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“I am about to take my last voyage, a great leap in the dark.”
Thomas Hobbes
Mere moments after the first alarms went off, Keith has already thrown on his armor and is heading down into the main hangar.
The murderous look on his face is enough to make everyone jump out of his way. Almost everyone.
“Report,” he orders with quite some vindication, though he doesn't let any of it show.
“We're being attacked,” Idrek answers reluctantly. Before Keith's inauguration, he had been Keith's superior officer and he had not taken kindly to the according change in their dynamic. Because all of a sudden he was the one being ordered around.
“I figured as much,” Keith says impatiently, “By whom?”
Idrek hesitates, “... Voltron.”
Keith jerks a little, catches himself. Points to the middle of the hangar. “Notice the big ass lion in our possession?”
“The other four lions then,” Idrek amends with exasperation, “Which means they are not at full power but still dangerous.”
“Where's Lotor when you need him?” Keith growls, turning away and quickly searching the busy hangar for his half-brother's stuck-up nose. And there he is already, in his gleaming armor and surrounded by a bunch of his lackeys. As per usual.
Keith clenches his fists by his sides and stalks over to them, painfully aware of how much shorter he is than everyone else.
“Lotor,” he snarls, “How about you get your ass into the fucking lion before we are all annihilated?”
Lotor glances over, but instead of his derisive smirk his lips are pinched. Even he cannot deny the danger they are in.
“We cannot risk losing our greatest asset,” Lotor says and it's unclear whether he means himself or the lion, “The fleet will take them down. You were a fighter pilot, weren't you? You should help them out.”
“They will all be razed within minutes and you know it!”
“All the more reason for you to join them.”
Keith clenches his teeth. He tries to only focus on Lotor, but it's difficult with his mob lurking so close. Madir is there, too, wearing an eye patch and claw marks down his snooty face, Arruk by his side, slightly hunched over as not to aggravate the stab wound in his gut.
Feeble pride attempts to bubble up in Keith at having bested them so, but instead the fear still lingers. They had assaulted him a mere week ago and he had not seen them since, had successfully avoided the confrontation that was sure to follow eventually.
“You are Zarkon's heir,” Keith reminds his brother instead, “You should be doing your duty.”
“Oh?” Lotor cocks an eyebrow, “You're one to talk.”
He sounds like he knows something, like there is for once something that he can actually hold over Keith and that, in itself, is a worrisome concept. Keith stands his ground.
“It was brought to my attention that two days ago one of our prisoners miraculously managed to leave his cell, evade most guards and steal a conveniently parked ship,” Lotor muses aloud, “He killed one of the watchman before the alarms could be raised and managed to get away without further complications.”
From the belt of his armor, Lotor pulls a sheathed knife, the insignia of the royal family emblazoned on its hilt. Keith's breath hitches.
“Curious, isn't it?” Lotor runs a thumb over the hidden blade, “This was the weapon the champion used during his escape. Doesn't it look like the knife father bestowed upon you when he legitimized you? I wonder how it came to be in the champion's possession. Unless someone accidentally left it in his cell during an inadvisable rendezvous.”
Keith stills, not knowing how to react. He knows that Lotor had at least suspected his involvement with Kuro, Madir and Arruk's attack had shown as much, but now Lotor has actual proof. There was no other explanation of how the knife could have ended up in the human's possession, and Keith could strangle himself for being so careless as to having left it in the cell during their first encounter, for never having put much effort into finding it again.
Lotor steps very close, subtly leaning towards Keith so he can not quite whisper into his ear. “Did you beg him to fuck you? Did you get on your knees for him? Or did he force himself on you?”
His hand is on Keith's shoulder then, one of his long fingers running down the side of Keith's neck that is still covered in black bruises.
“Tell me, little brother,” he says, “Did he shove his alien cock into you until you screamed?”
The ground shakes, red lights flash, and for a moment Keith thinks it's all in his head. Then he realizes that everyone else looks similarly as unsteady and caught off guard, and that the ship has just been hit by a direct attack.
This is not the time for petty power games, he reminds himself. Their lives may very well be at stake here.
“We need the red lion,” Keith hisses, pushing back against Lotor's threatening presence, “Do you think Zarkon will react favorably if you lose him half of your fleet?”
