Chapter Text
Lance has never been happier, and that’s a fact he’ll readily stand by. However, despite how well things are going with Keith— despite how overjoyed he is to wake up with him curled against his side every morning, and how thrilling it is to be able to pull Keith aside and rut against his well toned ass any time he wants— things are far from easy.
Out here, far from the clan, their budding relationship can prosper and take root, blooming into something thriving and worth while.
But this is Keith, and things with Keith can never be easy.
Especially when they’re on the front lines.
Especially when their duty is to protect the clan and their territory.
Especially when Shiro is called back home for one thing or another, and he leaves Keith in charge.
Especially when Keith is hotheaded, reckless, impulsive, and stubborn, and Lance is expected to listen to him. When Keith trusts Lance to listen to him. And Lance is loath to break that trust— especially when Keith really is a good leader, and Lance will stand beside him through anything.
Which, unfortunately, puts him in situations where his loyalty to Keith as his leader is in direct conflict with his instinctual desire to protect him as a lover, alpha, and— hopefully— future mate.
“Lance,” Keith snaps, voice sharp and firm. Commanding. Demanding. Confident and quick. “Take the others and lead the pursuit. Don’t let any of them through our lines.”
“Wait!” He takes a step toward him, grabbing Keith’s upper arm, nails scraping against the scales that have risen on Keith’s skin. “Where are you going?”
“A couple of them split off.” He says it like it’s so simple. Like of course he would deviate from the group to go off on his own. Something must show on Lance’s face because Keith’s expression hardens. “I’m the fastest. I can catch them.”
“I don’t want you going alone.” He speaks low and hushed, just between them, hissing his displeasure through his fangs. He tries to plead with his eyes. “I’ll come with you—“
“No,” Keith’s hand falls over his own, squeezing lightly. He meets Lance’s gaze, unblinking and intense, irises swirling with the fire that roils beneath his skin. “I need you to lead the others while I’m gone. You can do this.” And then he smiles, playful and heated and frustratingly coy given the circumstances— the bastard. “Who better to trust than my alpha?”
A shiver runs down Lance’s spine, his dragon— so close to the surface already— preens.
Keith pulls out of his grip. “I’ll take Axca with me, and I’ll be careful. But I need you to lead the others.”
“Okay,” he says, swallowing past the lump in his throat. He pins Keith with a firm look. “Be careful.” It’s not a request. It’s a demand.
Keith just smirks. “Keep them safe.”
It takes everything in him to turn away. He trusts Keith, but he’s worried. He wants to prove he can be trusted, but he just wants to be at Keith’s side. He wants to be the leader Keith thinks he is, but he desperately wants to hold onto Keith and protect him from danger.
It’s conflicting.
It’s tearing him apart.
But in the end, he grits his teeth, barks out orders, and leads their party through the trees and skies, chasing down the galra druids trying to get past them to the heart of the clan. He trusts Keith to stay safe. Trusts him to come back. No matter how much he wants to lock him away and keep him safe, he knew from the beginning that that would never be part of the deal.
He loves Keith wild. He loves him free. He loves him reckless and hotheaded and impulsive and stubborn.
He loves him as he is— an alpha, a warrior, a leader— and sometimes that means getting his own instincts under control, no matter how frustrating it is.
But that doesn’t mean he has to ignore them forever.
The druids are chased down and their threat neutralized. Lance is surprised and thrilled with his new position of command as he leads their team, as they obey and listen to him without question. With respect. When they finally flank back around to meet up with Keith and Axca, Lance exchanges little more than a curt nod and a clipped recap of events.
And then he turns his back on Keith and strides away, keeping a solid distance between them as their team moves to find a place to camp for the night.
Not because he’s mad. Oh, no. Because Lance isn’t sure he trusts himself to touch Keith and keep himself in check.
So he removes himself from temptation, moving through his duties in a haze, keeping his gaze trained on Keith across the distance he’s put between them.
Keith looks fine. A little scraped and bruised, but otherwise fine. Dirt smudges his cheek. His hair is a mess. And it’s a good fucking thing, too. Lance isn’t sure what he would’ve done if Keith had been seriously injured again.
Hell, he’s not entirely sure what he’s going to do now.
There’s something brewing inside him. A bubbling. A simmering. The cold, burning flames of his fire crawling beneath his skin. His inner dragon is aware of it. Aware of Keith. Keeping him in his sights. Rumbling low in Lance’s chest. Irritated. Restless. Needy.
He holds himself back, but something is building, going tense and taut, and he’s not sure what he’ll do when he finally snaps.
Distantly, he’s aware that he’s prowling around the camp. Stalking on slow and measured steps. Predatory. Eyes locked on Keith, even as he goes about chores alongside everyone else.
And he knows Keith knows. Has met those eyes. Has seen the curious, calculating, and interested heat in them.
It just makes the thrill of the hunt even more potent.
It all comes to a head once the sun has set. The hunting party has been sent out. One is out securing the perimeter of their camp. The others are settling around the fire, talking amiably amongst themselves.
Lance sneaks up behind Keith— though he’s not foolish enough to say it's a surprise, no one sneaks up on Keith without him knowing, especially not Lance— grabs his arm, and drags him into the woods.
