#wittyywrites

[ Excerpt ]

Keith has a problem, and his problem started approximately eighty-seven days, six hours, and twenty-four minutes ago.

But, you know. Who’s counting?

Shiro would say that his problem began his first day of work, but that’s not necessarily true. His first day of work was fine. In fact, the first five days of work were fine. Great, even. Once he got past the constant smell of chlorine, the hot sun, and the way the customers always left puddles of water on his bar top, it really wasn’t so bad.

He’s been a bartender before. Has plenty of experience with it. Is quick and efficient with making drinks. Has a good memory for orders and faces. Isn’t afraid to put his foot down and cut off customers. Not to mention he always seems to get good tips, despite rarely doing more than scowl, tie his hair back, and wear shirts that show off his arms.

Once he realized he could get better tips just by dressing a certain way, without having to interact more with customers, all bets were off. He’s worn crop tops. He’s worn just vests with nothing underneath. Anything with bad boy written across the aesthetic, screaming emo rock glam, seems to do the job.

In a way, he kind of likes being a bartender. The problem has always been the bars he’s worked at. Run down bars. Holes in the wall. Rowdy gay clubs. He’s doubled as a bouncer for some of them, and that was all well and good, but then Shiro came to him with a better job offer.

A bar tender at a beach side luxury resort? A pay that was double what he was currently making? Customers that were rich and loose with money? And not only free access to hotel amenities, but lodging in the resort’s employee dorms?

Not to mention he’d be working with his brother, who he hasn’t been able to see much of the past few years?

How the fuck could he refuse?

So that’s how he found himself as a bartender at The Altean, a luxury beach side resort and vacation get away hot spot.

And like he said, the first five days were great. He picked up on shit quickly enough. Things might seem fancier and have a beach vibe to them rather than grunge hole-in-the-wall, and people might order more cocktails than cheap beers, but a bar is a bar. And Keith is at home behind that polished wood separating him from the crowds.

They started out his training and warm-up at the indoor bars. The ones in the restaurant and lounge areas.

But on the sixth day, he was moved out to his real position. The one he had been hired for. The bar that he’d share with Shiro.

That’s where his problem began.

And once again, it’s not the bar itself. It definitely is a new kind of concept. Not exactly a pool side bar so much as a sunken into the pool kind of bar. Where he’s in a dry pit built into the pool and the bar top is just above water level. Where the stools are underwater and customers can swim right up.

It’s new. Kinda fancy. Smells like chemicals, water, and sunscreen. He’s in the shade, but the air is hot. All they’ve got is a couple of fans mounted around the bar to give them relief. But over all, it’s not so bad.

A bar is a bar.

And he gets to work with Shiro, so that’s a plus.

Not to mention the usual towel attendant is his childhood friend Pidge, who he hasn’t seen in years. She’s all sorts of grumpy as she ventures out into the sun to retrieve wayward towels and straighten up chairs, but she said it’s worth it to just sit in the back and fold towels while watching youtube.

So to reiterate: the bar is nice, working with his brother and friend is nice, the pay is stellar, the tips are great, the job isn’t that bad.

His problem comes in the form of the lifeguard who’s usually on duty near Keith’s bar.

Lance fucking McClain.

Tall. Caramel skin, smooth as silk, usually shining in the sun. Windswept brown hair that curls at the edges in the humidity and totally pulls off the messy look whenever he runs his fingers through it. Fingers, which by the way, are long and slender and attached to wide hands that grip so deliciously to Keith’s shoulders when his teeth are digging into that slender neck.

He sits atop that lifeguard perch in bright red swim trunks that have no business being that tight, showing off his perky little ass and legs that go on for days. Legs that he’s pretty sure are shaved and moisturized with care. Legs Keith wants wrapped around his hips and wants to mark up with his mouth.

Ten thousand years.

Her home. Her people. Her father. Gone.

All gone.

