Shut Up And Dance With Me//Klance//Complete

Break the Ice

Important Note:

There is a short smut scene in this chapter. If that isn't your cup of tea, when you get to that part, skip on down to the next line break. Stay safe, y'all.

There is a character injury at the end of this chapter. Please take care.

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Much like with Lance, Keith is starting to develop a complicated relationship with Altea Dance Studio.

On one hand, it's his safe haven. He feels at home among these halls. He finds comfort in the familiar sights, smells, sounds. This studio introduced him to dancing. It helped him through a rough spot in his life. Taught him a new way to express himself, to let it out, to destress, to relax. It gave him a purpose that he never thought he'd have, but cherishes nonetheless.

This studio is where his brother's heart is, his stability, his center. This studio is where Allura's legacy is, her spirit practically radiating from the very foundation. This studio is where he reconnected with old friends and made new ones. This studio is where he found a new family.

This studio is where he found Lance.

He's always been happy to be at the studio because the studio has always been where he comes to escape his problems, to be himself, to do the things he wants to do. The studio has always been where everything makes sense.

Now, however, nothing makes sense anymore.

Here and now, walking through these halls, his chest feels tight. His palms feel sweaty beneath his gloves, and his fingers are twitching, tapping and rubbing fingers to thumb. The hand holding the strap of his bag drums idly rhythms, rushed and incoherent. His steps are heavy, like his body is made of lead as he drags himself up the stairs. He knows, logically, that his movements are no less fluid than they usually are, but he feels stiff. Like his mind and awareness aren't quite connected to his body.

Walking through the doors of Altea, seeing the familiar worn hardwood floors reflecting the florescent lights, smelling the vaguely citrus smell of whatever cleaner Coran uses, hearing the muffled sounds of music practically pulsing through the walls. It used to all put him at ease, center him, clear his headspace.

Now his headspace has never been more cluttered, and it's leaking out into his chest. Making his heart pound restlessly, tightening and clenching as he thinks about his practice room, as he subconsciously listens specifically for Lance's voice, as he imagines that smile, that voice.

And no matter how much he thinks about it, prepares for it, seeing him always blindsides Keith. Hits him like a truck to the chest. Leaves him out of breath and momentarily flat lining until Lance does something else that jolts life back through his veins.

It's dizzying. It's exhilarating. It's nauseating. It makes him feel light and warm, and it makes him feel heavy and leaden.

He used to look forward to coming to Altea Dance Studios, and he still does, but his reasons have shifted somewhat, and he hasn't gotten used to it. Hasn't gotten used to the way his body reacts to Lance now. Isn't sure he wants to get used to it. But it bothers him all the same.

Makes him feel anxious, worried, nervous, anticipation turning sour in his gut whenever he pulls up to the parking lot and walks through those doors, climbs these familiar steps.

But then he walks into room 4D. He sees that familiar face. The bright smile that usually shows himself when he walks in. Hears that familiar voice. And suddenly the knot in his gut is unwinding, releasing butterflies that bounce around in his chest and make him feel weak at the knees.

Then they always fall back into familiarity. Always, without fail. No matter how anxious he is on his way, no matter how much he worries, no matter how many shy looks they share and tentative smiles and hesitant touches at the beginning of practice. They always fall back into familiarity, warm and comforting.

Because no matter how else he feels, no matter what eats away at him when they're apart, no matter what gets him all stirred up inside when they're together, the fact remains that he's comfortable with Lance. He trusts Lance. He likes being around Lance.

Altea Dance Studios may have been his second home for a long time, his escape and his refuge from the world, but now it's starting to be that way simply because of the people inside it.

His brother.

His friends.

Lance.

Climbing the stairs, Keith can feel his heart convulsing with every step, stomach fluttering as he reaches the door to the fourth floor.

Jesus fucking Christ, he needs to get a grip.

He's being fucking ridiculous. It's just Lance. No matter how pretty, how attractive, how he makes Keith's body feel, it's just Lance. He's dealt with Lance for months now. So what if their last practice has Lance pressing him to the mirror with his hand down Keith's pants, eyes lidded and smoldering as they met Keith's in the reflection— oh god, how the fuck is he going to look in that mirror now?

Is this going to become a regular thing? They've already crossed the line here at the studio twice now. It wouldn't surprise him if they kept this momentum going. At the thought of this, of getting each other off, of wandering hands and desperate lips, becoming a regular part of their practice schedule, Keith feels both dread and excitement coiling in his gut, twisting and writhing until neither could be told apart.

He's not sure what to make of that, and he's not sure how to feel about it.

Fortunately, he's distracted from those thoughts at the sound of voices as he steps out into the hallway.

Unfortunately, he doesn't recognize those voices.

The music is nothing out of the ordinary. He's not surprised anymore by the variety of genres that come from putting Lance's phone on shuffle. What is out of the ordinary, however, is the fact that Lance is here right now. And the fact that he's not alone.

Keith pauses for a moment, pulling out his phone to check the time, and, yup, it's still ten minutes early. Keith had kind of been hoping to arrive before him and get a chance to settle his erratic heartbeat in the room by himself before he had to face Lance. Guess that isn't going to happen.

He shoved his phone back into his bag and inches toward their room. The door is cracked, and he puts his hand tentatively on it, slowly pushing it open and peeking through.

Lance is there, in the center of the room, along with three kids. One is clinging to his back like her life depends on it, dark, wavy hair pulled back into pigtails. She buries her face in Lance's neck, arms and legs wrapped tight around him. Lance spins around in place, holding onto a young boy's hands and spinning him fast enough that his legs have left the ground. A third child, a little girl with a wide, toothy smile and a missing front tooth, jumps up and down around them, fists thrown into the air as she encourages them with wordless shouts.

It's such a strange sight, and one Keith definitely didn't sign up for. It's not that he's not good with kids, it's just that... he's not sure what to dowith them. He has a hard enough time reading adults, let alone hyperactive little enigmas. Just the thought of it, after having no prior warning or preparation, has his chest squeezing with a whole new kind of anxiety.

They haven't noticed him yet, and he wants to just leave. It would be so easy. Just duck back out of the room, sneak back down the hall, and send Lance a text saying he can't make it today. He'd probably beat himself up about it later, but right now, escape is the only thing on his mind.

But when he goes to move, he finds his feet firmly planted, eyes unable to look away.

Because... they're laughing. All of them. Laughing and screaming in volumes that are not inside voices, but he's not really surprised if these kids are related to Lance. And he's certain they have to be. They all have the same dark skin, the same brown hair, the same bright smiles that light up their faces. The same abundance of energy and uninhibited laugh.

Even as anxiety squeezes at his lungs, his heart clenches, warmth pooling in his gut and spreading outward, melting the ice in his veins.

The scene before him is oddly intimate. Something between family. A warm and comfortable bubble that he feels like he's not allowed to be apart of. Feels like he's watching from the outside. Like nothing can touch them in this moment. It's a part of Lance he's only seen glimpses of in the bookstore, and Keith is realizing now that he wants to see more of it.

The realization hits him out of no where, sneaks up behind him and sweeps his feet out from under him, leaves him with the sensation of falling but the ground is never there to catch him, leaves him breathless, exhilarated, and terrified.

They start to slow down, and eventually the boy's feet touch the ground again. Both he and Lance wobble as they try to get their bearings, and Lance's hands go to the feet wrapped around his torso, making sure his back passenger is still in place.

With the boy no longer spinning, Keith realizes that he recognizes him. Leo. Lance's little brother. The one that bears such a strong and striking resemblance that he might as well be looking at a then and now picture. He's met him several times at the bookstore by now, but he's still surprised every time. His hair is shaggier, and his nose is a little wider, but all his other features are still round with youth and could easy be exactly what Lance looked like as a child.

Leo, stumbling across the floor in a way that's probably more exaggerated than needed, another trait Keith is starting to associate with Lance's family, is the first to notice him. His eyes land on Keith, and he stands still as he can, still leaning precariously to the side. His face blanks for a moment, brows furrowing in thought.

Keith freezes, heart hammering as he momentarily forgets to breathe. He can't run now. He can't. He's going to be expected to interact with them. He's going to have to barge into his perfect little warm bubble of family, and he doesn't belong here, he doesn't, he doesn't, he doesn't—

Then Leo is grinning, bright and wide, crinkling his eyes in the same way Lance's does.

"Keith!" He says, cheerful and friendly, like he does when Lance brings him by the bookstore and they stalk him through the aisles.

At the sound of his name, Lance's head snaps up, stumbling just slightly at the sudden movement. Their eyes meet, and Keith is far too aware of the beat of his heart. It's loud and painful and surely everyone else can hear it too?

For a moment, just a moment, he panics. Lance's face is blank, eyes wide, lips lax, several emotions pinging across his features before he settles into sheepish. He gives Keith a small smile, almost shy, looking up through his lashes. And it's so out of place that it snaps Keith out of his thoughts.

"Uh, hey, Keith." Lance says, uncertain, weight shifting from foot to foot, shoulders hunched just slightly.

"Hey," He says, hoping it doesn't sounds as breathless as it feels. He pushes into the room, gently pushing the door shut behind him. He stands there, awkward and unsure, lifting a hand in a stiff wave and cringing at it as soon as he does it.

The other two are looking at him now, too. The little girl on the floor eyes him openly and curiously, face scrunched up, perplexed, like she's not sure what to make of him but she doesn't quite care either way. The one on Lance's back is shyer, peering up at him from under her bangs, face still half buried in Lance's shoulder.

Lance's smile is apologetic as he reaches behind him, bending forward as he disentangled the girl from his back and lifts her over his head, setting her on the floor. She immediately clings to his shirt, stepping around him so he stands between her and Keith, but she keeps her eyes on him.

"So, uh... sorry about springing this on you. I was about to leave, but then mama had to take baby Oliver to the doctor because of his ear infection, cause my brother and his wife are at work, and that's like, ten times easier when you don't have three other kids in tow, and Sophie's at soccer practice, so she couldn't babysit, and—"

"Lance," Keith says, cutting him off before he can really get started. Because Keith knows Lance, and he's been around him enough to recognize when a nervous ramble is coming, and boy was he trucking toward that at top speed. Lance snaps his mouth shut, eyes still wide and brows furrowed, and Keith offers him a small smile. "It's fine."

The words are simple, but he hopes the tone of his voice is enough. It seems to do the trick. Lance's whole body relaxes, shoulders slumping, and a small, easy smile taking over his lips. "Okay, yeah... cool."

The silence that passes between them and the gaze they share is just a hair to intimate for Keith's liking, but at the same time, he can't bring himself to want it to stop.

He stares at Keith for perhaps a second too long before he seems to snap out of it, whole body jerking as he turns his gaze to the kids around him. "Right, so, you already know Leo." He says, putting a heavy hand on his brother's head and ruffling his hair.

Leo just grins, giving Keith a little salute and a wink, which sends Keith for a loop because he looks just like Lance. "Yo!"

"And these two pretty ladies are my brother's kids." He holds his hand out to the girl who had jumping around them. She takes it, and he spins her around several times. "This is Abigail." He reaches his other hand toward the girl clinging to his side, soothing it across her hair and down her back. "And the shy one is Maria. They're twins." His smile is soft and fond, matching perfectly to the hints of pride in his voice.

And it's really just too much. He's seen Lance with Sophie, and he's seen Lance with Leo. With them, he's the older brother. He's loving but teasing, picking on them and holding an air of authority that they abide to, but not without some teasing and protests of their own.

This, however, is different. Uncle Lance is different. Uncle Lance is soft in all of these subtle ways. Mature and fond and soft and protective and fun and Jesus, Keith could just go on and on but he can't because the sight of it has his heart racing and his mind blanking.

"Everyone say hi to Keith, my dance partner." Lance says, completely unaware of what he's doing to him.

"Hi, Keith," Abigail and Leo say, monotoned and loud, a cue well known whenever they're introduced to someone. Maria stays quiet, but she hasn't stopped watching Keith, and he's starting to fidget under the four pairs of eerily similar blue eyes.

"Uh, hi," Keith tries again, feeling incredibly out of place.

Abigail is the first to break the moment, deciding Keith is no longer of interest and turning back to Lance. "Tío Lance!" She says, bouncing on her feet and tugging at his hand. "My turn! Spin me! Spin me!"

He smiles at her kindly, but shakes his head. "Not now, Abbi. Keith and I have to practice."

She immediately slumps, face scrunching into a pout, and holy shit. Has Lance taught all of these kids his expressions or do they just run in the family? "But Leo got to!"

"I'll spin you after, okay? I promise." He says, pulling his hand away from her and gently nudging Maria around his body and toward the wall. "You guys promised to behave, remember? If you sit and be good while we practice, I promise we can play more later."

Abigail sighs loudly, tossing her head back and turning her sigh into a drawn out groan. "Fiiiine," She says, crossing her arms over her chest as she stomps over to the wall and turns her back to it, sliding down and sitting on the floor, pout still held strong.

Keith has to bite back a laugh, turning it into a cough to cover it up. It catches Lance's attention however, and he turns to look at Keith, pointing a warning finger at him. "Not a word, Kogane." He says flatly, fighting the smile that threatens to tug at the corners of his lips.

Keith rolls his eyes and turns to hide his own smile, going to the other side of the room to set his bag down by the mirror.

"Will you teach us how to dance?" Leo asks, excitement coloring his voice and slurring his words. "Show your moves!" He says in a cadence and tone that sounds suspiciously like Captain Falcon, and Keith glances up in the mirror in time to see him strike a pose that looks entirely inspired by disco.

Holding back his smile becomes near painful as he watches Lance strike a mirroring pose. "After we're done, buddy. I'll teach you how to dance like a pro."

Keith isn't sure he's going to survive the next hour.

The practice itself goes fairly smoothly after that. Now that they finally see eye-to-eye and have fallen into a groove with their choreography, their regionals dance is progressing smoothly. For the most part, Lance let's Keith take the reigns when it comes to their choreography, but Keith has started to develop an appreciation for Lance's input, and is more than willing to listen to his ideas when he has them. It helps him out of his own creative slumps, and keeps them from having a mental roadblock.

Though he still feels an initial spark of irritation when Lance suggests they change something that Keith has come up with, that spark is quickly put out by the realization that Lance doesn't just make suggestions for no reason. There's always a reason, and they're usually pretty insightful. Like how it might come across better to an audience, what would make it easier for them, what's worth the risk and what isn't, what looks better aesthetically, and what would help them transition easier between moves.

For the most part, Keith is choreographing the verses, and Lance has the chorus covered, but the whole thing is this odd mix of both of their ideas and input.

And Keith... really likes it. Makes it feel like theirs. Makes everything feel that much better when they click and line up and he can feel that synergy.

They make a better team than Keith anticipated, once they got over that initial roadblock. Keith puts a little more structure to their practices, and Lance keeps Keith from getting too far into his head, from taking everything too seriously.

This practice is no different. They go over what they've already done, and work through things they're still structuring. It's a lot of repeating. A lot of start and stop. It's a lot of one dancing while the other watches, picking apart the performance and finding each other's weak spots to work on.

And the kids are surprisingly good. They sit quietly off to the side, back so the wall, occasionally talking together in low voices. Leo has his nose buried in a book, while Abigail and Maria busy themselves with a tablet.

They're so well behaved that it's easy to forget they're there.

Unfortunately, they're so well behaved that Keith has trouble remembering they're there.

