brushes his hair out, braiding it for him and tying it back, bringing him a glass of water to rinse his mouth out. They inform him very intensely not to drink it. Keith seems less than inclined to listen but Pidge threatens to knock it out of his hands if he does.

Once he’s rinsed his mouth Pidge takes the glass back and sets it aside. Allura takes the bucket from Keith to dump and Hunk rubs at Keith’s hand while he clutches the hot bottle close. He sings a Maori lullaby softly and eventually Keith’s jittering begins to settle.

He takes no notice of them but when they press him for questions Keith shakes his head, rocking back and forth. Finally they stop asking. Pidge brings him another blanket, chafing at his arms as Hunk switches hands.

Coran has Lance laid out on a bed, blinding lights all around him and a strange set of glasses over his eyes. He’s bent over Lance’s hands, intently focused on fixing the damage.

For lack of anything better to do, Allura sits beside Shiro and holds his hand. She looks frightened and Shiro isn’t sure if she’s holding his hand for her comfort or his own. They’re all scared.

Between the delicate surgical tools and nanites, Coran is able to rebuild the shattered bone and torn tendons in Lance’s hands, connecting nerves and veins. It’s tedious work and by the time Coran’s done there’s sweat beaded across his forehead but he’s smiling.

The wounds are still open, muscle exposed and raw. Blood seeps from them before Coran slathers more of that clear gel into them.

“All done,” he declares. “Into the pod with him.” He claps his hands briskly and Allura rises to carry Lance as Coran pops his back with a wince. She places Lance gently inside, brushing some of his hair back before the pod seals.

All they can do is wait.

~

For the first hour Lance is in the pod he’s crying even while he’s under. Coran carefully administers painkillers. He monitors the levels closely until the silent tears stop falling from Lance’s closed eyes. It’s trial and error, until Coran can fully balance Altean medicine with human biology.

Keith finally comes around, color returning to his face but he keeps the blankets pulled close. Shiro eventually coaxes him to shower and get changed. Keith doesn’t realize he’s covered in Lance’s blood until he’s in the bathroom, stepping under the spray fully dressed. It hadn’t occurred to him to change.

He stares down at the water as it patters against his head and shoulders, rinsing a bloody pink down the drain. He wants it gone.

It’s suddenly too much, the reality of all that’s happened hitting him all at once. Keith screams, tearing out of his armor and undersuit. He throws it all out of the shower behind him, unable to look at it.

Sinking to the ground he presses into the farthest corner of the shower and cries himself hoarse. He claws at his skin, nails leaving bright streaks of red behind. The steam curls around him as he sobs, veiling him from view.

Chapter Text

It takes Lance days to heal and they don’t know if he’ll ever regain full use of his hands in spite of Coran’s ministrations. They won’t know until he’s awake. As it is there are two large scars on the top of each of his hands now that the wounds are closed.

Keith never stops crying. The others finally manage to coax some semblance of a story out of him but it’s choppy at best and not a memory Keith wants to fixate on for long.

When the pod door opens Lance screams, still trapped in the memory of pain and horror. It's the last thing he really remembers. Keith crashes into him, holding him through it as Lance sobs, kick-started into moving at the sound. He whispers reassurances into Lance’s hair over and over again.

He stumbles down the stairs, taking them both to the floor for fear Lance will fall. Lance wraps around him, all arms and legs, holding on painfully tight as he sobs.

Keith presses a hand to the back of Lance’s head, rocking him gently as they both cry, face tucked to Lance’s throat. He runs his fingers through Lance’s hair and over his back, unable to stop touching him. The three days it took for him to recover were hell. All Keith wants to do is touch him.

“I know. I know baby.” He kisses Lance’s temple, neither of them noticing when the others quietly excuse themselves from the room. “It’s over,” he whispers, voice choked with tears. “You’re home, you’re safe.” He rocks back and forth, Lance sitting in his lap, legs wrapped around Keith’s waist. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

He drops kisses to every part of Lance he can reach, trying to chase away the fear and the pain.

“I’m sorry,” Keith cries. “I’m so sorry.”

Lance clings to him, Keith running a hand down his back. He hushes Lance, pulling away to wipe at his tears, kissing his cheeks and forehead as Lance sniffles. His skin is mottled, eyes red-rimmed and puffy but he’s whole.

Keith takes his hands, pressing kisses into the scars in his palms, the backs. Lance can feel his tears on his skin. “I’m sorry.”

