What is this?! This is a gift for twitter users @etangerine_1 and @uccello8059, fellow latines and hardcore corason shippers like me jsjs. Inspired by this edit by Eve Eleidan! Here we go!
Coran x Iverson || 1.7k || G rated || Post canon (kinda)
In all his years, Commander Iverson has met all types of people. Until not long ago, he considered he had seen everything, being on the second half of his life already, and with first row seats to the Galra invasion and the Coalition contact.
Until he met Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe, that is.
The Altean was a true force of nature. He has to admit that his first impression of him was that he was a very noisy, slightly irritating person, and he even considered that if all aliens shared his eccentric personality, it could become a problem for him, used to military discipline and not... whatever Team Voltron – his kids once, now heroes of the galaxy— had going.
But with so many changes happening around them, with so many creatures to work with and so many threats over them, he got used to it very quickly. In fact, dealing with the Altean soon stopped being a chore.
Especially once he realized that Coran is a real hard worker, a quality he appreciates in humans and aliens alike. Watching his role at the Atlas crew, and later as the nexus between the Garrison and New Altea, they started having direct contact and that allowed Iverson to also discover that the Altean is smart, loyal and kind. Well, he knew already about his golden heart, because he had to see it be broken at the Princess’ departure years ago, but his way of healing was very telling itself. Never one to be bitter, Coran always strived to be better, and if that wasn’t endearing…
So, at some point among their exchanges, Iverson’s perception of Coran changed. He started smiling at his long ramblings and offer to accompany him on his visits. He started waiting for his calls and wishing for more meetings to be summoned.
Soon, he could identify his feelings as something he hasn’t felt in a good while. His rocky heart – dedicated for so long exclusively to his students and the Garrison— seems to be throwing one last tantrum before it completely dries.
He likes to think this change is only due to the growth of their relationship through mutual respect, and not at all pushed by that time he saw Coran get rid of his jacket showing off two strong arms, crawling under his own ship to fix a sudden leakage with amazing ease.
But anyway, the old dog still has a beating heart and, as embarrassing as it may be, today he finds himself visiting Colleen’s botanical garden and watching the pink flowers he knows are Altean in their origin. The famous juniberries.
So, on a scale of 1 to utter buffoon, how stupid is to ask Colleen to give him enough of these for a bouquet?
“Commander Iverson?” suddenly says a male voice behind him, making him flinch and turn around violently.
Lance McClain steps back, startled by his reaction. Iverson, blushing, takes a hand to his chest.
“Lieutenant McClain… Uh, sorry. Did you need something from here, or…?”
He stops, staring at the ex-paladin’s face. His Altean marks shine in a soft blue, and he swallows. Right. It’s been quite a few years already, but he still can’t get used to the marks on his ex-student face. How does one get some of these?
Lance looks relieved at the change in his tone but also, to his disgrace, curious. His blue eyes travel from the flowers to the instructor in a way that doesn’t augur anything good.
“Nope. I was just asked to come to get Colleen for a meeting and was going to ask you if you’ve seen her,” he replies, his tone excessively casual.
“No. Sorry, uh, no,” answers Iverson, clearing his throat. After doubting for a moment, he makes a military salute and tries to leave, but Lance stops him.
“Wait, sir! Err, may I—Can I ask you something?”
‘I’d rather NOT’, wants to answer Iverson, feeling his jaw taut. Instead, he answers:
“Sure thing, Lieutenant.”
Lance gives a step forward and crosses his arms in front of the flowers, looking at them with fond eyes, before dropping the bomb.
“Sir… could you be in need of, you know… Altean courting advice?”
Goddammit, he should have run away when he could. Instead, Iverson feels his face burning and, trying to swallow, he chokes. As if he wasn’t ashamed enough.
“M—McClain!” he wheezes.
“Sorry sir, it just looked that way!” apologizes Lance, patting his back to help him breathe.
Still coughing, he glares at his scared ex-student. The lanky boy he knew is now a strong, grown-up man who survived an entire war, but at least he still fidgets under his gaze. He is about to use the last remnants of dignity that he has left when he suddenly realizes.
His now colleague does know about Altean customs and such, after all. Prime source. Also, he trusts him. Maybe…?
Who is he kidding, he needs the help. Besides, when will he get another opportunity to ask about it without even having to explain what’s going on?
Thinking it thoroughly, God bless Lance McClain.
“Let’s suppose…” mumbles Iverson, narrowing his eyes. “In the hypothetical case I did… would you happen to know where to get it?”
Lance opens his eyes wide, and then the corners of his mouth twitch.
