"You know," Lance said, sitting down next to James in the sand. "If you really feel that left out, you can always ask Shiro to bite you or something."
James, who had been watching Shiro and Keith race in the surf, blinked once and repeated Lance, confused. "...bite(more) me?"
"Yeah." Lance was wearing swim trunks, but he'd brought his sealskin, the jacket folded neatly on the cooler behind him. "Make with the bitey-bite." He mimed the action with his hand.
"Why... would I want Shiro to bite me?" He really wasn't seeing the thread here, and Lance was confusing enough on a good day. Lance sighed loudly and folded his arms.
"So you can be a /werewolf/," he enunciated, and James froze, staring at him wide-eyed. "Oh, come on," Lance said. "You knew he could do that, right? He wasn't born like that."
"But, Keith-" he'd seen baby pictures. Well, puppy pictures that had been enthusiastically thrust into his face by Krolia the last time they'd stopped by the main base.
"KEITH was. Shiro wasn't. Shiro's ... special." Lance cocked his head to the side and watched his husband, the large white wolf, roll onto his back in the sand and come up golden. "Bet if you let him bite you you'd bypass all that psycho moon-sickness shit and come right out through the other side."
"Okay, first of all," James held up a finger. "I don't wanna be a werewolf." Lance looked unimpressed. "Secondly, even if I did, if Shiro bit me - way to whore out your husband by the way - if he did, I would be bound to the moon and still pretty damn useless most of the time anyway."
"You're not useless," Lance said assertively, nodding his head.