They don’t make it far from the camp before Lance is shoving Keith’s back against a tree, pressing up against him— hips flush, his thigh between Keith’s, chests pressed tight. His fingers dig into Keith’s hair, jerking his head forward and in the perfect position to devour his mouth.
“You are so frustrating,” he growls against Keith’s lips, fangs nipping at them, making Keith gasp and whine before slipping his tongue between those plump lips. “Reckless,” he hisses, teeth against Keith’s jaw. “Hotheaded,” he growls, pressing his lips to the hollow below his chin. “Impulsive,” he groans, trailing his tongue down the column of his throat. “Stubborn,” he whispers, latching his lips around Keith’s scent gland and sucking hard.
Keith gasps, a low, filthy moan slipping from his lips as he tilts his head back, fingers sliding into Lance’s hair and pulling at the roots. Body writhing agains the tree, hips desperately trying to buck against Lance’s as he sucks a dark mark onto Keith’s neck. Just over his scent gland.
Mine, his mind whispers.
Mine, his inner dragon growls.
Keith’s scent floods his senses, filling his lungs and sizzling against his tongue, hot and sharp, all earth and spice.
And when he finally releases him, he laps at the area with long drags of his tongue before leaning back, humming as he admires his work and Keith’s flushed face. “You drive me crazy,” he whispers, voice low and hoarse.
He lifts a hand to cup Keith’s jaw, smirking as he nuzzles into Lance’s palm. He presses his thumb to Keith’s bottom lip, loving how easily they part for him.
“What am I going to do with you?” He muses, and beneath the pad of his thumb, Keith’s lips curl into a smirk.
“Whatever you want…” It’s low. Dangerous. Challenging. Edging on playful.
Lance hums, but it comes out as a rumble, resonating deep in his chest. “This is a dangerous game you’re playing. You know what I want.”
And yet they can’t have it. Not yet, anyway. The bond has to be sealed during a rut. It’s the only way to make it permanent.
And Lance wants permanent.
“I know,” Keith nuzzles against his hand, comforting and pacifying, before he leans forward, slipping Lance’s thumb into his mouth. He holds Lance’s lidded gaze as his lips. tighten around him, sucking his thumb in deep and lightly grazing his teeth along it, swirling his tongue along the length of it as he slowly pulls off.
Lance’s chest shudders, breath ragged as he whispers, “On your knees.”
It’s supposed to be a command— a demand— strong and firm, fueled by his alpha voice. Yet with the way Keith instantly drops to the ground in front of him, with the way that coy smirk curls his lips— so positively and obnoxiously pleased— Lance can’t help but feel like he’s the one being tugged along, that Keith is only giving him the illusion of control.
Lance finds he doesn’t mind one single bit.
His hands shake, and Keith has to help him undo his belt. Quick and impatient as ever. He pulls on Lance’s pants, only getting them halfway down his thighs before abandoning the effort in favor of wrapping both hands around the shafts of his hardening cocks.
Lance hisses, eyes fluttering shut as his head rolls back.
Keith wastes little time, and distantly— through the haze of desperation, lust, and need— Lance realizes that maybe Keith had been feeling the same as he had. That maybe Keith hadn’t liked leaving Lance behind either, but had trusted him enough to do so. That Keith was worried but proud, just as Lance is of him so often.
It’s a realization that settles lightly, a burning ember in his heart, warm and snug.
But it’s a realization that’s lost in the burning inferno that envelops him as Keith’s hot mouth sinks down one of his cocks.
He lets out a low groan, one hand fisting in Keith’s hair while the other props himself up on the tree in front of him. Head falling forward, he watches through lidded eyes as Keith bobs his head, lips spread thin around him and eyes closed as he guides one of Lance’s cocks deep into his mouth.
His tongue is devilish and skilled, but Lance can barely appreciate the dexterity when all he can feel is tight, wet heat. He stares, lips parted in awe, as Keith presses him to the back of his throat and holds him there, swallowing around the tip. One hand continues to stroke his other cock, grip twisting on the upstroke and thumb spreading precum around his head. While his other hand holds the base of the cock in his mouth, fingers wrapped around the area his mouth can’t reach, fingers squeezing and rubbing where he can already feel his knot starting to swell—
And then he opens his eyes— pupils blown into wide slits, irises dark and swirling, shining with moisture—
“Keith—” Lance groans— whines— and then suddenly Keith is moving. Bobbing his head with vigor.
He switches between Lance’s cocks, giving each one attention with that sinful hot mouth of his while his hand relentlessly strokes the other one— keeping them both hard— edging each one before switching— building pleasure in Lance’s gut that coleuses into a tidal wave— building— reaching— peaking—
Crashing.
He comes with a shout, slapping a hand over his own mouth to muffle the sound into a long and low moan. One hand squeezing tight in Keith’s hair, holding his head still while he cums down his throat with one cock, the other shooting streaks of cum across his cheek and jaw and hair just a moment later.
His whole body shudders as the pleasure floods through him, crashing and swirling. He holds himself tense and taut— before finally collapsing.