Every touch, every smile, every roll of Lance's body sends Keith's heart into a stuttering double time. Makes his smiles shy and coy all at once. Makes him leave lingering touches. Makes him pop his hips just a little more, roll his body just a little more, makes him lift his shirt to wipe sweat from his face because he knows Lance will stare at his exposed stomach.

Because he knows Lance at this point, and Lance knows him. They know how to set each other off. They know that the other is staring, and they don't feel like they have to hide it. They like it, and they know the other likes it. Not only are they dancing around each other, but they're dancing around each other.

Teasing and coy, slowly and subtly building up at atmosphere that sparks and crackles between them. An energy that Keith feels vibrating through the air and an itch beneath his skin. And from the looks Lance gives him, from the way he moves just a fraction slower than he needs to, eyes lidded, lips cocked in that confident smirk, fingertips dancing across his skin when there's no real reason for them to be, Keith knows that Lance feels it, too.

Then Keith catches sight of he kids in the mirror, and his heart damn near stops.

This is not the time to be thinking about Lance's hands on his body. Of how he wants Lance to push him to the floor and wrap his legs around his hips. Of how he wants to bite at those pretty, thin, soft lips until they're swollen and red and Lance can't smile without feeling it and thinking about him.

This is not the time.

And the dread knotting in his stomach and the realization of their presence is like ice in his veins, putting out whatever fire if building between them enough to keep Keith in line and his hands to himself.

So their practice ends up being extra productive, if only because they don't have the option to be distracted, and the knowledge of that forces Keith to focus.

They make it about forty minutes before Abigail starts to get restless. Every time they stop the song to reset, she perks up and asks "Now, Tío Lance?" before slumping back into a pout when he says no. Eventually, Leo joins in, setting his book aside and watching them with avid interest.

When they finish doing a run through of everything, as patchwork and rocky as it is, Leo's already on his feet, practically jumping up and down with his fists clenched tight in front of him. "Lance! Lance!" He says to get their attention. His eyes are bright and his face expressive. Keith wonders if all of the McClain's are like that.

"What is it, buddy?" Lance asks, grabbing his water bottle and chugging a sip before lowering it, gasping for breath.

Keith is too busy watching the way a drop of water runs down the column of his throat and the way Lance wipes carelessly at his mouth to notice when Lance tosses the water bottle at him. He fumbles with it, but manages to hold on, no doubt looking flustered and startled. Lance just gives him a knowing smirk and a wink before turning back to his brother.

"Can you show us how to do that move?" Leo asks, excitement bubbling and infectious.

It has Abigail on her feet, too, jumping up and down beside him, chanting, "Show us! Show us! Show us!"

Lance raises an eyebrow, cocking one hip to the side and putting his hand on it. "What move? We did a lot of moves just now."

Leo rolls his eyes, whole body getting into it and head lolling to the side. "Thaaat move, Lance!" He says, like it should be obvious which one he means. He glares as Lance continues to just stare at him, eyebrows quirked and lips tilted in amusement. Finally, he huffs and steps forward. "The move that was like—"

He does... something. He certainly tries. Keith thinks it might be an attempt at one of the moves they have in their chorus, but honestly it's so all over the place and vague that it could be a variation of several moves they have in their routine. In the process of his attempt, Leo nearly falls over, gangly limbs flailing.

Keith manages to keep his face carefully blank, but Lance has no such luck. He laughs, good natured and kind. "Oh, that move," He says, though Keith is certain he actually has no idea what move Leo is talking about. "Alright, calm down, buddy. We don't need you falling and breaking something. Mama would kill me."

"Then show me how to do it right!" Leo protests, whine dragging out his words.

Abigail is a bundle of barely contained energy beside him. She bunches her fists up under her chin, turns a suspiciously familiar set of puppy dog eyes on Lance, and says, "Pleaaaase, Tío Lance?"

And that has Lance's resolve cracking.

He turns to Keith, expressions conflicting as he says, "Do you mind?" And his voice is two parts worried, one part uncertain, one part amused, and two parts defeated.

Keith's lips tug up into the shadow of a smile as he waves Lance off. "Yeah, it's no problem. We got a lot done today anyway."

With permission, Lance's face brightens right the fuck up, back straightening and grin spreading wide. "Cool, awesome," He turns to Leo and Abigail and gestures them over. "You heard the man! Get over here."

They squeal in delight and charge across the floor, coming to a stop in front of Lance, both of them talking a mile a minute about what they want him to show them. Lance is laughing, attempting and failing to corral them. Keith watches for a moment, smile widening of its own accord, before he noticed something is off.

Maria hasn't joined them.

He glances over at her, expression falling into one of curious confusion. She's still sitting up against the wall, tablet cradled in her lap and hand hovering above it, but her attention is on the other, glancing shyly up at them from under her lashes. She bites at her bottom lip.

Keith's heart aches, lurching and squeezing with an intensity that catches him off guard, nearly making him stumble with it. He knows that look. He recognizes the longing in her expression, in her eyes. He knows it because he's experienced it. Far more times than he'd like to admit.

His feet are moving before he really thinks about it, carrying him across the room and placing him beside her. He leans against the wall, taking a moment to simply watch the others. Lance is doing his best to guide the other two through some simpler moves. Surprisingly, Abigail is better at picking up on rhythm than Leo is, despite their age gap. Leo seems to have the coordination of a three-legged turtle, but the spark of defiance and determination on his face is something admirable.

And the smile that overtakes everything when he figures out how to do it warms the room.

Keith likes watching them. Likes sitting off to the side and watching Lance interact with his brother and niece. It's like getting a peek at a side of Lance that he normally isn't privy to, and he likes it. Makes him feel a lot of things that he doesn't really want to dwell on right now, but enjoys nonetheless.

But there's a shadow in the room, and he feels the overwhelming urge to address it.

He slides down the wall, sitting far enough away from Maria to give her space, but close enough that their conversation can be kept private. She's turned back to her tablet, focusing on it far too heavily for it to be anything more than just for show. Her brows are furrowed, lips pursed into a small pout, gaze pointedly downward. Keith watches her for a moment, and despite the awkwardness fizzling in his chest, a smile finds its way to his face.

"I like your bracelets." He says softly.

She startles, like she wasn't expecting him to actually speak. She jerks her head to the side, gazing at him with eyes that are far, far too blue. Her mouth hangs open slightly, confusion coloring her features.

His smile widens just a fraction, and he points to the colorful woven bracelets around her small wrists. "I like your bracelets." He repeats, and she looks at them like she had completely forgotten they were there. Now that he's actually looking, he realizes that they all have them. Maria, Abigail, and Leo. The twins have them on both wrists, and Leo only has them on one, but they all have them. "They look like Lance's."

She brightens a little bit, legs relaxing and tablet fallen forgotten in her lap as she holds out wrists, picking at each bracelet in turn. "Tío Lance made this one and this one." She says, pointing out ones with themes of blue. "Tia Norah made this one. Abuela made this one. Abbi made me this one. Papa made me this one. Mama made me one but hers fell off cause she's not good at it."

Keith finds himself chuckling, her soft enthusiasm infectious and bubbling in his chest. "Did you make any of them?" He asks.

She shakes her head, lips pursing slightly. "You don't make them for yourself." She says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

And Keith's stomach flips, twisting in on itself in rolls that aren't necessarily unpleasant, but leave him feeling light and distant. He's known that all of Lance's bracelets were made by his family. He's known it. Lance has told him. Has said it's a family tradition that they're passing down through the generations.

He just... hasn't really thought about it before. Hasn't taken the time to imagine Lance with his brothers and sisters, his nieces, his parents, all of them gathered around with colored thread, weaving them together to make bracelets for each other. Each of them a gift. Each of them binding each other together. Each of them a reminder of family.

And it's not a secret, and never has been, but Keith feels like he's stumbled across one anyway. Looks across the room at Lance and feels like his heart can't make up it's mind about whether it wants to sink into his stomach or lodge itself in his throat.

It's stupid. It's small. It's just a little family tradition, but it's just so Lance. Another puzzle piece that makes up the whole of who he is. Another layer unlocked. Something this trivial, something he already knew, shouldn't affect him this much, but it does. It does, and it scares him and it excites him, and makes him feel so much that he doesn't feel like he has the mental capacity to dwell on right now.

So instead he turns back to Maria and asks the question that had him coming over here to begin with. "Why aren't you dancing with them?"

She shies away at the question, shoulders hunching a little as she pulls into herself. "I don't wanna..." She mumbles, but it's not convincing.

"Why not?"

She picks at her bracelets, eyes on them to avoid looking at anyone else. For a moment, Keith doesn't think she'll answer, and when she does, it's a mumble that he has to strain to hear. "I'm not good at it..."

He smiles, scooting an inch closer so they can talked in soft, muted voices. "Not everyone is good at it, especially when they're just starting out." He says kindly, feeling the odd sense of deja vu as Shiro's own words to him echo in his memory. It had taken a lot of prodding for Shiro to get him to try it, but he was incredibly grateful that he had.

"Abbi is..." She says, glancing up at her twin before looking back down.

Keith watches them for a moment, watches as Lance pokes and prods at Leo and Abbi's held pose before standing back, rubbing his chin as he looks over them with an over done critical gaze before nodding.

"Yeah," He admits. "But maybe you are, too. You don't know until you try."

She shakes her head quickly. "I already did. I'm not good."

Keith leans in toward her, lowering his voice like he's about to tell her a secret. It piques her interest just as he hoped it would. "Neither is Leo, but he's still having fun." He says, and she blinks, then smiles. They both glance over as Leo loses his balance and falls flat on his ass. Keith smiles and Maria giggles before turning back to him. She looks him over, losing some shyness in her curiosity. "Were you good when you started?"

He shakes his head, "Nope." He says, leaning back against the wall. "My brother taught me how to dance. It took a while before I was willing to dance in front of other people." He picks at the hem of his gloves, eyes on Lance as he helps his brother off the floor. "I still have trouble dancing in front of people sometimes, but... Lance is helping me with that. He's a good teacher." He says, distantly aware of how soft his voice is, but unable to be embarrassed about it when the only one who can hear him is Maria.

Lance glances up at them and catches Keith's eye. He jerks a little when their eyes lock, breath leaving his lungs in a slow exhale. Then Lance glances between him and Maria, and he smiles this smile that's small, and soft, and fond, and Keith simultaneously feels like he can breath again and like he can't breathe at all.

Then Lance's attention is dragged away as Abigail tugs at his hand.

"You're a good dancer, too." Maria says, pulling him back to himself.

He blinks, turning to her. "What?"

"You're a good dancer." She says, matter-of-fact and certain, nodding to herself as if to affirm this fact. "Like Tío Lance."

"Uh, thanks." He says, offering her a small smile.

"Can you teach me?" She asks, voice small and barely audible above the music pulsing through the speakers. Her shyness is back in full force, and she refuses to look at him.

"Me?" Keith says, entirely baffled. "But... what about Lance...?"

She shrugs, fingers toying with her bracelets again. "He's busy with Abbi and Leo..."

And Keith doesn't know what possesses him then. Maybe it's how his heart aches for her. Maybe it's because he sees some of himself in her. Maybe it's because watching Lance's family makes him feel whole and empty at the same time. He normally doesn't like kids, doesn't know how to deal with them, but... he thinks he'll make an exception.

He pushes himself to his feet, brushing off his pants before turning to her, holding out his hand and giving her a small that's barely there, but one that he knows she'll be able to see. "Alright," He says softly. "Let's go."

She hesitates for only a moment, conflict and uncertainty passing over her features, before she shoves her tablet aside and and stands, taking his hand with brows and lips pursed in a determined flare that is so incredibly familiar.

He takes her off to the side of the room, as far away from the others as they can get. He feels awkward at first, but it fades quickly. Maria puts him at ease. Turns out she has her own little sparks of energy, but she's not as loud and outward about it as the others. She's quieter, more reserved, more hesitant, but he keeps seeing these glimpses of her that just scream McClain, and it warms his heart.

They don't do anything fancy, but he gets her to try some basic dance moves. And once she relaxes into it, she's not actually that bad. Not for someone her age. Certainly better than Leo. She has a natural rhythm, even if she doubts herself. He even gets her to smile, and he feels like he's won the fucking lottery.

At one point she stands on his feet and holds onto his hands as he moves them around, and he can feel Lance's eyes on them. He feels it like a burn against his skin. He can practically see that smile out of the corner of his eye, but he refuses to look at him. He doesn't know what will happen if he gets the full force of whatever expression Lance is wearing. And honestly, he's scared to find out.

When their time slot is up, Lance gets the kids over their disappointment quickly by promising milkshakes. They pack up quickly, charging out of the room and toward the stairs, chatting excitedly amongst themselves.

Lance hangs back, shouting at them to be careful going down the stairs and not to run. He falls into step beside Keith. They walk slowly down the stairs, hearing the kids' voices echo up and all around them in the stairwell. The silence stretches between them, but Keith can't tell if it's awkward or comfortable.

Then he feels a touch against his hand, stiffens as long, warm fingers hesitantly slide down his wrist, across his palm, gently prying open his fingers before slipping between them. Lance squeezes his hand before relaxing, not pulling away and letting their hands hang, fingers loosely intertwined.

"Thanks," He says, soft and full of far too much emotion that Keith doesn't want to name.

He doesn't know if Lance is thanking him for a productive practice. Or if he's thanking him for being okay that the kids were there. Or if he's thanking him for helping Maria.

He doesn't know.

But as he turns to look at Lance, sees the expression on his face, so gentle and open and depths of dangerous emotion in his eyes, Keith knows one thing for certain:

He really fucking likes Lance.

