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scriveynerTitle: winterspell
Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender
AU: Frost Spirit AU
Characters/Pairing: Shiro/Lance
Rating: NSFW/E
Length: 229
Summary: The air smelled different in the northern kingdom; deep inland and far from the sea it was crisp and clear and slightly cooler. Lance lingered in the large, open window, shoulder pressed to the coarse stone as he watched the trees ripple in the distance with the wind. It was unfamiliar here, the sunlight striking the distant mountains and turning their snow-kissed peaks a deep rose hue as the sun sank into the horizon, and Lance still remembered the bitter cold of the deep mountains where the sun could be a distant memory for weeks at a time.
The air smelled different in the northern kingdom; deep inland and far from the sea it was crisp and clear and slightly cooler. Lance lingered in the large, open window, shoulder pressed to the coarse stone as he watched the trees ripple in the distance with the wind. It was unfamiliar here, the sunlight striking the distant mountains and turning their snow-kissed peaks a deep rose hue as the sun sank into the horizon, and Lance still remembered the bitter cold of the deep mountains where the sun could be a distant memory for weeks at a time.
Time was such a strange concept to him now. The season had turned over on him, and Lance had frozen at the bright green sprouts through the carpet of snow. He’d felt the rising panic seeing the new buds on the trees, twisting his hands up in his traveling cloak to hide how they trembled as the air grew warmer still. One morning though he had been woken on his pallet outside the wagon by birdsong, and the trees were full of bright green leaves and he knew, finally, that he would not fade.
It was a curious thing, to be. He was unused to it, unused to the pang of hunger that rumbled in his belly when he went too long without food, unused to the fatigue that clawed at his eyes and left him drifting off to a restless sleep, and most of all unused to the way his breath caught and his chest grew tight when Shiro kissed him.
And Shiro quite liked to kiss him.
Lance didn’t mind it at all, he liked the way that Shiro touched him, his left hand warm and soft, brushing his fingers back to tangle in Lance’s unruly short hair. He even liked it when Shiro forgot and touched him with his right hand, cooler and hard, the texture of the draconic scales different but no less wonderful. Just the fact that Shiro touched him left Lance’s heart aflutter, but the way that he kissed Lance, too, holding his face gently with one hand, the other settled on Lance’s waist, so close and comfortable in his space? It left him feeling like he was going to burst.
Kiss was all they did, though. There were other things afoot; bigger things than a frost spirit bound to a knight who gave him a soul and a life, and Lance was learning now how to navigate the world anew. The Princess’s knight Keith had lost his blade and nearly his life to a Black Dragon, so they rested here in the northern kingdom, once an ally to the fallen Kingdom of Altea while Keith regained his health.
Shiro had remained by his friend’s side as he recovered, and Lance did not begrudge him that. Keith was a noble knight even if they did not exactly get along, but he found himself missing Shiro’s company keenly. He wandered the halls of the castle and felt for the first time since he’d lost his staff strange and incomplete.
He played with the children in the castle, spinning snowflakes out of water in the air to their intense delight, and pestered their tiny, irritable alchemist with his presence until she swore out an oath on his name. His chest continued to ache, and he felt empty and cold, and when he turned from the open window he saw a light dusting of snow falling softly from the ceiling. Lance sighed and twisted his hand, but the snow did not obey him now, the flakes gone from tiny glistening diadems in the twilight to fat, angry flakes that stuck to every piece of furniture in the room.
The cold and the snow did not bother him, so Lance let it go on, perched on the edge of a bed that felt uncomfortably big and watching out the window as dusk turned to night. The palace attendants did not bother his room to light the wall sconces; they were skittish of the Princess’s strange companions and Lance did not mind the dark, spinning the snow in the air into the shape of woodland creatures.
He fell asleep under a blanket of snow and did not stir until a warm hand tentatively touched his bare shoulder. While the initial touch was cautious after a moment the full warmth of a palm encased his shoulder and squeezed and Lance smiled with his eyes still closed, recognizing the touch as his heart warmed and woke.
“Lance?” Shiro’s voice was soft and concerned; the room lit dimly by starlight alone. Lance rolled and felt snow slough off his side, melting quickly as it hit the damp bedding. The snow from the ceiling had stopped and the room itself felt warm and damp. He sat up slowly and Shiro’s hand fell from his shoulder and he found he sorely missed its presence, fingers curling in the rough bedcloth. “It was snowing…” he said, clearly concerned.
