Lance sighed as his phone rang once more. It buzzed loudly against his wood desk. He stood up, stretching his sore muscles and he then walked over to where his phone sat. Lance didn't even have to look at it to know who was calling.
Who else called him at two am on a Saturday?
"Hey Keith," Lance said, his voice ragged from sleep.
"Lance...can you come over?" Keith said, his voice slurred. Lance sighed.
He should say no.
He needs to say no.
Hunk and him talked about this! This relationship is toxic and it's killing Lance. Lance needs to man up and just tell him no.
"Sure," Lance said.
Stupid! Stupid!
"Great," Keith said and Lance could practically hear the smirk. The phone went dead leaving Lance alone with his self-loathing.
Why? Why? Why would he say yes?
Lance knows exactly how tonight is going to play out. It's going to play out the same way it always does.
Lance is going to show up and they're going to do stuff and then he's going to be kicked out and ignored until he gets high again. Lance cures himself as he slid into a pain of skinny jeans.
Despite everything he still wanted to look good for Keith.
Not that it'd matter, he's too high to even remember the fact that he called Lance.
He put on a black beanie and silently slid out of the house. He got into the car and debated with himself the entire drive to Keith's.
The healthy thing to do would be to go there, tell Keith he can't keep doing this, go to Hunk's cry and eat ice cream for hours and get over his stupid little crush on Keith, who quite clearly doesn't recuperate.
But Lance has never been good with self control.
He pulled into Keith's driveway and parked the car. He took a shallow breath, willing his nerves to disappear and lightly tapped on Keith's basement window. The door opened and a pale pair of hands snatched Lance by his collar and pulled him into the room.
Lips crashed against lips and Lance hated how much he enjoyed it.
Why did he do this to himself?
He was going to hate himself in the morning but right now Lance was too focused on Keith's tongue in Lance's mouth. It dominated him and Lance loved every second of it. He loved the way Keith made him feel.
But then he hated everything about himself when it was over.
He was unable to stop himself from dragging the razor across his wrist. He couldn't keep the self-loathing thoughts from entering his head. He couldn't stop himself from despising himself for being so weak.
He was a horrible person.
But right now he didn't care about that.
That pain was future Lance's problem. Right now Lance only cared about Keith's hand in his back pocket, groping his ass.
Keith shoved Lance onto the couch and pulled him into his lap, forcing Lance to straddle him. The kiss got deeper and the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach grew. He needs to stop.
He should stop.
He wants to stop.
He needs to stop.
He has to stop.
He has to--
"Whatcha thinking about Lancey?" Keith whispered hotly in Lance's ear, nipping lightly at the shell. Lance shivered and any ounce of self control crumpled. "You should only be focused on me."
If only he knew.
"Focus. On. Me." Keith said again before he pulled off Lance's shirt and began to lightly nip his way down his neck. Lance whimpered as Keith gave him a hickey.
Lance didn't think about the fresh cuts on his arms.
Nope, not thinking about that.
Besides, even if Keith did see them, which he probably would considering where this was going, he was too high to remember. And he wouldn't give a shit even if he was sober.
Because Lance means nothing to him.
And Lance knew this.
The tears that leaked out of Lance's eyes was from the stimulation of Keith sucking against his neck, nothing else. There was no reason else for him to cry.
Keith trailed his hands lightly down Lance's chest, stopping above his V-line. Blood shot eyes snapped up to meet Lance's. "You're so hot, Lancey." he whispered.
Lance knew Keith didn't mean it.
Lance knew.
He knew.
He did, he really did!
So dammit why did that send butterflies in his stomach? What kind of self-destructive asshole was he? Snap out of it Lance!
Lance let out a startled moan when Keith bit his hip bone. "What did I say, Lancey?" he mumbled against his skin. "Focus on me."
Keith then slowly kissed his way back up to Lance's face and looked deeply into his eyes. Keith's eyes were usually beautiful, bright and violet. But right now they were dulled, his eye whites red and blood shot from the joint that he smoked before he called Lance.
The thought that Keith wouldn't even remember this. Remember what he does to Lance. How he makes him feel, in the morning brought even more tears to his eyes.
Why was he doing this to himself?
He was supposed to leave.
Why was he still here?
Keith wiped away a tear with his thumb, kissing the spot where it used to be. "Shh," he whispered. "Don't worry, baby, I'll take care of you."
Fuck yes please.
No, don't do this to yourself, Lance!
Keith started his assault on the upper half of his body once more, this time being more thorough and marking every spot with a hickey. He started to go down, his mouth trailing down his arms. Lance stiffened when Keith's breath hit one of his cuts.
Keith pulled away, startled at the sight of self harm cuts on Lance's arm.
He then looked at Lance who was now crying. "Lance...?" he asked. "Why would you...?"
"I wish you wouldn't." Lance said.
"Wouldn't what? Lance what's going on? Why are you hurting yourself?" Keith cried.
"Pretend to care," Lance added. Keith narrowed his eyes.
"What are you talking about 'pretend to care'? Of course I care!"
Lance took a deep breath and mentally prepared himself, turning to stare directly into Keith's bloodshot eyes.
"Why do you only call me when you're high?"