“I mean, I know where… Which is right here, because I was trained by a certain Altean himself, but still, there are some uh, quirks—”
“Spill,” grumbles Iverson, and he understands he will have to swallow his pride and tolerate that smug look on Lance’s face if he is to get the information he needs.
“I’ll try my best sir, but you have to promise you won’t attempt anything against me after it,” says Lance.
“What does that mean?”
“Just promise it and we’ll be set.”
It can’t be that terrible, right? After a moment of consideration, Iverson extends a reluctant hand that Lance shakes with a smirk.
-------------
“McClain, you are DEAD.”
“Sir, the promise!”
“Is this payback? Do you resent me that much?” asks Iverson, staring at his reflection in Lance’s mirror with horror. He looks like a kid improvising a costume in his mama’s kitchen, pot in the head included. Except he is a grown-ass man, close to retirement and currently wishing for a quick death.
“I swear on my husband’s life this is what Coran made me wear that time,” answers Lance, giving a cautious step back. “In fact, he’s my witness, we can call him—”
“Enough! This is absurd! You’re just mocking me, and I won’t stand for—”
They hear the door suddenly open and Iverson feels his heart stop.
“Oh dear. What is this?” asks a loud voice, and Iverson turns his head so quick the pot over it threatens to fall. Coran is at the door, looking at the scene with round eyes.
“Coran! Y-you’re early,” stutters Lance.
“You told Merla I had to come as soon as the meeting was over so I hurried, but… What is this?” he repeats, and if Iverson’s tired good eye isn’t failing him, the Altean’s ears are turning pink.
“Right! Yeah! But now I that remember I uh, I gotta go! Paperwork, what a drag, right? So, Commander Iverson, I leave it to you, then!” Lance blabbers, and bolts to the door before Iverson can extend one hand and grab him by the collar of his uniform.
How the hell did this ridiculous man get himself a husband with this attitude is a mystery to his teacher, who stares daggers at him as he leaves.
However, just when the door is closing, Lance suddenly turns and points eagerly to his left side. Out of the corner of his eye, Iverson sees something that makes his stomach drop: three juniberries lie in the table by his side, pretty and aromatic and absolutely out of place.
It really couldn’t get any worse.
There is a moment of silence between the two men before Coran loudly clears his throat and nervously tugs at his own mustache.
“Commander Iverson,” he greets him, clearly trying to sound cheerful.
“Mr. Wimbleton,” answers Iverson, feeling his mouth dry at the way Coran looks up and down his attire. Doubtful, the Altean says:
“Excuse me, but I can’t help but notice the… garments.”
“I— I can explain,” retorts Iverson, even though he actually can’t. But Coran peers at him in silence again and then, after a pause, he lowers his eyes.
“You should have asked me. The royal family is no more, and… Well, there are other ways to court an Altean lady,” he states.
“What?” asks Iverson, dumbfounded. Coran crosses his arms and walks around him now, appreciative.
“A valiant effort, nonetheless. The lady is so lucky! She will be pleased to know you are so eager to prove your worth!”
“No, wait—”
“Of course, Lance never was one to understand the subtleties of Altean courtship, but at least he tried this time…”
“But—”
“However, with Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe assisting you, success is guaranteed! We just have to—”
He can’t keep talking, because Iverson puts a hand over his mouth in the most impulsive move he has ever made in his entire life. And it hasn’t been a short life.
“Mr. Coran. Y-you misunderstood. I don’t intend— I’m not into— Urgh!!”
He just picks one of the juniberries from the table by his side and offers it to Coran, who looks down at it, mouth still covered. Iverson slowly lowers the offender hand, watching how the Altean’s gorgeous eyes look at the flower, wide open. And then, the way he raises them to his own face.
He knows he is sweating bullets, dressed as a clown and flushed to the top of his head, which isn’t a good look. How long would Admiral Shirogane take to accept his early retirement application if he submitted it right now?
But then Coran takes the flower and smiles at it. Loud, eccentric and flamboyant as he is, Coran can still show such a shy smile, and Iverson simply feels his rocky heart melt. He gulps when Coran tucks the flower behind one of his pointy ears and looks at him.
God, they are mature men, but now? Iverson feels like a simple teenager in love.
“How does it look?” asks Coran, the corners of his eyes crinkling playfully. Iverson takes a sharp breath.
“Gorgeous,” he answers, unable to hide his endeared tone.
Coran smirks now, his expression shifting to mischief.
“See? Success guaranteed,” he says, and he steps closer, giving Commander Iverson the sensation that his lifespan has been extended at least a thousand years.
Retirement would have to wait a few more centuries then, it seems.