“Was it?” Lance said drowsily, because Shiro worried about him and it was nice to be worried after, but he wasn’t used to it and didn’t feel it necessary. “How’s Keith?”
“Better.” Shiro was sitting on the edge of the bed, his profile shadowed from Lance’s face. “He will recover fully, the Princess expects.” He tilted forward slightly, and Lance could see his shoulders tighten even in the dimness. He held himself responsible, Lance knew he did and Lance knew he was wrong to do so. He shifted and sat up, putting his hand against Shiro’s arm and feeling him stiffen in surprise, and then relax into Lance’s touch. Emboldened by Shiro’s ease, Lance slid closer and when Shiro lifted his arm it didn’t surprise Lance how well he fit under it, tucked against Shiro’s side.
“He lives yet,” Lance said, resting his head against Shiro’s shoulder. “We could not ask for a better outcome.”
Shiro did not speak, and Lance extended his hand, cupping it in the empty air. The dampness left the bedding, gathering in open hand and beginning to glow an icy white. Shiro recoiled slightly in surprise at the sudden illumination, and his face was tired, and haggard. “Shiro,” Lance said, his voice soft as he shifted, brushing his free hand over the harsh stubble that covered Shiro’s jaw. Shiro sighed and turned his face into Lance’s hand, his eyes slipping closed, and Lance felt that strange tightness in his chest again.
“Do you love him?” Keith had asked him this, sitting in the back of the wagon as Shiro rode ahead with the Princess. Lance didn’t know how to respond because he didn’t know love, didn’t know what it truly was. Shiro was a curiosity at first and then Lance couldn’t describe what drove him to ensure his safety, to trade his life for Shiro’s. ‘I don’t know,’ didn’t seem like an answer that Keith would accept, so Lance remained silent and there was no further discussion.
Love was mothers to their children, young men courting on wintertide, bundled in scarves and carrying covered baskets and fresh firewood, love was something not meant for the spirits of the hills or the seasons themselves.
But Lance wasn’t a spirit of the hills, not any more.
This time, when Lance kissed Shiro, it felt different. Shiro’s eyes opened, as Lance slid out from under his arm and climbed across his lap, his hands cradling Shiro’s face. He had released his light and it hovered in the air, slowly drawing in the moisture from the melted snow to power its icy glow. “Lance,” Shiro said in his low rumble that made something flutter in Lance’s belly. He kissed Shiro again, kneeling over his lap and feeling the way his body tightened, Shiro’s mismatched hands starting on his waist and then sliding up his sides, bunching the loose tunic that he wore.
Warmth tingled in Lance’s limbs, unfamiliar but not uncomfortable, his heart beating fast as Shiro pulled him closer, kissing him still as they tumbled over in the bed, until Lance was looking up at Shiro, panting as Shiro pulled back. He stared down at Lance with an expression that Lance didn’t recognize; he’d never seen anything like it before. “Gods,” Shiro said, and his tone was reverent. He pushed his hand up Lance’s stomach, laid bare by the bunched up tunic and then he kissed Lance’s skin, beside his hand.
Lance didn’t know what to do. Shiro had never kissed him elsewhere, other than his lips or his face or his head and he gasped, twisting, but Shiro’s hand held him still. He kissed Lance’s skin again, lower now, toward the hem of his trousers and it was like lightning ran under his skin. “What are you doing-” Lance said, squirmed, but he was kept pinned more by his curiosity than Shiro himself. When his lips brushed the waistband he stopped, and Lance exhaled a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
Shiro lifted his head and looked at Lance. His face was gaunt and tired but his eyes were bright; and the wisp of white hair gained by kissing an ice wraith fell directly between his eyes. “Have you never been pleasured?” Shiro asked, and Lance didn’t understand the question. He made a noise of confusion as Shiro’s fingers slipped into the waist of his trousers.
“Pleasured?” Lance asked, and then stilled as his clothing was pulled down and away. He was reminded suddenly of the men of the village, gathered around a bonfire outside the only tavern, speaking vulgar of bedding the tavern wench, and bawdy ballads sung ‘round by the drunks. No, he had never been pleasured, he did not know pleasure of the sort and could not imagine it more than the kisses he shared with Shiro. “No,” he said, his voice hitching at the press of Shiro’s thumb on his hip.