His knees give out, and he falls to the ground in front of Keith. Who catches him. Who pulls him in and tucks Lance into the curve of his neck, where he weakly licks at the mark he’d sucked into Keith’s scent gland.
And Keith just hums, satisfied and smug, rubbing Lance’s back and sliding fingers through his hair as the aftershocks shiver through him, as he lays here heavy and limp, as he drifts in a post orgasmic daze, keeping him safe while he flounders.
He’d feel a little guilty if it weren’t for the raw, salty, wet smell he catches rising off of Keith, soaked into the fabric of his pants. The pleasure he can smell wafting from his scent.
That makes him preen with pride, even in his half unconscious state, hazy with pleasure and distant with exhaustion. And he nuzzles into Keith’s neck, content to be held in their small bubble of privacy, surrounded by the shadows dancing through the trees from the nearby campfire.
Next time is an unspoken treasure between them.
Next time being their next rut.
They don’t know whose it will be, or when it’ll come, but they both know it will. And they both know what will happen when it does.
Lance has fantasized about it for a long, long time. Has imagined it going so many different ways. Who will trigger it first. How it’s carried out. Who will bite who first. How their bond will form and how it will feel.
And so there’s a thrilled shiver of pleasure that trickles down his spine when he wakes one morning to feel the dullest ache in his scent glands and a simmering heat low in his gut.
It’s a small thing at first. He knows he’s still days away from his rut officially starting. But he notices the signs— and has no doubt it’s because of his excitement for them.
They don’t talk about it, but Keith notices, too.
His gaze is glued to Lance more often, trailing him around camp and while they travel. Always behind him or at his side. Stalking around him, eyes lidded and dark.
Once, when his glands give a particularly sore throb, he sees Keith’s nostrils flare and his eyes flutter shut as he inhales deeply. It’s extremely satisfying to watch the shiver jolt through him.
Keith holds onto him extra tight at night, practically draped over him with his nose buried in Lance’s neck.
He’s pretty sure he hasn’t been out of Keith’s sight for days.
It builds the anticipation brewing in his gut, feeding the heat and pressure that’s simmering just below the surface.
Lance isn’t sure how he wants this to go down. Isn’t sure what will happen when his rut fully hits. All he knows is that it will be primal, desperate, and quick. And he’s so fucking ready for it. He’s willing to leave it up to his instincts, to let things happens as they will.
But it’s during his days of pre-rut, while he’s sitting with Keith around the campfire, listening to Axca speak of some of their galra traditions, that he gets an idea…
He’s heard about a mating flight before, but he’s never seen it done.
Where an omega in heat will take flight and lead a chase. Quick and agile and strong. Only the most worthy alpha can catch them. And that is the alpha they mate with.
It’s an ancient practice. One that’s considered more primal. His own clan has long since forsaken the tradition, as it leaves the omega with little choice over their mate. For his clan, mating is an extremely private affair, often done within the safety and confines of a cave. But it’s still a tradition among the galra, who were known to value strength and physical prowess.
But from what Axca describes, the tradition had shifted. It was an omega’s choice to have a public flight, or a private one for just their chosen alpha. Or perhaps to choose among a select group of suitors.
And the thought of it… of giving a chase… of only letting the most worthy catch and mate him… and proving his own worthiness by outflying his pursuing alpha…
The thought of giving Keith a piece of his own heritage back…
It gives Lance an idea.
Lance wakes with a fire in his belly and his skin tingling, and he knows it’s time.
His body is hypersensitive, over aware of every little thing. Everything is so bright. He can hear so much. He can smell everyone around them, and it makes him restless and anxious, a curling of something territorial rising up his throat.
He can feel Keith plastered against his side, half on top of him, and the heat is excruciating. Keith emits a lot of heat naturally, but right now Lance’s skin is cool, his body temperature lowering, and Keith hurts to touch.
It hurts, but it’s exciting, and the burning riles him up. Makes him hyper aware of the alpha pressed against him, makes him want to roll him over and pin him down and—
No.
It’s starting, but he’s not out of control yet. And he has a plan for this.
Carefully and slowly, he extracts himself from Keith’s embrace, rising to his feet and slinking away. Every step away from him is both thrilling and nauseating.
Crouching at their things, he digs around until he finds the flask he had purchased at a small village days ago. Oil. He’ll need it. Plenty of it.
As he moves through the camp, flinching at every sound and feeling an anxiousness and irritation at being around others— at leaving Keith near others— crawling beneath his skin, he notices Shiro shift.
He pauses as the alpha props himself up, their eyes meeting. Shiro scents the air, but doesn’t flinch. HIs gaze is steel as he regards Lance, and Lance waits with bated breath at the assessment.
Because Shiro is his leader, and he’s Keith’s family.
But then Shiro is nodding, a small, ghost of a smile on his lips. “Be good to him,” he says.
Lance feels his heart swell. “I will.”
Shiro rolls over, eyes closing once more, and Lance hurries away from camp. Into the woods. Weaving through the trees until he reaches the lake he had spotted on their fly over the day before.
