I posted it on AO3 ages ago and updated recently, then remembered I never posted it here. I was inspired by hardlynotnever's arts of Lance in bondage on tumblr, because they are really beautiful. Then I read Something Blue by WHUMPBBY and realised that I need more Lance in harness in my life, this is what came out of it. It's going to be my first attempt at writing a threesome, there will be no major dark themes, no non-con, but maybe some angst and hurt/comfort. Hope you'll enjoy it.

The crowd was roaring, the tiers alive with what seemed like thousands of limbs and voices, urging him to fight to the end, yearning to see him kill. Again. Shiro looked at his third opponent for today, chest plate cracked where Shiro's prosthetic arm slashed across it, letting blood ooze out from a fairly deep wound underneath and splatter on the sand.

It was Prorok, chief commander of the Southern fleet and a highly respected member of society. And yet here he was, fighting at the arena like any other alpha. Shiro knew of him and of his glorious past as one of the top gladiators. Ruthless and cold blooded he used to win almost every fight, and even when he didn't the spectators were too fond of him to let him be killed. But that time had long passed, and now Prorok stood before Shiro breathing heavily and clutching a sword, still untainted by his opponent's blood, in a slightly trembling hand. He had lost his helmet in the first ten minutes of the fight, so Shiro could clearly see his face even from a ten-step distance: greying black hair were plastered to the sweat covered forehead, bushy brows furrowed into a pained scowl and lips pulled into an angry snarl, but what stood out most in his seemingly fierce expression were the eyes - they were wide and disbelieving, with streaks of panic and almost fear. Although they never met personally, Shiro knew that the alpha hated losing but felt that it was exactly what was happening, and the bitter distressed scent that wafted off him in thick waves spoke even louder than his wavering stance and laboured breath.

"Why don't you just admit defeat?" there was no mocking in Shiro's words, because for all his glory as a perfect warrior and a professional killer, he wasn't your typical alpha, and rather preferred to end fights with as little blood as possible. He still killed his opponents when the audience demanded, that was just how it went at the arena where alphas came to show off their strength and skill to earn money and, more importantly, acknowledgement as potent mating partners. Normally, those were younger unmated alphas who participated, but today was a special day, so Shiro ended up facing Prorok, an alpha almost twice his age but just as desperate to win.

"I won't give in! Especially to someone like you," Prorok spat out, glaring at Shiro's right arm, who clenched it into a fist on impulse, magic surging through metal tendons and giving it a light purple glow.

"You had your say," he growled low in his throat, the sound drowning in the excited hoots and shouts of the ravenous bloodthirsty crowd, and lunged forward. There was too much at stake to stay benign, and with five powerful strides, a forceful jump and a lethal blow that Prorok could see coming but could do nothing to stop, Shiro had the alpha sprawled on his back, blade-like glowing palm buried deep in his left shoulder. An anguished cry left Prorok's gaping mouth when Shiro twisted his fingers in the wound.

"Slay him! Slay him! Slay him!" the crowd boomed, the words pulsing against the granite walls and a high dome of a ceiling, but Shiro wasn't acting on their whim like he usually did, today it was not for them to decide. He glanced at the royal box set high above the arena and caught sight of the regal figure, draped in white silk, sitting on an intricately carved bench, a silvery cloud of hair framing the delicate dark features of a beautiful face. Empress Allura, the Highest Priestess of Altea graced the arena with her presence today and Shiro watched with bated breath as she turned her head slightly to the side to exchange words with someone who stayed out of sight, just like she did the previous two times when Shiro pinned an opponent down. He assumed it was another omega and couldn't wait to please them both, be it with an act of mercy or a ruthless murder.

A shiver of excitement ran through Shiro's body at the mere though of having the omegas' undivided attention, even if it was at the moment when he became reduced to his animal instincts and was expected to demonstrate raw power and dominance. Seeing them this up close was a miracle in itself, and the chance to catch their eye was worth pretty much anything.

