The Best Klance Fanfictions

Not That Bad

by varelsen
original work here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7685992?view_full_work=true

art by:

Lance is late. This in itself is not unusual: he’s used to running on Lance Standard Time, and the world waits for him. He has, on occasion, been sarcastically declared “fashionably late, again” by professors and friends alike, and he always takes it as a compliment.

Today, though, he’s not too keen on the idea. It’s his early-morning cosmology class (“How is ten o’clock early?” Pidge had asked, with the incredulous tone of someone who takes advanced math at eight AM; “I’m a growing boy, I need my sleep,” Lance replied), and he is loath to miss it. It’s an elective, and one of the only classes he can take with Pidge and Hunk. Strangely enough, there’s not a lot of overlap between the schedules of brilliant young engineers and a guy who still hasn’t settled on a path in life because he couldn’t major in Awesome, so he’s got to appreciate what little he gets.

Also, there’s the problem of seating, Lance notes grimly and swerves around a corner as fast as he dares, messenger bag slapping against his hip. The three of them had figured that cosmology would be interesting but not exactly an academic blockbuster, and the school seemed to agree, if the size of the lecture hall was anything to go by. What neither party had counted on was Professor Coran’s TA, Shirogane: an absolute heartthrob who has gotten people to sit in on the class in unprecedented numbers. On some days, they line the walls.

Meaning, Lance needs to leg it.

At ten-fifteen, he skids to a halt outside the door and slips inside, lithe as a cat.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath. Hunk spots him from the back row and waves. Lance figures his expression is supposed to be sympathetic, but it doesn’t really work when he’s sitting in such a prime location without a conveniently saved seat beside him. Pidge, on Hunk’s left, glances up and gives him a nod, eyes bleary behind their big round glasses.

He can’t see a single empty chair.

“Lance, hi!” Shirogane chirps; you wouldn’t think a guy that size could chirp, but somehow that’s exactly what he does.

“Hey,” Lance says. Shirogane is the kind of person who manages to remember everyone’s names and sport an amazing jawline at the same time, and Lance suspects that if you measured the angles of that jawline, you could find a way to mathematically prove that life isn’t fair.

“Don’t worry, we’ve barely gotten started. I’m just passing out these handouts. I’ll get to you in a minute, so you can go ahead and sit down over there!”

He points to a seat in the front row, and a colorful curse explodes in Lance’s mind. He was angling for a vacant chair near the middle that he spotted two seconds ago, but now that the stupid nice TA with his stupid sparkly smile has directed him, it’s not like he has a choice. Slouching, he makes his way toward the front and aims a death glare at Pidge, who is laughing. They know he hates sitting in the front, where it’s harder to doodle silly obscene things in his notebooks or check his phone under the table, and—

Ohhh no.

Lance is already nudging his way past people’s legs and apologizing under his breath when he sees it: in the seat next to his, there is someone with an all-too-familiar mullet that nearly makes him choke on rage.

As Lance finally makes it past the last person and drops his messenger bag on the floor, the guy turns to the side a little, and yup – it’s definitely him. Lance’s eyes narrow, sirens are going off in his head like in Kill Bill, and he just barely manages to stop himself from hissing, “YOU!”

The kid’s dark eyes linger on Lance for about two seconds before he turns them back toward the front of the hall, like he’s never seen Lance before in his life.

Seething, Lance sinks into his chair. This is going to be awful.

After taking his books out of his bag, he stares hard at Dr. Coran’s ginger moustache so that he’ll resist the urge to turn to the left and glare at the dark-haired mullet guy. The professor’s words are passing in one of Lance’s ears and rattling around uselessly in his head before slipping right out the other, but at least he’s a focal point.

He does his best to acknowledge Shirogane when he comes over to give him his handout, as promised, and then tries to pay attention to the lecture about black holes. Sure, maybe the main reason Lance took this class was so that he’d have an excuse to see his friends during the day, but when he’s not nudging Hunk and whispering something about the cute girl in the next row, he does actually enjoy Dr. Coran’s teaching. The guy’s a bit eccentric – no one has been able to figure out exactly where he’s from, or if Coran is his first or his last name – and the unofficial theory is that maybe the reason he knows so much about the origins of the universe is because he was there.

Not even the notion that his professor might be an alien is enough to cool Lance off, though. He can’t stand aloof holier-than-thou types who think they’re so much better than him – firstly, because no one is, thanks very much; and second, it’s just a shitty thing to do! – and as of last week, this guy really takes the cake.

So, what happened last week? Oh boy, Lance is getting mad just remembering. Their university had arranged a sporting event with one of the neighboring schools, the kind of thing that made Pidge groan in horror and fake a stomachache, and gave Hunk a real stomachache for days. Lance, though, was pumped. This was competition. This was battle. This was a chance to prove himself!

“Lance, nobody cares,” Pidge said, in an infuriatingly reasonable tone of voice. “It’s an amateur thing. Just for … fun.” They shuddered, incapable of understanding how the humiliating public spectacle of amateur sports could possibly equal fun in anyone’s mind.

“Yeah, but think of the girls, Pidge,” Lance replied, equally reasonable, and slung an arm around his friend’s small shoulders. “They will be there. Watching. Watching me.” He wiggled his eyebrows, and Pidge made a sound like “ugh” and shrugged him off.

“Whatever, dude, enjoy your sweatfest. I’ll be catching Pokémon with Hunk, just so you know what you’re missing.”

“Have fun!” Lance called, convinced that he would be the one having a better time.

Needless to say, he was wrong. Oh, things were just peachy at first: warming up on the football field, swinging his long limbs and running a slow circuit to scope out the surroundings and any particularly hot girls, excited at the chance to move his body, to score, to win. With Pidge and Hunk, the most competition he ever got was Mario Kart or nerdy card games, and they tended to, uh, kick his ass. But now? This was his moment.

Except when it turned out that it wasn’t. Lance dealt pretty well with competition when it was coming from the other team: a bar to measure himself against, a goal to strive for. He wasn’t as good at handling being outdone from within. Which he was, repeatedly. By whom? Why, mullet guy, of course!

Lance grits his teeth, sure that the hate waves he’s broadcasting must be palpable.

In the relay, each university had two teams. Both of theirs beat the other school, but the deceptively skinny kid in the red T-shirt and stupid too-long hair outran Lance on the last stretch. During the soccer match, they were on the same team, and not only did the guy score a goal: when Lance was in the perfect striking position, he sent him a pass that was so smoothly, deftly done it took even Lance by surprise, and he stumbled, botching the opportunity and losing them the point. When they played capture the flag, the mullet kid captured the first flag. And so on, ad infinitum.

It was annoying, frustrating even, and Lance swears to deny it to himself forever, but at one point he got so fed up that he was dangerously near tears. The guy was good, though – fine, great – and Lance is nothing if not a good sport. So he decided to swallow his pride, walk on over there, shake the guy’s hand and say, “I’m Lance, good game.” It was the decent thing to do, and Lance is a decent guy.

Red T-shirt was stretching a little, wiping sweat from his forehead with his arm, as Lance approached him. He was just about to say hello – puffed out his chest, extended his hand, first syllable halfway out of his mouth – when the guy straightened up and walked right past him like he was less than air.

Lance stood there, mouth hanging open, hand sticking out at an awkward angle, and watched him go.