------------------------------------------------------

vive la lance has created a new group chat: "Titanic Take Me"

vive la lance has added uptown hunk and coo coo motherfuckers

vive la lance: you guys know the movie titanic?
coo coo motherfuckers: yes, lance, I've been alive in the past twenty years
vive la lance: just making sure you didnt live under a rock
coo coo motherfuckers: oh, I do, but usually things as big as titanic find their way under here
uptown hunk: oh man, you're not about to suggest we watch it, are you?
uptown hunk: that movie ALWAYS makes me cry
uptown hunk: right at the scene where the mom tucks the kids into bed to die
coo coo motherfuckers: same
vive la lance: I didnt know you were even capable of crying
coo coo motherfuckers: it's been known to happen
vive la lance: Ill believe it when I see it
coo coo motherfuckers: I hope that never happens
vive la lance: hey! Im GREAT at handling criers. I give the BEST comfort hugs
coo coo motherfuckers: p sure that's hunk
vive la lance: shit u rite
vive la lance: second best***
uptown hunk: I bet shiro gives good hugs
vive la lance: fuck I bet he does
vive la lance: big ol' ripped bara teddy bear hugs
coo coo motherfuckers: 1) he does, can confirm
coo coo motherfuckers: 2) never call him a bara again
vive la lance: but he IS
vive la lance: I would bury my face in his bara titties
coo coo motherfuckers: blocked
uptown hunk: hard same
coo coo motherfuckers: blockedx2 combo
uptown hunk: come on, it's not often that I meet a man who can envelop me in a loving embrace
uptown hunk: let me rest on that man's soft, pillow like titties
coo coo motherfuckers: fair
coo coo motherfuckers: still blocked
vive la lance: bro embrace
vive la lance: brobrace
uptown hunk: a bro hug
uptown hunk: a bug
vive la lance: my favorite kind of insect
coo coo motherfuckers: so was there a reason you brought up titanic? before we delve too far down the bro rabbit hole?
uptown hunk: the brobbit bole
vive la lance: RIGHT
vive la lance: okay so you know in titanic when the boat is going ass side up and that one guy falls and breaks his fucking legs on the propeller then goes into a 360 spin like 15 times before hitting the freezing water face first?
uptown hunk: of course
coo coo motherfuckers: that's my fav part
vive la lance: thats me
vive la lance: thats a metaphor for my life
vive la lance: Im in too deep
vive la lance: Im drowning
vive la lance: titanic take me
uptown hunk: oh no
coo coo motherfuckers: oh geez
uptown hunk: what happened, buddy?
vive la lance: KEITH
vive la lance: KEITH HAPPENED
uptown hunk: ah
coo coo motherfuckers: of course
coo coo motherfuckers: it's alWAYS keith
vive la lance: stfu its not ALWAYS keith

coo coo motherfuckers has sent an image
coo coo motherfuckers has sent an image
coo coo motherfuckers has sent an image

vive la lance: STOP

coo coo motherfuckers has sent an image
uptown hunk has sent an image
uptown hunk has sent an image
coo coo motherfuckers: has sent an image
uptown hunk has sent an image

coo coo motherfuckers: need any more screenshots?
vive la lance: CHOKE
coo coo motherfuckers: it's always about keith lately
coo coo motherfuckers: I can't remember the last time you complained about something that wasn't keith related
uptown hunk: is this about your routine?
vive la lance: no
vive la lance: yes?
vive la lance: kiiinda???
coo coo motherfuckers: articulate
uptown hunk: I thought you fixed things between you two? or did I imagine that?
uptown hunk: was that a fever dream?
coo coo motherfuckers: you didn't imagine it
coo coo motherfuckers: lance rambled to us the night after they patched things up
coo coo motherfuckers: it was taco night and he was so caught up in talking about it that he cut his finger while cutting onions
uptown hunk: RIGHT
uptown hunk: cool
uptown hunk: well not cool that you cut yourself, but like, cool that I didn't imagine that, and cool that you guys patched things up
uptown hunk: but if you already fixed it, what's the problem now?
vive la lance: EVERYTHINGGGG
coo coo motherfuckers: mood
coo coo motherfuckers: but really, if you want our help, which I assume you do seeing as you're telling us this HERE and not in the group chat
coo coo motherfuckers: you're gonna need to be a little more specific
vive la lance: Im losing control of my life
vive la lance: I think
vive la lance: I think I have a crush on keith
vive la lance: no scratch that
vive la lance: I DO have a crush on keith
coo coo motherfuckers: ......
uptown hunk: ..........
vive la lance: guys? come on this is serious
uptown hunk: I
uptown hunk: I can't believe this
coo coo motherfuckers: holy fuck
coo coo motherfuckers: holy fucking shIT
vive la lance: riGHT??
coo coo motherfuckers: HUNK HE'S ACTUALLY ADMITTING IT
coo coo motherfuckers: SCREENSHOT THIS BEFORE HE DELETES IT
uptown hunk: ALREADY ON IT
vive la lance: GUYS WHAT THE FUCK
uptown hunk: lance, we're your best friends, we've known you've had a crush on keith for a while now
coo coo motherfuckers: you're not exactly subtle about it
uptown hunk: I'm just glad that you're finally able to admit it :')
uptown hunk: I'm proud of you
coo coo motherfuckers: same
coo coo motherfuckers: I was pretty sure this was going to be another shiro/allura situation
coo coo motherfuckers: glad it's not, I'm not sure I could be gentle with you idiots
vive la lance: what the fuck do you mean you've known for A WHILE??
vive la lance: this is a new thing!!
uptown hunk: mhmmm
coo coo motherfuckers: mhMMMMM
coo coo motherfuckers: baby steps
uptown hunk: pidge, let him have this, you know he comes to terms with things in his own time
vive la lance: you know what this conversation is cancelled
uptown hunk: lance, come back!
uptown hunk: gush to us about your crush!
coo coo motherfuckers: dear god, no

vive la lance: BYE

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

fuck off has started a new conversation with coo coo motherfuckers

fuck off: pidge I need a favor
fuck off: but you can't ask questions
coo coo motherfuckers: mmmmmm
coo coo motherfuckers: suspicious, kogane, very suspicious
coo coo motherfuckers: but I'm curious, so I'll bite
coo coo motherfuckers: but it'll cost you
fuck off: don't you owe me a favor?
fuck off: I'm pretty sure you owe me a favor
coo coo motherfuckers: nice try, keith, but I keep a running tally of all favored owed and received
coo coo motherfuckers: right now we're on neutral ground
coo coo motherfuckers: care to go into debt? :)
fuck off: ...
coo coo motherfuckers: :))
fuck off: .....
coo coo motherfuckers: :))))))
fuck off: ugh fine
coo coo motherfuckers: excellent
coo coo motherfuckers: so what can I do you for?
fuck off: have you pulled the footage from the other day?
coo coo motherfuckers: what footage?
fuck off: from altea
fuck off: from my freestyle lesson with lance
coo coo motherfuckers: is that what this is about?
coo coo motherfuckers: dude, no, I didn't pull it
fuck off: but... you said...?
coo coo motherfuckers: yeah, I said I was going to because I was teasing you
coo coo motherfuckers: I didn't mean it though
coo coo motherfuckers: I may be an ass sometimes, but this was a big deal to you
coo coo motherfuckers: I'm not gonna pull footage to make fun of you when you're finally getting out of your comfort zone and trying
fuck off: ...
fuck off: wow
coo coo motherfuckers: what
fuck off: nothing, that's just... not what I expected
coo coo motherfuckers: you have so little faith in me
fuck off: who are you and what have you done with pidge?
coo coo motherfuckers: ha
coo coo motherfuckers: ha
coo coo motherfuckers: funny
coo coo motherfuckers: I'm busting a gut over here
fuck off: you're getting soft
coo coo motherfuckers: okay, I resent that
fuck off: it's not bad thing!
fuck off: I think... our friends are making me soft too
coo coo motherfuckers: yeah...
coo coo motherfuckers: they do that
coo coo motherfuckers: so was that what you were worried about?
coo coo motherfuckers: cause I'm not gonna go around sharing it
coo coo motherfuckers: I don't care about how good or bad you are as long as you come to the dance off with us
fuck off: I
fuck off: appreciate that
fuck off: a lot
fuck off: thanks pidge
coo coo motherfuckers: np, keith, it's what friends are for
fuck off: but that's... not actually the favor I was going to ask
coo coo motherfuckers: oh?
coo coo motherfuckers: consider my interest piqued
fuck off: I was wondering how easy it would be for you to hack into the security system at the studio
coo coo motherfuckers: very easy
fuck off: and access the video archive?
coo coo motherfuckers: again, easy
coo coo motherfuckers: do you... WANT me to pull the video?
fuck off: not exactly
fuck off: I want you to delete it
coo coo motherfuckers: wow, that bad, huh?
fuck off: can you do it?
coo coo motherfuckers: CAN I? yes, easily
fuck off: WILL you?
coo coo motherfuckers: well, since you asked so nicely
coo coo motherfuckers: I suppose I can look into it
fuck off: and don't watch it
coo coo motherfuckers: what?
fuck off: don't watch it
coo coo motherfuckers: let me get this straight
coo coo motherfuckers: you want me to go into the studio's archives
coo coo motherfuckers: find a video from a practice several days ago
coo coo motherfuckers: a video, which, might I add, no one will probably ever see because no one really goes back to watch the security vids unless they have to
coo coo motherfuckers: delete said video
coo coo motherfuckers: and you expect me to do this WITHOUT giving into the temptation to watch it to find out whatever embarrassing nugget has your panties in a twist
coo coo motherfuckers: is that correct?
fuck off: yeah
fuck off: that's pretty much it
coo coo motherfuckers: and you still want me to, despite me saying that no one really ever goes back to look at them?
fuck off: yeah
fuck off: I'd rather be safe than sorry
coo coo motherfuckers: this must be pretty bad
coo coo motherfuckers: do you beef it?
fuck off: WHAT?
coo coo motherfuckers: you know, like fall on your face or something
fuck off: oh
fuck off: no
coo coo motherfuckers: what did you think I meant?
fuck off: nothing
fuck off: so will you do it?
coo coo motherfuckers: yes, but you owe me two favors
fuck off: what? why?
coo coo motherfuckers: one for deleting the video and one for not watching it
coo coo motherfuckers: and I'm cashing in one rn
coo coo motherfuckers: I want a 20 piece nugget meal from mcdonald's
fuck off: now?
coo coo motherfuckers: yes
coo coo motherfuckers: I'm ass deep in research for my thesis
coo coo motherfuckers: I'm running on five cups of shitty cheap coffee from our busted ass coffee maker
coo coo motherfuckers: all I've eaten today was a half thawed waffle
fuck off: half thawed?
coo coo motherfuckers: yes, I was impatient, don't interrupt
fuck off: sorry
coo coo motherfuckers: after this, I have assignments to grade for the class I TA for, and Hunk has a late lab tonight so he won't be here to feed me anytime soon
fuck off: how are you a functional person?
coo coo motherfuckers: I'm toeing the line, Keith
coo coo motherfuckers: toeing the line
coo coo motherfuckers: point is, I want some gotdam nuggs before I go insane, so you gonna hook me up or what?
fuck off: fine, I'll leave in 20
coo coo motherfuckers: sweet
fuck off: how soon can you delete the video?
coo coo motherfuckers: I'll do it now, shouldn't take long
fuck off: thanks pidge
coo coo motherfuckers: np

coo coo motherfuckers: OH
coo coo motherfuckers: OH MY GOD
coo coo motherfuckers: KEITH WHAT THE FUCK
fuck off: what?
fuck off: oh no
fuck off: you watched the video
coo coo motherfuckers: OF COURSE I WATCHED THE VIDEO
fuck off: YOU SAID YOU WOULDN'T
coo coo motherfuckers: I KNOW, BUT YOU CAN'T DANGLE THIS SHIT IN FRONT OF ME AND EXPECT ME NOT TO BE CURIOUS
coo coo motherfuckers: I'm a sCIENTIST, keTIH!
coo coo motherfuckers: curiosity is what we dO
coo coo motherfuckers: It leads to discovery and all that shit!
coo coo motherfuckers: AND I DID NOT WANT TO DISCOVER THIS
fuck off: I TOLD YOU NOT TO
coo coo motherfuckers: I kNOW, but did you really expect me to liSTEN??
fuck off: I was hoping you would!
coo coo motherfuckers: well, now we both learned a fucking lesson then
coo coo motherfuckers: I can't believe you made me fucking watch that
fuck off: I didn't make you do anything!
fuck off: I TOLD YOU NOT TO
coo coo motherfuckers: I'm scarred for life
fuck off: did you watch the whole thing?
coo coo motherfuckers: FUCK NO
coo coo motherfuckers: BUT I SAW ENOUGH TO GET THE IDEA
coo coo motherfuckers: how long has this been going on??
fuck off: I don't know
coo coo motherfuckers: you don't kNOW???
fuck off: weeks?
coo coo motherfuckers: WEEKS!
fuck off: you really had no idea?
coo coo motherfuckers: nO!
coo coo motherfuckers: yeah, you two flirt all the fucking time and the sexual tension is thick enough to choke a man, but jfc it's this far along alreaDY??
coo coo motherfuckers: you've got some explaining to do, kogane
coo coo motherfuckers: I want a sundae with my nuggs now, extra fudge
fuck off: you watched it! I don't owe you anything
coo coo motherfuckers: you owe me for pain and suffering
coo coo motherfuckers: and if you want me to keep this a secret
fuck off: fine

coo coo motherfuckers: good, now get your ass over here

------------------------------------------------------------

Group Chat: "Titanic Take Me"

vive la lance: GUYS
vive la lance: I'M GOING TO FUCKING DIE
vive la lance: where tf are you
vive la lance: omg youre both busy arent you?
vive la lance: holy fuck this is the time where you both have labs isnt it?
vive la lance: FUCK
vive la lance: guys I need you
vive la lance: I made a mistake
vive la lance: two mistakes
vive la lance: maybe three
vive la lance: one I convinced keith to get snapchat
vive la lance: two I accidentally started a conversation with him NOW when hes at the GYM and now hes sending me SWEATY GYM SELFIES
vive la lance: three I SENT HIM ONE BACK OF ME SHIRTLESS BC I DECIDED THAT WAS A GOOD IDEA????
vive la lance: I DONT KNOW WHATS WRONG WITH ME
vive la lance: KEITH MAKES MY BRAIN ALL FUZZY AND I STOP MAKING GOOD DECISIONS
vive la lance: HE HASN'T REPLIED IN LIKE FIFTEEN MINUTES AND IM FREAKING OUT
vive la lance: OH MY GOD HE JUST SENT ME ONE BACK
vive la lance: I JUST SAW THE NOTIF
vive la lance: IM TOO SCARED TO OKAY IT
vive la lance: okay okay Im gonna do it
vive la lance: fuCK
vive la lance: ITS A PIC OF HIM SMILING AND IT JUST SAYS "cute"
vive la lance: this boy is going to be the fucking death of me
vive la lance: scratch that im already dying
vive la lance: guys come back im having a crisis
vive la lance: hes too pretty and its fucking with my head
vive la lance: hes pretty and perfect and funny and kind and an asshole and oh god
vive la lance: I didnt mean for this to happen
vive la lance: idk what to do
vive la lance: oh god I feel sick
vive la lance: fuck can one of you call me like asap? please
vive la lance: not a drill
vive la lance: code white