Crystal blue waters, shimmering in the rising morning sun. Nestled just below a rising mountain, surrounded by a thick veil of trees. Enclosed, but open. Somehow private. Peaceful. It’s almost a wonder they hadn’t camped on its shores, but perhaps that had been on purpose. Perhaps Shiro had seen Lance eyeing it too closely.
He’ll have to thank him later.
He steps out into an open clearing, the grass soft beneath his bare feet. He hadn’t bothered to put on his boots. He won’t be needing them.
As he walks toward the lake, he sheds his clothes, shivering as they slide across hypersensitive flesh. He leaves them trailing in his wake. Stepping stones to where he stands, proud and bare, on the lake’s shore. There he drops the flask to the ground before stepping into the still waters.
He wades in slowly, eyes closed, hands held out at his sides to feel the water’s surface rise as he steps deeper. He stops when he’s waist deep, simply enjoying the feeling of water around him and slick mud beneath his toes. He knows the water should be cold, but it feels warm against his chilled flesh.
Then he dives in, swimming deep and staying beneath the surface until his lungs ache, reveling in the sensation of floating, of being embraced. It’s strangely grounding.
Breaking the surface, he tosses his head, shaking droplets from his hair.
He takes his time in the water. Washing dirt from his skin. Letting himself indulge, bare and free within the water. Humming softly as he feels his rut crashing over him. His glands aching, scent pouring out thick and heady. A fire twisting in his belly, gut tense and tight, cocks already half hard and aching.
He soaks in the morning sun, letting his rut bloom within him.
And when impatience starts to take hold— need too hard to ignore— he makes his way back to shore. He kneels down on the soft grass, takes the flask of oil in hand, and begins to prep himself.
It’s a strange sensation, but not a new one. He’ll admit that he had been young and curious once, before he presented, when thoughts of being Keith’s omega had flitted through his fantasies. He had experimented with himself then, and— admittedly— a few times since.
Though it would be easier if he were an omega, it’s not impossible now. Different, certainly, but not impossible. Not with time and careful prep and plenty of oil.
Despite the impatience and restlessness crawling beneath his skin— pin-pricks of adrenaline that are so hard to ignore— Lance makes sure to take his time.
Teases himself with slicked up fingers before gently pushing in, hissing at the pain, pressure, and pleasure that ripple through him. The pain is fast fading. The pressure builds. And the pleasure start off as a low, delightful simmer, blooming the further he goes.
He’s generous with the oil. He gives himself plenty of time to adjust before adding more fingers. He wants to be properly stretched and generously slick for when Keith finally— finally— takes him. Needs to get himself ready now because he knows that once they’re in the thick of it, once his rut has fully taken hold and Keith’s teeth are in his neck, neither of them will have the patience for it.
He barely has the patience for it now, but the tease is delightful and the anticipation is delicious.
He’s breathing heavily, panting in the morning air with three fingers shoved deep in his ass, when he smells it.
Cinnamon. Spice. Earth. Ash. Fire.
Keith.
Lance stiffens, tightening around his fingers, a moan escaping his lips.
Keith doesn’t approach, doesn’t speak, but Lance knows he’s watching. Can feel those dark eyes on him, eating him up. Can smell the thickening of his desire as he scents the wind. And Lance just smiles to himself, arches his back, and slows down. Giving Keith a good show while also using the last of his oil. Until his thighs are coated, his ass is slick, his crack is coated, and it drips down his balls.
When he stands, his cocks hang hard and heavy. They bob as he turns, walking toward where Keith stands a mere thirty feet away.
He’s still as stone. Hands curled into fists. Barely breathing. Eyes lidded and gaze locked on Lance, crawling up his long legs, pausing on his cocks, before ravaging up his chest to his face.
When their eyes meet, Lance shivers, a deep, happy rumble resonating in his chest.
He stops in front of Keith. Not quite touching, but pressing into his space. He leans in, head cocked to the side, chin jutting out to lengthen his neck, tempting and teasing.
His rut is here. Coursing through him. Demanding. Needy. Powerful. Hungry. His inner dragon coils beneath his skin, so close to the surface, eager and snarly, adrenaline thick in his lungs. The only thing holding him in check is the feeling of power. The feeling of having Keith at his mercy. Of savoring the helpless desire swirling in Keith’s gaze and saturating his scent.
It feeds his pride.
Fuels his lust.
By the end of this day, Lance may let Keith take him, but he’s the one in charge right now. The one driving Keith insane. The one that will push Keith over the edge into a beast of desire.
“Do you want me?” He whispers lowly, gravely and hoarse with his dragon so close.
“Yes,” Keith breathes, instant and sure.
Lance smiles. Coy and sharp. He doesn’t touch. Doesn’t need to. He already has Keith enraptured. “If you want me…” He take a step back. Then another. Putting space between them. “Catch me.”
He unleashes his dragon all at once. Skin tearing and reforming. Bones breaking and growing. Blue fire— cold enough to burn— ripples across a wave of blue scales and coiling flesh. It burns. It hurts. It feels good. It’s freeing. Exhilarating. A pleasure in and of itself to give into his instincts, his dragon, his rut.
His desires.
