Altea has only known prosperity and peace after the last war won long ago. Their kingdom embraces growth in their numbers, as well as the nourishment fields and stores and widespread production of resources.
Coran glimpses King Alfor's ordinarily harsh moods uplift as soon as he weds Queen Melenor.
She is truly a most suitable partner for any royal man — educated, mannerly and dignified. Melenor can guess anyone's intentions in their heart, and maintain a fairly high level of empathy for someone regardless if they were a member of the court or the lowest of peasants. Her expertise in archery, both Galra and Altean techniques, is unparalleled. But above all, she is able to bear sons and daughters for King Alfor.
Ridding himself of needless, archaic formalities has been one of King Alfor's few joys. Instead of allowing the royal consummation between himself and Queen Melenor to be made public for the majority of the royal court, as tradition decreed, King Alfor decides to appoint Coran to be their official witness.
Someone he must consider a trusted friend among them. Coran's heart soars.
During the peak of the night hours, when everyone else has gone to sleep, Coran joins them obediently and giddily in King Alfor's bed-chambers, helping undo his king's thickly plated, white-silver armor.
Admittedly, Coran enjoys very much seeing him like this. So formidable and stately in his eminence.
He would gladly go to another war for a man like King Alfor.
Every part of King Alfor is a show of strength — from his broad, dark brown shoulders, to the lift of his regal chin, to his powerful, taut core and his limbs. Coran knows he shouldn't stare so boldly at the tuft of silvery hair between King Alfor's legs.
Melenor calls out to her husband softly, divesting herself of her gold-trimmed and pink corset, and her robes. She's all dark brown skin just like King Alfor, but more slender in stature and dainty.
King Alfor grins, boyishly-wide, leaping up on the sheets and tackling her to the bedding, chuckling against the queen's lips and feeling along her body, worshiping each curve and eyelash and the dampness of her.
Their lewd noises mingle with the erratic pounding of Coran's heartbeat in his eardrums. He watches in contemplative, purposeful brooding as Melenor clutches the sheets as King Alfor roughly smacks against her little bottom. Her blue eyes hazing over with lust and pinning onto Coran's face
Eventually, Coran intervenes before she can harm herself from thrashing. He helps his queen rest by herself on the pillows, congratulating King Alfor and being slightly thrown off by the hearty, jubilant kiss against Coran's mouth, King Alfor's lips covering and opening to his, sucking a little air right from Coran's lungs.
Coran does not berate him or speak of the post-coital kiss to anyone.
Queen Melenor conceives the following phoeb. The kingdom eagerly awaits, as the news of her labor reaches from village to village in Altea, and of course first reaching to the court members and advisors. No one but the handmaidens and physicians and King Alfor himself are allowed in the birth-chambers.
"How is the queen?" Coran asks, panting and breathless from running through the labyrinth of corridors. He tucks the strand of orange, forehead hair backwards, only to have it return dangling in his eyes.
"Recovering." King Alfor says proudly, "We have decided to name the child Allura."
"A splendid name indeed, my king."
A boisterous, friendly laugh. "Coran, you needn't be so formal and grim. Today is a day of celebration," King Alfor tells him, wrapping an arm to Coran's shoulders and hugging him in.
More than anything, Coran wants to hug him back. Or kiss him, like his king joyously kissed him.
But it's not how it is.
Voltron isn't mine. Alrighty! Back to my NSFW Genre card for Voltron Bingo! This time I had "Military Kink" to fill and tbh I would only think of Alfor and Coran during my brainstorming session. It's a great ship. I adore it. And so ANGSTY TOO IF YOU THINK ABOUT IT. Thanks for the read and any comments/thoughts appreciated!