vive la lance: thanks for calling me earlier buddy
vive la lance: sorry about that and being a mess and stuff
vive la lance: and you know dragging you out of class
uptown hunk: dude, it's fine
uptown hunk: you needed me, and that's what friends are for
uptown hunk: everyone just thought I was in the bathroom for like... fifteen minutes
uptown hunk: my professor gave me a really sympathetic look when I came back
vive la lance: I shouldNT lauGH at that but I aM Im sorry buDDY
uptown hunk: lmao no offense taken
uptown hunk: it wAS pretty funny
uptown hunk: seriously tho, buddy, you doing alright?
vive la lance: better yeah
vive la lance: sorry about that
vive la lance: I didnt mean to get that worked up about it
uptown hunk: no problem, dude, really
uptown hunk: but like, now that you've calmed down, can I say something about it?
vive la lance: I guess
uptown hunk: is it really such a bad thing that you have a crush on keith?
vive la lance: yes
vive la lance: it's terrible
uptown hunk: but wHY?
vive la lance: cause it juST
vive la lance: IS
vive la lance: what we have right now is NICE
vive la lance: I liKE what we have
vive la lance: its not messy
vive la lance: FEELINGS are messy
uptown hunk: hate to break it to you, buddy, but it already sounds messy
vive la lance: yeah but
vive la lance: UGH
uptown hunk: okay how about this, would it make you HAPPIER if you guys were together? Like, ACTUALLY together?
vive la lance: I mean... yeah
vive la lance: yeah probably
vive la lance: definitely
vive la lance: but it's not the simPLE hunk
uptown hunk: why not?
vive la lance: it's just
vive la lance: nOT
vive la lance: what if he doesnt feel the same way? what if hed rather just be friends with benefits? things would get awkWARD after that. maybe just stop altogether. I dont want to lose what we have just because I cant keep my emotions in check
uptown hunk: wait
uptown hunk: you guys are fRIENDS WITH BENEFITS???
vive la lance: oh
vive la lance: uh
vive la lance: not the point hunk
uptown hunk: okay, okay, for the sake of keeping this conversation going, I'm going to save this for later, but you're not off the hook
uptown hunk: you have a lot of explaining to do
vive la lance: uuuuuuugh
uptown hunk: I'll make you cookies while you talk
vive la lance: you got a deal
uptown hunk: but back to the point, just judging from the way you guys act around each other, I don't think it's that far fetched to think he might like you back
uptown hunk: especially if you guys are already friends with benefits????
vive la lance: but what if he doeSNT
uptown hunk: but what if he DOES
vive la lance: I dont want to ruin things hunk
vive la lance: regionals is only a couple months away
vive la lance: if things get awkward our dancing could suffer for it
vive la lance: this means a LOT to me and doing well at regionals could jump start my dancing career
vive la lance: I really dont want to throw that away for feelings
vive la lance: not again
uptown hunk: lance, keith is NOT nyma
vive la lance: I know but
uptown hunk: no but's
uptown hunk: I got VIBES from nyma
uptown hunk: I don't get vibes from keith
vive la lance: I know the situation is different, but the principle is the same
vive la lance: I gave up a shot at being in an ACTUAL DANCE TROUPE
vive la lance: and I gave it up to stay in town with nyma
vive la lance: only for HER to take the opportunity insTEAD
vive la lance: I put myself on the back burner for her because I thought what we had was real
vive la lance: and that turned out great
uptown hunk: what she did was shitty, lance, but we've talked about this and keith isn't nyma
uptown hunk: as long as you guys actually TALK about it and are on the same page, I don't think there'll be a problem
vive la lance: I had a casual fling with nyma and it blew up in my face
vive la lance: whats to stop that from happening with keith
uptown hunk: because with nyma, you assumed it was deeper and she didn't. that is EXACTLY why you should talk to keith about it so you guys can be on the same page
vive la lance: or I can just not assume its something more than it is and we wont have a problem
uptown hunk: but it COULD be deeper
vive la lance: or it could ruin EVERYTHING
uptown hunk: lance
uptown hunk: I love you
uptown hunk: but you need to stop hiding
uptown hunk: it's clear to anyone with EYES that you guys care about each other
uptown hunk: I don't want to see you ruin your chances with happiness just because someone hurt you in the past
vive la lance: im not im just
vive la lance: cautious
uptown hunk: I know, buddy
uptown hunk: but no risk, no reward
coo coo motherfuckers: oh my god
vive la lance: henlo pidge
vive la lance: welcome to the lance crisis center
coo coo motherfuckers: yeah I can fucking see that
coo coo motherfuckers: I got out of class to find a million and five messages waiting for me
coo coo motherfuckers: it took me 84 years to read through them
uptown hunk: pidge, btw, wanna meet on campus for lunch?
coo coo motherfuckers: yeah, pizza?
uptown hunk: the one by the library or the one in the main cafeteria?
coo coo motherfuckers: library definitely
coo coo motherfuckers: the other one is balls like 50% of the time
uptown hunk: truth
coo coo motherfuckers: anyway, I just wanted to say that I'm glad you were able to calm lance down, and I'm glad lance is feeling better
coo coo motherfuckers: sorry I didn't see it in time to help
vive la lance: thanks pidge
vive la lance: its no problem really
vive la lance: hunk saw it and Im good now
coo coo motherfuckers: that being said, I can't believe you're head over fucking heels for keith's flat ass
vive la lance: KEITHS
vive la lance: ASS
vive la lance: IS
vive la lance: NOT
vive la lance: FLAT
vive la lance: -an autobiography
uptown hunk: I love that YOUR autobiography, meaning a biography about YOURSELF, is mostly about keith's ass
vive la lance: what can I say
vive la lance: I cant let pidge spread lies
coo coo motherfuckers: thanks for proving my point
coo coo motherfuckers: I also wanted to say that I REALLY don't think you have anything to worry about and I HIGHLY encourage you to listen to hunk
vive la lance: that's... suspiciously encouraging
vive la lance: what do you know?
vive la lance: wait a second you weren't surprised by the friends with benefits thing
uptown hunk: still a subject we need to have a talk about
uptown hunk: just saying
uptown hunk: I'm still kind of freaking out about that and I'm keeping myself in check for your sake
vive la lance: appreciated buddy
vive la lance: pidge explain yourself
vive la lance: has keith talked to you about this?
vive la lance: oh my god he has hasn't he?
vive la lance: what did he say?
vive la lance: WHAT DO YOU KNOW??
coo coo motherfuckers: I know a lot of things
coo coo motherfuckers: I know that the average airspeed velocity of an unladen European swallow is about twenty four mph
coo coo motherfuckers: I know that alligators can't run in zig zags
coo coo motherfuckers: I know that there is enough dna in an average person's body to stretch from the sun to pluto and back seventeen times
coo coo motherfuckers: I know that the sky is blue and water is wet and hunk is late for lunch
uptown hunk: sorry! there was a really cute dog on campus and I got to pet her
coo coo motherfuckers: acceptable
coo coo motherfuckers: I also know that there is VERY LITTLE REASON for you to be nervous about your feelings, lance, and that you SHOULD PROBABLY TELL KEITH ABOUT THEM
vive la lance: ...
vive la lance: I have questions
coo coo motherfuckers: sorry, i can't hear you, bad connection, I'm going through a tunnel, gotta go have lunch, bye
vive la lance: PIDGE
vive la lance: PIDGE GET BACK HERE

vive la lance: OH MY GOD

------------------------------------------------------------------------

LLunarGoddess has created a new group chat: "KEEEIIITHHH"

LLunarGoddess has added fuck off and Need-A-Hand

LLunarGoddess: KeITHHHH
LLunarGoddess: where are yoy!
LLunarGoddess: are very
LLunarGoddess: YOU
Need-A-Hand: Keith, I am so sorry
LLunarGoddess: shhhHHHHHHUT IT
LLunarGoddess: we're havinb converdations
fuck off: what
fuck off: is happening right now
LLunarGoddess: Iv'e had alittle to mjcuh to drinky
fuck off: ... what
LLunarGoddess: this isr okay thos
LLunarGoddess: can yo usersstand me?
fuck off: um... I think so?
LLunarGoddess: good!
Need-A-Hand: I'm so sorry
fuck off: what's going on?
Need-A-Hand: We were at the bar with some coworkers, and Allura's had a little too much to drink, and now she's hiding in the women's restroom where I can't follow her to take away her phone
fuck off: gotcha
Need-A-Hand: Unfortunately, she got into a shot contest with one of the others, and she goes hard
fuck off: are you not drinking?
Need-A-Hand: No, I'm the DD
fuck off: ah
LLunarGoddess: im not hard!
LLunarGoddess: im sa;l way swof t
LLunarGoddess: i'm always soft
LLunarGoddess: t]]wow
LLunarGoddess: that was good
LLunarGoddess: that was as stentcne
fuck off: I should really screenshot all of this for pidge and lance
LLunarGoddess: noooooooooooo
LLunarGoddess: y97ucant yse that agaisnt me
LLunarGoddess: fuck
LLunarGoddess: i shoult go bak soom
Need-A-Hand: Yes, please come back and drink some water
fuck off: please don't let her have anymore drinks
Need-A-Hand: Wasn't planning on it
LLunarGoddess: I'bntos gonna do tat tongit
LLunarGoddess: i gotta cuction funciton toorrow
fuck off: cuction funciton?
Need-A-Hand: cuction funciton
fuck off: lance will kill me if I don't screenshot this for him
LLunarGoddess: sppeakinf of LANCE!!!
Need-A-Hand: Oh no
Need-A-Hand: Allura, please leave him alone
LLunarGoddess: NO! he heped us we shoild helo him!
fuck off: uhhh
fuck off: siro?
LLunarGoddess: SIRO
Need-A-Hand: Please just leave the conversation
LLunarGoddess: NO!
LLunarGoddess: STAY!
LLunarGoddess: ok ok ol oi ok
LLunarGoddess: kieth
LLunarGoddess: shirt nd I were takling
LLunarGoddess: do u lik lace?????
fuck off: uh
fuck off: I'm... pretty indifferent about lace?
LLunarGoddess: noooooo
LLunarGoddess: stupif PHONE
LLunarGoddess: LANCE
LLunarGoddess: DO
LLunarGoddess: YOU
LLunarGoddess: LIKE
LLunarGoddess: LANCE
LLunarGoddess: NOT LACE
LLunarGoddess: naikf it
LLunarGoddess: FUCK
LLunarGoddess: .....
LLunarGoddess: keith??
LLunarGoddess: KIETH??
LLunarGoddess: oh no :(
LLunarGoddess: bby com bak
Need-A-Hand: Keith?
Need-A-Hand: I'm sorry about springing this on you
Need-A-Hand: We were just talking about it, and Allura insisted we just ask you, and she ran off to the bathroom before I could take her phone from her
LLunarGoddess: I jut wantedd to hep :((((
Need-A-Hand: I don't think ambushing him while you're drunk is helping, babe
LLunarGoddess: .........
LLunarGoddess: poiint
LLunarGoddess: butt now wer'e here
LLunarGoddess: keef pls com back :((
fuck off: I'm here
LLunarGoddess: !!!!!!!!!!!
LLunarGoddess: sooooooo????
Need-A-Hand: You don't have to answer if you don't want to, Keith
LLunarGoddess: shirro butt out >:((
fuck off: what brought this up?
LLunarGoddess: we hafw as beg
fuck off: shiro?
Need-A-Hand: Somehow we got on the topic of you and Lance, and Allura said she bet you liked him and then ran off before I could stop her
Need-A-Hand: I TOLD her that she shouldn't push you and that you'd come to us when you wanted to
fuck off: is it... really that obvious?
Need-A-Hand: ... Kinda?
Need-A-Hand: You don't really DO subtle, not when someone knows you well enough to read you
LLunarGoddess: u gusy are so cuRE
LLunarGoddess: cute********
Need-A-Hand: So... does that mean you dO like Lance?
fuck off: please don't say anything
LLunarGoddess: AWWWWWWWWWWW
Need-A-Hand: We won't, don't worry
Need-A-Hand: Are you going to do anything about it?
fuck off: I... don't know
Need-A-Hand: I think you should
fuck off: you're not really a great example of telling someone how you feel shiro
LLunarGoddess: oOOOOO BURNT
LLunarGoddess: bun
LLunarGoddess: bunt
LLunarGoddess: FUCK
LLunarGoddess: BURN
LLunarGoddess: there we got
fuck off: you're just as bad
LLunarGoddess: rude >>:(
Need-A-Hand: I know we're not, but I still think you should tell him
fuck off: that sounds like a terrible idea
Need-A-Hand: What's the worst that could happen?
fuck off: he could not feel the same way
fuck off: things could get really awkward
fuck off: he could start treating me differently
fuck off: everything we've worked for as dance partners could be ruined
fuck off: we crash an burn at regionals
Need-A-Hand: Okaaaay, point taken
Need-A-Hand: But
Need-A-Hand: What if he DOES like you, too?
fuck off: that's... just as frightening
LLunarGoddess: oh keef :((((
Need-A-Hand: It'll give you that
Need-A-Hand: Allowing yourself to be vulnerable to another person is terrifying
Need-A-Hand: But it's also exhilarating, and it's worth the risk
LLunarGoddess: awww babe :')))
LLunarGoddess: ily
LLunarGoddess: OH
LLunarGoddess: I found some gunning in my purse
LLunarGoddess: gummies
LLunarGoddess: god they taste so good after gross shif
Need-A-Hand: I really don't think you have anything to worry about
Need-A-Hand: I've seen how Lance looks at you, especially when he thinks no one is paying attention
fuck off: really?
Need-A-Hand: I wouldn't push you to do something that would hurt you, Keith
Need-A-Hand: Trust me?
fuck off: okay but
fuck off: idk
fuck off: telling him could just... ruin everything
Need-A-Hand: It'll certainly change things
Need-A-Hand: But... change isn't always a bad thing
fuck off: I guess...
Need-A-Hand: Just... think about it, okay?
Need-A-Hand: You don't need to make a decision right now
fuck off: okay
LLunarGoddess: shirooooooo
LLunarGoddess: idk if I can walkj
LLunarGoddess: can yoy meat me by the bath rome door? :(
Need-A-Hand: Coming
Need-A-Hand: We'll talk later, okay, Keith?
fuck off: okay
Need-A-Hand: And sorry again for all this
LLunarGoddess: sory ke96h :(
LLunarGoddess: kie5h
LLunarGoddess: keity
LLunarGoddess: i love hyou sugys so much
LLunarGoddess: my finers are not reasponding
fuck off: go drink some water, allura

LLunarGoddess: yessir

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Pidge, you have the boniest ass known to man." Lance complains, jabbing them in the side to get them to move a little to the side. This proves to be a mistake as they jump and elbow him in the chest. "Ow!"

"You're one to talk," They grumble, and he can hear the roll of their eyes.

"I do not have a boney ass!"

"You kinda do, buddy." Hunk says from the front passenger seat, and Lance gasps.

"I've lost circulation in my legs before from Lance sitting on my lap." Allura adds from her perch on Shiro's lap on the other side of the backseat.

"Betrayal!" His eyes narrow as he catches sight of Keith's smirk. He can tell he's trying hard to keep it down, but it isn't exactly working. "I don't need your sass, Keith."

Keith glances at him sideways without really moving his head, lips quirking just a fraction more. Lance is embarrassed by how his heart rate picks up from something so simple. "I wasn't going to say anything."

Their driving situation is less than ideal. Pidge wasn't able to get ahold of their parents' van like the last time they had gone to the club, so they had to make do. They could have gone in separate cars, but it had become somewhat of a tradition to carpool together. Team vibes or something. It usually wasn't too big of a deal, but they had one extra body this time around.

And to be honest, it's still not a big deal. It's just... not the deal that Lance was hoping for.

What he was hoping for was to get Keith on his lap. Unfortunately, he couldn't get that without arousing suspicion among their group. Pidge, being the smallest, is obviously the first choice for lap sitting. Then Shiro and Allura are dating, so it only makes sense that she would take Shiro's lap. Which means there's no reason for Keith to be on his lap unless he wants him to be.

Which... he does. But he's not about to say that aloud or make a big deal of it.

Especially not now that Pidge and Hunk know how he feels. He doesn't want to sit through a car ride with boner fuel on his lap and his friends sending amused looks his way.

So maybe it's better this way, but he's not exactly happy that he got the gremlin in his lap instead of his hot sort-of-friends-with-benefits-but-also-crush-but-he-doesn't-know-how-to-tell-him-because-that-could-ruin-everything-and-he-doesn't-want-to-ruin-friendship-or-parntership-and— oh god, he's a mess.

"Nearly there, lads!" Coran announces, taking a turn down the road where the warehouse is. "Everyone ready to destroy the competition?"

Lance straightens up, grin spreading his lips. "We should change our team name to Voretron cause we're about to devour the competition!"

The car is filled with a pleasant mix of groans and snickers that has Lance preening.

"Lance, no." Hunk says.

To which Pidge follows up with an excited. "Lance, yes."

"I take back every negative thing I said about your boney ass." Lance says, exchanging a fist bump with Pidge.