What the hell was that? Had he gone invisible? Wasn’t it pretty obvious that he’d been trying to say something? Shocked and a little hurt, Lance managed to close his mouth before his jaw unhinged.

Then, just to pour salt in Lance’s wounds, he saw where Red T-shirt was going: straight over to a beautiful girl with dark skin and long silvery hair, who handed him a bottle of water, smiled, and touched his arm.

This, Lance thought, kills the man.

“Are you sure he just genuinely didn’t notice you?” Hunk groaned later, when Lance was letting off steam – which in his case meant hissing and wheezing like an actual tea kettle.

“How could he not have noticed me? I was RIGHT THERE!”

“I dunno. I think you’re taking this a bit personally.”

“It is personal! It’s a question of … of … of honor!”

“I am so glad I don’t understand sports,” Hunk said, and Pidge clapped him on the shoulder.

“I don’t think that’s how sports normally work, it’s just one of Lance’s weird ideas,” they assured Hunk, then turned their eyes on Lance. “In other news, I caught a Ninetales while you were getting your ass handed to you.”

So that’s the story, and it still makes Lance upset just thinking about it. The fact that the guy can’t even seem to remember ever laying eyes on him only confirms it: he is totally right about this, the dude is a complete jerk.

He can barely focus for the next ten minutes – he’s so mad at himself for coming late, for ending up next to Mullet Menace over here, for being unable to get angry at Shirogane who sealed his doom, even though he wants to, because the guy is just so damn nice. And most of all, he’s mad at what’s-his-name, ridiculously athletic, conceited show-off.

Something pokes him in the side, and he nearly leaps right out of his skin. (No, really: he can picture it happening, and the cool defensive battle pose he’d strike in his skeletal form.) It’s the butt end of a pencil, attached to a hand in a fingerless glove, which in turn is attached to Mullet Menace.

He wears fingerless gloves to class! If he wasn’t a douche before, he sure is now.

“Could you stop tapping your fingers like that? And, uh, jiggling your leg so it bangs on the table? It’s really distracting,” the guy whispers from behind his other douchey-fingerless-glove–clad hand.

“Maybe,” Lance says, a bit louder than he intended, “you should just mind your own damn bus—ooooh shit!”

He’s not sure what it was that made him throw out his arm – he was making a point, maybe? – but man, was it a mistake. Because Lance’s arm collides with mullet guy’s coffee cup, and spills it all over the entire world.

Okay, maybe not, but he drenches half the guy’s open textbook, and his handout, and part of his own leg. The cup was more or less fucking full! What’s the point of buying coffee if you’re not going to drink it? Lance wants to wail, but this one is entirely on him, and he knows that, and it only makes it worse.

The guy is staring down at his textbook, shell-shocked, like he isn’t quite sure what happened yet. Then he processes it, and levels a scathing glare at Lance.

Lance shrinks back in his chair, all his proverbial spines out, like a cornered porcupine.

“Is there a problem?” Dr. Coran asks, and damn it everyone’s noticed the commotion.

“Uh,” Lance says.

“A spillage incident,” says his neighbor, too calmly.

“Oh dear. Somebody help them clean that up, will you? Anyway, as I was saying, cosmic background radiation …”

A hand extends from behind them, bearing a pack of tissues. Mullet Menace – except Lance can’t call him that anymore, since he’s just proven he’s the menace, and can’t help feeling a little bit smug that he finally won at something – takes it, shakes one out, and starts dabbing at the ruined pages of his book.

“Are you okay, Keith?” the benefactor asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine. My textbook isn’t though,” the guy – Keith – adds, and that sure is a really deliberate stinkeye he is giving Lance right now.

Sulking, Lance slumps back over his own books. He ignores the rapidly cooling wet spot on his left thigh, and Keith doesn’t offer him a tissue. To his own dismay, he feels himself start to pout, but he is beyond caring. I fucked up, he thinks, in front of that guy, again, and he’s just sure that this is going to be a horrible day.

***

When class lets out, Lance is still in a foul mood. His friends aren’t helping.

“You know, if you just got up in the mornings, you’d be able to sit next to us,” Pidge says in that matter-of-fact way they have, that kind of makes Lance want to bang his head against a wall.

“I could start waking you up before I leave for my first class, but I love both you and myself enough not to try that,” Hunk muses, rubbing his wide chin.

“Guys, please, some sensitivity to my suffering here?”

“What, like looking stupid in front of an entire class of people is new to you? I believe in you, buddy. You’ll survive.” Pidge grins and claps him on the back. Lance sighs.

They exit into glaring sunlight; it’s early in the semester, and the air is still sweet with summer and its sounds. Singing birds and rustling trees and … a motorcycle engine?

It approaches from the distance, and the revving fades into a softer puttering noise as the driver nears the school building. Lance doesn’t know much about motorcycles, other than that they look cool, and this one – a sleek black bike with purple decals – might even be cooler than most.

“Nice ride,” he says, half to himself, but his friends hum in agreement.

The driver parks the bike, hops off, and removes their helmet. That’s when Lance nearly dies on the spot.

It’s a girl, a gorgeous girl at that, and when she shakes out her long silver hair (which is totally hot, by the way) it hits him: this is the girl, the one who was talking to Keith out on the sports field, and oh my god, she rides a motorcycle and this is so unfair.

“Who’s she?” Lance asks, and it doesn’t come out flirtatious and charming (or lecherous, as Pidge would say) the way it normally would, more like a muted hiss.

“What, you mean you don’t know?” Pidge raises their eyebrows.

Hunk laughs. “Wow, you can be pretty clueless sometimes, dude. That’s Allura. She’s like, an Instagram beauty queen or something, kind of a big deal.”

“She’s from England, and apparently really nice,” Pidge pipes up, as Allura and her amazing hair and motorcycle helmet disappear inside the building.

“How do you guys know all this?”

“The real question is, why didn’t you sound like you were trying to imitate a weirdly pervy anthropomorphic animal from an old cartoon when you asked about her?”

“Is that really how you think of me?” Lance shrieks, voice almost cracking.

“It’s what I think of your flirting skills,” Pidge says placidly, then gives him a pointed look.

“She knows Keith!” Lance exclaims. “Mullet Mena—I mean, that guy who’s full of himself!”

“The guy you spilled coffee all over?” Pidge asks, and Lance shoves them in the side with an expertly calibrated amount of force: enough to put them off balance without actually knocking them over.

“So what if they know each other? People have friends, it’s pretty normal,” Hunk shrugs. “Can we go grab something to eat now? There’s a whole hour left until lunch, I don’t think I can hold out ’til then.”

“I can’t believe this,” Lance says, shaking his head incredulously. “That guy’s insufferable, but he’s buddy-buddy with some internet famous British babe?”

“No one cares, Lance,” Pidge sighs, already following Hunk in the direction of a vending machine. “Seriously. I’m sorry he annoys you, but let it go.”

Hunk starts humming a predictable choice of Disney song, earning him a sharp little elbow in the ribs.

Lance pouts, wonders if maybe he is taking this too far. Except he’s not, another little voice in his head adds; Keith was a dick to him, and so what if he spilled coffee all over his stuff and nearly gave himself a first-degree burn on his thigh in the process? He has the right to feel offended! Right?

