Actions

Work Header

Painting of Unnumbered Sparks

Chapter Text

When people think of a Friday night, they think of a good time. They think of people, of parties and sin, of smiles and weekend joy. When people think of Sunday, they think of holiness and worship, of family and calm. Sundays are the days where chaos is forbidden, and it’s a warning for the upcoming Monday.

Lance is a lover of Saturdays.

Saturdays are wildcards; anything can happen on a Saturday.

Lance prefers all kinds of Saturdays; ones with road trips, amber eyed beauties in the passenger seat, though he can never say no to a video game binge other times. Sometimes, he just sleeps in all day, and others, he’s damned to working on assignments for hours at a time. Lance dislikes those specific types of Saturdays, but it’s a necessary evil of University.

What isn’t a necessary evil of university, however, is standing in the middle of a goddamned desert.

“Why are we out here again, exactly?” Lance gripes as his foot sinks into yet another hundred-degree mini sandpit. He is a born-and-raised Cuban farmboy, and no stranger to hard work. However, after being pampered by a few years of the slightly more laid-back routines of Garrison University, Lance was more than slightly unprepared when Hunk and Pidge woke him up at 5 am to drive into the desert.

“Hunk and I were working on our radar scanner for our engineering class when something… unusual showed up. It looked to be a meteor of some sort,” Pidge replies, not looking up from the device in her hand.

“We’ve triangulated it down to about a dozen square meters,” Hunk adds, scouting the horizon as if one of the steeper dunes would part open to reveal some lost oasis of knowledge.

Lance glances around, unsure why they parked their vehicle in the sand a half mile back. Pidge said earlier that Hunk’s Jeep was “fucking up the data”, but Lance is slightly dubious. Or he’s just bitter and regretting grabbing a hoodie, which is now wrapped tightly around his waist.

Texan autumns aren’t always the warmest things in comparison to other areas, but Texans seem to be very fond of their air conditioning. Thus, the constant hoodie.

Lance starts to walk faster in a direction off course to the one dictated by his companions. Pidge glances over for a small second.

“What, are you bored? Going to find the ATV so you can run home?” she snarks playfully, and Lance ignores her, just walking faster and farther away. His feet slip slightly as he treks up slightly larger dune.

“I just want this whole endeavor to be over with qui-” Lance snips back quietly in response, then his words fall from his lips as his jaw drops at the scene playing out before him.

In the grainy sand was a large crater, and in this crater was fire. The sand burned brightly and impossibly with reds, yellows, blues and whites. The absurdity of the situation seemed to make it somehow more beautiful. He takes a small step towards the crater, as if in a trance. His feet slip again, ever so slightly, and the movement seems to cause a reaction from the blaze. In response, the flames gather at the center of the circle, forming a shape that hovers at least four feet above the sand.

As Lance watches in shock, the inferno seems to take the same of… a man. Yes, it is indeed a man, drifting only feet above the earth. His somewhat long, messy hair whips around his face as if he’s in a storm, and his lean body is outlined by the fire licking up his body. His eyes open, and they burn a hot, molten gold, glowing brighter than the inferno rippling around his body.

However, despite the man’s unbelievable display of power and brilliance, the whole scene is put to shame by the massive wings rearing from his back. Large, feathered, and black as midnight, creating a startling contrast to the blaze haloing the phoenix-like stranger. Each feather is tipped with miniscule embers, and each movement creates a shower of sparks upon the grainy sand.

Lane’s eyes bug almost comically, his brain refusing to acknowledge the sight before him.

Strangely enough, Lance feels no hotter than he did before encountering the beautiful anomaly.

Partially out of awe and partially out of adrenaline, the Cuban boy takes another small step towards the human (angel?) torch, and the movement causes the angel/man to startle. The heated, blazing, golden eyes widened, and seemed to focus on Lance, despite having no pupils. The strange figure opens his mouth, and Lance hears him speak a single, gentle word.

“Lance?”

The keeper of said name sharply inhales, blue eyes widening at the sound of his name, and the surprisingly mellow, human voice it was spoken with.

Then, very suddenly, the flames are extinguished, and the man falls to the sand in a big heap of black feathers.

Lance rushes forwards on an instinct saying “help, protect, heal”. He kneels beside the big pile of now loose black feathers. He brushes them away little by little to get the the person underneath, finding everything from fluffy twilight down to inky, straight-spined primaries and secondaries that reflect light like oil. He can’t help but pocket one of the larger, shinier feathers.

After a number of seconds, most of the figures pale, smooth skin is exposed. After a few more, Lance uncovers a whole person, lean and almost unreal-looking with his mane of black hair, long eyelashes, and flawless skin.

Lance, being who he is, can’t help but admire how attractive the man is, with dark eyelashes stark against pale skin, and high cheekbones framed by the thick, night-black hair curling over his ears. Lance’s heart can’t help but stutter slightly for a moment as he observes the gentle, relaxed curve of his eyebrows, and the small breath escaping out of plush, parted lips.

Only when our mildly enamoured protagonist notices the black wing tattoos on the strangers back does he remember how very naked the stranger is.

Flushing darkly, Lance panics for a moment, before remembering the large, baggy, green hoodie wrapped around his waist. Untying it, he then slips the man’s arms through the sleeves, zipping it up afterwards. The stranger’s smaller stature causes the hoodie to fall halfway down his thighs, hiding anything… indecent.

Lance is trying not to think about the indecencies of a strange, attractive man that was on fire less than five minutes ago.

Now comes a different kind of panic: what the fuck is he supposed to do next? After all that almost divine chaos, there’s no way anyone would believe him except maybe…

… Maybe someone who dragged him out to the desert to research an anomaly.

Lance slips his arms under the unconscious figure, picking him up bridal-style. With feet once again slipping in the sand, Lance attempts to run back up the hill where he came from.

“Hunk! Pidge! Over here!”

Pidge’s mildly frantic and mildly annoyed voice is heard a moment later. “Lance! Where the fuck did you go?! You disappear, then the scanners go haywire an-”

As the pair of geniuses see Lance, all they can do is stop with gaping mouths.

Lance clutches the person in his arms closer to his chest almost instinctively, breath heaving.

“We have to go,” is all he can say.