Dirty Laundry by Gibslythe

Day 6 Ch. 21

Skin.

Keith loved Lance's skin.

It was sticky with sweat, yet smooth to the touch. Keith wanted to feel all of it, every last hair, every last scar, every last blemish. He let his fingernails trail at the base of Lance's neck, tugging softly at the hairs that grew there.

Lips.

Keith loved Lance's lips.

They were soft and wet, forcing pressure and lust (lust?) against Keith's open mouth. Lance let his tongue tickle the inside of Keith's teeth, earning small moans. Each sound and earnest whine resulted in impatient tugs of his shirt and hair.

Heat.

Keith loved the heat.

The kiss was intense, moving at a fast pace that left the two boys breathless. They'd already been so hot, from all the running and chasing under neon lights. It was like living off adrenaline and adrenaline only, the chemicals pushing them to get closer, kiss harder, breathe faster, feel deeper.

Lance.

Keith loved Lance.

Keith wasn't sure how'd he'd gotten here. It was hard to process information when your hand was up another boy's shirt, and even harder when said boy had his tongue in your mouth.

Keith was backed up against a solid surface, his black shirt meshing with the neon grafitti that decorated the wall. The laser tag vests had been a nuisance, making a large gap between the two of them. They'd tugged them off ages ago, all so their bodies could become closer.

Lance hooked his index fingers around two of Keith's belt loops, only to tug his pelvis closer. He let his thumb rub at the skin above Keith's pants, all it did was make Keith shiver. Everything was causing Keith's mental state to go haywire, to sit in a state of shock, no longer able to do anything. Chemicals and emotions bounced off the walls of his skull, and the endorphins only made Keith grab a fistful of Lance's shirt.

Keith kissed Lance the way he'd always wanted to, letting himself move at a pace he'd only dreamed of. He could keep going, because it was a fake, a ruse, a tactic, a coverup. It wasn't real for Lance, (or so Keith thought) but definitely the strongest reality for Keith.

Kissing Lance was like a whole new angle of seeing him. Keith had seen the true Lance Sanchez at his most vulnerable state, emotionally compromised, mentally struggling. He'd been intimate with Lance in those ways, but physically? Keith and Lance had only ever been physically intimate the night under the glow stars, when Keith touched Lance's scar.

And he was touching it again, but this time with a different intent in mind. He pressed the pads of his palm up against the scar, gripping Lance's skin tightly. It made Lance gasp into Keith's mouth and writhe under the sensation.

God. Lance was going to be the end of him.

Keith wasn't sure how he could stop this. Christmas break would end and this would be over. It would never be a possibility again, it would never occur, the opportunities would be gone. Keith needed to cherish the moments he had before they flew away forever.

So he kissed harder, letting a hum radiate at his throat. He let his hands slip from their place underneath Lance's shirt to move more into his hair, tugging at the short, brunet strands. He ran his hand through it and pulled, only making Lance gasp.

When Lance whined his name, breath almost gone and chest heaving, Keith wasn't sure if he'd even heard right. Just the thought of Lance muttering his name in a situation like this made his heart burst.

"Keith," Lance mumbled out again, gripping tightly to Keith's hips and holding him there.

Lance said his name. Lance had said his fucking name.

Keith could've screamed, or jumped off a building, or ran a marathon, or something. But he couldn't, and he was there, and if he could only do one thing it would be to envelop Lance in more kisses. He wanted to kiss his eyelids, his nose, his stupidly large ears, his shoulders blades, his belly button, his knuckles, the soft fat at his hips-

But he couldn't do that. That was something only true lovers did.

To the outside eye, the two boys looked completely engulfed in each other (which was entirely correct). The outsider would see lust, and desire, and buckets of sexual urge. But did the two boys recognise that in each other? No, not at all. Both fully believed the kiss's emotions stood one sided. Both wanted this, both wanted to go faster, kiss harder. And yet, both were ridiculously, tragically, devastatingly oblivious.

And if the outsiders knew the truth? They'd be banging their skull into a pole, all because there had never been two people more stupidly inattentive to subtext.

Thankfully for the two boys, their other group date members did not know the truth, not in the slightest. To them the boys were completely devoted to each other, fervent and passionate and all around in love. (That was also true. Two truths, a couple overlapping lies, a whole lot of miscommunication. The whole fake relationship situation was obviously chaos.)

Then, like a knife had sliced them in half, the two boys split apart.

To both boy's surprise, Danny had taken their distraction as an advantage. He stood with both hands on his blaster, shooting repeatedly at the laser tag vests that lay abandoned on the metal floor. And next to him? Next to him was his despicable wife, Keith's blaster swinging from a finger.

For a moment the boys stood and just watched, shocked and flabbergasted. So many things had gone wrong: They had, first of all, lost the game. Second of all, the had lost terrifyingly so. And third?

It was all Rachel's fault.