"We are not calling ourselves that." Shiro says, but Allura is hiding a smile behind her hand from her perch on his lap.

Keith hasn't said anything yet, so Lance nudges him with his elbow. He's nestled into the middle seat in the back, pressed up nicely to Lance's side and thigh. "What'd you think, Keith?" He prompts, mischievous smile tugging at his lips.

Keith rolls his eyes, but there's a shadow of a smile on his lips, and even though he says, "I think you're an idiot," It's said in a way that feels far more fond than he probably intended.

"You know," Coran says from the driver's seat, fingers tapping on the steering wheel as they wait at a red light. "Back in my day, we just called it cannibalism."

When the light turns green, it's only twenty more seconds before they're pulling into the parking lot. It's crowded, but they find a spot near the back. As soon as they're parked, Lance unlocked the door and throws it open, nearly toppling Pidge out the door. They manage to catch themselves, but flip Lance off as they stand. He just grins, unfolding himself from the backseat and stepping out onto the pavement.

Stretching his arms high above his head, a smile playing on his lips, he looks around. Cars are sill pulling up to the parking lot, and there's a steady stream of people headed toward the building. There's a wide variety of dress going on. A lot are dressed like a regular club night, others are dressed clearly for dance. A smaller few are dressed in somewhat matching outfits.

Other teams, much like them, who like having the feel of a unified aesthetic.

Their own aesthetic is simple. Everyone is dressed in black with highlights of their selected colors in the form of a wide set V on their shirts and a bandana tied somewhere on their person. The finishing touches are the little V's of face paint drawn on below each eye in their individual colors.

Lance himself is wearing his favorite solid black harem pants, his bright blue bandana tied above the knee on his right leg. His tank top is black and tight, showing off his arms and lean chest, a wide blue V printed across the front of it. He feels good, and he knows he looks good.

And when he caught Keith checking him out before they piled into the car? Icing on the cake.

Keith isn't really playing fair himself. His shirt is a simple, form fitting v-neck, a wide red V printed across the front, and his red bandana tied around his wrist. His pants, however, are what are the current source of Lance's pleasure and suffering. They're black, tight, and have horizontal rips up the length of the front, from shin to thigh, letting little slits of his pale skin peek through. It's too damn much for Lance's poor heart to take.

"Man, I've missed this place." Hunk says, coming to stand next to Lance, hands on his hips as he looks across the parking lot at the building. Hunk has on loose sweat pants and a sleeveless tunic shirt with a few stylistic rips, hem falling just below his hips. His bright yellow bandana is tied around his forehead, taking the place of his usual favorite headbands.

"You sure you weren't just missing a certain tall, curvy, bodacious babe?" Lance says slyly, elbowing Hunk's side.

Hunk tries to frown. He really does. Lance can see the effort he makes. But he just can't hold back his smile as he lightly shoves Lance away. "Yeah," He says. "Maybe that, too."

"She's been all he's been able to talk about since she got back from studying abroad." Pidge says, sliding up on Hunk's other side, arms crossed over their chest. They tilt their head to the side, thoughtful look on their face. "Actually, no, he talked about her a lot before then, too, but it's only gotten worse."

Pidge, like the rest of them, is dressed in all black. Their loose cargo shorts reach nearly halfway down their shins. Their shirt has short sleeves and a wide green V across the front, but the bottom half of it has been messily cut off, revealing peeks of their thin waist and well defined abs. Their bandana is tied around their upper arm, extra fabric sticking out and looking almost like green rabbit ears.

"Oooo, are we talking about Shay?" Allura says, popping up between Lance and Hunk, forcing Lance to step away to make room. She drapes her arms around Hunk's shoulders, leaning her cheek against his arm as she sighs happily. "I love that girl. I hope her study trip was good." She pokes him roughly in the side. "You should bring her around more."

Allura's silver hair is pulled back into a high ponytail, causing it to cascade in heavy waves down her back, shifting with every movement of her head. Her yoga pants cling to her hips and thighs, flaring out around her calves, large pink bandana tied around her waist. Her shirt had once been like Pidge's, but where Pidge chopped off the bottom half, Allura had taken the scissors to her shirt's collar, giving it a wider top that clung to her upper arms and left her shoulders exposed. A pink V decorates the front of it.

"Leave the poor boy alone," Shiro says, a teasing lilt to his voice as he comes up beside them, Keith close to his side.

Shiro's outfit consisted of his black track pants and a muscle tank that had arm holes wide enough to stretch down his sides, revealing glimpses of a ripped chest to go with his fucking ripped arms. His wide set V is purple, and a purple bandana is tied to his prosthetic arm, right below the elbow joint.

His smile stretched wider, showing teeth as his eyes glinted mischievously. "Though, if you want the name of some good restaurants to take her to to catch up, Allura and I can name a few."

Allura snickers, burying her smile in Hunk's arm as he groans, head lolling back. Lance grins, looking around the circle until his eyes settled on Keith. His attention is on Hunk, small smile on his lips, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. There's a tension there, around his eyes and mouth. His arms are crossed over his chest, clenched fists hidden behind his biceps, shoulders hiked a little too high.

"As much as I do love teasing our dear Hunk about his sweet, young love," Coran said with a flourish, poking his head into the group. Hunk makes a noise of protest, but Coran ignores him. Dressed in tight black leggings, a long black tunic shirt falling to his thighs, Coran's V is orange and his orange bandana is tied around his neck. He leans his elbow on Pidge's head, ignoring their disgruntled noise as he leans his weight onto them. He holds up is other hand, finger extended. "We should really get going. We have to sign in soon if we want a slot in the competition."

Coran leads the way, and the rest of them fall into step as they weave through the parking lot. Keith, Lance notices, hangs back, head tilted to gaze up at the building, apprehension crawling across his features. Lance pats Hunk's arm and lets his steps slow, falling back to Keith's side.

He doesn't think twice before slinging an arm around Keith's shoulders, pulling him to his side in a gesture that could easily be seen as friendly had it not been for the way Keith seems to melt against him. That, and the erratic slam of his heart against his rib cage when it happens.

"What's shakin', Claus Jepsen?"

Keith tilts his head toward him, lips pursed into that little frown that Lance is growing incredibly fond of. "Who's that?"

He shrugs, waving his free hand around vaguely. "Not really sure. Some guy with a mullet." Keith turns back forward, humming softly. Lance tightens his grip just a fraction, giving him a light shake before relaxing. "You doing alright?" He asks, voice low and private, letting concern leak into his tone.

Keith shrugs. "I'm fine."

"You ready?"

"As I'll ever be." Keith says, lips quirking into a wry smile.

Lance chuckled, leaning toward him to knock their heads together. "You'll do fine. You're a lot better than you think you are. Just stop thinking so much about it and just dance."

He feels Keith take in a deep breath, shoulders rising with it and holding before he lets it out with a shuttering exhale. "I'll try."

"You've got this. I know you do." Lance says, confident and sure. He stares at Keith until he glances sideways at him. When he finally makes eye contact, Lance winks, lips curving into a playful smirk. "And if you fuck up, at least you'll look damn good doing it."

Keith snorts, rolling his eyes and shoving Lance off him hard enough to make him stumble sideways, snickering. Keith speeds up, stomping away to walk beside Shiro, but Lance can see the small smile playing across his lips in the fading sunlight.

The Balmeran dance-off is held not too far from the Balmera club. They own a warehouse a couple blocks over and refurbish it for different events. And, for this one, they usually go all out, bringing in a banging stereo system, DJ booth, a whole stage for the dance-off to take place on, tables, chairs, bars, and not to mention the plethora of decorations. They essentially turn the empty warehouse into a club of its own.

The dance-off used to be held once a month. Teams can sign up and participate, and the winners are announced at the end of the night, with prizes for first and second place. And it's not just about the dance-off. The whole building operates as a club, giving patrons bars, sitting areas, and dance sections to have fun in and relax between official dance battles.

It's an awesome atmosphere and used to be what Lance looked forward to every month. It was a chance to not only cut loose and relax, but he got to dress up with his friends and they got to dance together as a team. He loves it. The camaraderie. They showmanship. He loves when his friends stand tall and confident together, staring down the competition. It's all about being in the spotlight and pumping up a crowd, and those are two things that Lance excels at.

He loves it more when they win. Which, given past experience, is quite often. What can he say? Voltron is legendary.

There are two lines leading to two different entrances. They steer past the line by the bigger doors and head for the smaller one off to the side. There's a sign hanging up outside that says Team Sign-ups. They all shuffle in, pressed in close as they try to stand in line with several other teams while simultaneously trying to keep out of the way. They all have to fill out their own forms, passing around clipboards and pens, before passing them all back to Coran to paperclip together with their team form.

They pay the entrance fee, and they're all given wristbands before being shooed into the club to make way for the next team.

Coran leads the way, Allura at his side, as they cut through the crowd. And boy it is crowded. It's the first dance-off in nearly half a year. Shay had been one of the biggest organizers of the event, and it was basically her idea-baby. It had essentially stopped when she had gone to study abroad. Much to their dismay, but mostly Hunk's. For different reasons.

They attempt to stick close and follow through the wake left behind Coran and Allura before the crowd closes back up. Shiro sticks close behind them, and Pidge hovers behind his mass, one hand holding onto the back of his shirt. Hunk comes up close behind them, and Lance sticks close to his side. He's always been good at weaving through a crowd. Being thin and agile helps. Let's him slip and weave through people with minimal contact and without having to push them aside.

Keith, however, struggles a little bit more. When Lance glances back at him, Keith looks completely overwhelmed. He's trying to keep up, but his eyes are everywhere, attention drifting and flinching as people get to close, glaring at people who bump into him and shoving others who shove him first. He looks thoroughly disgruntled.

Lance smiles, affection fluttering in his chest. He knows this isn't really Keith's thing. Definitely not his crowd. But he's here anyway because he wants to be. Because he wants to spend time with them. Because he wants to be part of the team.

Taking pity on him, Lance reaches out, grabbing his wrist and tugging him forward until he's situated right behind Hunk, able to use the big guy as a shield and a bulldozer through the crowd. Keith sends him an appreciative look that quickly turns sheepish as he slips his wrist out of Lance's grip, shifting it so his hand slide's into Lance's, fingers hesitantly lacing together.

Lance looks away to hide his smile.

Coran, bless his soul, drags them all to the bar near the back, where the crowds are thinner, and orders seven shots of their best bourbon. The bartender looks at him like he's growing a second mustache in front of his eyes, eyes bugging out of his head and mouth twisting in confusion. Coran just grins, staring him down and confirms his order. The bartender gives them all questioning looks, but they just shrug and he shrugs back before turning to fill the order.

Coran pays for all seven shots, and Lance chokes when he hears the total before draping himself over Coran's shoulders and thanking him loudly and dramatically. Coran just hums, amusement tugging at his lips as he pats Lance on the back.

When they all have a shot glass in hand, standing in a loose circle around the bar, Coran lifts his and they all follow suit. "To Voltron, friendship, teamwork, and the spirit of dance!"

They all echo To Voltron! with varying degrees of enthusiasm before downing their shots.

They all take it with different levels of skill. Allura slams her glass down, face twisted and eyes watering but otherwise fine. Shiro coughs once, then looks at his glass, nodding appreciatively. Pidge bends over in a coughing fit with muttered curses while Hunk pats them on the back, coughing a couple times into his hand.

Lance's throat burns, shot settling warm and pleasant in his stomach even as his mouth twists with the taste. Not really a bourbon fan, but this is a time honored tradition. He makes a face, brows scrunching and dragging his tongue along the roof of his mouth and across his teeth, mouth writhing as he tries to shake it off.

Keith, on the other hand, raises his eyebrows, nods a couple times, smacks his lips, and calmly passes his shot glass to Shiro.

Coran takes the damn thing like a champ, sipping at it calmly and peacefully like he were at a wine tasting.

They still have forty minutes before they had to be in position, and Coran makes sure they knew that before dismissing them. Pidge and Shiro split off from the ground to hunt down Matt, who's been hired as the DJ for the event. Allura leans up against the bar with Coran. They share a double shot of bourbon on the rocks, both of them sipping at it. Their conversation isn't private, but it's at a volume that Lance finds hard to hear over the music unless he's cozied up next to them.

So he takes up a position next to Hunk, off to the side of the bar. Hunk's eyes scan the crowd as they talk, and it doesn't take long for Lance to realize who he's looking for. At this, a sly smile makes its home on his lips and he leans into his friend, eager to tease but also to help. Hunk takes it all in stride, a light blush coloring his cheeks as he laughs nervously but genuinely.

The warehouse's floor plan is wide and open. One big room that encompasses everything. There are bars on either end, and tables and chairs set up along the edges. The center of the warehouse is taken up by a large, square raised stage where the dance-off will take place, Matt's DJ booth nestled off to the side of it. The walls and ceiling are high, and there's a second floor balcony halfway up, providing more watch points for the competition event.

The entire decoration scheme is much like the Balmera club. The lighting is colored and dim, glowing out from lanterns that hang from the ceiling and look like crystals. More strings of crystal-looking lights, custom made, crawl up pillars and walls around the warehouse. It gives the whole place a cozy vibe, like a wide open cavern. Music idly thumps from the speakers spread out around the building, vibrating through the air and up through the floor.

Lance feels it in the soles of his feet, reverberating throughout his body and chasing his heartbeat onwards. He's excited. He can feel the anticipation like a buzz in his veins. Like a tangible energy that thrives in the very air of the warehouse. He can feel it against his skin, the excitement, the nerves, the eagerness, the thrill. He's practically bouncing with it, unable to stand still. His body feels like a coiled wire, tension building, ready to be sprung.

He's hyped, focus everywhere, awareness sprawled out across the club as he only partly pays attention to his banter with Hunk. It's natural, comfortable, and superficial anyway, both of them too distracted for anything deeper. His eyes flit across people, colors, lights, drinks, the stage, everything. Unable to latch onto anything in particular before moving on.

Then he feels a presence at his side. A body pressed in close but barely touching, arms drifting across each other as they breathe, sending sparks shooting across his skin. Instantly, his focus snaps into the sensation, abandoning everything else in the club as he turns his head, eyes zeroing in on Keith.

He's standing close, leaning toward Lance in a way that seems more subconscious than anything. His eyes dart around the club warily, posture uncomfortable and nervous. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, and Lance has the ridiculous urge to put his thumb there, to press against it until Keith relaxes and releases it. Then maybe steal a kiss or two.

Instead, he reaches out, stretching his fingers until they catch on Keith's, curling them again to pull Keith's hand into his. Keith jerks, head snapping over to stare at Lance with wide, startled eyes. Lance just smiles, small and private as he gives Keith's fingers a small squeeze. Keith relaxes instantly, abused lip released from his teeth as he offers back an unconvincing and shaky smile. But his shoulder's relax a little, and Lance counts that as a win.

They look away, but their hands slip more firmly together.

"Hey, buddy, look!" Lance says, leaning into Hunk's side and elbowing his arm. He points through the crowd. "There she is!"

Hunk's head whips around so fast that Lance is sure he can hear it crack. His eyes go wide and frantic, posture stiffening. "Where?"

"There!" She's by the stage, standing tall and towering over most. A wide smile is on her face as she talks to a few people in front of her. She has a clipboard in her hands, and a sash across her chest that indicates she's a judge. "What're you waiting for, dude? Go say hi!" Lance says, doing what he can to push at his friend with only one arm. Cause he sure as fuck isn't going to let go of Keith's hand.