He digs his claws into the earth, spreading his wings wide as he roars. It ripples from his throat, echoing across the lake. It’s a call to arms. A battlecry. Triumphant and powerful. A challenge.
With a powerful downbeat and a leap, he launches himself into the air. Flapping furiously, he gains height quickly, climbing, climbing, climbing—
And then he hears the answering roar from below— deep and powerful— sending pleasuring singing through his veins.
He glances down to see a blur of red launch itself upward— dark wings spreading wide with every beat— amethyst eyes catching the light— pupils narrowed and focused—
Lance spins, tucking his wings in close and coiling into a sharp dive as Keith launches past him. He sweeps down low, spreading his wings at the last moment and sailing across the lake, close enough to drag his claws over the surface before he tilts upward, using his moment to climb faster, get height.
He’s a powerful flyer. Always has been. Graceful and agile. He pours his heart into the flight. Every ounce of strength. Until his lungs ache and his muscles are sore, but adrenaline pumps heavy and thick through his veins.
The thrill of it. The pleasure of it. The power of it all.
He may be a good flyer, but Keith is quick. Has a reputation for being the fastest in the clan. Quick thinking. Sharp with his turns and precise with his dives. Lance knows it’s just a matter of time before Keith closes the distance. Before he gets tired of following after Lance’s maneuvers— because he’s certain at this point that Keith is humoring him and savoring the chase.
They streak across the sky. Red and blue. Apex predators. Strong alphas. Dragons.
When he senses the end coming, he takes a quick turn upward, climbing higher and higher. Wing furiously beating. Air crystalizing as he pants through his teeth. The air gets colder, forming beautiful ice against his scales.
But he can hear Keith behind him.
The wind under his wings.
The growl under his breath.
Lance closes his eyes—
And Keith catches him.
Collides into him full force. Immediately grappling him. Body wrapping around him. Wings wrapping around his own, pinning them to his body. Claws scraping against scales. Tails intertwining.
There’s a brief moment of weightlessness, high above the clouds, their scales gleaming in the sun, Keith’s body warm around his—
And then they’re falling— plummeting— toward the earth.
It’s a sensation he’s familiar with, but there’s something special about it this time. Something more thrilling. With Keith wrapped around him, pinning his limbs down, rendering him trapped and helpless as gravity drags them downwards at an alarming rate. The wind roaring past them. Tearing at their scales. Tails fluttering behind them.
And yet he feels wholly and completely safe.
Keith nudges his muzzle under Lance’s jaw, and he moves automatically— eagerly— giving Keith room too—
He opens his jaw wide and sinks his teeth into Lance’s neck. Hard. Relentless. Sharp fangs easily cutting through the soft scales to dig into the swollen scent gland.
And there his jaw locks. Squeezing the flesh beneath his teeth. Blood pouring into his mouth, coating his tongue and sliding down his throat.
Lance’s mouth opens in a scream that the wind tears away. Keith growls, and Lance can feel it vibrate against him, feels it rumble through the bite— but it’s not aggressive. It’s triumphant, pleased, comforting, satisfied.
Keith’s scent pours from him. Thick and suffocating. Not even the wind can tear it away before it overloads Lance’s senses. It sinks through the bite. Saturates Lance’s scent gland. Mingles their scents and—
He feels it.
Something forming in his chest. Rooting. Budding. Blooming.
A wholeness. Growing and growing. A warmth and fills his chest like nothing else. Pulsing against his ribs.
It feels overwhelming. He feels full. He feels a cascading rush of happy, proud, relieved, ecstatic, desperate, driven, protective, possessive, whole, complete, full, connected—
It’s not all his own. Mirrored, but separate. Cold and hot. Fire and ice. Burning together. Building up, up, up into this raging inferno that sears through their veins—
Their bond.
Their bond.
It feels foreign as it ripples out through him, igniting every nerve and cell in his body, and yet— and yet— once it forms, it feels wholly natural. Like he can’t imagine being without it. Like this is the way he was always meant to be.
He doesn’t know how long it takes to fall. Doesn’t know how long he loses himself in the haze and pleasure and dizzying sensations of their bond and his rut and Keith, Keith, Keith.
But then suddenly Keith’s jaw is loosening, and Lance whines as Keith’s teeth leave him. He takes a moment to lick the wound before his wings are being thrown out, unfurling, flapping, catching the wind and slowing their descent. But they’re still going fast, fast, fast—
Suddenly everything spins as Keith rolls them— the world whirling past Lance’s vision in a swirl of color— and they hit the ground hard.
Keith hits first, curled around Lance protectively, absorbing the impact. It recoils through him. Dirt is thrown into the air as the earth crumbles, creating a small crater where they landed—
But before Lance can get his bearings— head still spinning, mind still swirling, drowning, dizzy with hormones and the rush of rut and bond— Keith is turning them again. Rolling them over with a snarl. Pinning Lance on his back and hovering over him—
Their eyes meet—
And Lance feels— he feels deep in his chest. Resonating around his heart. Strange sensations— not quite emotions and not quite thoughts— and yet both of those things. Not his own. Keith’s. Leaking through their bond. Filling his lungs like smoke. Too new and foreign for Lance to get a firm grasp on—
But he understands.