“No?” Shiro’s cheek was rough against his skin as he kissed lower now, toward the center of the heat in Lance’s body. “I see that I must change that,” he murmured, and Lance let out a low, surprised noise at the sensation of lips where there had never been any before.
Warmth and heat and wet and Lance was roused fully, the blood pounding in his head the same as the blood throbbing between his legs. He had never felt like this before, Shiro’s mouth and breath on his most vulnerable place, and he covered his moan with his hand, fingers clasped tight over his mouth and his other hand finding Shiro’s head.
Something was building in him, a churning wave beginning to crest and Lance let out a ragged sob, his hips pushing off the bed and into Shiro’s face as his release hit strong and solid. Shiro did not slow his ministrations as Lance jerked again, his sobs loud and in the shape of Shiro’s name.
It took a little while for Lance to come back to himself, and when he did he realized it was snowing inside the room again; tiny flakes that melted on contact, or were drawn into the icy orb of light powered by Lance’s magic. Shiro cleaned him gently with a cloth, his attention on what he was doing.
“Why did you do that?” Lance asked, drowsy.
“You care so much for me,” Shiro said, looking up into Lance’s face. He was fond, Lance knew, but the expression he wore now was so much more than that. “I wanted to repay your feelings, and more besides.”
“More?” Lance asked, as Shiro climbed onto the bed beside him. “There’s more?” Shiro laid beside him, on his side, his eyes searching Lance’s as he settled. “What about your pleasure?” Lance felt strange, like his limbs were weighted down and the thought of moving only made him more tired.
“In time,” Shiro said, and brushed the fingers of his draconic arm through Lance’s hair, now damp with perspiration. “Rest now.”
Somehow, Lance found the energy to roll up on his side and into Shiro’s arms. Shiro kissed the top of his head as Lance settled against Shiro, safe and warm he murmured into Shiro’s chest the words he couldn’t say when Keith asked him.
Shiro smiled, holding Lance close. “I love you, too.”
Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender
AU: Frost Spirit AU
Characters/Pairing: Shiro/Lance
Rating: NSFW/E
Length: 229
Summary: The air smelled different in the northern kingdom; deep inland and far from the sea it was crisp and clear and slightly cooler. Lance lingered in the large, open window, shoulder pressed to the coarse stone as he watched the trees ripple in the distance with the wind. It was unfamiliar here, the sunlight striking the distant mountains and turning their snow-kissed peaks a deep rose hue as the sun sank into the horizon, and Lance still remembered the bitter cold of the deep mountains where the sun could be a distant memory for weeks at a time.
The air smelled different in the northern kingdom; deep inland and far from the sea it was crisp and clear and slightly cooler. Lance lingered in the large, open window, shoulder pressed to the coarse stone as he watched the trees ripple in the distance with the wind. It was unfamiliar here, the sunlight striking the distant mountains and turning their snow-kissed peaks a deep rose hue as the sun sank into the horizon, and Lance still remembered the bitter cold of the deep mountains where the sun could be a distant memory for weeks at a time.
Time was such a strange concept to him now. The season had turned over on him, and Lance had frozen at the bright green sprouts through the carpet of snow. He’d felt the rising panic seeing the new buds on the trees, twisting his hands up in his traveling cloak to hide how they trembled as the air grew warmer still. One morning though he had been woken on his pallet outside the wagon by birdsong, and the trees were full of bright green leaves and he knew, finally, that he would not fade.
It was a curious thing, to be. He was unused to it, unused to the pang of hunger that rumbled in his belly when he went too long without food, unused to the fatigue that clawed at his eyes and left him drifting off to a restless sleep, and most of all unused to the way his breath caught and his chest grew tight when Shiro kissed him.
And Shiro quite liked to kiss him.
Lance didn’t mind it at all, he liked the way that Shiro touched him, his left hand warm and soft, brushing his fingers back to tangle in Lance’s unruly short hair. He even liked it when Shiro forgot and touched him with his right hand, cooler and hard, the texture of the draconic scales different but no less wonderful. Just the fact that Shiro touched him left Lance’s heart aflutter, but the way that he kissed Lance, too, holding his face gently with one hand, the other settled on Lance’s waist, so close and comfortable in his space? It left him feeling like he was going to burst.