Lance doesn’t know what to say, can’t find the words so he just takes Keith’s face in his hands, hauling his head up and kisses him.

Keith holds him fiercely, hands tight on his waist. His knees lift to bracket Lance, squeezing around him, afraid to let him go. He crushes Lance to his chest, restless hands roving over the length of his back, his shoulders, his ribs.

Lance kisses him hard, both of them still crying.

“I’m sorry,” Keith chokes as the kiss breaks for half a moment. “I should have-”

“Shut up,” Lance cries, kissing him again. “It wasn’t your fault.” He kisses Keith between the words, over and over again.

“You came back. You came for me.” Lance shudders and Keith kisses him, tasting his tears.

“Of course I did,” he whispers. “God, of course I did.”

He tucks Lance’s hair back before Lance curls against his chest, holding on, needing the comfort of having him close.

Keith is more than happy to comply.

He holds Lance until his legs fall asleep and his back aches and then holds him even longer.

Chapter Text

At breakfast the next day Lance takes his usual space next to Keith. He’s somber, shoulders curled. No one wants to ask him about what happened on the planet and he keeps his sleeves pulled close. 

Normally Lance fills an entire space when he walks in. Today he may as well be invisible. It doesn’t help that everyone is quietly staring at him in the most awkward silence. 

Keith offers him his hand. There’s something desperate in Lance’s eyes when he looks at him. Keith tries to smile. He’s not really sure what they are. They haven’t talked about it since Lance came out of the pod; since they’d spent god only knows how long holding one another. Since they’d said good night. He just knows Lance is scared and somehow, Keith helps.

“It’s okay,” Keith reassures softly, like he knows Lance is afraid of needing him. 

Lance’s lips tremble as he takes Keith’s hand. He scoots his chair over until he’s pressed against Keith’s hip all the way to his knee. Keith presses back, hooking his leg over Lance’s knee, trying to make him feel safer.

“You’re okay,” Keith whispers and Lance squeezes his hand, swallowing thickly.

“Thank you.”

Keith kisses the back of Lance’s hand over the scar and if anyone sees they don’t mention it.

Chapter Text

Lance’s hands are thick with scar tissue from the spikes. Thanks to Coran he’s retained as much use from them as he had before in spite of the damage. The nanites had rebuilt the ruined bone and tendon and muscle from some kind of material. The pod had only managed to close the wounds, leaving behind two jagged circles in both his hands. A permanent reminder of that night. 

Keith finds him staring blankly at his palms a few nights later, something void on his face. It’s hard to see Lance sitting on the couch in the dark but Keith knows him well enough by now to read the way he isn’t moving.

Keith tugs gently on the cuff of one of his gloves, biting his lip. He debates only for a moment before slowly pulling them off, crossing the room. He feels naked without the gloves but Lance needs them more.

Lance startles when Keith presses the gloves into his palms where his hands are resting on his knees. He stares at Keith’s now bare hands, slowly looking up at him. Lance doesn’t try to hide what he’s feeling, not like with the others. Keith already knows. There’s no point in faking it.

Lance searches his eyes before Keith sits down next to him, their knees bumping.

“Only if you want them,” he says softly. “But you have nothing to be ashamed of.”

Lance bites his lips, staring down at the gloves curled tight in his hands like he’s afraid to let them go.

“You’re sure?” he croaks and Keith wonders how many hours it’s been since he last spoke. How long he’s been here.

Keith smiles sadly. “I don’t think my dad would mind.”

Lance’s eyes burn as he nods, fingers digging into the worn leather. “Thank you.”

He pulls the gloves on, adjusting them so they fit. They’re still warm and Lance feels tears prick at his eyes.

He stares at his hands, fingers flexing, adjusting to the feel of the gloves over his skin. 

Keith slides his hand into Lance’s, lacing their fingers together. He squeezes Lance’s hand and holds on tight.

Lance curls up on the couch, knees to his chest and leans into Keith, breathing him in. It’s the only place he feels safe anymore.

“Thank you,” he whispers again, the words weighted with gratitude for more than just the gloves.

Keith presses a kiss to his forehead, switching hands to put his arm around Lance, holding him tightly.

“You’re welcome.”

He feels Lance’s chin tremble and runs a hand down his arm. “You okay?”

Lance’s fingers curl in Keith’s shirt where he’s pressed against his chest. “’m scared,” he mumbles, voice small and weak.

