Chapter Text
Lance’s wings were dreadfully plain. His feathers were chestnut coloured, like his hair, mottled with different natural shades that darkened towards the tip and only seemed to glow in the sun because he took meticulous, obsessive care of them. The feathers were thin and sleek, much like the wings themselves: their span was proportionate to his body and their only true redeeming quality was their unusual flexibility. As far as wings went, they were ordinary. Nothing special. Nothing beautiful.
Keith’s wings were unimaginably gorgeous. Their feathers were deep black, glossy like polished chips of pure onyx. They sat along his wing bones thickly and evenly, lined up like neat soldiers aching to take off from the ground and fly far away. His wing span was impressive, large, and strong. He had wings built for power-flying, for displays of strength and might. His wings curved around him like a black cloak, never jittery or unrested. They were special. They were beautiful.
And Lance was stupidly jealous.
He knew that deep down his wings weren’t so bad. They were like his mother’s, light and sparrow-like, and her wings had been beautiful enough to enamour his father, a good man with handsome brown wings of his own. It wasn’t like his feathers were ugly or his wings were too short or thin-boned to fly with. But they were ordinary, and sometimes that felt worse.
It was harder to remember that he could have been dealt a worse hand when he was stuck in space with only four other avians present. Without a motley of wings to remind him that his weren’t all that bad, he found himself unable to stop comparing his wings with his fellow Paladins’. His were the plainest of the bunch, and while it shouldn’t bother him, knowing that his wings were now the least impressive kept him up at night. It seemed shallow and selfish but he couldn’t get rid of those thoughts, no matter how hard he tried to.
If Lance really had to choose, and be honest about it, then the person with the most beautiful wings was Keith. Shiro, however, was a close second. His wings were wide and thick, corded with muscle that came from his intense training. His feathers were a faded black, shot through with streaks of natural grey that almost made them wink like dragonfly wings in the sun. Like his hair, however, there was an unnatural streak of white feathers in his right wing. Even when the blighted feathers fell out, they regrew colourless. And although his feathers didn’t always sit straight, his wings were still expansive and beautiful. It was startlingly easy to be envious of Shiro.
There was great reason to be envious of Hunk, too. The only person who had wings that could rival the size of Shiro’s was Hunk, whose wings were wide and ridiculously fluffy. His feathers were a darker brown than Lance’s all over, like luxury chocolate. No one had warmer or softer wings than Hunk. He couldn’t fly any faster than average with them, but the strength in his wings had been pretty much unrivalled back at the Garrison, though he didn’t often show off like others would have. When they’d become closer, Hunk would drape a wing around Lance to make him feel safe when he was upset. He still did that when he caught Lance alone and homesick, though there was less time for such comforts now that they were a part of Voltron.
Pidge’s wings were quite comforting too, when Pidge felt like offering them. They were the smallest wings of the Paladins, but they were fast and agile, constantly shifting as Pidge’s mind filtered through thought after thought. Their feathers were a light amber brown, a shade or two brighter than their hair. The feathers were short and wide, and in some places still downy, especially along the wing bone. There was always a soft scent to Pidge’s wings, something fresh and clean, like washed sheets or the air after a storm. Pidge wasn’t a very touchy person, but sometimes they would wordlessly put a wing around Lance, or let Lance coddle them in his own until he felt better.
It was interesting to learn everyone’s little quirks when it came to flying. Shiro helped Coran and Allura adjust their training schedule to include exercises for the wings, to maintain the muscles needed to fly.
For the most part, it was pretty simple. They used the large training deck to its fullest extent and height. The Altean’s programmed little flying droids – like the old one Pidge had, Rover – to fly around at speeds that made them difficult to catch. They had to fly after it, across the room and back, before the robot timed out and buzzed. It reminded Lance of the multistage fitness tests they were forced to do back at the Garrison.
Another thing the little robots were programmed to do was test their agility. They’d fire beams of light that made Lance’s wings tingle if he got hit. The idea of the exercise was to avoid the shots, which led to a lot of strenuous flying. It got easier after a few rounds, but Allura loved to up the difficulty level, which always kept everyone on their toes. Or on their wings.
It was during those training exercises that Lance’s sort-of obsession with everyone’s wings began. It was easy to categorise everyone’s strengths and weaknesses when he was watching so intently. He could see the slowness in Hunk’s wing-beats but the strength that every downward motion produced. He could see the power in Shiro’s wide wing span but how his right shoulder sometimes led to his right wing struggling to keep up with the left. He could see the way Pidge’s wings could beat fast and evenly, but how they weren’t the most flexible when it came to sharp manoeuvres.
And it was easy to see how well Keith knew his own wings. He was fast and strong and worked through the difficulty levels quicker than any of them. Even if he was rash in some of the decisions he made and he tended to overexert himself when he didn’t have to, there was something mesmerizing about watching him fly. His feathers looked beautiful in motion.
It sort of made Lance nervous to do the exercises himself. He’d done alright in the multistage tests. He wasn’t as fast as Shiro or Keith but he did well.
The little robot was a zippy thing. Lance’s had felt the sting of its bullets before, even if they did no harm. It was like pins-and-needles, but a little more uncomfortable. His feathers always ended up ruffled afterwards, and he’d have to spent hours smoothing them down again.