A muscle in Lotor's cheek twitches, his gaze slips away. Keith stares.
“You still can't control it,” he realizes, “It still won't obey your orders.”
Lotor bares his teeth but even he has no smart reply to this. A lion of Voltron in their possession but utterly useless without a pilot.
“Try again,” he tells Lotor, “You have to do something.”
“I did,” Lotor snaps back, “Haggard said the red lion would yield to Zarkon's son in a moment of need. If it doesn't now that just means the moment is not yet here.”
“Coward!” Keith barks, “Then the least you could do is get into one of the ships and fight anyway!”
Another explosion, this time closer. Keith forces his panic to turn into solid anger.
“I'm not gonna die here because of your incompetence!” he decides, pushing Lotor aside while simultaneously snatching the knife from his hands, before stalking past him and his posse.
The odds may not exactly be in his favor but Keith would be damned if he just waited for death instead of going down fighting. His spite told him to at least do as much damage as he could before he was taken out.
He looks around, trying to pick which combat ship would be best for a situation like this. He does not know much about Voltron, except for the fact that anyone trying to engage them in a fight was essentially fucked. The only thing that could rival a lion of Voltron was-
Keith stops dead in his tracks, slowly turns around. The red lion stands silent and unmoved, surrounded by an impenetrable force field, just as it has been for centuries.
In a moment of need, Haggar had predicted, it would yield to a son of Zarkon.
Keith's feet carry him all by themselves, without his express permission, as though he were being drawn in by a magnetic pull. The lion is vast, larger than any of the other combat ships they carry aboard, but for maybe the first time in his life Keith does not feel small.
He lifts his hand, reaches out. The force field tingles underneath his palm, but its more pleasant than anything else.
He knows the stories, of course, even if Zarkon has tried his damnedest to eradicate them. The stories of Voltron being a defender of the universe, a benevolent protector. A hero of the oppressed and disenfranchised.
I am worthy, he thinks. I have fought by my fellow soldiers' side. I shall do so again.
And yet he knows that he helped conquere planets in the name of Zarkon, had not agreed but had kept his head down to save his own skin. And compliance is almost as bad as approval.
Keith closes his eyes, breathes harshly through his nose.
He's done good, he tries to remind himself. He has... he has possibly saved Kuro's life by helping him escape. That's gotta count for something.
The tingle underneath his palm intensifies. Agreement or anger? It's hard to tell.
Slowly, Keith pulls his hand back, touches it to his neck instead, presses gently against his abused skin. He is still covered in bruises and bite marks all over, so he digs his fingers in to make them ache, to remind him of the pleasure and the pain, and whatever had motivated him two days ago when he all he could think was of how he needed to let Kuro escape, even if that meant that he would never get to fuck him again.
The ship lurches so hard that Keith almost loses his footing. Everyone is in disarray now, running around and shouting orders while both of the princes are essentially useless.
And Keith is glad. Glad because, even if will all die after all, at least Kuro will back on his home planet by now, will not have to miserably await his end in an empty prison cell.
When Keith opens his eyes, it is just in time to see the force field slowly lowering. His breath gets stuck in his throat. Then he squares his shoulders.
“Open up,” he says, resisting the urge to crane his neck in order to find out whether Lotor is seeing this and burning in envy, “We have work to do.”
Space, even in battle, is a calming constant.
Yet through the haze of his exhilaration, Keith is well aware that this is still very much a suicide mission. Even if he has the red lion under his command, it is still four against one and the math is easily done.
He is a good pilot but he is still unfamiliar with flying something that seems to have a will of its own. His only consolation is the suspicion that the other four paladins are probably still just as unfamiliar with their lions as he is. And the fact that, without him, they at least will not be able to actually form Voltron.
Idly, he wonders where they came from, how the legend managed to revive all of a sudden, whether it was prophecy or coincidence. But that does not matter now. He will try to end it here, one way or another.
Before he can even launch his first attack, however, something stops him in his tracks.
“Is that-?”
“Holy shit, that's the Red Lion.”
“Princess Allura didn't mention-”
“How it that even possible?”
The jumble of voices pouring into Keith's ears have him jerk in surprise and it takes him a moment to understand that what he is hearing must be the radio transmissions of the enemy.
Of course, he thinks to himself. If they are conversing via the lions then the system must automatically include him as well, even if he was opposing them in battle.