The galra more powerful than ever. The empire still raging across the universe. Zarkon still reigning despite the long years.

It had been a lot to take in. A lot to handle. And she can’t say she did it all with grace. It had been hard. But she clung to two bright spots in the darkness that threatened to consume her: Coran and Voltron.

The fact that Zarkon hadn’t found the Lions yet is a miracle in and of itself. One that Allura fully intends to take advantage of.

She’ll continue her father’s legacy. She’ll avenge her people and take down the galra empire. She’ll set things right.

All she needs are the lions and a new team.

“What a brilliant planet to hide a Lion on,” Coran mumbles, not without some awe.

“Why is that?”

“Everything we see here,” Coran says, gesturing to the screen. “Is all new. The inhabitants of this planet have only made these technological strides in the last few millennia. At the time the Blue Lion would have been placed on this planet, it would have been wild and void of any sort of intelligent life. At least, any that Zarkon would be interested in. A primal planet, void of anything beneficial to the galra empire. Save resources, I suppose. The planet is rich in that. But there would have been no locals to help mine such resources. And all the way out here on the fringes of the universe, who knows how long it would have taken them to find it.

“And now!” He throws his arms back, grinning wide as his eyes flicker over video feeds. “The inhabitants, these humans— what a silly name— are thriving! A whole planet’s worth of civilization, built up around the Blue Lion. Without them ever knowing!”

“So none of them have found the Blue Lion?” Allura asks, curious as she makes her way to Coran’s side, brows furrowing. “Even in all this time?”

“I can’t find a single report or documentation of a mechanical Blue Lion anywhere in their recorded history. If she’s been found, she’s been kept hidden.” He turns to her then, voice softer. “Do you think you could pin point her location now that we’re closer?”

She nods. Short and quick. Decisive. Stubborn will hardening her features and pride pulling her head up high. “Yes. I’m certain I can.”

Until she had tried— prompted by Coran— she hadn’t been certain she would be able to find any of the lions. She’s never done so before. There had always been someone else— like her father— to man the ship’s helm. To tap into the sentient energy that runs through the castle ship. To hone in on the Lion’s energy and connect.

She hadn’t been sure she’d be able to, and she’d been afraid to try. But with Coran’s encouragement, she had, and it had worked. She’d felt her consciousness expand the universe. Tugged through the dark void along colored lines. Pulled toward the familiar energy of the Lions, of Voltron. All the while encouraged silently by Black, locked deep within the castle ship, consciousness not connected with her own but giving her a gentle push all the same.

She had hoped to find her father’s lion first, but Red remained a mystery. Her thread was weak and unstable. Almost unwilling to be found. But the yellow, green, and blue threads blazed. After some research, they decided to pursue the Blue Lion first. Not only was she the most accepting, but the planet she was hidden on was the furthest from galra influence.

A good place to start.

Allura nods once more, a determined and excited fire steeling her heart against the ache. “Right,” she says, short and clipped. “Let’s go find Blue.”

“Wait, princess!” She pauses on her way to the helm. “I think it would be unwise to fly the castle ship any closer to the surface, lest we be spotted.” She raises an eyebrow, and he takes a half step back to gesture to the screens. “This race… from what I’ve gathered, they’re growing, and they have potential, but they’re still young. They’ve only just started space exploration, and they’ve only barely managed to scrape the outer reaches of their own solar system. More than that, it seems they do not believe, on a wide or official scale, that intelligent alien life exists.”

Both eyebrows go up at that. “They’re ignorant enough to believe they’re alone in the universe?”

“It seems that way, princess.”

She hums, thoughtful and frustrated, eyes roaming over the display of information. They’d only gotten as close as they dared. Close enough to hack into one of the nearby roving satellites to access the network of information the planet has at their disposal.

They’re in for quite a rude wake up call, she thinks. Aloud, she says, “So if we show ourselves, it might not only cause a panic, but make getting to the Blue Lion more difficult.”