Doesn’t know how. Perhaps it’s instinctual. But he understands.
And so the moment Keith starts to shift back, Lance is with him. Both of them slipping out of their dragon skins and into their human forms— painful as hell but seamless in practice—
Until Lance finds himself naked and bare, on his back in the crater they created. Keith hovering over him on hands and knees. Caging him in. Pressed up against him. Cocks hard and heavy and oozing precum onto Lance’s thighs, spread wide and eager.
Perhaps it’s through their bond—
Perhaps it’s just instinct—
But Keith understands what Lance wants— what he needs— and the moment he moves, Keith is moving with him.
Lance reaches up, nails biting into Keith’s shoulders, fingers digging through his hair, twisting in deep as he pulls Keith forward, crashing their mouths together in a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth. Meanwhile Keith reaches down, takes one of his cocks in hand and guides it to where Lance is still slick and loose and eager—
He gasps into Keith’s mouth, back arching and body going rigid as Keith pushes against his hole— but then Keith is rumbling deep in his chest. He tucks his head under Lance’s chin, nuzzling at his neck and licking at the aching bite mark. As worked up as his scent is, something soothing leaks into it. And— as strange and foreign yet welcoming as it is— Lance feels the same sort of comfort seep through their bond.
He takes a breath and relaxes, tilting his head back as Keith laps at where blood still oozes from his bite mark, sending shivers rushing down Lance’s spine, skin tingling.
And then he pushes in— Lance whines at the intrusion, half pained and half pleased— and Keith rumbles again, making these deep cooing sounds in lieu of words— as he goes deeper, and deeper, stretching Lance wide and filling him up—
Until his hips meet Lance’s, seated fully inside him, and Lance— he feels so full. So overwhelmed. So complete. He pants, gasping for air, whining as he claws at Keith’s back. It’s everything he hoped for, and nothing he could have prepared for— feeling this— this whole. With Keith deep inside him, bond tingling and new and warm in his chest, neck aching with the delightful sting of his bite.
“Keith…” He hisses. Eager. Desperate. He can tell Keith is holding still to let him get accustomed to it. He can feel Keith’s steely resistance through their bond. Can feel how tense his body is, shaking with the effort to stay still—
But Lance doesn’t want him still.
He wants him hard and fast— wants to be claimed—
He runs his fingers through Keith’s hair, smoothing it back as he cradles his face, pulling him close and panting agains this lips. “Take me,” he whispers— begs, pleads, demands— “Take me. Claim me. Mate me.”
Keith lets out a shuddering groan, pulling his hips back slowly, both of them shivering as he pulls out— and both of them letting out breathless moans as he slams his hips forward.
And just like that, his patience goes up in smoke, alpha and dragon released.
His pace is quick and brutal, control lost as he slams his hips forward, again and again— filling Lance up— hitting deep inside— places he’s never been able to reach on his own—Meanwhile his other cock slides in the crevice between Lance’s balls and thigh, slick with oil.
Maybe one day he’ll take both— a thought that has heat coiling and churning in his gut— but not today.
Lance holds onto Keith’s shoulders, claws scrapping bloody lines down his back as he tries to ground himself. His legs wrap around Keith’s hips, ankles locking, using his leverage to thrust his hips up to meet Keith’s— to get him deeper— deeper—
Keith pants against Lance’s neck, lips and teeth pressed against his bite. Lance buries his face in Keith’s hair, open mouth gasping against his temple.
Keith fucks him hard. Fucks him fast. Mates him good and deep and makes him his. Claims him with a desperation so primal that Lance can hardly believe Keith isn’t the one in a rut. And he preens at his. His inner dragon and alpha wholly pleased. That he made Keith lose control. That he’s reduced Keith to this. That he holds this kind of power over another alpha— his alpha— his mate—
With every thrust, Lance can feel Keith’s knot growing. Thick and hard, pressing up against him— Keith whining with the pressure— but it won’t fit. They know it won’t fit. Not this time. Not without special preparation— which Lance is all for trying at some point, but not now.
“Mate me,” he whispers against Keith’s temple, voice ragged and hoarse and demanding. “Mate me. Breed me. Keith— Keith—“
Keith comes with a snarl and a gasp, burying himself deep, knot pressed against Lance’s ass, warmth filling him, and Keith’s hot breath against his bite.
Lance shivers, hands running through Keith’s hair, breath coming shallow and quick as Keith’s hips do these weak ruts, riding out his orgasm.
Lance lets him have a moment, but he’s not done with him yet. He’s still high on rut pheromones and hasn’t come yet.
And his patience only lasts so long.
Just as Keith starts to collapse on top of him, Lance gets a firm grip with arms and thighs and rolls them over. Pushes Keith’s back to the dirt and sits up atop him. Straddles his hips and rising high and proud. Hands spread out on Keith’s chest. Gazing down at him through lidded eyes—
Keith is beautiful like this.
Flushed. Chest heaving with every breath. Lips swollen and parted and blood stained. Looking up at Lance with heavy eyes, irises swirling with stars, pupils blown wide. Looking at Lance with awe. Marveling at him.