“By the way, Lance,” Hunk says, after he’s bought himself a bag of peanuts and offered them to everyone (Lance takes a couple; Pidge wrinkles up their nose a little bit and politely refuses). “How come you only ever drool over girls? I mean, I get that it might be a bit risky to start hitting on a random guy or whatever, but you talk about girls to us all the time. All I’m saying is,” he adds hastily, “I just want you to know that I’d be comfortable if you do. Want to talk about guys, I mean.”

“Huh? What brought this on?” Lance asks, raising an eyebrow. His friends have known he’s bi for almost as long as he has – in fact, maybe even longer than he has, if he’s honest with himself. It’s not something they really talk about, though. “Oh, and thanks, I guess.”

“It was Allura, and your impressively non-creepy reaction to her, I think,” Pidge fills in.

“More or less,” says Hunk, around a mouthful of peanuts. “Also that your lover boy act is getting kind of old.”

“You do act like the kind of straight guy who abuses the winky emoji,” Pidge says. “I wonder if you’d put a boyfriend through the same thing?”

“I most certainly would,” Lance asserts, stealing another peanut. “And to answer your question, do you know how easy it is to find pretty girls? Extremely, because they are soft and beautiful and take excellent care of their skin and hair and …”

“Okay, okay, we get it!”

“Fine! Pretty guys, though? A rarer breed.”

“Shiro,” they both say at once, and Lance opens and closes his mouth like a fish, because it is impossible to argue that Shirogane isn’t pretty.

“I said rarer, not extinct!”

“That guy you hate is pretty cute, too,” Hunk points out, scrunching up the empty bag and tossing it in the trash can.

“He certainly takes care of his hair,” Pidge adds, giggling.

“Okay, that,” Lance says loudly, “is where this conversation ends! Don’t you have another class or something?”

Pidge looks up, beaming. “After lunch I have robotics. We’re programming these little guys to pick things up and move them around on command, so it’s like they’re tiny robot butlers, and it’s adorable!”

“Right, there we go! Robots, awesome. So when’re you gonna get around to building a mecha, Pidge?”

“Oh, as soon as humanly possible, believe me.”

***

Lance is on his way back to the dorm, checking his messages as he walks, only to be reminded of why that is a bad idea when he trips on a rock on the sidewalk and his phone goes flying out of his hand.

“Aw, fuck,” he mutters, stumbling to regain his balance, then drops into a crouch to retrieve his still-glowing phone from where it landed in the bushes. Man, he can really throw even when he’s not trying; he has to walk around to the other side and stretch his hand in under the scratchy twigs to reach it. “I’m sorry, buddy,” he says to the phone (un-cracked and intact, thank god), under his breath; he’s lucky it’s kind of late and no one’s around to hear him.

Except, when he’s about to get back to his feet, someone is coming. And damn him if he doesn’t recognize that silhouette.

“Shit!” Lance whispers, clutching his phone to his chest. It’s Keith. He’s headed toward the dorms, too, and Lance can’t go out there now; it would be so awkward. The two of them are the only people here, and even if Keith managed to forget about him until today, even he probably remembers the guy who wrecked his shit with his own cup of coffee. Lance feels a twinge of guilt as he realizes that he never apologized for that.

So he sits there behind the bushes like a weirdo, trying not to breathe, as Keith walks by. He’s staring into his phone too, but manages to dodge the rock (Because I moved it for him, you’re welcome, Lance thinks) and comes into the glow of the streetlamp right next to Lance’s hiding spot.

The light casts his face into soft shadow, and reflects off his stupid hair that’s too long and sticks up a bit at the back and curls against his neck. All of a sudden, Lance remembers what his friends were saying earlier. That guy you hate is pretty cute too.

He feels his face get hot in the darkness, and he hopes Keith will just get a move on and walk faster so he can get out of here right now. Man, why did he have to drop his phone? “Millennials,” he mutters to himself, then chuckles a little at his own joke.

He thinks hard about staying hidden and willing Keith away before anyone else shows up and spots him sitting here like an idiot. He’s not that cute, he thinks, is he? He sneaks a glance at Keith’s figure, now starting to retreat into the distance, and is both grateful and disappointed that he’s too late catch another glimpse of his face. There’s no point in dwelling on this, after all.

Lance kicks himself mentally as he catches himself trying to recall Keith’s profile, the little he saw of it before boiling rage made him look away. Fine, he has a nice face, Lance supposes; it’s not like he’s bad-looking or anything, and aren’t athletic guys with obnoxious personalities usually handsome? Lance is, after all, except he’s obnoxious in a charming, endearing way. Keith, on the other hand …

Okay, he’s gone. You can stop thinking about him now! Lance bounces to his feet and resists the urge to start running back home; he feels a little jumpy all of a sudden and he’s not sure why. Maybe crouching in the bushes like a pervert does that to a guy.

“Not cute!” Lance repeats, just to affirm it, and sticks his phone into his pocket to avoid any further incidents. He can’t believe he never noticed Keith was actually in his cosmology class. Maybe because he sat at the front, like some kind of fucking nerd.

Lance shoves his hands in his pockets, and shivers a little in the cool evening breeze. From now on, he decides, he’s going to start waking up on time.

Notes:

THERE IS NOW LOVELY ART FOR THIS CHAPTER: thisssss by angry-espresso!!

Chapter 2

Notes:

thanks to everyone who read the first chapter! here is number two. i'm not sure exactly how long this is going to be yet, but i'm aiming for at least 10 chapters, maybe more. i hope you enjoy!

Chapter Text

“Ugh!”

Lance spits out the first bite of the sandwich he’d brought with him, grimacing to get the taste out of his mouth. He closes one eye and peeks inside. Like, yeah, he knew it was getting kind of soggy when he took it out of the fridge this morning, but is that mold on the cheese?

“Damn it,” he says, and gets up off the steps that were serving as his luxury lunch venue. So much for financially sound meal planning. When he and Hunk binge-make sandwiches so that they’ll have a buffer for the entire week, it’s a challenge just to get Hunk to agree to hold off on some of them, so that Lance can actually bring them as lunches. And then Lance snoozes through his alarm, rushes out the door in a hurry and forgets about them, and they lie there in the fridge forever, so here he is now with moldy cheese.

He sighs and brushes off his butt, going over to dump the sadly wasted sandwich in the trash.

“Oh, hi, Lance!”

Lance glances over his shoulder, expecting one of his friends from his upcoming classes, but it’s not. It’s Shirogane, and did he pick that T-shirt to show off how buff he is or do all T-shirts just cling to him like that?

“Hi, uh …” And now Lance feels like an asshole, because it’s not like he’s forgotten Shirogane’s name – he just doesn’t know his first one, or if he should be calling him by it – but that is definitely the dumb impression he is currently giving.

“Call me Shiro,” says Shiro, and Lance’s awkwardness evaporates. Shiro it is! “What’s up?”

“I just had to trash my sandwich. It was pretty old. You know, maybe I should have left it in the fridge a little longer. Another week and I could say I’d discovered a new life form.” He considers for a moment, remembering the state of the mold. “Like, radioactive, with multiple pairs of legs and weird spooky eyes.”

Where Pidge and Hunk would probably have started discussing what phylum, class, and order a mutated sandwich-beast would fall into, Shiro just laughs. It takes Lance by surprise, but he’s pleased; he likes it when people laugh at his jokes.

“You’re a funny guy, Lance.”

