Out of Your League

Chapter Eight

Chests heaving, Keith and Pidge tousled on the floor of the living room. Keith grasped Pidge's wrists in his hand, using the other to wrench the phone out of her fingers. He turned the phone's front camera so it could find Pidge's face, using the facial recognition to unlock it. As the small girl writhed beneath him, Keith found and deleted the picture she'd taken a few minutes before. 

"Hah!" Keith rolled off his friend, face flushed and hair messy. 

"Asshole!" Pidge cried, cradling her phone to her chest as if it were a child. "How dare you defile my baby!"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Pidge," He groaned, falling onto his back. "It's just a phone."

"Ah! Just a phone?! Just a phone?!" Her voice grew higher with every word. "This is my pride and joy! My soulmate!"

"Stop being such a drama queen. That's Lance's job," Keith chuckled from the floor, looking up at the ceiling and examining the cracks in the paint. 

"I am not a drama queen! I take offense to that!" Lance wailed, crossing his arms and huffing. 

"Case and point," Keith waved his hand, giggling. He sat up, grabbing the cup next to Lance and downing the contents in two gulps. A burning sensation filled his mouth afterwards, but the adrenaline from his wrestling match with Pidge kept him from thinking too much of it. 

"Oh... Yeah..." Lance turned to face Keith with a nervous look on his face. "Someone spiked the punch..."

Keith raised an eyebrow, tossing the empty cup aside. "And? I've had alcohol before, y'know." 

"What?" Allura questioned, breaking her kiss with Romelle to look at Keith with wide eyes. 

"My brother sometimes lets me have a beer or some wine on special occasions. Not enough to get drunk or anything, just a little buzzed," Keith didn't see what the big deal was. Having a drink every now and then in a controlled situation was okay, right?

"Oh... Okay..." Lance cleared his throat, standing up. "Well, it seems you have a tolerance... But I'm going to pour out the punch and make some more." The captain of the soccer team sped to the kitchen, confusing everyone in the room. 

"Weird..." Keith mumbled. He pushed the thought from his mind and he stood as well, walking over to the stereo. He plugged in his phone and pulled up Spotify, choosing a playlist that had the most popular songs. He knew he would despise the majority of the songs on the list, but he had the strangest urge to dance. He never danced. Though he had an amazing talent for it, his anxiety got in the way of doing it in front of anyone except Shiro. "Who wants to dance?!" He shouted, pressing play.

Music began to boom through the speakers, echoing off the walls and shaking the rafters. The crowd exchanged glances, staying in their spots for about a minute and a half before grinning and standing. They set down their drinks or food and found a dance partner. Keith helped push the furniture to the sides of the room, making a space for there to be a dance floor. 

Allura and Romelle were the first on the floor, smiling like idiots as they swayed their hips and tossed their heads to the beat. Soon enough, the rest of the team and the managerial group had joined in, whooping and hollering and singing along to the music. Keith stood off to the side, observing the crowd. 

"I thought parties weren't your thing," A low voice shouted above the music in Keith's ear, making him jump. 

"Th-they aren't!" He stammered, knowing even before he turned to look that the person beside him was Lance. "But just because I don't usually do something doesn't mean I'm not good at it."

"Hmm... Sure," Lance had a skeptical look in his eyes. "Whatever you say, honeybadger." He held out a hand to Keith, smirking slightly. "Dance with me?"