Keith pulls him closer on reflex until Lance is almost in his lap. “Of what?”

Lance hides his face against Keith’s chest, listening to his heart beat. “Losing you.” Keith can feel Lance’s tears wet the material of his shirt.

“Hey.” Keith touches Lance’s cheek, trying to see his eyes. “I’m right here.”

Lance takes a deep breath, wet and shaky. “I love you. And I’m scared you don’t want me because I don’t know how to get through this without you.”

Keith tips Lance’s chin up, thumbing away his tears. “I’m right here,” he says again, soft but firm. He searches Lance’s eyes, his gaze steady and sure.

Lance’s eyes dart back and forth between Keith’s, searching for courage. “I love you,” he says again, stronger this time. A slow smile stretches cross Keith’s mouth and he leans down, bumping his nose against Lance’s.

“I love you too.” He whispers it just before pressing his lips to Lance’s.

Chapter Text

Lance comes out of the bathroom with a towel around his hips. He’s humming idly as he pats his hair dry. 

Keith glances up on reflex, drawn to the movement and the sound. He and Lance have been dating for a few weeks, getting to know one another in the new context of together. Keith had thought he’d known most of what there was to know about Lance. That’s not to say he’s shallow, but that Keith had thought Lance was straightforward in his emotions. He realizes now that maybe that’s not entirely true. 

Lance steps to the dresser, still humming and Keith sees the deep scar on his back from their first night on the castle. He’d known it was there in theory but had never actually seen it. It triggers the realization that Lance has stopped wearing short sleeves. The slashes across his arms and torso have been hidden since the night they happened. Even the ones to his hands have been hiding beneath Keith’s gloves. 

Keith is breathless at the realization that Lance has been hiding. Even now as he sets aside the towel he’s been using to pat his hair dry, he avoids looking in the mirror.

Keith slips out of bed as Lance begins rummaging around through the dresser. Keith steps up behind him, slipping an arm around his waist.

Lance makes a startled noise, one hand finding Keith’s on reflex. 

“Keith?” Lance tries to look at him over his shoulder but Keith’s eyes are fixated on the scars. 

Keith runs his free hand over Lance’s arm, tracing out the scars that lead to his shoulder. Lance falls silent, letting him do it. Keith’s heart hurts at how many there are. 

He tucks his face against Lance’s throat, breathing him in, one hand resting over Lance’s heart. He takes a moment to count out the beats for the simple love of hearing them. 

Lance covers Keith’s hand with his own and Keith traces out the edges of the scar to the back of his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, the words mumbled into Lance’s skin. They haven’t been out here that long but already Lance is changed. He has to go home to his family like this. Has to eventually show them all the scars he has now. Lance who used to take such pride in his appearance. 

Keith squeezes him tightly. 

“I’m sorry I let this happen to you.” His voice comes out choked and hurt, flashes of that night coming back to haunt him.

“Hey.” Lance steps away, dislodging Keith’s arms. Keith looks away, hiding behind his hair as Lance turns to face him. “You didn’t let anything happen to me.” He tucks Keith’s hair back, trying to see his face. “Keith.”

Keith finally lifts his head and Lance runs his fingers through his hair. “This isn’t your fault,” he reassures. “It’s not your fault this happened or I look like this.” His smile dips and Keith hates it. 

“You’re beautiful.” It comes out sharper than he means.

Lance doesn’t say anything but he does look away with a silent scoff, his hand dropping from Keith’s hair and he turns away.

“Lance.” 

He stops, half turned away from Keith, facing the dresser. Back to long sleeves and coats and gloves and Keith can’t stand it. He steps up behind Lance again, taking his hand and kissing the thick scar tissue. He kisses the scars across his inner arm, his bicep, his shoulder. He steps into Lance’s space until Lance’s back is flush to his chest and he’s holding him tight. He kisses the side of Lance’s neck as he pulls him into another embrace. He holds Lance’s hand, the other stroking down his chest and the overlapping scars, tracing them out where they cross back and forth. 

“Want to see you,” he breathes, one arm looped around Lance’s waist again.

Lance shivers and Keith kisses over his throat, tasting it. Lance’s body is soft and warm from the water, loose and pliant. His breathing shallows as Keith touches him, slowly relaxing into his hold, his weight settling back into Keith instead of fighting him. 

Keith traces out the scars and parts of Lance’s body he can reach, fingers dipping between his pecs, over his ribs and waist, watching the movement in the mirror.