Omegas were rare and extremely valued not only because of their heavenly appearance, but because they bore the ancient magic that held the secrets of life within them and could channel it through their bodies into the world. That's why they were called life givers by the common folk. When an omega was born, it was celebrated for three days and the family was supported by the Highest Priestess for the rest of their lives, while the omega was taken to the Temple of Lions to become her apprentice and learn how to use their inborn power. Once the apprenticeship ended, the omega either stayed at the temple in the capital, Oriont, or was sent to smaller temples scattered all across the Empire to perform their holy duties, from blessing the crops and cattle to healing ill and wounded. If it wasn't for an omega, Shiro would've been crippled now, and instead of a fully functioning metal arm and a trustworthy weapon would've had only an ugly useless stump. He didn't know who the omega who healed him and gave him that arm was, he was delirious from pain and after-battle shock at the time, but he always remembered them in his prayers.

The Empress finally turned back to the arena and her sharp blue eyes locked with Shiro's black ones. The alpha felt his heart miss a beat when she nodded at him, holding her hand up in a fist. A signal to finish the fallen warrior off. Shiro looked down.

"Do it," Prorok gurgled, gaze already turning hazy from pain and adrenaline drop. Shiro gave him a curt nod and sliced through his ribcage, piercing the heart quickly and efficiently. The alpha let out one last breath, wet and trembling, then the mutilated chest stilled and his whole body went limp. Shiro stood up, ripping his hand out with a thick squelching sound, and the crowd erupted in a new wave of shouts mixed with whistling and applause. But Shiro paid them no mind, his attention focused solely on the angelic figure watching him from above. It was dizzying to realise how a being so pure could watch a scene so cruel in its nature and not bat an eyelash. Then again, aside from assisting to the birth of new life, omegas also saw to its safe departure to the underworld and performed burial ceremonies which included animal sacrifices to the Lion Gods. Gladiator fights were once part of these ceremonies as well, the death of a worthy warrior being the ultimate sacrifice, but lately they had become more of an entertainment for the common folk, held almost weekly and at numerous arenas at once. Omegas rarely visited them any more, and that was why seeing Her Imperial Highness today was such a big deal.

Shiro fell to one knee and bowed his head low, facing the royal box. Three fights in a row were taking their toll on him, but he couldn't let it show. Not now. He had a feeling in his gut that whatever the reason for the Empress' interest was, he couldn't let her lose it.

"Rise, mighty warrior, you did well so far, the Empress is impressed with your strength and stamina," Shiro's head snapped up to see Coran, the royal advisor, speak on behalf of the Empress who still looked down on him with a serious expression. He continued, "You may rest now."

Shiro felt confused and mildly surprised he wasn't given another opponent straight away. He knew he could take another one just fine, but who was he to question the decisions of the god-like omega? He bowed once again, then rose and left the arena to wait for his turn, hoping that it would come. Something was definitely up, if the new fighting arrangements were anything to judge by.

While he stayed in the room specially assigned for participating gladiators and sipped on a cup of water, Shiro could hear the tell-tale sounds of feet stomping, metal meeting metal with sharp clangs and clanks, fierce growls and pained howls and whimpers. He felt that this was where he belonged. The service in the regular troops should have left him broken and lacking, but instead brought him to the present day - a strong capable alpha in his prime, fighting to polish his skill and entertain the public, constantly the centre of attention, never alone.

Of course, deep down Shiro understood that this was only his way of coping with the loss of all his friends in that battle two years ago. Some measly rebellion turned ugly and their troop was sent to intervene. Who knew it would cost him everything? Back in the day it all seemed so easy, so natural, serving the country, protecting its people, all in the glory of the Highest Priestess, and then it wasn't. Just to think what a furious mob could be capable of, even when armed with self-made weapons and relying more on rage than skill. What sparked it exactly no one could tell in the aftermath, some landlords' quarrel over stock or game, a drunken fight over a love interest in one of the pubs, the Druids' propaganda shouted in the right place at the right time, - it could have been anything but the outcome was one and the same. Shiro's troop had been crushed, and just like it, the old Shiro was no more. He was never the same after that, and yet never gave up hope. If it was the arm that brought him this strange sense of peace he shouldn't have felt at all, Shiro didn't know, but he was endlessly grateful for it, and was determined to carry on living, be it only for the sake of satisfying the greedy crowd. He was more than willing to put on a show as long as it gave him a sense of belonging.