Now he is really surprised. What exactly is Shiro basing this on, aside from that one comment? The semi-dirty joke he made during the black hole lecture? He wouldn’t have thought that was Shiro’s style.

“Uh, thanks? I guess?”

“It’s a compliment,” Shiro assures him. How is this guy so straightforward about everything? He probably means every word he ever says, unlike Lance, whose body is composed mostly of water and bullshit. Shiro must never attempt to lie, Lance suddenly feels certain. He would spontaneously combust if he tried.

“Oh. Then thanks, definitely.” He does double pistols with his hands, makes a clicking noise and winks, to prove that he is indeed a funny guy. Shiro laughs again, in that honest, open way, and Lance grins. This is proof, he thinks, that he is great and hilarious, someone who easily makes friends with ripped and sought-after teaching assistants. Keith is not the only one who can hang out with cool people!

“Anyway, I need to find something else to eat,” Lance says, because he should be thinking about food and not people who will kill his appetite. “So much for saving money.”

“I’m heading to the cafeteria right now. You’re welcome to come along.” God, Shiro’s smiles are as white as his one stray lock of hair.

“Okay, cool, awesome.”

They walk over together. Shiro buys a Caesar salad, and Lance gets a new, fresher sandwich, because he is an unimaginative man of habit at heart. As they go to sit down, Lance has time to notice that there are lots of empty tables, which is why there is no reason for Shiro to do what he does next.

“Hey, there’s Keith! Let’s go join him!”

And there Keith is, sitting alone at a table and slurping something that looks like noodles, his other hand scrolling through his phone, and all Lance can think is No no no, let’s not!

But there’s no way he can say that, not in front of such an affable guy. He wonders if perhaps Shiro didn’t notice the coffee incident, except he must have; he was there. And that’s when it hits him: Shiro, of course, would have used it as a bonding experience, something to laugh about, and would never have gone surly and grumpy like Lance. Shiro thinks Lance is a Funny Guy, and does not know that he is in fact an overly competitive idiot who holds grudges over things like capture the flag and interactions with pretty women who are also rad bikers. You are doubting yourself! Lance’s ego yells, but Shiro has this infuriating aura that makes a guy want to be a better person instead of just acting like he is already God’s gift to the world.

So Lance skulks after Shiro, his lanky body easily fitting in the bigger man’s shadow, as Shiro lopes over and greets Keith with all the same sparkle he’d used for Lance. “Can we sit here?”

“Sure,” Keith says quietly, “I was just about to leave, anyway.” Lance can’t be sure if Keith was planning to say this even before he spotted him, but when his eyes land on Lance, the parasite in Shiro’s shadow, they narrow just a little bit. Lance was going to say hi, but the greeting gets stuck in his throat, and he remembers again that he hasn’t said sorry for ruining Keith’s textbook.

Keith slurps up the last of his noodle soup; he is wearing the fingerless gloves today, too, and they still piss Lance off. An unwelcome impulse, leftover from yesterday’s episode with the phone, makes Lance notice that Keith’s skin is porcelain-pale against his dark hair, and that his face is heart-shaped. Fine, he’s good-looking. Not that it matters. He forces his mouth into a scowl and looks away.

“Later, Shiro,” Keith says, picking up his tray and loping off.

“See you around,” Shiro says, and Keith gives him a tiny nod. Lance, once again, is air, but this time it’s kind of a relief. For once, he’s not sure if he would have been able to say anything even if he tried.

“What is his problem?” Lance says under his breath, when Keith is out of earshot.

“Keith? Oh, he has a bit of a hard time talking to people. Once he gets comfortable, he’s great.”

Of course Shiro knows this.

“I don’t think he likes me.” It slips out of him before he can stop it. Shiro gives him a sympathetic look that Lance does not deserve; he has conveniently failed to mention that he was the one who started the cycle of dislike in the first place.

“What, because of the coffee thing? I’m sure it’s fine. Accidents happen.” Shiro takes a bite of his salad. “Try talking to him! I think you’d really get along.”

Lance stares at his not-moldy sandwich as if it holds the secrets of the universe. “Thanks, Shiro, but I dunno about that.”

“How come?”

“I … I was kind of a dick to him, I guess.” Okay, there it is; he admits it. Not that he wouldn’t still jump at the chance to kick Keith’s ass. Just that maybe he didn’t deserve to get snapped at for no reason.

“I can tell you’re a nice person, so I think an apology will work things out just fine,” Shiro says in his deep reassuring voice, and by virtue of him saying it, it’s almost like it becomes true.

Lance takes an enormous bite of his sandwich, puffing out his cheek to ridiculous proportions. Shiro bursts out laughing – he is surprisingly easy to amuse – and Lance tries to grin without looking disgusting, and probably fails.

While Lance chews, Shiro lets the conversation drift to another topic, but Lance’s thoughts are still on his recent and embarrassing past. He has to apologize, for the textbook thing at least. Then he can go back to hating Keith for a valid reason, and not only because he makes Lance feel like the biggest asshole on the planet just by being around.

*** 

“Good morning! What are we feeling like today?”

A caramel Frappuccino, apparently. Lance gives the customer his biggest, brightest smile and says, “Excellent choice! Coming right up,” even though hazelnut is better, because he is a Nice Person, Shiro Approved™, and also really good at his job.

The café job was a godsend, really. It’s close to campus, his hours are decent, and the extra money is more than welcome. Years of living with multiple younger siblings always running around and tangling between his feet have left him both resilient to stress and adept at doing a lot of things at the same time. Plus, being friendly to strangers is one of his talents. And his coffee is okay.

He gets to meet a lot of people, too, and he remembers that this is a blessing when he turns back to service the next customer: a tall bombshell with blonde braids and a crop top. Oh, man, would he love to service her. His smile stays suave, his tone maybe a bit smoother than usual, as he takes her order. He wishes they weren’t in the middle of a rush, so he could flirt a little on the job, and also that this was the kind of coffee shop where they took people’s names.

Lance’s coworker takes the register as he steps aside to make the hottie’s drink himself. In a sudden flash of rom-com–inspired genius (he can hear Pidge in his head, insisting that there is no such thing, except that there totally is) he uncaps the pen he keeps in his apron pocket and scrawls his phone number on the empty cup.

“Lance,” Shay, his boss, hisses, and he freezes up. Shay is a sweetheart, but her eyes see all; it is a little ominous sometimes. He turns to face her, looking at one of her big hoop earrings so he won’t have to meet her gaze.

“Yes, boss?”

“I see what you’re doing, and it’s totally inappropriate.” She looks at him in the imploring, exasperated way that brings out max guilt in his horny little heart. “Just let the girl have her coffee in peace. You’re lovely, Lance, but she is not here for your attention.”

He sighs; she’s right, of course. “Yeah, sorry.” Shay flashes him an I-knew-you’d-do-the-right-thing smile, and he sets his admittedly still super romantic phone number cup aside and makes the girl’s drink in a new one. Another thing he’s learned from living in a big family is not to waste; he’ll mix himself something for energy in that cup as soon as there’s a lull.

“One lactose-free espresso macchiato,” the girl working the register tells Lance.

“On it!” he replies, and makes the drink so fast he should get promoted for that performance alone.

He sets the cup on the counter and has just called out the order when he finds himself staring into a familiar pair of dark eyes. His first thought is Keith, the second why is he here, and the third this is the day I die. Because the backside of being a good multitasker is that small details tend to slip his mind, and he has just realized which cup he made Keith’s coffee in.