Unfortunately, Hunk isn't budging an inch, solidly planted and unmoving.

"I— I dunno, Lance. She looks kind of busy—"

"And she'll be happy to see you so go." He says, jabbing more insistently.

He finally gets Hunk to go, and he watches with a wide grin as Hunk awkwardly shambles through the crowd, looking stiff and nervous as he goes. Lance chuckles, leaning in close enough to whisper in Keith's ear, breath making some of his hair shift. He can see Keith shiver.

"Wanna take pity on him and help me wingman the big guy? I could use all the help I can get."

They exchange glances, and Keith is so close and he smells so good. Hell, he looks good, too. Looks fucking amazing. And his lips look soft and slightly red from biting him and so, so inviting. The red marks beneath his eyes stand out against his pale skin, but highlight his features in a way that's just right. Lance wants nothing more to drag him off to a corner of the club and touch him, kiss him, feel his body up against his own and make Keith make those little needy noises that Lance loves so much.

But he doesn't.

If he does, he's certain they'll miss the start of the competition.

Later though.

Maybe later.

Keith smirks, slow and small, mischief crinkling his eyes. He squeezes Lance's hand, tilting his chin up like he just might kiss him, and Lance feels his eyes widen in surprise, heart thumping painfully in his chest. He doesn't though. Stops just an inch away, perfectly angled but not touching. Lips still curled into that devilishly handsome and infuriating smirk.

"Yeah," He says, eyes dancing with amusement as Lance just gapes. "Let's go." He says, pulling away and tugging Lance into the crowd after Hunk. Lance whines, making sure it's loud enough for Keith to hear, and he's rewarded with the pearly, beautiful sound of Keith's laughter.

------------------------------------------------------

"Next up, we have Voltron versus The Blade of Marmora!"

The crowd cheers, wordless shouts and screams that the referee has to speak over. He holds his hands out to the sides, gesturing to either side of the stage as the two teams pull themselves up and take up their positions.

Lance is the first to the stage, pulling himself up and already waving to the crowd, spinning a little as he does so. Lips spread in a wide grin, he shoots finger guns at a particularly loud group of people. They cheer louder, and Lance laughs. Voltron has a reputation here, and he intends to keep it going. They're good. They're personable. They're fun. And they're champions.

His friends take to the stage behind him, coming up to stand in a loose and bunched arch. They're all smiling and waving to the crowd as well. Coran scoops Pidge up onto his shoulders, and he makes wide, throwing kissing gestures with his hands while Pidge raises both fists into the air. A group in the crowd starts a chant of flex, flex, flex, and Hunk and Shiro exchange amused glances before doing just that. The group screams, and they laugh.

The only one not milking it is Keith.

He's hunched in on himself, looking like he's trying to hide behind his hair while also attempting to appear nonchalant with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. While Allura moves to the center of the stage to face off in a thrilling game of rock, paper, scissors with the Marmora's team captain to see who goes first, Lance maneuvers himself to Keith's side.

"Smile and wave, Keith." He says, bumping his hip against Keith's playfully but hard enough to make him stumble and earning himself a small glare. He grins wider, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. "Don't look so miserable."

"I'm not," He says, but there are shadows in his eyes as he glances around the warehouse. "It's just... a lot."

Lance's smile softens, and he slings an arm around Keith's shoulders, leaning into him and propping his other hand up on his hip. He goes for nonchalance, smile never fading, but he lowers his voice so only Keith can hear. "I know, but like I said earlier, you don't actually have to participate if you don't want to."

Keith's lips purse into a small frown, brows furrowing. Lance is certain he's trying to scowl, but it's really nothing more than a pout. "But don't we lose points if we don't all dance?"

Lance shrugs. "Yeah, technically, but literally none of us are going to blame you if you don't feel comfortable enough to. Besides, we can totally carry your sorry ass." He says, lips quirking into a smirk as he lightly squeezes Keith's shoulders. "Just hang back, watch us, and if you feel it, jump in. If you don't, don't. Simple as that."

Keith sighs, head turning as he looks around the stage. "I just wish there weren't so many people..."

"Hey, heyheyhey," Lance says, snapping his fingers in front of Keith's face to catch his attention. Keith stares at him, bewildered. Lance holds him with a serious stare. "Look out into that crowd right now and tell me honestly: can you actually see any details?"

It takes him a moment, but his eyes flicker away, scanning over the crowd, brows furrowing. Lance just waits. With all the spotlights on the stage and the otherwise dim atmosphere in the warehouse, they can't really see much of anything once they're on the stage. "Not... really." Keith says, eyes returning to his, face pinched with confusion.

Lance smiles. "Exactly. Up here, it's easy to ignore everything else except for what's happening. The crowd is just a noise in the background. Just focus on us, the other dancers, and the timer." He leans in close, pushing his forehead to Keith's for just a moment, letting their noses brush. He can hear Keith's breath hitch, and it makes his chest flutter. "And if all else fails," He whispers, voice pitched low and playful. "Just look at me."

He pulls back, sending Keith a wink and biting back a laugh as his face twists up with conflicting expressions.

As Allura rejoins them, Lance pulls his arm back, and Pidge climbs down from Coran's shoulders.

"Alright, team," She says, gesturing for them to gather in close. They step into a tight circle, leaning in and putting their arms around each other's shoulders. Keith looks bewildered for a second, sandwiched between Lance and Shiro, but follows their lead. "They're going first, so we've got twenty five seconds to prepare. I know it's been a while since we've done this, but that's never stopped us before. Just go with your instincts, trust yourselves, keep an eye on the timer, and have fun." She sends a very pointed glare his way. "And try not to hog the spotlight."

Lance grins. "Wouldn't dream of it, princess."

"And Keith," She says, sending the boy at his side a much softer look. "Don't feel pressured to jump in if you don't want to. It's fine to sit out a couple rounds to get the feel of it."

Keith gives her a weak smile and nods. "Thanks."

She nods back, eyes darting around the circle. "Everyone ready?" They all nod, and her eyes turn back to Lance, lips quirking up at the edges. "Would you do the honors of leading our chant, Lance?"

His grin is wide enough that he can feel it crinkling his eyes. "Of course." Together, they all shift slightly, putting one foot slightly forward into the circle. Keith is just a second behind. Lance leans in for a second. "Just follow our lead, Keith." He says before they're all suddenly moving.

They lean into their forward feet, shifting one way, and then lead back, effectively shifting the opposite way. Their small circle goes back and forth, a push and pull. Lance waits for them to build momentum, bodies and heads bobbing up and down with every shift of direction.

Then he lifts his head higher than the rest and shouts, "I say VOL. You say Tron! VOL!"

"TRON!" His friends echo, and he can hear groups in the crowd doing the same.

"VOL!"

"TRON!"

"VOL!"

"TRON!"

They throw up their hands in the air, once again with Keith a second behind. And the crowd roars as they spread out into a loose arch, facing across the stage at their opponents. The Blade of Marmora is a fairly recent team, but one that had been showing up more regularly before the hiatus. They all wear the same outfit, all with masks over their eyes. Other than their body types, they're entirely uniform. They stand in a line, legs shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind their backs.

It's an intimidation tactic, and Lance knows it. But that doesn't stop it from working. Thankfully, they've been around the block a few times, and all of them thrive in competition.

"Blade of Marmora, are you ready?" The referee calls, voice echoing through their microphone and out across the crowd.

The other team makes a wordless shout, all together as one unit.

"Voltron, are you ready?"

"Whoooo!" They shout together.

"DJ, let the music play!" The man says, stepping back from the center of the stage toward the side and gesturing to Matt's booth.

There's a few beats of silence, the crowd dying down, anticipation pounding through Lance's veins alongside adrenaline. The energy and tension around them feels tangible, twisting around his body and making the air thick. He feeds on it, lives on it. He holds his breath without really realizing that he's doing it, and only notices when the music starts up and his lungs start working again.

Pidge told them that Matt has made specific mixes specifically for the dance-off, in an attempt to please and impress. He's become a regular at the Balmera club, and he was their first pick to host their first dance-off after the hiatus. To keep things fair, he hasn't let Pidge or any of the rest of them listen to the songs he's mixed for tonight, but he promised them that they were all easily to recognize and follow along with. A dance battle is all about adapting and going with the flow, but it loses some of the fun if the twists and turns in the music are too unpredictable.

The music starts up and the two large clocks positioned behind each team start counting up in bright, glowing red numbers.

Ten seconds. That's all they have to get the feel for the beat before the competition begins.

Lance's head is already bobbing, finding the beat quickly, feels it pulsing through the stage beneath his feet, feels it in his chest alongside his heartbeat. The rest of his body starts to follow suit, preparing, coiling, ready to spring. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see his friends doing the same, each of them feeling the beat in their own ways, subtly loosening up their bodies, rolling their limbs, feeling it as much as they can before the clock hits ten.

When it does, the other team is already in motion. One of them splits immediately from the line up, going from a stand still to motion in a flurry of limbs, dramatic arm movements that lend momentum to flying legs as they jump and turn, landing in the center of the stage. They move, bold movements, high energy, getting right into the heat of the moment.

It has Lance's blood racing, boiling, burning. He's ready. He's so ready.

Fifteen seconds.

That's how much time they have each.

Fifteen seconds to dance before the next team takes over. Keep track of time. No one will cue them in. It's up to them to keep watch, to jump in and chase the opponent out, to make their mark and put on a show before they're pushed out of the center.

Fifteen seconds each. Back and forth, until the song comes to an end. Songs are tailored by DJs to be a standard and solid ten minutes and ten seconds. Forty turns total. Twenty turns per team.

No physical contact between teams. Up to two people can go into the center to dance at a time from the same team. The more people from a team who go in and the more variety they show, the more points.

Showmanship. Dancing. Entertainment. Rile up the crowd. Show their stuff. Impress.

Fifteen seconds may not sound like a lot, but in the moment, it moves sluggishly slow. Each tick feels like it's wading through molasses. And then, all at once, it's over. Pushed aside to make room for the next person.

Fifteen seconds on the sidelines feels like an eternity. Lance feels each tick in his chest, in his limbs, coiling him tighter and tighter, energy bunching, building, revving up.

When the clock hits twenty seconds, Lance takes a step forward, knowing that no one on his team will stop him. They all know to let him go first. Knows he'll practically implode if he doesn't.

He glances over his shoulder and catches Keith's eye. He's watching him. Not the Marmora dancer in the center of the stage. Not the clock. Him. Eyes wide and lips parted just slightly, expression surprised, awed, and something else that Lance hesitates to put a name to but makes his heartbeat pick up nonetheless.

Lance cracks a smile and turns, putting his back to the center of the stage. He can see the clock behind their team, but he keeps his eyes on Keith. Keith's smile is small, eyes crinkling with amusement. There's something else there. Something that grows as Lance turns cocky, moonwalking backwards as the time ticks on.

The clock hits twenty-five, and Lance crosses one foot over the other, winks at Keith, and then throws himself into a spin, holding his hands up close to his torso. He spins and stops hard, facing the other team, striking a pose and holding it for only half a second, just enough to accent the hard stop, before he's moving again. The previous dancer is already retreating back to his team, but Lance pays them no mind.

This is his time to shine, and he owns it. Feels the lights beating down on his skin. Sees the flash of blue beneath his eyes, across his cheeks. Feels oddly empowered by it. Hears the crowd like a dull roar rumbling above and below the loud blare of the music. Feels the beat beneath his feet, driving him onward, pulsing through him.

He sees movement from the Marmora side, glances at the clock, sees his time is nearly over.

As the next dancer steps up, they stand close, staring him down as he finishes off his set. He doesn't let it distract him, keeps his performance at high energy right up until the clock hits forty. Then they're moving, dancing, and Lance stumbles backwards away from the center, one hand clutched to his chest and the other reaching out as if shot.

He may need to back away and hand over his spot light, but he'll do it in style, holding the audience captive the whole way back to his team.

The game moves quickly. The other team seem to have a rotation that they stick to, but Voltron is a lot more relaxed. They don't have a set order, save for Lance's preferred spot at first. They go when they feel it. Step forward to claim their next spot. When you feel it, you feel it, and they all go when they do. They never argue or shove, even when two people step up at the same time. They're a fluid machine of team work and energy.

The Blade of Marmora are good. Lance can't really deny that, but they all have relatively the same style. Big, powerful movements, sharp and quick, whole bodies getting into acrobatics that are impressive and crowd pleasers. But it's more or less all the same. Different moves, yes, but they start to become repetitive the further on it goes.

Voltron has one thing a lot of teams lack: a wide variation of style.

Hunk leaps into the stage, wide movements, stomping and arm gestures. He's not afraid to get down with sturdy break dancing moves, and he moves with surprising grace for someone his size. He's not afraid to go up into a handstand, legs angled and kicking as he moves around with the beat. His arms move quickly, widely, wild but coordinated. It's big. It's powerful. It's energetic. It's Hunk.

Pidge slides in with movements that are slick and fluid as water, a snake in the grass, suddenly cocking and pulling the trigger as they strikes, sharp and calculated. They can move their body in ways that most people can barely conceive, let alone do. Makes them look robotic, disjointed. Shifting into place and moving out of it before anyone can really even think about how it's done. When they're pushed out of the circle, they moonwalk back to the team, tipping an imaginary hat to their opponents.

Allura slips into the center with beauty and grace. Her movements are wide and powerful, jerking right when she needs to and easing into the next with grace and poise. There's definitely a ballroom flair to her dancing, and she uses it to her advantage, putting an odd, almost ballet and interpretive spin on hip-hop. It's fascinating, transfixing, and addicting to watch.

Shiro charges into the center stage, forcing his opponent out and jumping, falling down into a lot of low movements, showing perfect balance and poise, power and grace, despite his handicap. He's strong with an impeccable center of balance, and it shows. Quick feet work, rolling onto his hands, elbows locked, feet and legs twisting in the air before he's rolling back onto them. When his time is up, he leaps backwards, leg kicking out, arms being thrown in front of him, crossing.

Coran takes to the stage like a bat out of hell. Goes from watching with one arm crossed over his chest and lightly stroking his mustache to a full on ginger fury. Dives into center stage in a wide sweeping arc, spinning quickly with the music, arms thrown out wide and down on his knees and toes in quick rapid movements. His dance is energetic and high spirited, powerful and memorizing. He spins quickly, arms usually thrown wide, moving quickly with his feet to his knees and back again. He leaps, chest thrown out and knees bent, arms thrown behind him, before landing and immediately taking to his knees before standing again. When he moves, his toes are usually pointed, sweeping across the stage behind him. Quick, rapid movements. Powerful stops. Warrior ballet. Their wild card. A trick up their sleeve. Someone who is wholly so unique and unlike anything any other team can bring to the stage.

And then there's Lance. Everything in between. He's high energy and he's playful. Everything and anything. A fluid fit to match any mold. A patchwork style that can't be contained in any particular box. He's the glue that holds the team's styles together. The space between the cracks. When he takes to the stage, he feels the moment, goes with what he's inspired by. No one can ever guess what he'll do next, and half the time he even surprises himself.

With twenty turns each, everyone gets to go more than once. They try to keep it even, and sometimes Lance is really fucking feeling it, but he reigns himself in to let his friends have a go. Because really, as much as he loves dancing himself, he also loves watching his friends. Gets pumped just watching them have fun. Laughs when they show off and work the crowd. Grabs their shoulders and shake them with a wide grin stretching his lips as they come back to the sidelines.