It was easy enough to loose track of time in the closed space of the room, but when he was called back to the arena, Shiro was certain that it had barely been an hour. In that amount of time he had counted three ravenous outbursts of the spectators, and guessed that was how many fighters had been victorious. Or it could be just one gladiator, but in that case the odds were against him, because, now well-rested and incited by the sounds of battle, Shiro was ready to tear apart whoever was waiting for him out there. If that was what the Highest Priestess wanted, of course. Who knew, maybe this time she would be the one to crown the victor with the golden wreath, and in all honesty, what an alpha wouldn't do to get the whiff of her heavenly scent and feel the faintest brush of her delicate fingers.

When Shiro stepped under the blinding light that illuminated the arena, he squinted until his eyes adjusted to its glare and slowly took in the warm yellow sand which now sported ugly bruises here and there, dark crimson and fresh - parting gifts from its bravest warriors. The crowd cheered and he let himself be carried by its deafening roar closer to the centre, where his new opponent stood.

Shiro studied him critically, assessing a much smaller body clad in black and purple, with arms left bare safe for a pair of fingerless gloves and a hood covering the head in such a manner that it was impossible for Shiro to get a glimpse of his face. Clutched in the mystery man's right hand was a single-edged sword wrought of black iron and covered in runes enchanted to empower and protect its master. A noble then, and a blade of Mormora no less. It looked like Shiro was especially lucky today to be fighting not one, but two alphas whose status was way higher than his. But in this case the age gap between them seemed to be in Shiro's favour. Despite the confident stance the alpha before him was at least half a decade younger, judging by his sinewy build and a fresh streak in his still not fully formed scent. Shiro would've brushed him off as a harmless fledgling were it not for a thin trail of blood glistening dimly as it dribbled off his lethal weapon and a thick menacing aura that came off him, making it crystal clear that all he wanted at the moment was to slit open Shiro's throat. And oh, was Shiro ready to face him head-on.

He was so engulfed by the desire to start the battle that very instant, he almost missed the flare of movement in the royal box. Reluctantly, Shiro tore his gaze off his soon-to-be opponent and glanced up to see what was the matter, wondering why they hadn't been ordered to fight yet. What greeted him made Shiro immediately berate himself for not paying attention to the occupants of the box from the very start, because it was truly a sight to behold.

The other omega had showed himself and was now seated right beside Her Imperial Highness. His form was mostly hidden from view by the flowing light blue fabric that only vaguely hinted at the delicious curves where it was hooked onto the white gold rings of the harness, no doubt adorning the body underneath. A thin pearly white collar that hugged the omega's long beautiful neck gave it away and provided Shiro with enough material for lust-filled fantasies for years to come. It was customary for virgin omegas to wear harnesses, which symbolised their purity, as well as signalled that they had recently come of age and were looking for worthy potent alphas to spend their first and most important cycle with. Until then soft leather bound their bodies and held them tight when no alpha's hands could. What exactly happened to their bodies as life givers transitioned into adulthood Shiro could never know, but it was believed that wearing harnesses was both comforting and torturous, and that's why finding the right mate was essential for a successful transitioning. However, the Temple now rarely gave omegas free choice, and even when they attended the gladiator fights it was not up to them to decide who of the warriors would breed them. The final say always belonged to the Highest Priestess, but it was a known fact Allura never let her proteges as much as think about the gladiators and organised her own trials where only a small number of carefully-picked candidates could compete. So Shiro could only guess what made her bring this sweet young life giver with her today and thank her secretly for it, drinking in every tiny detail he could see from afar.

Light blue fabric stood in stark contrast with smooth copper skin and brought out deep azure eyes and a pair of matching blue markings on the apples of his cheeks, which were a sign of the boy's life giver status, as well as the white hair. But while Allura's mane was all cloud-like softness and volume, this omega's long silvery tresses had a liquid quality to them, running past his shoulders in sleek cascades and curling against his chest. It reminded Shiro of the time when he accidentally spilt the milk his mother had brought fresh from the cow and watched it run in small caressing rivulets down his right arm (still human flesh back then). Now he imagined that brushing his hand through those milky white locks would feel just the same.

The craving he felt deep in his gut at the very thought was so intense and so sudden that Shiro started a little when the royal advisor's clear and loud voice cut through his extremely vivid daydream.