“That is my belief, princess.”

She frowns, excitement and anticipation souring into the nibbling teeth of irritation. “How should we extract her then?”

“Might I suggest some good old fashioned Altean infiltration?” There’s a mischievous gleam in Coran’s gaze. A smile playing at his lips that lifts his whole face, crinkling the crows feet at the edges of his eyes. “We can find the closest establishment to the Blue Lion’s whereabouts, and take one of the smaller cruiser pods down to the surface, leaving our ship on the dark side of the planet’s moon. Infiltrate their society. Learn about them. Find the Lion.” At Allura’s initial hesitation, he continues, “We need paladins, princess.”

“They don’t even believe aliens exist, Coran.”

“True. Perhaps they’re not made of the right stuff to be paladins, but… maybe they are. It’s a good of a place as any to begin our search.”

He has a point, and she sighs. “Very well.” She focuses in on a video taking a moment to really observe these people— these humans. She’s kept herself separated from them, mentally and emotionally, building up a wall to keep her from acknowledging a fact that makes that sore spot in her heart ache. But now, she doesn’t think she can turn from it. “Hey, Coran?”

“Yes, princess?”

“They… kind of look like Alteans, don’t they?” His features soften as he turns away from her, to the screen, and she hurries on. “I mean, obviously there are differences. Their ears, for one, are hideous. They have no markings, and from what we’ve gathered, they have none of the natural abilities we have, but…”

But they have the same basic shape. Five fingers and five toes. Similar facial features. A variety of skin tones and eye colors and hair types.

If she squints, if she ignores the obvious differences… she can almost pretend that she’s home.

“But…” She continues, softer. “They’re close enough to be comforting, don’t you think?”

Coran’s voice is merely a whisper. “I do, princess. I think it will be good to be among people again.”

And that’s when she realizes, despite all his endless enthusiasm and positive attitude, despite the strength and willingness he’s exuded, pushing them both forward, holding her spirits up... behind it all, Coran is just as lonely as she is. He has that same ache.

“Hey, Coran?”

“Yes, princess?”

Excerpt 

“Pidge is here,” Hunk says, setting his syllabus packets down. Lance hasn’t even looked at his own yet, and he was practically asleep in his classes. He should probably do that sometime. “Looks like she brought her friend with her.”

“What friend?”

“The one she said she’s known for years. Matt’s friend’s little brother? Remember she said he was transferring to our university this year? She wanted to bring him by today to meet us.”

“Oh right.” So it slipped his mind. Sue him. He’s tired.

Hunk nudges his arm, but Lance just grunts and lazily slaps his hand away. He’s working on lifting his head. He really is. But the table is just so damn comfortable, and he’s pretty sure his face is stuck to the surface. Oh well, who needs good first impressions anyway.

“Hey, guys,” Pidge says, followed immediately by, “What’s wrong with Lance?”

“He was up all night playing games.”

“So was I, but you don’t see me lying all over the table.”

“Begone, goblin spawn,” Lance grunts, mumbled and mocking, lifting a hand to give her the finger. He hears a soft snort at that, which trails off into a soft, breathy chuckle.

A shiver runs down his spine, body going stiff as something itches at the back of his mind. That definitely wasn’t Pidge, but why does it sound so familiar? The laugh is gone before he can think too hard about it, but the memory of it echoes in his head, ricocheting around. His stomach twists, and he can’t shake the feeling that he’s missing something.

He finally sits up, groaning softly as his face peels off the table. He lifts a hand to rub it, eyes lidded and tired as he lifts his head to look at Pidge and—

His breath catches in his throat, stopped by his heart firmly lodging itself there.

He can practically feel the way his brain sputters and sparks, gears groaning to a stop with smoke and everything.

Because standing right there, towering over Pidge, dressed in black skinny jeans, combat boots, and a leather jacket. In all his dark haired and navy eyed glory. Is Lance’s boyfriend.

“Guys, this is—“