There are a few times throughout it all that Lance finds himself at Keith's side again. He doesn't try to be there, but he ends up there nonetheless. Even when his attention is wholly and completely at the center of the stage, even as he's talking to the others, he ends up at Keith's side. Bumps into him, checks up on him, makes sure he's not about to barf or dart off the stage.

Keith stays relatively the same for the first few turns, but as the song goes on, as they trade in and out of the center stage, he can tell Keith is relaxing. Feels him ease into the moment. Catches sight of him smiling and laughing along with their jokes. Sees him congratulating and teasing their friends. And when they make eye contact, he can see that a lot of the tension has bled out of his shoulders, excitement and high of the moment chasing away the shadows in his eyes.

And it makes Lance's heart swell and his blood run warm.

Because the Blade of Marmora started the battle, Voltron's turn ends it. He's been counting the turns, keeping an eye on the clock. He knows it's coming. The last turn. They need to go out with a bang if they want to be memorable later. And just like it's tradition for Lance to start the whole thing, it's also tradition for him to end it.

The clock ticks. Five seconds until their final turn.

He takes a step forward, body already pulled tight, anticipating the release. He's uncertain what kind of dance will come out when he pulls the trigger, but he's damn well excited to find out.

But as he steps forward, there's a hand on his elbow, grabbing his arm, holding him back.

He stops, surprised more than anything. He turns, confusion pinching his brow and pursing his lips, until his eyes land on Keith.

He blinks in surprise, glancing at the hand wrapped around his arm, following it down his arm to his face. When they make eye contact, he cocks his head to the side in silent question.

Keith smirks. Tries to anyway. It doesn't quite reach his eyes. There's tension there, apprehension, nervousness that's got the fingers looped around his arm shaking slightly. But his back is straight, shoulders pulled back, and his chin is held high. Alongside the shadows in his eyes is a spark of determination.

Lance's breath catches in his throat because he knows what this means. He knows what Keith is asking by the simple gesture of grabbing his arm. He won't ask for it directly. Won't beg for it. If Lance really wants to go, Keith won't stop him and won't complain. But as ready as Lance is to dance, he's even more excited by the prospect of watching Keith shine.

The clock ticks, and Keith's eyes flicker over Lance's shoulder, to the center of the stage, then up higher to the clock above their opponents.

Three seconds.

His eyes snap back to Lance's, determination starting to crumble as the nerves sink in, eating away at whatever spark of confidence and impulsiveness caused him to step forward in the first place. Lance doesn't like that. Can't have that. Doesn't like the look of those shadows haunting Keith's eyes. Uncertainty doesn't look good on him.

Two seconds.

Keith's hand tightens around Lance's arm before it starts to drop away. He's already stepping back, away from Lance and away from center stage. Lance feels a tug at his heart, feels it down to his core, tugs at his strings, makes him reach out and grab Keith's wrist before he can completely pull away.

One second.

Lance spins, using his momentum and Keith's surprise to tug him forward, flinging him bodily out onto the stage. The last Marmora dance is already backing away, leaving the space open and ready for Keith to occupy. He stumbles into it, less gracefully than what he probably would have liked, but it's too late now. It was the only way Lance could think to get him onto the stage, where he clearly wanted to be but had trouble putting himself.

He freezes, straightening and looking around, body held stiff and limbs awkward. A deer caught in the headlights. He turns then, slowly, looking over the crowd until his eyes settle on Lance over his shoulder. He looks scared, and it makes Lance's chest ache, but he knows Keith can do it, and he knows Keith needs to do it.

So he gives him a smile, soft and gentle. Pours his entire heart into it. Pours in all those feelings he's scared to name but feels anyway. Pours in everything he wants to say to Keith but is too scared to. Pours in all the excitement he feels for him, all the pride, all the encouragement, all the fondness, everything. Pours it all into his smile and his eyes, hoping it's enough. Gives him an expression that should, by rights, be private, but gives it to him out in the open because in this moment, this single second where their eyes lock, it is private. It's just between them.

And then he tilts his chin, jerking it toward the center stage and mouths the command, "Dance."

Somehow, unbelievably, that does the trick.

The switch is flipped.

Something comes over Keith's expression. An eery calm, a centering, a flood of confidence as his smirk turns coy and his eyes spark. His whole body relaxes, awkward angles turning lax, whole body drooping and cocking into a position that's far more natural and far more predatory.

Then he tilts his head back, slowly rolling it back to face their opponents, shoulders rolling with it, shoulder blades shifting beneath his shirt. His whole torso goes into it, arms moving as the momentum rocks though his body, and then everything snaps into place.

Lance wishes desperately that he could see the expression on Keith's face.

Then Keith is moving. Body alternating between states of liquid and solids. He moves like Pidge, like Shiro, wrapped up into a tightly wound little bundle of his own. Body snaps, hips roll, hands run down his chest and over his neck. He grinds down low, legs spread wide, and falls to the ground, only to spring back up with a move that Shiro must have taught him. He doesn't move around much, but he owns the small space he's carved out for himself. Makes it his own. Claims it.

He's predatory. Animalistic in nature. It's primal and thrilling. Movements going from big and grand to small and intimate in the blink of an eye. Keith is in competition mode, and it shows. He doesn't back down from a challenge, and he's owning this one. And throughout it all, throughout all the snaps and rolls, the quick motions and wide gestures, Lance can see some of himself in there. Can see the little playful edges. Can see the coyness, the physical banter, something that Lance is certain Keith picked up from him.

Then Keith catches his eye again, and his eyes are dark and lidded and that smirk is fucking deadly before he's already moving on.

Lance's mouth feels dry. Feels like he can't breathe. His chest is filled with too much Keith. It's an overload, and he feels like he's shutting down. His heart feels like it's in his throat, attempting to rip itself right out of his chest.

Because Keith is beautiful. Keith is powerful. Keith is graceful and sexy and playful and confident and just fucking Keith. And he's glad every fucking eye in that room is glued to Keith right now because Lance is having a major melt down and he doesn't think he can hide it.

Then the song is over, and the buzzer that indicates the end of the round is blaring. It startles Keith out of his moment, his daze like trance. He jerks, whipping around as he referee announces the end of the round and the crowd roars. He looks lost and confused, but his cheeks are flushed pink and his eyes are bright with adrenaline and excitement. He looks breathless.

Then there's movement on all sides of Lance as their friends rush to the center of the stage. Pidge gets there first, slamming into Keith's side and wrapping their arms around him. He stumbles but stays standing, hands hovering awkwardly in the air as he blinks rapidly, trying to take it all in. Then Hunk is there, plants himself, wraps the three of them up in his arms, and lifts them all off their feet. Allura gets there next, politely waiting to the side for her turn, unable to control her own grin. Shiro and Coran laugh as they approach much slower but no less enthusiastically.

It looks like they're all talking at once, laughing, gushing about everything. They keep patting Keith, tugging him this way and that for a hugs. Wrapping him up. Punching his arm. Ruffling his hair.

Lance can't hear them over the ringing in his ears. Can't hear much of anything. Everything from the crowd, to the referees announcements, to the dull thump of filler music fades to a fuzzy muted background noise. He's fixed in place, unable to move, chest molten and mind numb.

He stares and stares and stares. Tries to remember how to breathe and how to feel. Because really, there are too many emotions. Too many thoughts and feeling bouncing around in his head and his chest, each vying for attention but none able to stick.

His focus narrows down to Keith and the dull, pleasant, twisting throb that starts in his stomach and spreads outward, filling him and feeling like it's trying to burst through his chest. It's a familiar feeling. One he's had several times before. One he's even had about Keith, though he hates to admit it and definitely refused to at the time.

He knows this feeling. Even if he's never felt it this strongly before. He's scared to shit of this feeling. But that won't stop him from feeling it. He doesn't want to stop feeling it. It's terrifying and it's beautiful, dangerous and exhilarating.

Then Keith looks up, finds his gaze and locks on. His expression instantly softens, eyes going lidded and crinkling at the edges as his head tilts to the side. His hair falls across his forehead, curling around his ears. His face is still flushed, and his smile goes from wide and excited to blissful and shy.

It's a private smile, despite being shared across the length of the stage.

Lance feels a similar smile tugging at his own lips, widening as fucking pride wells up in his chest. Because Keith did it, and he knew he could. And Keith looks so fucking proud and pleased with himself that it fucking hurts Lance that he's not touching him right now.

But at the same time he knows that if he were to touch him, he might not be able to stop.

So he stays where he is, grin stretched wide, and crosses his arms over his chest, hoping that that might somehow both keep his hands to himself and also stop his heart from breaking through his ribs.

- -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The way the dance-off operates is fairly simple.

There are six teams, and every dance team faces off against each other once, going back and forth through a ten minute song. Each song is different, all unique, but they all have predictable elements that make it easy to dance to. At the end of each round, the referee conducts a fan favorite vote, done by pointing at each team and judging how loud the crowd cheers. It helps in their score, but the judges have the final word at the end of the night.

There are ten judges total, sitting in a sectioned off area of the second floor balcony, all with sashes across their chests. Five of them are chosen and selected by the operators of the event, and five of them are chosen randomly through a raffle entered when people pay for admission.

At the end of the night, after everyone has gone through their rounds, there's a long break in which six buckets are placed on each of the bars. Each bucket labeled with the teams' names. Upon admission, everyone was given a token. The tokens are then used to vote by placing them in the bucket of choice.

The two teams with the highest amount of tokens go to finals and face off in the final dance-off. Winner is chosen by the judges.

So far, Lance thinks they're doing pretty good. They've won a lot of fan favorite votes, and they're slaying the competition. But more than that, they're having fun. And most importantly, Keith is having fun.

After getting that push out of his comfort zone, he's been taking that step on his own. By their second round, he already started stepping out on his own, taking his own turns and owning them just like the rest of them. When he dances, Lance can't keep his eyes off of him. And when he falls back into line with them, Lance can hardly keep his hands off of him. He pulls Keith to his side often than not, rests his elbow on his shoulder, playfully punches his arm.

He wants to do more than that, wants to pull Keith to him and bury his hands in his hair. Wants to bite at his lips and lick his way into his mouth. Wants to press up against him and feel every hard, smooth planes of his body. Wants to push his knee between Keith's legs and grind against his thigh. Wants to slip his hands under his shirt and dance his fingertips across every dip and line of his stomach and chest, firm enough to feel but light enough to make Keith's muscles twitch with anticipation.

He wants to do these things, but he can't. Not on a stage. Not while they're still dancing. His body and heart are torn between needing to drag Keith into the closest corner and needing to be at center stage, performing.

Thankfully, Lance isn't alone in his struggle. He can tell Keith is right there with him.

He can see it in the way Keith watches him when he dances, eyes lidded and dark. Can see it in the way Keith locks eyes with him before his body rolls. Can see it in the way his hands curl into fists, crossed over his chest to keep from reaching out to him. Can see it in the way he leans into Lance just slightly, in the way he almost lazily drapes an arm around his waist when Lance throws an arm over his shoulders. Casual and friendly, save for the way his fingertips slip beneath the hem of his shirt, playing lightly with his hipbone.

He can see it in the way Keith smiles, and knows he's thinking the same thing.

When they're not dancing, they're gathered as a team near the stage, watching the other competitors dance. It's in these moments that they can slip in more subtle touches, more wandering hands, when they're blending into the crowd and their friends' attentions are fixed elsewhere. But it's not enough. It only makes him want more.

They finally get an opportunity when the last of the rounds finishes, and the referee announces there'll be a break before the finals. He encourages everyone to vote at either bar, but they're already turning away from the stage. Coran dismisses them, but not before fixing them all with a stern stare as he tells them to be back here in time for the announcement.

Allura takes Shiro's hand and tugs him off to the dance floor, where bodies writhe and the bass pounds. For the moment, the warehouse looks like any other club. Pidge slips away to Matt's DJ booth, Coran wandering after them. Hunk steps away as soon as they're dismissed, headed for where the judges are leaving their post.

Lance catches Keith's eye and trails his fingertips down his arm, slipping his hand into Keith's.

The look they exchange, the small tilt of lips, the smolder in Keith's eyes. It's all the courage Lance needs to turn, tugging Keith through the crowd behind him. He can't tell if the pulse raging against his wrist is Keith's or his own.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

As soon as the door shuts behind them, Keith is pushing him up against it. Lips are on his, hungry and eager and sloppy in their desperation. Their teeth clack and it's messy, but Lance can't bring himself to care because it's Keith.

Keith beneath his hands. The taste of him on his tongue. The feeling of his body pressing him up against the door, soft and hard in all the right places. Keith's hands grabbing at him, uncoordinated in their eagerness, fingers curling into his shirt, dragging beneath to run nails down his back, his sides, making his back arch, pushing his body to Keith's and tilting his head to the side.

Keith's lips trail down his jaw, teeth running down the column of his neck, making his breath hitch. His hands are under Keith's shirt without really remembering how or when he got them there. He runs his fingers, wide splayed down Keith's back, nails hooking into his skin just enough to scratch, shivers running down his spine as Keith growls against his pulse.

Keith bites down, and Lance gasps, sound trailing off into a low moan. His hips buck forward, and Keith slides his knee between Lance's legs, pressing his thigh against him. Lance bites back another sound, but he still hears it as a whine deep in his throat, hips canting helplessly as he rubs himself against Keith's thigh. Keith's hips push back, and Lance can feel him, hard and pressed up against his thigh.

Lance needs more. Wants more. Needs it like air. One hand slides up Keith's chest, mapping out the build of it beneath his shirt before sliding up his neck, curling his fingers into those dark locks like he'd been fantasizing about for hours. He grips hard, tugging Keith's head back and swallowing down his groan as he pushes forward to Keith's mouth again.

His other hand slides down his back, enjoying the curve of his lower back, fingers dipping down his dimples before pushing past the waistband of his pants, shoving under the tight material to get a firm grip on his ass. Keith's hips jerk forward, and Lance's push back.

They find a rhythm, disjointed but syncing up, bodies grinding desperately, mouths moving hungrily, breaths heavy pants and whistling exhales through their noses. Lance's hands remain buried in Keith's hair and pants, holding on for dear life as Keith's hands roam beneath his shirt, rough, calloused hands exploring his chest, sides, back, nails digging into flesh, thumbs flicking across his nipples.

Then Lance's knees are buckling, and he can feel Keith's thighs shaking against his own.

He's not sure who moves first, and it doesn't even matter. One moment they're standing, and the next they're sliding to the floor. Lance lands heavily, unwilling to let go of his hold on Keith, and unwilling to stop kissing him. He doesn't think he can at this point. Keith is just so good, tastes to good, sounds so good. He's a dying man, and Keith is his salvation.

So Lance sits with his back to the door, legs stretched out, and Keith manuvers his way into Lance's lap, straddling him. Lance whines when Keith pulls away to move, leaning forward to chase after his lips. But then he has a lap full of Keith and gloved hands craddling his face, firm but incredibly gentle as they pull him forward into another kiss. Keith wastes no time licking into his mouth, and Lance is already open for him, eager for the give and take, the push and pull, the back and forth of their lips.

Keith's fingers curl into Lance's hair, tilting his head just the way he wants it, mouth devouring his, tugging at the short strands. Lance gasps, whine rumbling in his throat. His hand slips from Keith's hair, running down his shirt as his other hand slips reluctantly away from his ass. Keith's hips are rutting against him helplessly, and Lance has to hold him firmly to get him to settle down before his fingers fumble with the button and zipper.