“Remain calm!” a strong voice orders amid the chaos, “This may be unexpected but our objective remains the same.”
Keith stills. That voice. That tone. He knows it. He knows who it is.
He had never expected to see him again. And yet... maybe they were fated from the beginning.
Keith licks his lips, hunger and anticipation.
“Back so early, Kuro?” he asks slyly, correctly anticipating the sudden hush that befalls them when they realize that someone is listening in on their conversation.
“Whose voice was that?” one of them asks, sounding at least mildly freaked out.
“Is this really the time for small talk?” Keith drawls, “I honestly would prefer to just fight.”
“That- that can't be be,” he hears Kuro whisper, more to himself than anyone else, “How-?”
“Wait,” one of the other paladins demands, “Shiro, do you know who that is?”
Oh, Keith thinks. Not Kuro, then. His name had been a lie all along.
Shiro, he repeats in his head. Shiro, Shiro, Shiro.
But Kuro, too. For Keith he had always been Kuro.
“I think- I think it might be Zarkon's son,” Kuro says tentatively, “But-”
“What??” the others explode simultaneously, “He's piloting the Red Lion?”
“Well, this is my first time,” Keith admits, “Please be gentle with me.”
It's a deliberate dig of course but Kuro is the only one who gets the punchline. Kuro is the one who knows that Keith does not care for gentleness.
“That doesn't matter now,” Kuro tells his compatriots, “We have other things to worry about. Pidge, Hunk, you two keep the rest of the fleet at bay. Lance and I will take care of the Red Lion.”
“Oh, double-teaming me, are you?” Keith whistles and somewhere down the line he hears one of them gag.
“Sweet particle accelerator, he is worse than Lance.”
“Hey!”
“Just comply with the mission!” Kuro calls them to order, “Don't let him goad you on.”
At that, Keith gives a slow private smile, not feeling the need to say anything this time. Because Kuro is the one who sounds the most hassled. Perhaps the others cannot tell, but Keith is intimately familiar with that jagged edge in Kuro's voice, familiar with just how easy he is to goad on when you know how to push his buttons.
Like this, it will be an easy thing to take him down.
It's an errand thought, one that has Keith blink down at his consoles that merely blink back at him.
Right. He's supposed to take out the other paladins or die trying. Zarkon would reward him handsomely if he managed to lay waste to Voltron. Even if only one lion was destroyed, it would be a huge victory for the Galran Empire.
Not to mention Lotor's envy. The crown prince had not managed to make the Red Lion bow to him. Keith had tried once and was piloting it like it was in his blood. Maybe it was. Maybe he was destined for this.
Destined for... for taking them down. For ensuring Voltron would truly pass on to be nothing more than the stuff of legends. For smoothing the path of Zarkon's conquest, allowing him to reign without fear of the one thing that might bring on the demise of his empire.
Yes. That is his only option. There is nothing else that he can do. Kuro's presence has changed nothing. His existence has changed nothing. Keith is still a prince of Galra. He would do as was expected of him. He would kill. And he would survive.
He charges at them, just as they a looking to disperse, Green and Yellow going in one direction, Black and Blue flying toward Red. And Keith doesn't think, doesn't allow himself to think, just accelerates and tenses his shoulders. The speed is incredible but instead of being pushed back into his seat it feels like he is being forward instead, as though the lion wants to join its counterparts, not go against them.
“Is anyone feeling what is happening right now?” a voice in his headset asks, “Because I feel like my lion is acting on its own now.”
No, Keith thinks frantically, hoping to make the damn robot obey. No no no no no.
But the thing is stubborn. It has its own will. A glowing light engulfs them all and, when Keith looks around, he knows, simply knows what has happened.
They are not there in his head, not quite, but he can still feel their presence, different kind of energies, all of them various kinds of frantic.
“Whoa whoa whoa, what just happened?”
“Guys. Guys, I think we did it. We formed Voltron.”
“What? No, that's not possible, why would- He's not one of us-”
“Maybe it does it automatically. Maybe it's a hidden function.”
“These are magical science cats, they should know not to bond with the enemy!”
“Galra ship on one o' clock!” Kuro barks out sharply.
“Your one o' clock? We're all pointed in different directions!”
