@twizzlerstriders asked for an old voltron au that I only vaguely remember writing. :’) ….Fuck. Let’s take this from the top.

✨🌙

“I want to show you something,” Dirk says, low and even.

You’re in the desert and you’re not supposed to be, you’re out past curfew and you’re not supposed to be, you’re with a Garrison dropout and you’re definitely, certainly, absolutely not supposed to be—

“Hey,” he says. Too low, too even. A wisp of lips brushing against your jaw. A thumb across the back of your hand. “English.”

That’s you, he’s talking to, but it doesn’t feel like you. You’re fifty feet away in your thoughts, looking at the bright desert stars. Feet tapping against the red-rock boulder you’ve settled on.

He’s taking your hand and you follow. “You’re a follower, English,” as you were once admonished after a failed attempt at captaining a test flight when Jane’s headset short circuited and she knocked herself out cold—

Dirk is taking you into a cave. You’re fairly sure you’re not supposed to be in caves, either. Certainly not with Garrison dropouts. Definitely not past curfew.

There’s paintings, in the cave. Ancient, faded paintings dragging along the surface of the rock when Dirk shines his flashlight over them. He’s looking at you, waiting for a reaction, waiting for you to broadcast an emotion, if only he knew how many you had—

You tip forward, almost as if you’re going to fall, and his eyes widen and he drops the flashlight and moves to catch you and you kiss him, right there in the chilly desert cave, hands fumbling up to find his cheeks, and he makes a sound of surprise and realizes he’s clutching you too hard for someone who’s not truly in the process of falling and you—you laugh—

It comes out of you, bright and bubbly and blue. Blue, blue. An electric blue. Too bright, all around you.

Dirk’s noise of surprise is louder, now, as he pulls back from you. He looks up, calls you “English,” says “what the fuck—”

When you look up, the cave is blue too.