The Best Klance Fanfictions

I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor

Keith and Shiro are the fucking best in their prefecture when it comes to street dance competitions - and probably secret underground beauty contests that Lance isn't aware of. They've been at it since 2007 and haven't lost a single competition since last year's July. They've made it to Echo'09 finals, came out as champions, and the rest is history - aka everyone's interest in the duo kind of exploded.

In 2011 Pidge dragged an unwilling Lance to his first street dance show and ever since then he couldn't get out. He was stuck in the deep dark hell that was made of Shiro's muscled arms and Keith's cursed hip shimmies. And a whole lot of 'work till you drop dead' training regimes. Every single day.

After witnessing the RB in action for the first time, Lance started going at it like crazy just to get a shot at competing on the same stage - just to get closer to what he considers to be the ultimate perfection of teamwork and art combined.

Whenever Lance's Twitter feed buzzes with a new message that his idols are going to appear at one event or another, he's immediately there, sometimes forsaking basic duties such as homework and helping out with chores.

Also he may or may not obsessively stalk their Twitters and other social media networks, but that is a story for another time.

Keith falls back without a moment of hesitation. Shiro smoothly catches him with one arm as though his partner is a swooning lady – probably a daily occurrence - and propels him forward. As always the last three seconds of their performance leave Lance's mouth hanging open, and he shamelessly joins in once the noise level around him rises high enough to drown out the last few finishing beats of the medley. Keith is breathing heavily and pulling off his damp shirt while Shiro's waving at the screaming fans with a kindhearted smile. The DJ croons out some final compliments and Lance's heart sinks a little when he sees Keith making a beeline in his direction. The dancer almost brushes by, yet doesn't spare him and his friends - his team - a single look.

Lance hopes that one day he'll manage to wash off the shame that he feels whenever he recalls the first time he had faced off Keith and massively fucked up - too nervous and inexperienced, trying to prove himself as the better man.

Perhaps one day he'll be good enough and make Keith finally acknowledge him, or at least look him in the fucking eye.

Pidge checks the time on their phone and Hunk pulls Lance along to their assigned dancefloor.

Nowhere near the big leagues, but still good enough. They gouge some cheering even if the team that they're competing against is light-years ahead of them when it comes to breakdancing.

Lance is no stranger to losing.

He has nothing on a natural like Keith or a hard-worker like Shiro, who's been dancing even before he could read. They say that talent is merely an actively pursued hobby, and Lance is a firm believer of that, even if sometimes he feels like punching things and/or himself whenever his noodle arms give out and he's physically unable to hold his weight with one arm, falling face-first into the concrete. Breakdancing isn't his forte; he's much more into simple ass hip-hop and has a love for popping and locking. If you got a lean body like this, you have to make the best of it.

But if he wants to be good enough, he needs to nail this one, too. Pidge tries - keyword: tries - to teach him sometimes, but it comes easy to them, natural, and Pidge isn't the most patient teacher out there. They may be small, but they're strong enough to restrain Lance with only one arm whenever they wrestle for the remote and the headlock leaves Lance's thin neck aching for days. Meanwhile, Lance can fight about a thousand ants on good days.

Pidge is (sadly) a complete bookworm and a grade A nerd so they cannot supervise his ass 24/7, and laughing at his failures after one too many times gets kind of old. Lance's first internet fame came from a vine compilation of him kissing the cracked pavement of the abandoned parking lot located under a closed off bridge, the spot where they usually meet up to practice.