Kiss was all they did, though. There were other things afoot; bigger things than a frost spirit bound to a knight who gave him a soul and a life, and Lance was learning now how to navigate the world anew. The Princess’s knight Keith had lost his blade and nearly his life to a Black Dragon, so they rested here in the northern kingdom, once an ally to the fallen Kingdom of Altea while Keith regained his health.
Shiro had remained by his friend’s side as he recovered, and Lance did not begrudge him that. Keith was a noble knight even if they did not exactly get along, but he found himself missing Shiro’s company keenly. He wandered the halls of the castle and felt for the first time since he’d lost his staff strange and incomplete.
He played with the children in the castle, spinning snowflakes out of water in the air to their intense delight, and pestered their tiny, irritable alchemist with his presence until she swore out an oath on his name. His chest continued to ache, and he felt empty and cold, and when he turned from the open window he saw a light dusting of snow falling softly from the ceiling. Lance sighed and twisted his hand, but the snow did not obey him now, the flakes gone from tiny glistening diadems in the twilight to fat, angry flakes that stuck to every piece of furniture in the room.
The cold and the snow did not bother him, so Lance let it go on, perched on the edge of a bed that felt uncomfortably big and watching out the window as dusk turned to night. The palace attendants did not bother his room to light the wall sconces; they were skittish of the Princess’s strange companions and Lance did not mind the dark, spinning the snow in the air into the shape of woodland creatures.
He fell asleep under a blanket of snow and did not stir until a warm hand tentatively touched his bare shoulder. While the initial touch was cautious after a moment the full warmth of a palm encased his shoulder and squeezed and Lance smiled with his eyes still closed, recognizing the touch as his heart warmed and woke.
“Lance?” Shiro’s voice was soft and concerned; the room lit dimly by starlight alone. Lance rolled and felt snow slough off his side, melting quickly as it hit the damp bedding. The snow from the ceiling had stopped and the room itself felt warm and damp. He sat up slowly and Shiro’s hand fell from his shoulder and he found he sorely missed its presence, fingers curling in the rough bedcloth. “It was snowing…” he said, clearly concerned.
“Was it?” Lance said drowsily, because Shiro worried about him and it was nice to be worried after, but he wasn’t used to it and didn’t feel it necessary. “How’s Keith?”
“Better.” Shiro was sitting on the edge of the bed, his profile shadowed from Lance’s face. “He will recover fully, the Princess expects.” He tilted forward slightly, and Lance could see his shoulders tighten even in the dimness. He held himself responsible, Lance knew he did and Lance knew he was wrong to do so. He shifted and sat up, putting his hand against Shiro’s arm and feeling him stiffen in surprise, and then relax into Lance’s touch. Emboldened by Shiro’s ease, Lance slid closer and when Shiro lifted his arm it didn’t surprise Lance how well he fit under it, tucked against Shiro’s side.
“He lives yet,” Lance said, resting his head against Shiro’s shoulder. “We could not ask for a better outcome.”
Shiro did not speak, and Lance extended his hand, cupping it in the empty air. The dampness left the bedding, gathering in open hand and beginning to glow an icy white. Shiro recoiled slightly in surprise at the sudden illumination, and his face was tired, and haggard. “Shiro,” Lance said, his voice soft as he shifted, brushing his free hand over the harsh stubble that covered Shiro’s jaw. Shiro sighed and turned his face into Lance’s hand, his eyes slipping closed, and Lance felt that strange tightness in his chest again.
“Do you love him?” Keith had asked him this, sitting in the back of the wagon as Shiro rode ahead with the Princess. Lance didn’t know how to respond because he didn’t know love, didn’t know what it truly was. Shiro was a curiosity at first and then Lance couldn’t describe what drove him to ensure his safety, to trade his life for Shiro’s. ‘I don’t know,’ didn’t seem like an answer that Keith would accept, so Lance remained silent and there was no further discussion.
Love was mothers to their children, young men courting on wintertide, bundled in scarves and carrying covered baskets and fresh firewood, love was something not meant for the spirits of the hills or the seasons themselves.
