roundab00t: tell them i ain’t coming back | T | Gen | 3,5k | @serendipity-zine post | ao3

roundab00t: tell them i ain’t coming back | T | Gen | 3,5k | @serendipity-zine post | ao3 Summary: Control, Krolia had murmured, demure and poised and powerful through the haze of incense smoke and the steam of carefully-prepared tea. Control is the first lesson a Companion learns. Control, Keith thinks, glaring down the barrel of their guns. His fingers flex and bunch, hidden in his long sleeves, itching for the hilt of the knife strapped high on his thigh. He forces each joint to uncurl, and the tension from his shoulders, and tips his chin up. His mouth curls as both hands raise, fingers splayed and palms out, as he walks out to meet them. When an undercover mission goes wrong, Keith finds himself getting a helping hand from Captain Shirogane and his Firefly class ship Voltron. - - - Excerpt: The coarse desert grit bites through the thin soles of Keith’s borrowed sandals as he slips out from the safety of his shuttle pod and into the quiet docking bay. The hot, harsh wind of the half-terraformed moon smacks him in the face—earthy and breathtaking after long, quiet hours spent breathing the dry, canned air in deep space. He takes a moment to scan the horizon, breathing deeply. The scent of sagebrush and sweet grass swirls in his lungs; lingers at the back of his throat. It tastes like home. Keith nods at the squat, graying attendant who, roused from surveying the sleepy not-quite-port with glazed eyes, comes sniffing for credits. Keith’s spine straightens from his tired slouch and, with the echoes of his mother’s whispered words lingering in the back of his mind, he rolls his shoulders back and forces a smile that feels foreign on his mouth. “This is a quick operation,” Ulaz rumbles in Keith’s ear, as Keith shuffles his wine-dark silk robes around his shoulders and drops a smattering of thin silver coins into the attendant’s palm. The small, flesh-toned comms unit tucked in Keith’s ear behind his carefully combed mess of hair hisses and spits, static interference bleeding down the line before Ulaz’s voice trickles back in. “We move quickly, in and out, informational retrieval only.” Keith hums and bows his head, just slightly, and makes a show of tucking a single lock of hair behind his free ear the way he’d practiced over and over in the mirror. His fingertips linger on the man’s outstretched palm, calloused tips dragging from the center down the line of his middle finger, and the man flushes dark. His eyes slide up and down Keith’s body, drinking him in, as his tongue darts out to wet his lips. It’s almost galling, to smile and demur for a stranger, but there is something darkly entertaining in the way the man stumbles, tripping over his own feet as he twists to watch Keith walk away. (Read the rest on ao3) You can get this beautiful piece and more from our zine store!https://serendipityzine.bigcartel.com/ -- source link

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