Lance’s brain goes completely blank, and the first thing he can come up with is to lunge across the counter and wrest the cup out of Keith’s half-gloved hands. A million idiotic explanations for why he could recall the order race through his mind – I dropped a hair in it! I sneezed! A spider fell off the ceiling! – but all he manages is a strangled “Wait—” and Keith, damn him, does wait, dark eyebrows knitting together on his forehead.

“What? Am I getting this on the house, to make up for last time?”

Lance is mortified in the most literal sense of the word, as in, he is probably already dead, and he comes up with absolutely nothing to say because all he can think about is that he is the biggest fucking idiot in the history of this earth.

“I—never mind,” he squeaks, and Keith’s frown deepens as he turns away and walks out the door with his espresso macchiato, tainted not with milk but with the accumulated filth of Lance’s poor life decisions.

“Ohhh, mierda,” he wheezes. Shay, picking up on signs of distress, comes over and rests a hand on his shoulder.

“Did you do something stupid, Lance?” she says in her lowest voice, equal parts empathy and ice-cold threat.

He gazes at her, wondering if his face looks as much like a firmly smacked piñata as his heart feels.

“You have no idea.”

*** 

Okay, so his friends can never know about this, because he is not emotionally stable enough at this point to take the eternal ridicule that would come with telling them. Right now, he needs a different kind of friend.

As soon as Lance gets off his shift, he calls Shiro. (“Text me if you ever have any questions about class, or just wanna hang out, or whatever!” Shiro said, back when they were having lunch together – a perfectly friendly and socially acceptable way of giving your phone number to another person. Shiro one, Lance zero. Lance minus a hundred billion.) The line is busy. Of course it fucking is; there are probably eighteen girls trying to score a date with him calling at this very minute. Shiro should get hold music or something.

Frustrated, he calls again, and this time he gets through. Lance lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding.

“Shiro? Hi. I was wondering if you know where Keith is? Or know someone who knows?”

He hopes he doesn’t sound as panicked as he feels, but he’s not counting on it. This is an emergency and it needs to be dealt with right now; he doesn’t even care how weird it must seem.

“It’s Saturday, so he’s probably training at the gym near C dorm. Glad to hear you guys are making friends!”

Lance chokes a little, then manages to say, “Yeah, uh, thanks a lot, see you Wednesday,” then throws himself out of the shop, running back to campus at full tilt. He has to resolve this immediately or bury himself alive.

He’s out of breath by the time he skids to a halt by C dorm, and takes a few minutes to recover, clutching his chest and realizing with dismay how sweaty he got from running. Sweat and coffee, the genuine eau de Lance.

He glances up at the gym building. Is Keith even going to be here? Sure, Shiro’s cool, but does he really have powers of omniscience?

Only one way to find out. His stomach swoops with nervousness.

As Lance enters the gym, he considers the fact that he is probably doing this more for his own sake than for Keith’s, but he doesn’t care. He needs to absolve himself, right now, or else he won’t be able to think about anything other than how stupid he is until the next time he encounters Keith in class.

He casts his eyes around, nose wrinkling a little at the smell of rubber equipment and shoes. There are a few people shooting hoops down here, and not much else. Lance curses under his breath and walks over to the stairs as fast as he can, to check out the second level.

His heart beats an erratic tattoo against the inside of his chest as he peeks over the top of the staircase, afraid of what he might see. This area is more about free weights and open spaces, he notes, and sets himself up for disappointment. Shiro was probably wrong.

Except that he wasn’t.

Keith is here, Lance notices now, and can’t stop his mouth from dropping open.

That’s him, on the far end, dressed in black like a stroke of ink, and he has a sword.

Lance is not sure how long he just stands there, gaping at perhaps the most unexpected thing he has seen this week. Keith seems to be practicing footwork, stalking back and forth in a calculated pattern. Or, what the hell, maybe it’s not calculated at all, but the way he moves makes every step look deliberate. He’s smooth and fluid (like a brushstroke, Lance thinks again); there’s something about the balance of his body that draws the eye like a moth to flames. One arm is held out from his torso, keeping the thin blade straight and quivering in the air, and then suddenly he’ll spin around, thrusting and slashing, calm and collected and dangerously focused.

He is still wearing those stupid gloves. I hope he changes them or else that would be really gross, Lance thinks, and decides to concentrate very hard on that instead of the fact that his heartbeat hasn’t evened out yet.

Again, he is not certain just how long he stands there watching like a creep, but it’s long enough for Keith to finish up. He stops as deliberately as he was moving earlier, as if he had already decided exactly when to end his session. Keith lowers the sword, then starts to clean the blade with a rag he pulls out of the pocket of his loose-fitting pants. His body relaxes out of perfect form into more of an ordinary-mortal-standing-around pose, and that’s what shakes Lance out of his bizarre trance-state and reminds him of his mission.

He swallows once for good measure – okay, maybe three times; that was a stubborn lump in his throat – and calls, “Keith!”

Keith looks up, and Lance’s stomach yanks itself in five different directions. For the first time, he processes that the mullet has been tied back into a ponytail. It exposes Keith’s jaw, making his face look more angular, more masculine, which might be the least relevant fact in the known world. Lance notices it anyway.

 Upon spotting Lance, Keith’s expression slowly tightens into a scowl. He can’t blame him.

“Oh, it’s you.”

Lance’s insides feel like a buzzing hive of angry bees. He is really nervous, and still convinced of his own utter idiocy, so all he can do is the thing he does best in that state of mind: he blurts.

“I’m sorry!” he exclaims. “I came to – I wanted to apologize! For the coffee thing!”

“Wha …” Keith begins, frown deepening, then adds, “How did you find me?”

Oh god, so stalking him here was a weird thing to do? It was weird, Lance immediately confirms, and starts thinking that maybe being tortured by his own incompetence until their next class together was the better option.

“Shiro,” Lance half-says, half-squeaks. “Shiro told me!”

Keith looks kind of like he just stepped in something foul, but he is not running away screaming yet. Lance chooses to regard that as a success.

“Look, it’s about time you said sorry and everything, but I don’t understand why you would ask Shiro where I was and come find me to apologize for something that happened like, almost a week ago?”

Lance stares at him hard for a moment, uncomprehending, until it hits him: Keith thinks he is talking about the textbook thing!

“No,” he wheezes, “or, I mean, that too, sorry about that, really sorry, yeah. What I’m trying to say is—” Is he blue in the face yet? He’s starting to feel blue in the face. “—what I meant is, the other coffee thing, today, or more like, what I actually mean is that I didn’t mean that, it was a mistake and I promise I’m not some kind of creeper, it was an honest mistake and—”

“Please breathe,” Keith says, sounding a little alarmed. Lance takes a shuddering breath, and he is sure that if he could see himself reflected in Keith’s wide eyes he would look like a deer in the headlights, except on speed. “What are you talking about? You know I was kidding about getting coffee on the house, right?”

The furious cacophony in Lance’s mind blanks, comes to a halt, because wait, what?

“No, no, I mean … the phone number thing! On your cup!”

Now Keith’s expression is really confused.

“I wrote my phone number on a cup, as, uh, as a joke, and then I accidentally gave it to you!”

“Wow, people actually do that? Write their number on paper cups?”

