Lance, very rarely, is the one to go quiet.

That's just like not him. She's seen close to every emotion on Lance's spectrum, starting from meeting him for the first time at the Galaxy Garrison — when he would mutter venomously behind Commander Iverson's back, or shout triumphantly after receiving his positive grading term, or flirt heavily (and awkwardly) with the nearest sentiment being that wasn't Iverson.

Boys, girls, whoever… it apparently didn't matter to Lance, as long as he liked him.

Pidge guesses it's her age that deters Lance from sending her those cheeky, teasing winks, which she's grateful for, but someone like Hunk becomes easily flustered by the obvious romantic attention. Around Lance, he drops his wrenches in the middle of a holo-scenerio or stammers out his replies.

As a part of their assigned team, she ends up bunking in the same quarters, tossing and turning.

For most of her sleeplessly frustrating nights, Pidge tries to not think about Matt and her father, denying even the smallest probability of their death. Repeating to herself they're alive, they're alive, they're alive helps until the loneliness becomes too big and weighs down on Pidge's heart.

Snatching onto Matt's glasses, she pushes them on her nose and climbs out of her bunk. It's the dead of night and Pidge hears Lance and Hunk talking softly, and what sounds like wet smacks.

Hunk's bedroom door is cracked open slightly. She peers in, crouching down to her pajama-knees, observing the gleam of spittle on Lance's opening, rosy-brown lips. How he arches down in front of Hunk, as if surrendering, their hips jostling up together. Pidge listens to the creaking steel-frame of Hunk's cot and the noise of skin slapping together, putting two-and-two together quickly with a white-hot twinge of humiliation.

She needs to go, but…

God dammit, Pidge can feel a surge of heated, curious voyeurism dampening it out. She inhales soundlessly, leaning into the door's crack and squinting an eye for a better look.

It's too dark inside the bedroom to see every detail, but Hunk has the mustard-yellow shirt on, from earlier in the day. His thick, dark brown legs are bare, his muscles clenching while he pounds into Lance on his stomach, grunting and mumbling about needing to come, uugh, I'm gonna come.

But, Lance — he's flushed and stone-silent, gulping down any whimpers, burying his face and mouth into his forearm to stifle the tiniest, aroused noises.

(Why though?)

That question follows her for a while, but disappears into the very back of Pidge's thoughts, when they're all chosen, along with Keith and Shiro, to become defenders of the universe as Voltron's paladins. She eventually finds Matt and her father, overwhelmed by her joy.

Years pass by.

Pidge lets it accidentally slip during a night of drinking Oreslisan wine that she knew about Hunk and Lance fucking while they all lived in the garrison, hiccup-laughing when they both groan in varying degrees of embarrassment, avoiding the skepticism in Keith's look and Coran's eager, prying questions about the scientific benefits of two human males having intercourse.

"You're a menace," Lance whispers, when they're alone, his hand clasping onto her shoulder.

There's no anger in his voice. His smirk tastes like cream and berries, and warm flesh. Pidge's own mouth twitches up, when he stares back at her, growing less confused after the spontaneous kiss.

"And you're drunk," a smug, red-cheeked Pidge answers.

He's not, but treats her like a gentleman, leading her to the barracks so she can sleep it off.

After a while, Lance's flirting strays in her direction. Depending on her mood, Pidge dismisses it with a curt tone, or pretends to ignore him, catching him smiling knowingly while her insides pleasantly somersault.

Lance is too handsy sometimes, too much of a blabbermouth and has the worst timing — outside a celebration held by Allura on a distant, lush planet, pinning her to an outdoor wall and kissing messily down the side of Pidge's throat. They're caught by Shiro, with Lance's hand bunching underneath the folds of her new dress, and a darkly bruising hickey glaring on Pidge's neck, and getting a stern lecture from him.

Above everything else, Lance is a good man and leader and one of her best friends, always looking out for her, willing to risk his life and admires her and to be honest, she feels the way he does.

He knows how to make her feel good too — Pidge suffers through her first, agonizing round of menstruation cramps shortly after turning eighteen, grumpy and wanting to throw up all day, but she keens under Lance's gentle, purposeful touch on her, wanting the distraction.

There's not much blood, and she's been sure to clean out before they stripped down, and even then — Lance's mouth presses to the insides of her small and pale thighs, traveling in hot, gusting breathes and half-kisses, nudging his tongue past her vaginal folds and licking in strokes. He's a generous lover on top of it, driving her towards the edge with Pidge moaning out loud and low enough to sound guttural, arching her back to her sheets, clawing her fingers into Lance's soft, dark hair.