“My one o' clock!”
So they turn, and Voltron lifts its arm, the right one, charges at the attacking ship – and simply smashes it to pieces.
Keith gasps, holds on to his control. He didn't do anything, he didn't- And yet. Somehow, the decision to do so had been there in his head. Somehow he had just delivered a deadly blow against his Galran brethren. And Lotor and his generals would see and they would report it all to Zarkon.
“Holy crap! That was awesome!”
“I'm feeling sick, actually.”
“We got the Red Lion!”
“What?”
“We got the Red Lion. We can just escape through the wormhole instead of fight!”
“Brilliant idea, seconding that!”
“You will not!” Keith thunders, “Let me go, you stupid dirty-”
It doesn't change anything. They turn around, away from the Galran fleet, toward a wormhole just a little ways off, and he is helpless, he is being dragged along in this supposedly almighty ship, while he can only rail and beat against his consoles, Lotor's troops hot on their heels.
The wormhole closes behind them.
Voltron disassembles as soon as they have passed though. Before Keith can even really contemplate whether he should make a dash for it, the Black and Yellow Lion press up against his side, dragging him along, so Keith lets it happen. He is curious, too, to see where they might take him.
They had spoken of Princess Allura before which cannot be because Altea was destroyed thousands of years ago. There was no way the royal lineage could have survived, even in hiding.
And yet. And yet there stands a castle of that planet below him, a castle that easily accepts the lions into its barriers when they get closer.
“Paladins!” a female voice calls out through their headsets, “You succeeded!”
“More or less,” one of the pilots snorts, “We took a hostage, too.”
“A hostage? Why would you-”
“Zarkon's younger son was piloting the Red Lion,” Kuro explains curtly, “There was no other way.”
They land inside of the castle. Keith is tempted to just remain seated in his cockpit, but that wouldn't achieve much. They were just going to send someone for him anyway, so he might as well get one up on them.
His lion lowers its head and opens its maw and then he is already staking outside.
As is Kuro, stepping out of the Black Lion.
Keith grins.
“Missed me?” he asks but then someone already grabs him from behind. He cranes his head to see who it is. Two humans, he realizes, both tall and male, but one of them skinny where the other is strong and sturdy. Blue and Yellow. Another look around reveals Green to be standing off at the sidelines, watching suspiciously.
“Strip him,” Kuro orders because of course he in charge, “Galra are armed to the teeth.”
Keith would protest, would fight, if it were anyone else. As it is, though, he merely keeps his eyes on Kuro, even as Blue and Yellow jerkily remove his armor and divest him of his weapons, his phaser gun and his dagger.
The corner of his mouth quirks up when he sees Kuro's gaze snag on the blade. He probably hadn't expected Keith to ever get it back when he had used it during his escape.
Green steps up then to handcuff him and he bares his teeth a little. Shorty, however, is not daunted, just snaps the device around his narrow wrists and then sends him a dirty look of satisfaction.
“Take him to the cells,” Kuro says, “The princess should decide what to do with him.”
The princess does turn out to be Allura, heir to King Alfor of Altea.
“You don't look your age,” Keith purrs as she, in turn, appraises him with narrowed eyes.
“You don't look like your father,” she notes.
“Seems we've both been fortunate then.”
“We have no information about Zarkon's children,” her Altean companion muses, looking somewhat on edge, “Shiro, you mentioned there being an older son?”
Kuro nods, “The crown prince Lotor. He's as foul as they come but reasonably capable in battle, I hear. Zarkon favors him greatly and has given him command of part of his fleet. I suspect the ship we attacked was one of his.”
Keith grits his teeth. Don't talk about him, he thinks spitefully. He is not here. I am. I am the Red Paladin.
“What about this one then?” Blue pipes up, jerking his chin toward Keith, “Catching him was way too easy. I don't trust him.”
“Agreed,” Yellow says, “Something about this smells fishy.”
They all turn Kuro, expectation written on their faces.
Kuro, on the other hand, looks vaguely uncomfortable.
“I don't know much about him,” he claims with a one-shouldered shrug, “Just that he and Lotor don't get along. He mentioned that his was his first time flying the Red Lion, though, so this was probably a spontaneous discovery. Originally, Zarkon intended for Lotor to pilot Red but I don't think he ever managed.”