“No! I mean, yes, I did do that, but I wasn’t going to give it to anybody! So I’m not – I wasn’t trying to be weird.”

“Dude, calm down. I didn’t even notice.” And is that a cheeky smile tugging at the corner of Keith’s lips?

“You … what?”

Keith shrugs, and that’s when Lance notices that his black T-shirt is almost as tight as Shiro’s, and he is blushing because he’s a complete loser who did something unbelievably dumb, not because he has discovered that the muscles in Keith’s arms are defined despite his slight build. He drops his eyes and regrets it – Keith’s body tapers into a slender waist and narrow hips, and Lance is momentarily grateful that he still has a few months left to use “I’m a hormonal teenage boy!” as his excuse for everything. Such as ogling a guy who’s in the process of humiliating him and whom he also hates; he reminds himself that that did not stop being a thing.

“I drank the coffee and threw away the cup. I didn’t really look at it or anything.”

“Oh my god,” Lance says. “Oh my god. I ran all the way here for nothing?”

“You ran?” Keith says, and Lance scowls at him, because that is definitely a smile. “Well, I guess so. Or,” he amends, when he sees Lance start to sputter, “you did get the chance to apologize for spilling my other coffee all over my stuff, so that’s good. Even if it wasn’t very sincere.”

“It was sincere! I feel really bad about that!” Somebody off to his side gives him an exasperated look; Lance remembers about using his indoor voice. “It was stupid and I’m sorry, okay?”

“Okay.”

Lance blinks. What, he’s getting off that easy?

“Anyway, I’m gonna start heading home, but thanks for, uh, tracking me down for a good cause, I suppose.”

Keith’s mouth is twitching, like he’s trying not to laugh. Heat blooms on Lance’s face. God, everything he’s done today has been so bizarre.

“What’s your name, by the way?”

He freezes up, staring at Keith as if he had just started speaking a foreign language. A horrid realization dawns: ever since he found out the other boy’s name, he might have been obsessing a little over how annoying he is, with the mullet and the way he makes Lance feel like a schmuck, and always paired with that name that sounds like a sneer – Keeeiiith.

And Keith has no idea who he is?

“Lance,” he says, forgetting about the indoor voice thing again, “I’m Lance.”

“Okay. Apology accepted, Lance, but please don’t do it again.”

“I won’t,” says Lance, and then he sees that Keith is already leaving, gathering up his stuff and on his way to the stairs, and irritation sweeps through him like a spear. Who does he think he is, getting the last word and walking off like that?

“Hey!” he calls, and Keith turns around, his face shiny with sweat under the light. “How come you can fight with a sword?”

Keith’s mouth is a little open – in astonishment? Horror? He seems to have better control than Lance, though, and closes it again right away. “Uh,” he says, sounding more reserved all of a sudden, “I do fencing.”

“Oh, so you can like, disarm people?” Lance walks up beside him, to get them out of this place, and after hesitating for a moment, Keith matches his pace. Lance pulls out a few choice moves, his best sword-fighting impression, which mostly involves a lot of flailing. “Slash up all their clothes without them even feeling it, so they all drop to the ground and they end up standing there in just their heart-patterned undies? Fear me, if you dare!”

“That’s … not really how it works,” Keith says. His tone is hard to read, and Lance finds himself hoping that he’s amused and not annoyed.

“Fine, so, fighting for money in secret, illegal underground clubs?”

A surprised laugh bubbles out of Keith, and Lance is a bit startled at what a nice laugh he has – high and clear and a little bit dry, as if it’s rusty. Relief bleeds through him at the sound: he’s not annoyed, at least not too annoyed. “No, I don’t really compete anymore. I just practice for fun.”

“Aha! But you used to! I knew there was some fight club shit going on around here.”

“Yeah, but there’s a reason you’re not invited.”

“What!”

“The first rule of Fight Club is, don’t spill coffee on other people’s stuff.”

“Hey, I just apologized for that!”

Keith laughs again, and even though Lance does his best to glare, he can’t help but feel the warm glow that comes from making other people smile.

“Uh, anyway, aren’t you gonna hit the shower or something? No offense, but you’re pretty rank.” He’s not – in fact, Lance is probably sweatier than he is, after working a long shift with all those hot machines and then zooming over here – but Keith doesn’t have to know that.

“I shower at home, usually,” Keith mumbles. “Don’t really like public changing rooms.”

“Who does, right?” Lance rolls his eyes. “I mean, when you’re as handsome as I am, you’re bound to get some stares, and I just don’t have time for that, you know?” He slants a glance at Keith, to see how he reacts to his boasting, and jumps a little when their eyes meet. What, was Keith checking to make sure or something?

You mean like you did, except you were crouching behind a bush? In his mind, Lance jump-kicks his inner voice.

“Um, so,” he says, changing the subject like the smooth operator he is, “I live in that direction …”

“Me too.”

“Oh. Okay. Uh, do you want me to leave you alone?” Somehow, he manages to say that without sounding haughty. Whew.

“What’re you gonna do, walk three steps behind me the whole way?”

“Touché.”

They walk in silence for a while – the only sounds are their breathing and the crunch of their shoes on the path – but Lance doesn’t deal well with silences, so he decides to bring up the other elephant in the room.

“So,” he says, focusing his entire being on coming off as the essence of blasé, “that sports thing a few weeks ago? You were pretty good.”

“Huh? Oh. I … thank you.”

“I was going to tell you so, but you seemed a bit preoccupied with a certain pretty lady.”

“What?”

“You know, silver hair, four hundred thousand followers …”

“Oh, Allura? She’s really nice. I met her during orientation, she’s easy to talk to …” He trails off, hesitates. “Yeah, uh, she’s really nice. Sorry, you said you were going to tell me something?”

But Lance is intrigued now. “So, is she like, your famous fling, or …?”

“What? No.”

“Do you want her to be?”

“No!”

Wow, that was a definite answer. Even Lance can usually tell when he’s out of line (usually), so he drops that train of thought, deciding not to ask if Keith has ever gotten a ride on Allura’s awesome motorcycle.

“Aaanyway, there I was, coming over to say hello and be all ‘Hi, I’m Lance, good game, you completely whipped my ass’ and you just cruise on past me, to greener pastures …” He feels the familiar irritation pricking in his chest as he says it, and clings to the feeling, as if he’s possessive of it – that’s how he’s used to relating to Keith; it’s something he understands.

“I did that? Sorry,” Keith mumbles, looking at his shoes. “I’m not really … I have a bit of a problem with that, being off in my own world, so … I didn’t mean to. I guess,” he says, in a lighter tone, “you have to spill coffee on me to get my attention.”

Is he making a joke? Trying to lighten the mood? Did he just apologize? There’s a tight feeling in Lance’s gut, like a fist clenching. Are you sure he just genuinely didn’t notice you? You’re taking this a bit personally.

Ugh. His plan to escape the curse of feeling like the world’s rudest asshat as soon as Keith’s around is failing miserably.

“I guess so!” he replies, too hearty, forcing all of his dumb ideas about rivalry or what-fucking-ever to a distant corner of his mind. “Anyway, this is my building, so I’ll see you in class?”

Keith’s lips quirk in something that isn’t quite a smile. “It’s my building too, so sorry. Guess you’re stuck with me a little longer.”

They’ve been living in the same dorm and Lance never noticed? Wow, who is he to get riled up about stuff? He buries his hands deep in his pockets, so he won’t start tearing at his hair.