But Lance wasn’t a spirit of the hills, not any more.
This time, when Lance kissed Shiro, it felt different. Shiro’s eyes opened, as Lance slid out from under his arm and climbed across his lap, his hands cradling Shiro’s face. He had released his light and it hovered in the air, slowly drawing in the moisture from the melted snow to power its icy glow. “Lance,” Shiro said in his low rumble that made something flutter in Lance’s belly. He kissed Shiro again, kneeling over his lap and feeling the way his body tightened, Shiro’s mismatched hands starting on his waist and then sliding up his sides, bunching the loose tunic that he wore.
Warmth tingled in Lance’s limbs, unfamiliar but not uncomfortable, his heart beating fast as Shiro pulled him closer, kissing him still as they tumbled over in the bed, until Lance was looking up at Shiro, panting as Shiro pulled back. He stared down at Lance with an expression that Lance didn’t recognize; he’d never seen anything like it before. “Gods,” Shiro said, and his tone was reverent. He pushed his hand up Lance’s stomach, laid bare by the bunched up tunic and then he kissed Lance’s skin, beside his hand.
Lance didn’t know what to do. Shiro had never kissed him elsewhere, other than his lips or his face or his head and he gasped, twisting, but Shiro’s hand held him still. He kissed Lance’s skin again, lower now, toward the hem of his trousers and it was like lightning ran under his skin. “What are you doing-” Lance said, squirmed, but he was kept pinned more by his curiosity than Shiro himself. When his lips brushed the waistband he stopped, and Lance exhaled a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
Shiro lifted his head and looked at Lance. His face was gaunt and tired but his eyes were bright; and the wisp of white hair gained by kissing an ice wraith fell directly between his eyes. “Have you never been pleasured?” Shiro asked, and Lance didn’t understand the question. He made a noise of confusion as Shiro’s fingers slipped into the waist of his trousers.
“Pleasured?” Lance asked, and then stilled as his clothing was pulled down and away. He was reminded suddenly of the men of the village, gathered around a bonfire outside the only tavern, speaking vulgar of bedding the tavern wench, and bawdy ballads sung ‘round by the drunks. No, he had never been pleasured, he did not know pleasure of the sort and could not imagine it more than the kisses he shared with Shiro. “No,” he said, his voice hitching at the press of Shiro’s thumb on his hip.
“No?” Shiro’s cheek was rough against his skin as he kissed lower now, toward the center of the heat in Lance’s body. “I see that I must change that,” he murmured, and Lance let out a low, surprised noise at the sensation of lips where there had never been any before.
Warmth and heat and wet and Lance was roused fully, the blood pounding in his head the same as the blood throbbing between his legs. He had never felt like this before, Shiro’s mouth and breath on his most vulnerable place, and he covered his moan with his hand, fingers clasped tight over his mouth and his other hand finding Shiro’s head.
Something was building in him, a churning wave beginning to crest and Lance let out a ragged sob, his hips pushing off the bed and into Shiro’s face as his release hit strong and solid. Shiro did not slow his ministrations as Lance jerked again, his sobs loud and in the shape of Shiro’s name.
It took a little while for Lance to come back to himself, and when he did he realized it was snowing inside the room again; tiny flakes that melted on contact, or were drawn into the icy orb of light powered by Lance’s magic. Shiro cleaned him gently with a cloth, his attention on what he was doing.
“Why did you do that?” Lance asked, drowsy.
“You care so much for me,” Shiro said, looking up into Lance’s face. He was fond, Lance knew, but the expression he wore now was so much more than that. “I wanted to repay your feelings, and more besides.”
“More?” Lance asked, as Shiro climbed onto the bed beside him. “There’s more?” Shiro laid beside him, on his side, his eyes searching Lance’s as he settled. “What about your pleasure?” Lance felt strange, like his limbs were weighted down and the thought of moving only made him more tired.
“In time,” Shiro said, and brushed the fingers of his draconic arm through Lance’s hair, now damp with perspiration. “Rest now.”
Somehow, Lance found the energy to roll up on his side and into Shiro’s arms. Shiro kissed the top of his head as Lance settled against Shiro, safe and warm he murmured into Shiro’s chest the words he couldn’t say when Keith asked him.
Shiro smiled, holding Lance close. “I love you, too.”