And in Lance’s chest, through their bond, he can feel the adoration. The fondness. The pride. The love.
Keith’s hands come to rest on his thighs, rubbing from knee to hip, palms hot to the touch against Lance’s sensitive flesh.
Lance takes in the view, but wastes little time. He’s needy. He’s dizzy. He’s driven by instinct and lust and need—
One of Keith’s cocks is wet and leaking, slowly going flaccid against his hip. But the other is still flushed and hard, primed and ready.
Lance takes it in hand, rises up on his knees, aligns it, and sinks down in a rush— gasping as that feeling of fullness comes back full force. Extra wet with Keith’s cum still leaking out of him, oozing down his thighs. Keith’s hands tighten on his thighs, back arching beautifully, inhaling sharply as his face twists in pleasure.
Lance rides him without mercy. Lifting almost all the way off before dropping down hard, bottoming out and drawing moans from both of them.
Hands pressed firm to Keith’s chest to keep him balanced. Knees digging hard into the earth below them, pain barely noticeable in the haze of lust and pleasure. His rut makes him dizzy. Keith’s scent— their scents mingling and new because they’re mates— drives him crazy. Encourages him to go faster. To seek out his pleasure and chase it— chase it— chase it—
His cocks are hard and heavy, knots thickening at the base. They bounce with every movement, slapping against Keith’s stomach, leaking precum into the thick hair trailing down from his navel. It’s a tease. Friction that’s barely there but enough to give Lance a taste.
He needs it— needs it— needs—
“Keith,” he breathes. “Keith, touch me—“ He’s cut off with a gasp as Keith’s hand slips from his thigh, wrapping around both of his cocks— no, all three of them. His own hardening cock wedged between Lance’s, the three of them barely able to be gripped together. He can’t get much leverage to stroke in this position, but he doesn’t need to. His grip is enough.
Enough for Lance’s movement to thrust his cocks into Keith’s firm grip. To get that friction— to chase it— to rut against Keith’s cock and hand while thrusting back against his other one, filling himself up.
Suddenly Keith is planting his feet, lifting his his hips and thrusting hard— hitting deeper— meeting Lance’s thrusts with enough force to make him topple forward over his chest.
Then Keith’s other hand is at the back of his head, fingers carding through his hair before gripping tight, guiding his head to his own neck as he tilts his head back—
“Bite me,” he whispers.
Lance doesn’t have to be told twice. Adrenaline surges through his veins. Excitement prickling across his skin and bubbling through their bond. He opens his mouth wide, latching onto Keith’s neck— right above his scent gland— and bites down.
His teeth break through skin. Blood bursts to life on his tongue— hot and spicy, cinnamon and cloves, earth and ash, fire and heat— so much, so much, so much, KeithKeithKeith—
His movements become sporadic, losing his rhythm, and it’s the only warning he gives before he’s spilling over Keith’s hand, both cocks coming at once, spitting twin ribbons of white across his stomach. His body tightens, going rigid as pleasure crashes through him— and he feels Keith go tense beneath him, warmth once more filling him as Keith’s hips stutter.
Lance collapses on top of him, their chests heaving together, sticky with sweat and cum. Keith’s arms wrap around him, and Lance nuzzles against his neck, lazily and idly licking at the bite mark he had made.
He had bitten Keith.
He had finally bitten Keith.
And Keith had bitten him.
A giddiness bubbles through him, a breathless laugh escaping him, tired but content. Fondness oozes through their bond, filling his chest, warm and thick. Keith hums, hands running up and down Lance’s back.
It’s clear he’s still wrapped up in his high, and to be fair, so is Lance. But… his rut is still simmering beneath the surface. Adrenaline waned but not gone. Body still sensitive. Restless. Aching in more ways than one.
He’s suddenly aware of how exposed they are. Out in the open. Where anyone might wander by. Into his territory. Might approach his mate while he’s vulnerable and unsuspecting—
Lance doesn’t realize he’s growling until Keith coos softly.
“Shhh,” he breaths, nuzzling against Lance’s temple. “Shhh, it’s okay. No one is around.”
Lance swallows thickly, pacified for the moment, but his anxiety runs deep, fueled and high on rut pheromones—
Then Keith is moving, sitting up and forcing Lance to do the same in his lap. He whines as Keith slips out of him, his cum leaking out and dripping down his thighs. It’s a strange sensation, but not an unpleasant one. And Lance is suddenly struck with the feeling of loss— off wanting to plug himself up to keep all of Keith inside— and he shivers. Caught off guard by the thought and— oddly, but not unpleasantly— turned on by it.
He can already feel his cocks aching, neither of them fully going flaccid. His hips rut idly, finding lazy friction against Keith’s stomach, sliding through their mingling cum.
Keith chuckles, and Lance growls.
“Easy,” he says. “Soon, but not here.” Lance whines, needy and impatient, hands restlessly pawing against Keith’s bare chest. “Don’t worry.” A hand running through his hair. Lips at his temple. “I’ll take care of you. Like I promised I would.”