They end up parting by the elevator, since Lance rides it up to the fifth floor and Keith takes the stairs to the second. Keith waves with the hand that isn’t holding his sword, and Lance returns it as the doors shut in front of him.

He makes it up to his room, where Hunk is sprawled on his bed, eating potato chips and reading a comic book. “Oh, hey Lance,” he says. “Long day?”

“Tell me about it,” Lance sighs, and resists the urge to add “scholarship student,” because he knows that Hunk really does care, and would feed Lance out of his own hands if he ran out of money. He slips into the bathroom, to finally rinse the smell of coffee and embarrassment off of his skin.

He takes all his clothes off, leaving them in an unceremonious pile on the floor. Propping his hands on the sides of the sink, he stares at his narrow face in the mirror, and squints for good measure.

“I still hate him,” he announces to his reflection, but it comes out sounding like a lie.

Chapter 3

Notes:

hello again! there is a tiny mention of self-harm in this chapter, so if that makes u uncomfortable, stop reading after the sentence that starts w "The loss was palpable ..." and start again at "He's not really active..." ! most of this is just fluff though haha

hope u enjoy!!

Chapter Text

Keith gets anxious easily, and that is why he runs. If he stays holed up in his room, the thoughts can take over – they turn his mind into a roiling whirlpool that expands until it stretches outside of his head, almost convincing him that he is all mind, that he has no body. But when he runs, even though his overactive thoughts are still there, they’re more like thunder rumbling in the distance: ominous, but safe. When he runs, he knows that his body belongs to him, and he can become all breathing and muscle and pavement and wind.

Keith is running now.

He doesn’t usually think about the time, only about exertion. He runs fast, to work up a good burn, stays there until he gets a bit out of breath and it’s almost uncomfortable to keep going, then slows back down to give himself a rest before he rinses and repeats. The lulls, like the one he’s in now, are enjoyable: he pulls oxygen into his lungs and takes the time to feel the wind on his face.

His hair is pulled back, but a few strands of his bangs stick to his forehead. Maybe he should get it trimmed. Except, ugh, no. His stomach clenches a little at the thought of having to make an appointment with a stranger. Does Allura know somebody who cuts hair?

I can’t depend on her for everything.

Keith bites his lip and focuses on the music in his ears. The song is almost over; almost time to speed back up.

He senses another person, coming up beside him, and pulls to the side a little to let them pass. They don’t, though: he’s startled as he realizes that they are keeping pace with him, and turns his head.

It’s that guy, the barista guy – Lance of the exaggerated hand gestures, of the inexplicable rudeness and sudden amicability. Lance of the nice smile, Keith notes with a little start, as that very smile is flashed at him – very bright and very wide, the kind of smile that takes over an entire face, not just the lips and eyes.

Lance is running, too, in a loose white T-shirt and soccer shorts, and he gives Keith a little wave. Keith isn’t sure how to answer that, so he kind of nods, and Lance’s grin widens just a little before he pulls ahead.

Bewildered, Keith watches him go. He’s pretty tall, but so lanky – his clothes are billowing around him like sails.

The song ends and drifts into another, and it’s time to push himself again. Keith takes a deep breath and forces his legs to move faster.

He barely even notices that he’s gaining on Lance, loping along in front of him; he’s just intent on moving forward, on the breath in his lungs and the good ache in his knees. He doesn’t see what expression Lance is wearing as he pushes past him and plunges on.

And he’s running hard now, his heart starting to pound in his ears—

Wait, what the fuck?

Lance whooshes by again, his long legs – longer than Keith’s – carrying him at a fantastic speed. Overtaking him one time is fine; obviously it’s normal for joggers to pass each other. But twice? And that fast?

That’s when it happens: Lance looks over his shoulder and sticks out his tongue.

If he wasn’t already breathing so hard, Keith is sure his mouth would have formed an incredulous o.

Is he seriously racing me?

And that, well … honestly, that kind of pisses him off.

Keith may be mediocre at a lot of things. But there is one gift that no one will ever take away from him: he is fast.

He picks up speed, inches closer; this time he can see the flush of exertion on Lance’s cheeks and the strain in his neck as he whips past him. The corner of his lips pulls up in a little grin. Yeah, serves you right.

But the guy is stubborn, and it’s not long before they’re neck and neck again, fighting to stay just one hair’s-breadth ahead of the other. There are two voices quarreling in Keith’s head, one groaning this is so stupid, and the other, louder and more excited, saying yeah, but I want to win!

Win what, exactly? He isn’t sure, and isn’t sure it matters. There is no plan, they don’t know where they’re going – whoever is first sets the course, like when Lance manages to get ahead and whips around an unexpected corner, actually putting Keith behind. He catches up quickly, though, and then pulls the same dirty trick with greater success: his body is more compact and focused and agile, without all those long limbs flailing around.

Several times, he is physically ready to quit, the beginnings of fatigue threatening to drag him down. But now his heart is in it, and he pictures a fire burning in the pit of his stomach, fueling him, and it keeps him going for another stretch, and another, and another.

Eventually, they end up near the edge of the campus, where the pedestrian path runs next to the road that leads out into the city proper. There is a boom across that road, striped red and white; it seems like as good a goal as any.

Keith summons up his final reserves of strength and plummets past it, then skids to a halt and turns around. Lance nearly barrels into him.

He holds up his hands in a time-out, and for the first time, he realizes that his throat is burning, that his pulse is hammering in his head and hands and belly, and that he can’t stop gasping for breath.

Lance is not in better shape, panting, his hands on his knees. They stand there for several minutes just to recover, huffing and sputtering like broken machinery.

Then Lance looks up, his face entirely red, and wheezes out a laugh.

“Nice moustache,” he says. “You looking to challenge Dr. Coran?”

Keith feels himself go a deeper shade of scarlet than he already is. He knows exactly what Lance means – when he exercises, he flushes nearly all over, except for the area around his mouth and upper lip, where the skin stays very white. It does look a bit ridiculous.

“Shut up. I won.”

“Hey! You did not, you surrendered while you were in the lead.”

“Like you could have kept going any longer!”

“Could so! I’d have managed the whole thing … over again,” Lance exclaims, contradicting himself when he has to stop for breath mid-sentence.

“Why the hell did you do that?” asks Keith, who feels justified in wondering about it now that he has won (because he did, and nothing will convince him otherwise).

“What? You started it!”

“What? How?!”

“You sped up as soon as you saw me!”

“I—that’s just how I run! In intervals,” Keith says, not sure why he’s bothering to explain this.

“Riiight.”

Wow, Lance sure is a master of the egocentric worldview. First the school competition thing, now this?

“Oh my god. Is everything about you?”

It slips out before he can stop it, and Keith cringes a little. There he goes again, doing that thing where he thinks out loud. That wasn’t very nice, was it?

“Not everything. But a lot of things are,” Lance says, unfazed, and the expression on his face is so self-righteous that Keith can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him.

“Dude, what even.”

“I don’t know either,” Lance admits. His breathing has evened out by now, although the collar of his tee is soaked with sweat. “But it was fun.”

Keith smiles, an unexpected warmth unfurling inside him. “Yeah, it was.”

“It’s been ages since I ran so hard. Hey, wanna do it again?”