Keith huffs a short laugh against him as Lance struggles, and he leans forward, smiling and playfully nipping at Keith's lips in response.

When he finally gets them undone, he tugs them open, reaching past Keith's boxers to wrap long fingers around his length. Keith gasps, head snapping back as Lance runs his thumb over the head. He's already hard, and Lance can't even bring himself to make fun of him because his own cock is achingly hard and begging to be touched. But right now, Lance has Keith writhing in his lap, and his own pleasure takes a backseat to that any day of the week.

He leans forward, lips latching onto Keith's neck, leaving open mouthed kisses up to his ear, sucking on the sensitive spot just below it, loving the way Keith cranes his neck, hips bucking into his hand as Lance slowly explores his length.

It doesn't take long for Keith to grow impatient, and when he makes a soft, frustrated sound, Lance finds himself smiling. A hand is on his shoulder, pushing him back to the door, and Keith is chasing after him, finding his lips again as his hands slide down his chest, pushing down the waistband of his pants with no preamble and pulling him out. Lance's breath hitches when Keith touches him, back arching and head hitting the door. Keith smirks against his lips, and Lance can't bring himself to care.

Because then Keith is pushing his hands aside, shifting his hips so they're closer, and taking both of their cocks in his hand. Then he's stroking them both together, and Lance can't help the whine that slips past his lips, devolving into a groan. Keith echoes him a moment later, low and deep and rumbling.

Keith's forehead is against his, noses bumping, lips hovering and brushing together, both of them panting heavily. His free hand presses to Lance's hip, balancing and anchoring himself. Lance's hands slip around Keith, one hand gripping tight to his back and the other on the swell of his ass.

He bucks up into Keith's hand, and Keith ruts against him. Breaths mingling, sounds felt through where they touch, echoing in the quiet of the bathroom, music from the speakers out in the warehouse distant and muted. Lance knows he's being loud, knows each exhale drags across his vocal chords, dragging sounds out through his lips. But he doesn't care. Can barely hear them. He's so wholly focused on Keith, eating up and memorizing every sound torn from his throat, falling from his lips.

His forehead drops to Keith's shoulder, eyes lidded as he stares down at them, tries to memorize what he looks like against Keith, how he looks in Keith's hand. Keith picks up speed, and it has Lance biting back a whine. Heat is pooling in his gut, body tightening and hips jerking. He can feel Keith's body shaking beneath his hands, feels the unsteadiness in the erratic cant of his hips.

Then Keith is pushing him back, leaning forward to latch his lips onto Lance's exposed collarbone, biting down and sucking hard, running his tongue over the abused spot before going at it again. Lance tilts his head back, eyes squeezing shut as his hand tighten, nails digging into flesh.

"Ah— Ah, Keith—"

He doesn't know who comes first. Doesn't fucking care. Doesn't care that they're in a dingy single person bathroom that's been used by countless drunk people over the past few hours. Doesn't give a fuck that they're tangled on the floor with the florescent lights bright against the back of his eyelids. Doesn't give a shit that he can hear someone banging on the outside of the door and jiggling the handle. Doesn't fucking care where they are, that they're a mess, that his shirt is probably stained and Keith's gloves are probably a mess. Can't bring himself to give a single fuck that the evidence will show up against the black of their clothes.

He doesn't fucking care because Keith is in his lap, panting against his collarbones, boneless and comfortable, humming softly and nuzzling into his neck when Lance gently runs his fingers through his ink dark hair.

Doesn't give a single fuck because he and Keith are here together. His chest is buzzing and warm, tight and full. And he really, really fucking likes Keith.

And for once, instead of constricting his throat, that thought has him feeling like he can finally breathe for the first time in a long time.

--------------------------------------------------------

They make it out of the bathroom, clothes wet from where they attempted to clean them off, Keith's gloves washed and dried and shoved in his pocket, in time to hear the announcement over the speakers:

"And by your vote and our judges, the finalists are... Voltron and The Galra Empire."

The crowd roars throughout the warehouse, and Lance lets out a loud whoop, jumping and throwing a fist into the air. He blindly grabs for Keith's hand without really thinking about it, and find it waiting for him, fingers automatically weaving together. Without his gloves, Keith's hand is warm and smooth, softer than Lance expected.

He could use the excuse of needing to pull and guide Keith through the crowd, but... quite honestly, he doesn't see the point.

The fact of the matter is that he's holding Keith's hand because he wants to. Because he's happy, high on adrenaline and excitement and Keith, and he can't stand the thought of not touching him right now, in this moment.

He weaves through the crowd, dragging Keith along in his wake, shoving when he gets too impatient as they make their way to the stage. He finds their friends standing next to it, noticeable in their matching outfits clustered so close. He drops Keith's hand to dash through an opening at them, slams right into Pidge at full speed, and lifts them off their feet, spinning them around and laughing as they curse.

"Put me down!" They wheeze as Lance squeezes them.

"We did it! We did it!" He chants, finally plopping them down on their feet.

"Nice of you two to join us," Allura says, crossing her arms over her chest, hip cocked to the side, one delicate eyebrow arched and amusement playing across her lips.

"Yes! You're quite a few ticks late," Coran says, stroking his mustache, eyes dancing.

"Yeah, you're late." Pidge says, digging their thumb into the sore spot on his collarbone, a spot that he's certain has a newly formed bruise.

He swats their hand away, locking his arm around their neck and pulling them in close to dig his knuckles into their hair. "It's called being fashionably late!"

They struggle, limbs flailing. "What do you know about being fashionable!"

"Rude!"

When they finally wiggle out of his arms, he glances over at Keith. He's sandwiched between Hunk and Shiro, both with their arms crossed over their chests, grinning as they side eye him, nudging his sides playfully. Keith scowls at them both, cheeks tinted dark enough to be seen in the spot lights above the stage.

He doesn't have to suffer long, however, before Coran is shooing them all onto the stage for the final dance-off.

The format for the finals is like any of the other dance-off's they've had so far, and by now, they all know the routine. They line up as the referee hypes the crowd, not that he needs to do much. By now, everyone in the warehouse is thoroughly drunk and thoroughly warmed up. They lined up in a loose arc, facing their opponents.

The Galra Empire is a team that's been around for a long time. Before they even formed Voltron. And usually, when they don't win, it's because the Galra do. They've formed an unspoken rivalry because of it, and anyone who's been to these events before knows it. Lance can feel that they know it. Can feel the tension and anticipation buzzing in the air, chittering in the crowd. He wouldn't be surprised if people voted for them just to see them face off again.

Allura wins, and Voltron goes first.

The song starts, one that's more hype than the others have been, appropriate for the finals. It starts out low, driving forward, building speed and volume.

Lance waits right up until the ten second mark before he's throwing himself forward. Sprinting from a standstill toward the center stage, going down to his knees halfway there and sliding the rest of the way. He hopes up onto his toes and throws his momentum backwards, bending his back and planting his hand behind him, kicking his feet up into the air and holding it for just a second before swinging his feet down. He's moving again as soon as his feet land.

The first Galra is already stepping forward, stalking around him, never getting too close to center stage but staring him down. It's an intimidation tactic, and a damn good one. It also works wonders for building the dance-off suspense and pleasing the crowd. But if they're looking to throw Lance off his game, they're going to have to do better than that.

He's used to this. He thrives on the attention and spot light. This is his element. He's got a crowd to witness him, a song around him, friends behind him, and a damn fine boy watching his ass.

The music pulls on his body like strings, bass moving his limbs like water, beat snapping at his joints.

Then his fifteen seconds are up, and the Galra is in his face, pushing forward into his space to force him back. He steps back, arms splayed wide, unafraid and unintimidated.

The Galra is already dancing, movements dramatic and with flare. As much as Lance isn't a fan of them personally, he can't deny that they had skill. No soon had they started before Allura is stalking forward, expression almost bored had it not been for the spark of challenge in her eyes. She steps up near center stage, hip cocked and one arm crossed over her chest. She idly inspects her nails, making a show of it, but Lance can see her keeping an eye on the clock.

As soon as it's their turn, she's sliding in, whipping into the center and forcing the other out and away by sheer proximity, making a dramatic flare of shooing them away before claiming the stage for herself.

And it goes on like that. Both teams constantly stalking the center, waiting for their own turn, prowling before diving into rip the spotlight away. There are a lot more gestures exchanged, a lot more stare downs. It's tense but it's also intense, heated in a way that brings out a fire in their hearts, makes them prove themselves, makes them refuse to lose.

Everything else fades. he doesn't see the audience, and their roaring cheers fade into a muted white noise behind the beat that's thriving in his veins, filling the air, driving him onward. He only pays attention to the other team and the clock. His synergy with his friends, his team, is like a live wire, sparking and sizzling through each of them. He barely glances at them as they take turns stepping up to take the stage. They sync up, glances and words unnecessary are they feel each other and their intentions.

Whenever Keith stands up to dance, Lance feels a heat burning bright in his chest. Feels invigorated as he watches Keith stares down the competition, dance like Lance always knew he could, uninhibited and free. There's a confidence in his pose, a power in his movements, a spark in his eyes, and cockiness in his smirk. Lance fucking loves it, and when Keith meets his gaze, he can feel the fire burning between them.

Two of the Galra jump in at once, doing a combo that somehow manages to be individual and in sync. Lance makes eye contact with Hunk, exchanging a nod, smiles curving their lips. When it's their turn, they both dive forward, taking to the stage with a flair and synergy that's born from years of knowing each other, years of dancing together.

When two more Galra step up to show off a combination dance, different styles weaving together flawlessly, Shiro and Allura stand up to the challenge, following them up with teamwork that is beautiful, powerful, and undeniably perfect. They move like extensions of the other, both able to stand alone but standing stronger together.

The Galra throw out a dancer who sweeps across the stage in rapid spins, kicks, jumps, and explosive movements, keeping all of them back from stalking closer. Coran is up for the challenge, darting forward when it's their turn, taking those spins and kick and jumps and putting more of a flare on them, a dynamic to it, a fire and a rage.

It's starting to feel like a battle, and Lance loves it.

The next Galra takes to center stage with a sideways flip, a cartwheel without hands. He's built big, thick arms strong as he does a lot of hand word, flipping his body and supporting it as he spins, kicking up his legs. Lance has tried enough of those moves to know it's impressive, but he also knows that this guy is just showing off moves. There's no flair, no showmanship.

Lips quirking into a cocky smirk, he pushes into the guy's space with quick foot movements, following after him as he backs up, shooing him off. Then he shoots them finger guns before flipping backwards, going up on his hands and launching himself into a jump. When his feet land, he goes down into floor work, quick and precise, cutting it with a lot of up and down, a lot of movements of his body that have him right side up, up side down, sideways, and every orientation between.

When his time is almost up, he sees one of the Galra stepping up. He recognizes her. They've faced off against them far too many times for him not to. She's slim, agile, and incredibly acrobatic. She sashays past him, cocking an eyebrow and a finger as she makes her way to the edge of the stage.

He smirks, following her lead as he dances his way to the same edge.

He knows what she wants. She usually take to the center with tumbles, flipping head over feet, spinning in the air. She does it every time, but this time she's summoning him to the edge of the stage, and he knows why: she's challenging him. She's seen him work, seen his flips, and is challenging him to keep it going, thinks she can show him up, bring flare to the start of her turn.

How can a gentleman say no?

He lines up to the edge of the stage, facing the crowd, right at the last second of his turn. She's in the same position, a few feet away. He makes eye contact, and she nods, a smirk on her lips. His eyes spark, smirk widening as he nods back.

Then they're both flipping backwards, throwing their weight and bodies back, bending, landing on their hands before carrying their momentum through. Hands, feet, hands, feet, hands, feet. They flip together across the length of the stage. He's vaguely aware of her next to him, but he doesn't now how well she's doing or how fast she's going. All he can do is focus on himself and his drive.

His drive to do better, to look better, to be better. She wants to show him up, but he's determined to steal the spotlight for himself. So he keeps going, flips, across the stage, keeping an eye on his surroundings as they tumble by, world spinning. He doesn't do this often, rarely needs to, preferring to stay in a more confined space, but he's done it enough to know that he can. Knows he can trust his body to do what it needs to do.

He counts his flips. Watches how close to the edge of the stage he gets. Three more. Two more. One more. Stop.

He does a little leap with the last one, planting his feet with a firm stop to his momentum. Throws his arms up in the air, wide grin on his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see that his opponent has stopped, too, but it's not for long. She's already moving, dancing her way back to the center of the stage. After all, her turn has just begun.

Lance moves to take a step forward, a step back towards where his friends are waiting. But his head is still spinning, a lot worse than he anticipated. The warehouse spins, spotlights blinding, adding to it, disorienting as his mind tries to catch up to what he's seeing.

His weight shifts, balance thrown off and not quite recovered. He stumbles a step, trying to catch himself, but then his heel is hovering over open air.

He panics, whipping his head around to see that he's a lot closer to the edge of the stage than he anticipated. His calculations must have been off. He turns too fast, vision swimming and spinning, body unable to find balance as his feet slip off the stage, arms flailing uselessly.

For just a second, he's in free fall. One terrifyingly long second. A second that stretches out into minutes, hours, days, lifetimes. A long second that ticks by in slow motion, mind whirling a mile a minute but unable to come up with any coherent thoughts other than no no no no fuck fuck shit. He's not even sure his heart beats in that second, squeezing painfully in his chest as panic rises up to choke off the wordless shout in his throat.

And then that second passes, and the free fall ends with pain shooting up his leg.

He feels more than hears the crack as his ankle slips and impact shoots up his leg. Feels it vibrate through him. Feels the grind of his ankle rolling, feels the crack of things that definitely shouldn't crack. Hears the impact of his landing echoing in his ears.

And then he lies there, staring up at the ceiling of the warehouse, mind spinning and reeling. The spotlights hurt his eyes. He can distantly feel the music pulsing through the floor, but he can't hear it. Sees unfamiliar faces and familiar faces alike popping into his vision, but he can't focus on them. Vaguely notices their mouths moving, but can't hear their voices over the ringing in his ears.

The sharp pain left as soon as it came, leaving just a dull throb echoing up his right leg, almost indistinguishable from the pound of the bass.

He feels... Distant. Disjointed. Disconnected. Body numb and mind not quite aware of it. He knows, somewhere in his awareness, what has happened. He knows. He has all the evidence to put the pieces together. But every time he reaches for that conclusion, it shies away, body and mind recoiling from it. Can't accept it. Can't be real. It can't be real. It can't be real. It can't be real. Not happening. Not happening.

Faces in his field of vision, but he can't focus on them enough to recognize them. They come and go. Features mixing. A flash of yellow. Orange hair, A glint of glasses. A scar. White hair. Beautiful midnight eyes.

Lips form words that his ears belatedly recognize as his name.

They look worried. They sound panicked.

He knows he's probably feeling the same things, but his awareness of those emotions are dull and muted, buried under a fog of disbelief and shock, his consciousness fragile and pulled back, sheltering itself in a bubble of denial and fear.

He stares at the lights, blinding and burning, as his focus narrows down to the heavy thump of his heart, loud and hard against his rib cage, each pulse fueling the mantra repeating in his mind.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

Notes:

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Never fear. This story DOES have a happy ending, but it's probably not the ending that you've been anticipating.