“We should try to get information out of him then,” Green demands, “Maybe he knows something about where their prisoners are taken.”
To the arena, Keith thinks. And, in one particular case, to my bed.
“We will not resort to torture,” Princess Allura declares but, after a moment's consideration she adds, “Not yet.”
After they have shoved him into a cell, they let him stew there, retreating to confer about his fate. Perhaps they would just execute him. But no, they seemed too soft for that. And, as the Green Paladin had already pointed out, they should at least try to use him for their advantage. He wouldn't be of much use to them if he was dead.
The cell is bleak and Keith passes time napping. As he does not seem to be in immediate danger, he doesn't bother with coming up with an escape plan. He also does not want to really consider what any of these new developments mean.
The unexpected return of Voltron. The crown princess of Altea being alive. One of the princes of Garla essentially being her hostage. Him being a paladin. Kuro being a paladin. Kuro being Shiro.
A few hours must pass like this with uneasy bouts of sleep till finally someone comes to see him again.
Kuro stands outside of the cell, watching him through the quietly whirring force field.
Keith lets his head fall to the side.
“Oh, how the tables have turned,” he singsongs, stretched out on his small cot.
Kuro's eyes are narrow, but he does not react to the taunt.
“How were you able to control the Red Lion?” he demands and Keith sits up, leisurely popping his joints as he does so.
“Don't you know?” he smirks, “The lion chooses its master. I was destined for this.”
“Why would Voltron deem a Galra worthy?”
Keith's eyebrow twitches, a nerve struck. Then he bares his teeth.
“Zarkon himself was the paladin of the Black Lion,” he reveals viciously, “Or didn't your precious princess tell you that?”
Shiro flinches back and that, in itself, is answer enough. Keith feels strangely vindicated.
“You know nothing of Voltron and its greatness,” he says, smoothly rolling off the cot and to his feet, “You try to play the hero as though you hadn't been fighting in the arena just a few days ago.”
A shadow of a memory flickers across Kuro's dace. Then he seems to come to a decision.
He touches a hand to the control panel on the wall and immediately the force field of the cell lowers.
Keith breath hitches and he straightens up. This could be his only opportunity for escape. He does not take it. Instead he watches a Kuro stalks closer, crossing over the threshold, his confident militaristic gait a familiar sight.
There's that tilt to Kuro's jaw, that look in his eyes. It had been week ago when Keith had first seen it, back when he had been the one confronting Kuro in his cell. How the tables had turned, indeed.
It's easy then to melt back into old habits. This is welcome. This Keith knows how to do. So he bares his vicious teeth and plays along.
“You think you can defeat all of the Galran Empire with that ragtag little gang of yours? They are going to die before they've even faced a real battle,” he jeers and it's not even a cruel lie. Unlike Keith, unlike Kuro, the other paladins seemed like little more than children. They did not understand the meaning of war and, when they finally did, it would only be through death.
“They'll manage,” Kuro says with calm deliberation, “Just like we managed today.”
Keith's nostrils flare.
He cannot deny that their method of retrieving the Red Lion had been... unorthodox but efficient. They were not to be underestimated, not when they had luck on their side. They had a long way to go, though, until they would be worthy of the name of Voltron.
“I bet the Altean princess wants you to mount her like the bitch in heat she is,” he snarls, just for something to say.
Yet Kuro only snorts, “Sounds like someone else I know.”
He's directly in front of Keith now and Keith, slightly startled, realizes that he has let himself be backed into a corner, almost as if on instinct. They have done this often enough after all.
As if to underline that thought, Kuro pulls something from his pocket. It's a small bottle of clear lubricant. Keith stares a little.
“Don't act like this isn't what you were hoping for,” Kuro says, a trace of amusement in the words, and then he is already reaching forward to tug at Keith's pants.
Keith, still thrillingly handcuffed, quickly kicks off his boots, followed by his black pants. He has a moment of feeling slightly undignified, only the lower half of his body exposed like this, but that dissipates as soon as Kuro pushes his wrists up and fuses the handcuffs to a fastening in the wall. Like this, Keith's arms strain above his head, the mild ache in his shoulder joints already telling him that it would not get any more pleasant from here on.
“Are you getting off on this?” he asks, aware how he sounds somewhat breathless, “On being being freed but still able to do this?”
