.

.

She spreads apart Lance's fingers, delicately stroking their undersides with her paintbrush dripping with swirling, darkened blues and platinum greys and ebony. Allura reassures her that it's quite alright to use her forgotten case of Altean oil paints, left behind in the storage room, and places them into Romelle's hands.

During a quieter, solemn evening, Romelle invites Lance to sit with her. She's curious about him. He's brilliant and outspoken and full of so much emotion, and has drawn Romelle's attention immediately.

"The stars far beyond the Reaches of the Quantum Abyss had a very particular look to them…" she murmurs, dabbing the black-blue centering Lance's palm with the tiniest specks of white and more platinum, and a cool, orangey hue. Streaks of green and a thin, watery layer of magenta ends up towards the V of Lance's joint. "They would often change. Form their own nebulas and burn themselves apart. Sometimes, you could see constellations in the distance, before they were sucked into nothingness…"

"Which ones?" Lance asks, his mouth practically sore-red and grinning faintly.

Romelle flattens her own lips also pleasantly tingling, exhaling a quivery, high note when his other hand pushes up Allura's silken, two-tone nightgown on her, exposing her pale thigh to him. She borrowed it with the intentions to keep it unsullied. Not that she minds it so much.

This human boy… …

Lance has a warm, brown complexion, and a spray of darker freckles lingering on the bridge of his nose. His eyes lack any turquoise or violet deeply glimmering in his pupils, and Lance's ears… well… …

Romelle supposes he is human, after all.

His ears matter little when she dared to kiss Lance hardly a varga ago, rolling her tongue lightly against his, having him press nearer when she moaned in astonishment and opened her mouth wider. Romelle allowed him to maneuver over her and the bed, grinding pelvises slowly through their clothes, and she could feel him, twitching and hard against Romelle's folds, urging to move deeper, to bury in.

Lance's hand, without any paint, traces over faded, pinkened stretch-marks to the side of Romelle's thigh.

She grabs onto his wrist silently, turning over Lance's hand, palm-up. An oily dark blue smears generously over all of his fingertips, leaking between the cracks and puddling onto their touching knees.

"Doesn't matter," Romelle answers, smiling forlornly. "Sloven-day-ho."

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Voltron isn't mine. Welcome back to Lance Ship Week! It's Day 4: "Friends/Family" and idk I wanted to try something new! Jeremy Shada apparently coined Lance/Romelle as "Romance" which is precious and I'm so using that. I want Allurance more than I want Romance but you know,,, I don't think I would complain by very much. "Sloven-day-ho" is Altean for "gone" so there's your translation! Hey! If you liked this please leave a nice word or two! Thanks!