freefall

Lance had just wanted the packet of smokes. That was all. But Keith had been staring so intently at the rising tendrils of mist and he'd clutched the little tin-foil pack so tightly that Lance thought that maybe Keith hadn't heard him come up. Or maybe he had heard Lance approach and he didn't want to do this anymore, didn't want to sit and look forever at the broken horizon and wait for death to come. Maybe he'd grown tired of Lance, maybe Lance no longer fed that sick and twisted addiction which had brought them together up here in the first place.

Maybe this was the last cigarette Keith would ever smoke, and when it burned down and singed his lips he would let himself tip out and fall and fall and fall.

'Stop being so melodramatic,' Lance thought but the fear remained coiled in the bottom of his belly. So he'd stopped a couple of steps from Keith and said, softly, "Keith?"

And when Keith jerked and wavered on his perch, eyes squeezed so tight that tears slipped out to cling to his lashes, Lance thought his heart would stop. If he'd ever needed confirmation that he was bad for Keith, that was it; Keith would rather fall through the empty sky then be here and endure this silent torture that Lance put them both through. But Lance wasn't ready to lose Keith. He couldn't lose Keith, couldn't, wouldn't let him fall, didn't want even this painful non-relationship to end. He needed Keith, now, more than he had ever needed anything in his life and that scare him.

He didn't know how he made it across the intervening space to Keith but he did and he grabbed Keith with bruising strength, pulled him back. Keith opened his eyes and stared down into the roiling mist with such regret, such longing, that Lance felt his heart grow tight and painful, felt his breath stop.

"Keith."

Keith's eyes moved away from the void -- too slowly for Lance's comfort, far too slowly --- and traveled up Lance's body until suddenly Lance could see into the mirrored blackness of Keith's soul. He stared, hard, tried to see what Keith was thinking, tried to understand. But he couldn't. He'd never been able to read Keith's mind, to understand this strange, fascinating man. Although, perhaps, he could now that he had something that ate away at his insides.

He let go of one arm, slowly, forcing each finger to release its death grip, let his legs unlock and knelt before Keith, touched Keith's face, caressed it. He had to know that Keith wasn't going to go from this solid stone parapet to the whispering void. He had to know that Keith was here because even though he could touch Keith he still wasn't sure if this was real. Being with Keith was like being stuck in a fog, it was being lost and cold and frightened and bewildered and awed. He needed to find a landmark--thought that Keith had been the landmark until Keith had almost ended everything by letting gravity take its course.

Lance's body moved faster than his mind. He leaned forward, pressed his lips against Keith, their noses bumping awkwardly until they got it right, and he tasted smoke on Keith's lips. Harsh, bitter smoke and that was enough to reassure him that this was real. That was enough to send relief flooding through his body with such force that he trembled from it.

He pulled away, suddenly afraid of what he had done. Wasn't this exactly what they'd agreed not to do? Wouldn't this just fuel Keith's dark fire, give him more poison to use against everything good that kept him here, kept him alive? Lance opened his mouth again, ready to say something, to stop this before it went any further. Before they did something everyone would regret.

But apparently Keith would have none of that and he made a noise somewhere between a snarl and a mewl and attached himself to Lance's lips with such a devouring passion, such a hunger that Lance had to react, respond with his own wanting need. He clutched Keith closer, rolled them both, wrestled Keith down against the rough stone of the parapet. He fumbled with their clothes, panting, wanting, attacking. Months -- years -- of need, of want, of dreaming about this and all he could do was hold Keith down, hope Keith didn't suddenly push away, push off into empty air.

He needn't have worried. Keith clung to him as though Lance was the anchor, Lance was the strong rock providing shelter from the rushing winds. His blunted fingernails left shallow scratches, red angry lines on Lance's back and sides as he pulled Lance closer, always closer. He made no noise, no noise whatsoever, just kissed and pulled and panted and cried hot, silent tears until he came and brought Lance with him. Even then Keith wouldn't let go, just clung even tighter, mouthed nonsense words against the sweat-slick expanse of Lance's chest until he fell asleep, completely drained.

And Lance was left to stare up at the stars, at the spotlights that cut across the diamond flecked velvet that was the night sky.

He was tired. He was angry too, at himself for being weak, at Keith for no rational reason, at Allura and Doom and the Alliance and anything and everything that had made Keith into what he was, into this twisted, dark, burning soul. But mostly he was afraid. Afraid that now that Keith knew what sex with him was like, now that the last trump card Lance held up his sleeve had been played Keith would grow tired and bored with this, just as he did with everything else. He was afraid that someday soon he was going to wake up and there would be a body and a Keith-shaped hole in his heart. He couldn't deal with that, not now. Hell's bells, he wouldn't have been able to deal with it before they'd torn each other's clothes off.

Lance was struck, suddenly, with a strange need to be up in the sky, up among those stars and planets and not here where the solid ground had melted away in one desperate, thoughtless moment. He wanted to go to a place where they'd never heard about Voltron or Captain Keith or addiction, to a place where this -- this stupid, stupid thing that they'd just done -- wasn't considered normal and acceptable and sanctioned by all because it kept their hero together and alive. He wanted to be anywhere but here because here he was suddenly forced to admit that his mask was cracking. He had to admit that Keith had managed to sneak into his heart and wrap himself around Lance so tightly that he almost couldn't breathe.

He'd thought that he could get away, that he could just sit and let Keith feed off him and escape unscathed. But now the thought of tearing himself away, of stealing a ship and flying away until he was beyond all the western stars and in the black emptiness of space, filled him with heart pounding dread. He was tied to Keith, now, bound up into Keith's addictions whether he liked it or not. Lance supposed he'd always been, but now there was no choice. When Keith fell -- and Keith would fall -- Lance would be there. He only hoped he'd be catching Keith, not holding his hand on the way down.

He shivered, realized that he was getting cold, that it probably wasn't the best idea to sleep out here. It was breezy and they were both damp with sweat but lord only knew how'd they get down to quarters without attracting any attention. He'd be lucky if he managed to find both their pants.

But he did, and when he managed to get them both to the safety of his room and he lay beside Keith, he was happier than he'd ever been before.

"I love you," he whispered to Keith. "So you need to stay alive, okay? I need you to stay here, with me. I need you to be a hero. One of us has to."

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