Because this is what it must be. Kuro had procured lubricant and then had come back to him without his compatriots' knowledge. Kuro wanted this as much as Keith did.
“What can I say,” Kuro says, idly lifting his gaze from where he had been rucking up Keith's shirt up to his chest, “The past few days were kinda stressful.”
He had escaped from the clutches of the Empire, presumably returned to his home planet, somehow managed to become a paladin of Voltron, return to space, unearth the Altean princess, steal the Red Lion and kidnap the Zarkon's son. Stressful indeed, Keith thinks.
Kuro unceremoniously hitches Keith's leg up then, the other popping open the bottle of lubricant and coating his fingers with it. Keith has barely a moment to brace himself – then he is already being invaded.
It hasn't been long, only a couple of days, and yet it feels like so much more. They have been separated by galaxies and their bodies know it.
Keith allows himself to relax into it, to let those fingers penetrate him deeper and open him up properly. He has to stand on his tiptoes, arching his back, and the metal wall is cool against his exposed skin.
Kuro, however, seems to be impatient today. Maybe he does not have much time. Maybe his friends will come looking for him soon. All too soon he pulls back and instead undoes his own pants, before coating himself in slick. Keith hungrily watches as his large hand moves along his erection, making it wet and glisten.
When he steps closer, it's as though the cool air between them suddenly heats up, expands, takes up more space than before. Kuro's body radiates warmth in a way that Keith thinks he'll never forgot, and when he slips his cock into Keith and pushes upwards it's even hotter.
Kuro gives them both a moment to just breathe, to adjust to the well-remembered feeling. Then he puts his hands underneath Keith's ass and lifts him all the way up, until Keith weight is nestled against the grove of his hips, bending him in half.
At this angle, the pressure is immediately doubled and when Kuro pulls back out to thrust forward, Keith can feel it in his ass, his stomach, against his sternum and his spine. He moans.
“You always have to talk back first,” Kuro huffs, “But then you are quick to obey. It's almost easy.”
“Fuck you,” Keith grits out, pressing his back into the wall, just as Kuro fucks back in.
It turns out, however, that Kuro is feeling particularly talkative today. Maybe it's because Keith is his prisoner now, maybe it's because he has finally been among his own kind for the first time in ages and remembers how his tongue is good for other things than just sucking Keith off.
“You are a disappointment to your family name,” he hisses into Keith's pointed ear, “A disgrace to your people. Do you think this is how you will go down in history? As the bastard prince who lost the Red Lion and let himself be captured by the enemy?”
A sharp sting, but a pleasant one. Keith is well aware of his failures. Kuro, somehow, manages to turn them into something that he can enjoy. Kuro will say one thing and there will be a grain of truth in it, but then Keith can take it and, spitefully, reminds himself of everything that contradicts those insults. His weaknesses do not become strengths per se, but he does lose some of his self-loathing.
“Better a bastard Galra than a filthy human,” he snipes back, “Your planet and your entire species will be wiped out before you can even say Vol-”
Kuro pulls back and for a moment Keith think he is going to spit on him. Instead, he slaps him across the face, hard. It's the first time Kuro has actually directly hit him and Keith reals, gasps, thrums. His shoulders jerk and ache in their joints. He hopes there will be a black bruise forming on his cheek. He hopes the other paladins will see. He hopes they'll know it was Kuro who did it.
In the end, it's a quick fuck.
Kuro's thrusts become faster and more erratic, his hand gripping Keith's cock and jerking him off at the same time. It's Keith who comes first then, his eyes rolling back in his head, his naked toes curling where his feet are still helplessly extended in the air.
He's coherent enough to feel Kuro come instead of him, strong enough to let himself be set back down onto the floor afterwards, his knees just slightly wobbly.
For a moment they stay like this, their foreheads pressed against each other. Then Keith leans forward to kiss Kuro, sucks his lower lip between his teeth, biting down on it just this side of tender.
A shocked gasp from somewhere behind them. At once, Kuro stiffens and not in the fun way. Across his shoulder, Keith can see the whole little troupe assembled and appalled.
“What on Altea has happened here?” the princess demands. She sounds very grand when she says it, but her voice quivers towards the end, like a child playing make-belief.