Like he promised before they presented. It felt like so long ago. This isn’t at all how he imagined it back then, but here and now, Lance isn’t sure he’d change any of it. Despite what they’ve been through— despite what they will go through— he likes Keith as he is, and he likes himself as he is.
He likes them as they are.
Keith stands, hoisting Lance up into his arms, cradling him to his chest. Lance’s arms wrap around his shoulders, face buried in his neck. Nosing the bite mark with pride and delight— especially whenever Keith lets out a shuddering breath.
He walks them into the lake, washing off their bodies before stepping back onto the shore.
Keith grows his wings, large and wide, scales rippling across his skin and his horns sprouting from his hair. His pupils go slitted, irises widening and deepening. Dark scales freckle his cheekbones. Lance watches. Transfixed by his beauty. Marveling at his strength as he crouches low and then leaps into the air.
Flying like this— half transformed— is slow and not easy, but manageable. Because Keith is powerful. And he’s his.
He carries Lance away from the lake, toward the mountains, landing outside the mouth of a cave, half obscured with dangling vines. He shifts them aside with a wing, stepping inside.
Curiously, Lance lifts his head, looking around at the cozy little cave. It isn’t very deep, but it’s well hidden. The walls craggy, but smooth. And, set up against the side, are several bags of supplies. Their bags.
Keith crouches down, setting Lance gently on a blanket that’s already been laid out.
“How long have you had this prepared?” Lance muses, looking at Keith in awe.
He merely shrugs, almost bashful as his dragon features start to fade. He takes a seat next to Lance— no doubt because Lance has yet to let go of him— and Lance curls up against his side. “I scouted out this place days ago, once we knew your rut would be coming. I wanted us to have a safe place to ride it out.”
Us. Like it had never been a question that Keith would join him. Perhaps it hadn’t been. Perhaps, despite all the bumps and shifts along the road, they always knew they would end up here.
“That’s very sweet,” Lance rumbles, half strewn across Keith’s lap.
His body aches painfully— distantly he can recognize that his backside is sore as hell, even if the adrenaline and hormones keep him from really feeling it right now— but there’s also the mounting ache of need. A restlessness he can’t keep at bay. It’s a slow burning flame, not urgent at the moment, but he has no doubt that it will be soon.
Keith hums. “When I woke up alone, I knew it was time. I brought our things here before finding you at the lake. Shiro knows where we are. I asked him to bring us food after hunts. Since…” He clears his throat, shifting his weight. His voice gone adorably soft and shy. “Newly mated pairs shouldn’t leave each other during the first few days after the bite. Even to hunt.”
He smiles against Keith’s neck, lips pressed to the bite. “I always knew you’d be a good mate.”
Keith is quiet for a long time, hands absently moving over Lance’s skin. He’s hot to the touch. Like fire, singing Lance’s chilled flesh, leaving heat in his wake. Lance loves it. He always has. “Things won’t be easy,” he finally says.
Lance hums, thoughtful. “They never have been.”
“What we have… it’s not done. We’ll have the clan to deal with. Your family—“
“They already know how I feel about you. I haven’t exactly been subtle.” He can feel Keith swallow hard, and presses his lips to the hollow beneath his chin, nuzzling up along his jaw, smiling when he feels Keith relax. “I don’t care what anyone else says. And there’s nothing they can do about it now.”
They’re mated. They’re a pair. Two alpha males. It may go against tradition, but it’s done. And Lance couldn’t be happier.
“Come what may, I am yours, and you are mine,” Lance whispers, soft and fierce as he nuzzles Keith’s throat. Such a vulnerable place, yet a place Keith lets Lance near without question. Just as he always has. “When the time comes, we’ll face everyone together.”
Keith lets out a long breath, rolling them over. He lays them out over the blanket. Lance on his back— hips absently rutting against Keith’s thigh to seek the barest friction— and Keith on top of him. He buries his face in Lance’s neck. Breathes in deep and sighs. Sated. Happy.
Lance runs his fingers through Keith’s hair, content to bask in the moment, in the warmth of Keith’s body, and let his rut simmer for now. He can feel Keith’s chest shudder. Can hear his choked up breaths.
He doesn’t say anything— Lance isn’t sure he’s able to— but Lance can feel it. Feel it rushing through their bond to fill up his chest. Swelling against his ribs. Overwhelming, yet grounding. Thrilling, yet calm. Foreign, yet so, so incredibly familiar.
Because it’s exactly what Lance has felt for a long, long time.
He can feel Keith swallowing hard, lips moving like he’s trying to voice words, can hear how choked up he is.
But he doesn’t need to.
Because Lance knows.
“I love you, too, Keith,” he whispers, and Keith’s grip on him tightens, body going rigid for a moment before his hips finally— finally— start to move against Lance’s. Before the absent minded friction starts to become purposeful. Before Lance is breathing heavily as Keith peppers his skin with lips, tongue, and teeth. And all Lance can do is hold on and let Keith sweep him away in the inferno of his touch. Consume him. Devour him.
He’s grown up with traditions and expectations of what he should want. He’s been told countless times that he’ll want an omega. That it’s only a matter of time. That he should crave a soft body and a sweet scent.
But from what he’s tasted of desire, he holds with those who favor fire.