When she's ready, Pidge has him move back up, impatiently plunging her own fingers into herself and opening her entrance further, watching Lance watching her with a smiling, delirious gaze.

"You sure you don't want any help, Kate?" he whispers, smiling harder when Pidge's foot aims for his right cheek in a misplaced, light kick. Lance ducks out of her path, but scoots in further, his cock ramrod-straight and already darkened, the foreskin slippery-slick when Pidge grasps it.

They use more lubricant than probably necessary, and Pidge discards Matt's glasses onto a tablestand. She shivers involuntarily and gasps, mildly uncomfortable when the tip of his cock pushes in, working against initial resistance. "Hey, hey, take a deep breath," Lance encourages her, stopping to cup the side of Pidge's face. "If it's gonna hurt too much—"

"Uurgh…" She feels hot and vulnerable, sore all over from her body's harsh, ugly cramping. Pidge thins her lips into a hard, pensive line, before she obeys Lance's concerned suggestion, inhaling and exhaling, syncing it up with him. "M'fine, keep going," Pidge says, nodding.

If this had been her first experience, she might have called it quits. But, god, she wants him, and rocks her hips up while he's cradled between her knees, giving her slow, shallow thrusts.

Somewhere in the middle of this, Pidge switches their positions and rolls on top of him. It's so much better — it feels like he's deeper in, filling her to a swollen, aching limit. She bucks against him, her sweaty, pinkened features slackening, and rides the next thrust.

And there it is… the closer Lance gets to an orgasm, the quieter he is.

The only thing she can hear is the sloppy, gushing noise of them fucking, and her own whines of concentration, and the softness of Lance's breathing. He bites his lips roughly, alternating between staring at her kiss-raw, reddened mouth and where they're connected, as Pidge sinks down on the length of his cock this time, tossing her head backwards and releases a filthy moan.

It's still not enough. Pidge glares for a moment, as she recovers, ticking her hands under Lance's armpits. He jolts and grins, squirming underneath her. "Wh-what are you doing?" Lance yelps, giggling when a now deviously smiling Pidge tickles against his sides too. "Kate—!"

They end up hugging and belly-laughing, with Lance's arms hooking her waist. "You don't have to worry about anyone hearing us, you know," Pidge says, lifting an eyebrow. "The room is soundproof."

Lance snorts against her ear, glancing over her and accepting a brief, light kiss. "Yeah, I figured that out after you doing all the screaming when we're together," he whispers gleefully, snickering when Pidge rolls her eyes noticeably and drops her forehead to his shoulder-joint.

"Then why are you so quiet, Lance?"

"Dunno…" Lance admits, shrugging when she goes upright, palms to Lance's chest. "Just used to it."

"Well, stop," Pidge mutters. Lance's expression blisses out, when she circles her hips and trembles out a laugh. "I wanna be able to hear it when I screw your brains out, got it?"

It feels like the cramps are lessening, or so she hopes, when Lance seizes her by the hips and drags her back down on every thrust, setting a quicker, brutal pace. At his groan of arousal, Pidge succumbs to a lack of restraint, bouncing on his dick and crying out. She frantically rub on her clitoris until the edge is here, with Lance yelling out her name and holding her hips against his and feeling the spurt of hot, runny come inside her, again and again, Lance's cock quivering and throbbing. She orgasms noisily around him, her muscles clenching down, urging him to stay until they're both off the high.

"Holy shit, yes!" Lance breathes out enthusiastically. He gets up and snuggles Pidge in his lap, kissing her fiercely while Pidge moans softly to his mouth, drowsy and warm and happy.

This — this is how it should be.



Voltron isn't mine. Prompt off voltron_kink on Dreamwidth: "any/lance; lance is quiet in bed" and if you are a place shipper, hope you enjoyed this!

Side note but my justification for Pidge getting her/their period at 18 is literally because I got my period long after I was 16 (could be due to trauma-related reasons, and I do know a few people who got theirs later, but my best guess I actually have it was because of my ongoing eating disorder and underdevelopment) and it was actual hell to experience. I'm gonna say that being in space for as long as Pidge could make her menstrual cycle waaaaay off and delay it that far back, and be fairly hurty. That's it.