Kuro swallows, closes his eyes. With quick hands he tucks himself back into his pants and then steps away from Keith. Keith who is still half-naked and cuffed to the wall, cum dripping between his legs. A glorious display for all of them to see.
It's doesn't give him quite the satisfaction as having been found by Lotor would have, but it comes close. Their expressive faces certainly make up for any other lack.
“I- I am so sorry,” the Yellow Paladin stammers, wringing his hands, “I wanted to bring the prisoner food and- and instead I found you confronting him, Shiro, so I thought you wanted to take your revenge or something so I panicked and called the others and-”
“It's alright, Hunk,” Kuro says calmly. He reaches up to undo the mechanism of where the handcuffs are fastened to the wall. Then he steps over to the cot, picks up the blanket there and then throws it over at Keith, either to preserve his modesty or his friends' sensitivities, it's hard to tell.
“I knew that the Galra were despicable,” the princess says with tears in her eyes, “But to think that humans would sink so low in their quest for vengeance-”
“That's not-,” Kuro begins, cuts off, tries again, fails even more, “He wanted it.”
The princess's lips are pale and narrow, “Is that what you like to tell yourself?”
“No, you don't understand,” Kuro is running a frustrated hand through his hair, “This- we- we had an arrangement. Back when I was their prisoner.”
“He was my lover,” Keith pipes up and turns adoring eyes on him, “And I was his.”
Everyone is deathly silent. Shiro glares.
“What?” Keith smirks, “Do you want to gag me again like you did last time?”
“Fact is,” Kuro continues through gritted teeth, “That while I realize what this must look like, it is still not quite what it looks like.”
“Dude,” the Blue Paladin says says, “You fucked an alien.”
“I- It's a little more complicated than that,” Kuro claims, though at least he does not bother with trying to deny the actual act. There is evidence after all, cooling between Keith's sore thighs.
“Try us,” the princess demands. She sounds more steely now, more steady, as though she had caught herself after the initial shock. Perhaps she is also just relieved to know that her Black Paladin had not actually raped their royal hostage.
Keith, however, takes this as his cue to speak up.
“Kuro was our champion,” he purrs, “It was love at first sight.”
“What kind of champion?” Yellow wants to know, just when Blue says, “Why is he calling you Kuro? He already did that back in the lions.”
Kuro, it seems, is only willing or capable of answering one of those questions.
“I told him that's my name,” he says, “When he first... propositioned me.”
“And you accepted? In exchange for what?”
“It wasn't...,” Kuro trails off, sounding frustrated, “There were some minor benefits I gained from it. And... it was something to do.”
They all stare at him and this lack of anything tangible, anything worthwhile. Anything that might make all of this a bit easier to digest.
“You don't understand,” Kuro whispers brokenly when he notices their disbelief. Keith does not like the sound of it. “I was their prisoner for so long and... it was all the physical contact I got.”
A lie, of course. Though perhaps fighting and killing in the arena did not count for much.
The others seem uncomfortable now, but for a different reason. Kuro is obviously one of their leaders and they look toward him for guidance. Seeing him so helpless reminds them of how they are not invincible.
“Look, just because you had this weird thing going on doesn't mean he's off the hook,” the Blue Paladin points out, sounding frazzled, “He's the enemy, remember that?”
“You're the ones who attacked us!” Keith hisses back though he knows it's a feeble excuse. They had had it coming. They had deserved it.
“We are doing what is our duty,” the princess declares with conviction, “How many have you killed in the name of Zarkon?”
“We do what we must to survive,” Keith counters easily. His gaze turns back to Kuro, “You of all people should know that.”
Kuro's eyes narrow, “What are you trying to say?”
“Oh, that's rich,” Keith snorts. Kuro's denial and confusion from before are slowly starting to make sense, “You don't remember?
“Some things are... hazy,” Kuro admits evasively. His big shoulders hunch up.
“You fought in the arena for our entertainment,” Keith reminds him, vindication ripe in his voice, “That's how you lost your arm. You killed other aliens and I never saw you hesitate even once. They called you champion and it was a name well earned.”
“That's a lie,” the Blue Paladin whispers but even he sounds unsure. Kuro, on the other hand, doesn't even try to defend himself. He might not remember the details but he must know that it would explain a few things, his scars and his battle reflexes at the very least.