He was painfully aware of eyes on him as he spread his wings and gave them a cautious flap. When they were adequately stretched, he lifted off the ground. Adjusting to the weight of his Paladin armour had taken some time – the armour conformed to the wearer, so there were protective panels over his wing bones. He’d adjusted to them now, but it still felt weird.
“Ready, Lance?” Allura asked over the speakers.
“Ready as I’ll ever be, Princess,” he said, forcing a grin.
He didn’t like training. He hadn’t liked it back in the Garrison and he didn’t like it now. It was important, sure, and he’d do it when he was told to, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Training with his wings was no different.
Dodging the robot’s bullets became more difficult the more time he spent in the air. It was easy, at first, like always. Gentle swoops, ascending and descending, all basic stuff. The more tenacious the robot became, the quicker he had to fly, and the harder it became to stay clear of the bullets. He yelped as one of the bullets came a little too close for comfort to his wing.
“Stay focused, Lance!” Shiro instructed.
He gritted his teeth and complied. He had to last longer than this to beat his previous score, but the distance between him and the robot had diminished. He dove out of the way to try and increase that distance. If the training deck had been bigger it would have been easier, but that wasn’t the case. Instead he had to try and navigate away from the walls and high ceiling while the robot continued to chase him.
As he soared towards the wall, he pushed both his wings open, abruptly bringing himself to a halt. He was infinitely glad that he’d taken gymnastics as a kid because it let him toss himself backwards without getting dizzy. The robot whizzed straight under him, shooting bullets at the wall and leaving singe marks.
Lance backpedalled for several seconds, panting. He let himself sink several feet and flew across the room, groaning when the robot only took a half-second to right itself. When another bullet whizzed too close to his fingers, making his outermost feathers tingle, he couldn’t help but panic a little. He beat his wings frantically, lifting him up too high too fast, until his back hit the ceiling.
“Watch out!” Shiro shouted.
Shame flittered through him, but he had no time to dwell on it as a bullet singed the wall beside his shoulder. He tucked his wings in and freefell for a few seconds before spreading them wide, slowing his descent. He was tiring quickly. How long had it been?
“Lance, focus!” Shiro reminded him.
Lance jerked his head up, eyes searching for the robot. It was coming straight for him, and with a yelp he bent backwards, wings flattening into a horizontal line. His back ached at the sudden motion and his head was spinning. When he was younger and being taught to fly, he was taught that it was best not to let his spine bend too far. It changed his centre of gravity, and without a hard surface to balance against, it meant his wings had to strain to carry the majority of his weight through a movement they weren’t exactly built for. Things like backbends or anything even vaguely like a bendy yoga pose should be avoided, and in that moment, he wished he hadn’t been so flexible.
Righting himself took a second too long, and it made him feel vaguely light-headed. He was barely able to dodge the next bullet, but it left him too close to the ground, so he had to land.
“Okay, I’m done,” he said, panting, as he hunched over his knees. “Should have stretched more.”
Shiro was frowning, but he didn’t complain. “Are you alright? That last bend looked a little painful.”
“It’s fine, just a bit sudden,” Lance said. “I’m flexible.”
“I’ll say,” Hunk said, looking like he’d just winced. “You looked like a bendy straw.”
Lance couldn’t help but laugh a little. He fluttered his wings, a little flustered. Unbidden, his eyes drifted to Keith, and he was surprised to see that Keith was watching him. His gaze was incredibly focused and for a moment Lance thought he’d done something very wrong, and yet his stomach still churned with heat.
That look made Lance feel vulnerable. He tucked his wings in closer and looked away, face red. “Did I at least best my time?” He asked Shiro, feeling kind of small.
Shiro glanced at his stopwatch, then smiled. “You did,” he said. “You could have gone for longer.”
“Yeah, I just got a little flustered,” Lance said, rubbing the back of his neck. At least he hadn’t failed, he supposed. “I’ll do better next time.”
Pidge was up next for the text, so Lance moved to slump against the wall, picking up a water packet as he did. He drained it and sighed, leaning forwards so that he could stretch his wings and try to shake out the tenseness in them. He’d have to groom his feathers later. A little part of him wished he had someone to do it for him. A certain someone, maybe.
A certain someone who was suddenly standing in front of him.
Lance looked up at Keith and raised an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”
If his eyes weren’t deceiving him, Keith looked a little flushed. He crossed his arms over his chest, wings all puffed up and ruffled like he was preening. “I didn’t know you were that flexible,” he said. And then he looked angry, and his wings puffed up even more, and he stormed away.
Lance blinked, feeling a strange mix of embarrassed and flattered and confused. Had Keith been watching him the whole time? He felt oddly exposed. He’d long since come to terms with the fact that he liked Keith, but he hadn’t tried to do anything about it. He didn’t ever expect his feelings to be reciprocated.
But what if they were?
It was a tantalizing thought.
If only that could happen. Maybe it would if his wings were prettier. He sighed, and rested his chin in his hand, his wings falling comfortingly around his shoulders. They weren’t the prettiest, but they were his.
He kind of hoped that Keith liked them.