"Attention, dear citizens of Oriont, Her Imperial Highness wishes to address the two brave warriors," the crowd hushed, all eyes trained on the royal box, and Shiro couldn't help but sneak a side glance at his opponent, noticing a peculiar tension in his body and sensing nervousness in his wavering scent. He could've thought the alpha was just excited to hear the Empress speak, but he suspected it was something else. Then he looked back to the box and noted how the young omega's wide ocean-blue eyes were locked on the hooded man and shone with a strong emotion Shiro wouldn't be able to identify even if he tried. It was almost as if the life giver was trying to communicate something by the intense stare alone, and it made Shiro bristle with unfounded jealousy. If there was anyone deserving of the beautiful little being's attention here, it was him, and he was going to prove it no matter what. All he needed was the permission to start fighting. But the Empress was speaking.

"Gladiators, both of you have proved your worth in fair battle, but now it is time for you to decide whether you will dare to push your own limits and obtain a prize much greater than any of your former glories, or step down and celebrate what you have already achieved," the pause meant for the alphas to give their answer was immediately filled with the crowd's encouraging shouts, some of which even had menacing notes, because the avid spectators were always hungry for blood and action and hated not being given what they wanted. Shiro didn't need to turn to sense the anger flare in the other alpha. It was obvious he wasn't used to the arena and its workings, but what really surprised Shiro was the expression that flashed across the young omega's face the moment Allura stopped speaking. Was it anxiety, desperation, panic? Whatever it was it quickly disappeared as he schooled his face back into indifference and aloofness, and only his eyes remained glued to the man on the arena. The man who was not Shiro.

Once there was a lull in the crowd's screaming, Shiro wanted to voice his readiness for anything that was in store, but his opponent beat him to it, saying sharp and clear, "I'm in, victory or death." The spectators erupted with cheers and whistles.

And Shiro was quite taken aback by the level of certainty that rang in that young voice. The kid definitely wasn't saying that just to look tough, he meant every word, and Shiro suddenly felt a strong pang of guilt. He was going to crush him after all. He looked at the Empress as he said, "It will be my honour to fight before your eyes, Your Highness," and bowed curtly at the end to emphasise his deep respect. That seemed to satisfy Allura and she continued after motioning for the people to be quiet.

"Very well, because this battle will determine which of you will free this ripe life giver from his harness and teach him what being a true omega really means," her intonation was strangely stern and clipped, but Shiro didn't mind it as much as the sense that her words held. The suspicions that hadn't even had the time to fully form in his mind were suddenly confirmed, the upcoming battle would be for the greatest prize ever given to an alpha - to breed an omega in his first heat.

Shiro stood stunned, the realisation slowly taking over him and turning his body into a furnace burning with unprecedented passion and eagerness. He never thought he would be deemed good enough to participate in an event of such great importance, and that was when he still had his right arm intact. Now, despite being able to fight better than ever before Shiro couldn't get rid of the feeling that he had been tainted and the new appendage, which was unarguably of great service, still reminded him that he would never be quite whole again. That's why he was definitely not fit to be any omega's mate, let alone this ethereal innocent creature who watched him with unveiled terror at the moment. His eyes were such a wonderful shade of blue that as they glistened with unshed tears it looked almost as if precious stones had melted and were ready to spill over the silver rimmed edges. Shiro ached to run his thumbs across the smooth cheeks and soothe the omega's inexplicable fear. If he won, or rather when he did, he would do just that.

The self-made promise helped Shiro get a grip on himself and he turned to face his opponent who, as it turned out, had already taken a fighting stance. The blade was gripped in the alpha's hand so tight Shiro could see the white of his knuckles above the cut off fingers of the gloves. He smirked. It would take much more than a sturdy blade to get a good hit on him. And with that Shiro positioned his right arm before him, letting the hand form a blade of its own and start to rapidly fill with magic, powered by his unwavering will. The young alpha really had no chance, because there was no way Shiro would let anyone stand between him and the sacred prize. How did the boy put it again, 'victory or death'? Then death for him it was.

The signal from above their heads spurred both alphas into action, the battle began. Shiro had to admit his opponent was fast and agile, his attacks swift and precise, but that couldn't fully compensate the lack of fighting experience at the arena that Shiro had in abundance. He knew the space they were moving around like the back of his hand, and used this knowledge to his advantage when he leapt away from the slashes of the deadly sword, counting steps and knowing that when he took one the alpha had to take three. Soon enough his movements slowed down a bit, which wasn't surprising - Shiro saw how worn out he was from the previous battles and now the exhaustion must have finally kicked in. It was his cue.