His kisses turn warmer, a full press of his mouth to delicate skin as his hand skims down Lance’s stomach. He still pauses to get distracted by the scars, loving them and touching them tenderly. 

He noses up into Lance’s hair. “Beautiful,” he breathes, Lance’s head tipped back onto his shoulder, opening his throat up for him. 

“Not even looking at me.” His voice comes out a dry rasp, eyes closed as he revels in the attention. 

Keith’s hand presses flat and heavy over his stomach. He holds it there for a moment before sliding it around to Lance’s waist. His fingers dip to brush against the towel still tied around his hips. 

“Want to see you,” he whispers. He doesn’t press any further, let’s Lance decide how far he wants to go, how far he’s comfortable going. 

If he wants to shove Keith off and tell him to leave, Keith would go. For a moment he expects him too. 

Lance’s breath hitches and the loose weight to his body goes rigid. He bites his lip but doesn’t lift his head from Keith’s shoulder, doesn’t pull away.

Fingers skim down his waist to Keith’s hand and for a moment Lance lingers there. Then he’s pressing at the towel, cheeks warming as he slowly tugs it loose. 

Keith watches him in the mirror, watches the vulnerable discomfort and hesitation before the towel falls free. 

It hits the floor in a damp pile, leaving Lance standing against him completely bare. 

Keith tucks his face to Lance’s throat, holding him close. 

“Beautiful,” he whispers again, fingers dropping to Lance’s hip. He twitches under Keith’s hand, a groan building in his throat. 

“Turn for me?” 

Lance lifts his head, startled, blinking blue eyes open. 

“What?” 

Keith kisses the warmth of his mouth until Lance is relaxing again, the self-conscious tension melting out of him. Keith will kiss him as long as it takes for him to feel comfortable because Lance is beautiful. And he wants him to feel that way. 

“Want to see you,” he murmurs again. 

His fingers flex around Lance’s before he slowly steps away. 

Lance flushes but doesn’t fight it as Keith steps back, their fingers slowly falling away until Lance is standing alone. 

His head is down and he’s visibly uncomfortable with being left so vulnerable. 

“Look at me.” 

After a moment he does and slowly he straightens. 

Keith smiles, his heart racing and Lance’s shoulders square, drawing strength from whatever he sees in Keith’s gaze. 

He doesn’t flinch as Keith’s eyes drop to take him in. He twitches a little under the attention, nervous and uncomfortable but he lets Keith stare. 

“Turn for me.” 

Lance shifts his weight, fingers flexing before he shifts his weight, turning in a circle. Keith’s breathing shallows at the play of light over his skin, casting shadows as he moves. 

He’s strong, broad shoulders tapering down into a narrow waist and hips. 

Goosebumps ripple over Lance’s skin both from the cold and the feeling of Keith’s eyes on him. 

Keith watches the muscle of Lance’s body shift, pulling the scar across his back and with it Keith’s eyes, from the high points of his spine to the dip of his lower back. He smiles at the dimples there before looking to the curve of Lance’s ass, the lip of shadow over his thighs. 

His mouth waters, wanting to taste the sensitive skin there but Lance is still turning. 

Keith is drawn over the length of Lance’s legs to his cock, nestled in closely trimmed dark hair, resting in the v of his hips. He’s half hard under the attention and Keith feels warmth unspool in his gut. 

Lance comes to a stop once again facing Keith, watching Keith watch him, pleased by the want he sees in his eyes. 

Violet eyes slowly drag back up the length of his body until their gazes meet. 

“I love you.” Keith steps forward until he’s close enough to touch. “With or without the scars.” He touches Lance’s chest over his heart. “I love every part of you.” He kisses his cheek. “Even the parts you think are ugly.” 

Lance flinches at the words, trying to curl into himself to hide but Keith loops an arm around his waist. He holds him until the moment passes and Lance’s breath evens. 

“Because you are the furthest thing from.” 

Lance slowly lifts his eyes, searching Keith’s. Keith sees the vulnerability there, the fear and he kisses it from Lance’s mouth. 

“Love you,” he whispers and for once the words don’t feel enough. 

He kisses the scars to Lance’s shoulders. “I love you.” His arms, his hands before stepping back towards the bed. 

He was always better with action than words. 

Lance lets himself be pulled to the bed where Keith lays him down, determined to show Lance all the ways in which he loves him.