“Are all prisoners sent to the arena?” the Green Paladin demands, eyes wide and agitated behind round glasses, “And do they always fight to the death?”
“No and no,” Keith replies because he might as well, “Only the young and healthy ones. And some fights are just for sports. Others for punishment. My father does know how to keep his people entertained.”
“That still does not answer the question what we should do with him,” the princess intervenes, “I had hoped that we could retrieve the Red Lion and find its paladin in due time, but...”
“The fact remains that the lion chooses its paladin,” her adviser points out, nervously twirling the end of his mustache between his fingertips, “Maybe this is as it was meant to be.”
Yes! Yes, finally something Keith can work with, something to make them believe that this was their idea in the first place. He's nothing if not a survivor.
“The way I see it, you have two options,” he points out, his teeth sharp, “You can either leave me locked up in this cell, the Red Lion useless to you until you find a different pilot, unable to form Voltron and just waiting for Zarkon and his fleet to find you here and destroy you on the spot.
Or you keep me as your brother in arms.”
“We can also simply jettison you into space,” the Blue Paladin points out.
“Or ransom you out to Zarkon,” the Green one adds.
Keith scoffs, “Good luck with that. You think he's going to want me back?”
For a moment, they all just stare at him, as though this revelation were a greater surprise than his audacity. He rolls his eyes.
“I'm not his heir,” he reminds them, “Without the Red Lion I am worthless to him. Not to mention that me forming Voltron with you would read as betrayal to anyone with eyes. He'd rather kill me himself than give up any of his prisoners.”
Their shocked silence sends a strange kind of thrill deep through his bones. They are so naive it's downright refreshing.
“Zarkon is a tyrant,” he says, “Not just for other species and planets but for anyone who goes against him. Don't act like you are the only ones who have suffered under him.”
Keith has been there, after all. He's been made to fight and to kill. He has led raids and bombarded foreign cities. Zarkon gave him a crown for it but he'd be just as likely to take it away again. Probably by beheading Keith.
“That still does not give us a reason why we should trust you,” the princess points out, “In fact, this might all have been a grand scheme to infiltrate us.”
“Oh please,” Keith lets his head fall back against the wall. It gives a dull thud. “I've been trying to think of ways to piss of Zarkon and Lotor anyway. Letting Kuro escape was a nice touch but-”
“Wait, what?” Yellow interrupts, “You let him escape?”
They all turn to Kuro for confirmation or, rather, for objection.
“I-,” Kuro frowns, “I don't know, I just- I was sneaking along the hallways and down to a hangar. There was a ship...”
“And who do you think let you out of your cell and left that ship parked there?” Keith asks, “And where did you get that dagger that you used to stab the guard?”
There is no recollection in Kuro's dark eyes.
“Oh great,” Keith lets out a laugh, though there is no amusement to be found in it, “What do you even remember?”
Involuntarily, Kuro's eyes drop down, following the line of Keith's body, before quickly snapping up again.
Ah. A smirk tugs at Keith's lips. The good parts then.
“You could keep me,” he tells Kuro, “As your spoils of war.”
“I'm not like you,” Kuro grits out.
“No,” Keith says, “Which means you won't just kill me. And you are seriously considering my offer. You have no other choice.”
“There have to be pilots worthier than you.”
“The Black Lion deemed you worthy,” Keith says, “Once upon a time it deemed Zarkon worthy. And Red has chosen me.”
“And it is, allegedly, the most picky of the bunch,” the Altean male pipes up.
The princess's lips are pursed but she has a look of intense concentration on her face. Weighing the risks against their other options which are limited at best.
“You would help us?” she wants to know of Keith, “You would become a defender of the universe?”
“I would like to save my own ass,” Keith huffs, “But sure, the universe doesn't sound like too much of a hassle.”
“One misstep and we'll lock you up and never let you out again,” Kuro says.
“Wait wait wait,” the Blue Paladin is waving his hands frantically, “Are we really doing this? Letting the son of Zarkon, the very same shitlord we're trying to take out, become a part of Team Voltron. Just because Shiro's been screwing him?”
“Jealous?” Keith asks, watching as the human's cheeks turn ruddy.
“We'll take our chances,” Kuro decides, “This might well be our best shot. And having a Galra on our side might prove to be a useful advantage.”