With a swift turn and a powerful thrust Shiro kicked the sword out of his opponent's hand, his metal palm grazing the boy's right cheek. He was a mere inch away from cutting right through his head, but it seemed the young alpha had shifted at the last moment, then ducked and rushed past Shiro to put some distance between them while he got his bearings. The hit he received followed by a rapid retreat dislodged the black hood, and when the boy faced him next, Shiro could finally take in his face. The right cheek had an angry red slash across it, bleeding profusely, but that was not what immediately caught Shiro's attention. The alpha was indeed very young, his features pale and smooth, and were it not for the fierce scowl and burning violet eyes Shiro wouldn't have taken him for an alpha at all. There was a peculiar softness about him that was impossible to overlook, and Shiro wondered briefly if that was the reason he hid behind a piece of cloth for so long. Still, the bitter concentrated scent that pulsed off him reminded Shiro not to let his guard down just yet. Even without his weapon the boy looked like he was going to rip his throat out with his bare hands, or die trying. And Shiro was okay with that.

They clashed in hand-to-hand combat, where Shiro clearly had an advantage, but he somehow hesitated to put the little feisty alpha out of his misery too fast because he was giving this battle his all. And yet, in the end it came down to Shiro pinning his opponent to the sandy floor of the arena, arm raised and ready to land the final blow. He gazed into the stormy eyes of the boy beneath him, who kept stubbornly silent even in the face of death, and was just about to strike when a shrill panicked voice rang over the mad crowd's cheering.

"Stop it! Stop! Stop!" Shiro froze. A strange sensation washed over him at that moment. It was almost as if something icy cold seized hold of his prosthetic arm and sent sharp spikes over his body, paralysing it for a couple of seconds. He gasped for breath once the queer sensation disappeared and fell back from the alpha he was about to kill, turning automatically to the source of the voice.

It was the virgin life giver, who now stood at the edge of the royal box, hands gripping the granite with such force the dark skin of his fingers turned ashen grey. His face was a mask of horror and his eyes were blazing bright neon blue, as well as the marks on his cheeks. He was looking at Shiro but his gaze seemed to pass right through him, as though peering into his very core. Shiro shuddered involuntarily but quickly recovered and assumed a kneeling position, showing how willing he was to comply with the omega's order. But before he bowed his head he caught sight of the Empress, who wore a mildly astonished expression and watched her protege with curiosity, but didn't make any moves to stop him. The spectators grew eerily quiet, no doubt shocked by what had happened and dying to learn what it was all about as well.

"You won't be fighting to death," the omega said, voice still rather high but firm, "because I will take you both."

In roughly five seconds of stunned silence that followed Shiro heard the words echo in his own head, clear yet absolutely surreal. For an omega to take two mates, and for their first cycle no less, it was virtually unprecedented. Alright, there might have been tales about such cases but Shiro always wrote them off as myths, centred around trying to get into the Lion Gods' good graces during fertility festivals or something like that. Shiro never thought he would witness it happen in his lifetime, more so that it would happen to him. His musings got interrupted by the movement he caught from the corner of his eye - the young alpha scrambled to his feet and was now glaring at the royal box with such intensity Shiro wondered what reason he had to be so displeased.

"Do you mean to say you are willing to give yourself to these two alphas in equal measure?" Allura's words had a certain inflection that Shiro could not quite understand. Was she mad at the fledgling omega, or was she satisfied with his decision? Was him deciding here even an option? He didn't see them interact as he still held his head low, for fear of appearing too overwhelmed by the sudden turn of events. He was, of course, but he also had an image to uphold.

"And you deem yourself ready for that?" now this question clearly sounded mocking, Shiro could even picture a derogatory smirk playing on the Empress' lips as she said that, and it made him feel bad for the omega who was brave enough to go up against her, because this clearly hadn't been planned.

"Yes, I am ready," the omega's voice was more heavy now, and Shiro couldn't help but admire him even more for the certainty with which he spoke, even if Shiro could very well guess that what the young life giver was saying was not entirely true.

"I believe you," Shiro tensed, anticipation too strong to let him breathe properly, but he tried to look composed, as the Highest Priestess addressed them, "Rise then, chosen mates, Shirogane Takashi and Kogane Keith."

Shiro did, as did his opponent, Keith, and the crowd roared.