“Not now!” Keith exclaims in alarm, still uncertain of just how deep Lance’s competitive streak runs.

“Of course not now! Sometime.” Lance straightens up. “I want vengeance.”

Ha! He concedes the victory. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

“Shut up.”

They both agree that it’s about time to be walking back – walking – so they set off in the direction of the dorm, quietly at first, because Keith can’t think of anything to say. It’s not long before Lance fills the silence, though, chatting about a little bit of everything. Occasionally he asks questions, but mostly he talks about himself – huge surprise – and Keith is happy to let him do that.

“So, the coffee shop?” Keith asks, at what he figures is an appropriate lull in the conversation. “How long have you been working there?”

He glances over at Lance as he says it, and so he sees the little interested smile, the openness, on Lance’s face as he processes the question.

“Ow, why do you want to remind me of my idiocy?” he says, and laughs, a bit embarrassed. “But, uh, about six months.”

He keeps talking, says that he usually works the day shift on weekends, that he really likes it there, and that his boss is great because she manages to be scary and a lovely person at the same time. Keith is hearing this with one ear and maybe understanding it on some level, but mostly he is busy staring at his feet. Lance may be weird and kind of annoying, but he is very, very cute, and that stupid face he just made has hurled this realization hard into Keith’s gut.

All this proves is that Keith has eyes. Obviously. Lance’s body is thin but lithe, and he has these incredibly distracting tendons in his neck that run up to meet his angular jaw. His hair looks soft, and his eyelashes are long, like his fingers. Keith is grateful that he can probably blame any redness in his face on excess exertion.

This sucks. Intellectually, he understands that it’s pretty normal for him to notice good-looking boys – he’s twenty and gay and only has about two make-outs to his name, after all. But it does make it difficult to make friends, if he can’t look at them without staring and getting caught on the shape of their lips. Or the ridiculous brightness of their smiles. Or how nice their arms are, brown skin turned browner from the sun, slender but capable. Gosh, leave the poor guy alone; get your sticky thoughts away from him.

Keith concentrates on dismissing his imagination, and by the time they make it back to the dorm he has more or less succeeded.

“All right then,” says Lance, “I’ll see you around. I run almost every day around this time, so whenever you feel ready for a rematch …”

Keith snorts. “More like when you’re ready, but okay.”

Lance thrusts an imperious finger at him. “Wow, so rude. No farewell hugs for you!”

“You’re sweaty and disgusting,” Keith says, and Lance just makes a face at him and disappears inside the elevator.

Keith lets his breath out and makes for the stairs, hoping that he had only flinched on the inside, and not visibly. He has trouble dealing with hugs from people he doesn’t know that well – he’s not used to physical intimacy – and he wasn’t sure whether or not Lance was joking.

What would it be like if he was with someone? Would it get easier then?

He catches himself thinking about Lance’s arms again, and screws his eyes shut in dismay.

***

He does end up texting Allura, because his hair is really starting to get into his eyes. He asks her if she would mind making him an appointment to get it cut.

ofc not, she replies, and a surge of gratitude passes through him. Really, things would be a lot harder without her around.

Like he told Lance, he met her back in freshman year, during orientation. There were so many people, and it was starting to freak him out a bit, just the sheer crushing volume of them, so he took refuge off to the side and tried to calm his breathing. Allura picked up on it, somehow; she was a thoughtful person, in the right place at the right time. Hello, how are you holding up? He’d noted the silver hair, the bold pink makeup around her eyes: this was someone who was a little different, but unafraid of being so. I’m Allura. He looked into her turquoise circle lenses and felt something like trust.

The other time he remembers, that he will always remember, was when she caught him after class, just to ask how he was doing. Would you like to come on up for a cuppa?

A cup of what? he said, and she gave him a look of affectionate exasperation. You must have noticed I’m English. It made him feel like an idiot, but in a comforting way, because her invitation still held.

He opened up about his anxiety over a warm cup of rooibos in her clean, Bohemian apartment, and she offered him her shoulder to lean on.

Just remember the people supporting you. Friends, parents … and me, if you’d like me to.

Her smile was sweet and genuine, and his tongue seemed to swell in his mouth.

My parents are gone.

She looked right at him, without an ounce of pity, and took his hand in hers, very gently. I get it, I really do. I lost my father at a young age.

The loss was palpable in her face, and he didn’t offer his condolences, or ask about her mother, just squeezed her warm dry hand a little tighter.

I … did what felt right at the time, and I hurt myself. This was her, opening up; her turquoise eyes were vulnerable.

He couldn’t help it; automatically, his eyes dropped to her arms. I … I’m sorry.

It’s okay. I’m not ashamed of it. And she held out her arm, showing him.

It was a simple, minimalist design, running down the dark skin of her arm lengthwise: a carefully drawn black line, dotted here and there with gently swelling circles, ending in a slender, tapered arrowhead. You see? It’s pointing forward.

He’s not really active on social media, so he didn’t realize until later that a lot of people know who Allura is, and that she is doing her best to be a role model to the young people who follow her. It’s one of the things that worry her: that she’ll mess up somehow, and have a negative impact on someone’s life. I think you’re doing just fine, Keith said, and she thanked him, her eyes glowing.

Keith puts his phone aside and hugs his pillow, feeling grateful for his friend, and for the fact that he has his own room to retreat into. His anxiety has improved a lot; he doesn’t really have a problem talking to people his own age, but the professional context still does him in for some reason. The internet age has made it possible to order pizza without picking up the phone, and no one is happier about this than Keith.

Speak of the devil: his phone buzzes. i got u an appointment for later this evening, hope thats ok!

He assures her that it is, stretches, and prepares to face the world.

*** 

“Hey, you look different!” Lance exclaims after class, and it takes Keith several moments to realize that he is talking about him. “What did you do? Join the mob?”

“What? No, I got my hair cut the other day.”

“You got it cut? But you still have a mullet!”

Lance’s friend, the big guy with the orange headband, comes up behind him and claps a hand over his mouth. “I am so sorry about his manners,” the guy sighs.

“You mean lack of them,” says Lance’s other friend, the short, young-looking kid with the big round glasses. The kid waves to Keith; the sleeve of her green hoodie is long and bunches around her small wrist. “I’m Pidge. My pronoun is they. That’s Hunk. I guess you know Lance, unfortunately.”

“Keith,” he says, by way of introduction, and makes a mental note of Pidge’s pronoun. “Uh, nice to meet you.”

Pidge smiles. “You too. See you around!” The trio disappears, Hunk dragging Lance in a chokehold that he struggles to twist out of, his shirt riding up around his hips.

Keith stays outside the lecture hall for a moment, clutching the strap of his backpack. The lady at the salon thinned his hair out a lot, and his bangs are shorter, but he is still sporting more or less exactly the same style as before. Even so, Lance noticed the difference.

He doesn’t like it. He called it a mullet. But he has this ridiculous happy feeling in his stomach, and he tells himself it must be because he is on the verge of making new friends. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, not dwelling for a moment on the flash of Lance’s belly he saw as Hunk hauled him away.

***

He does end up racing Lance again, and he’s still faster, to his satisfaction.

“Someday I will beat you, you know.”

“I never said you wouldn’t.”

Lance squints at him, then turns up his nose, and Keith laughs. On their way back, they come across Hunk and Pidge, sitting at a table outside the dorms. They seem to be enjoying the sunshine by playing some sort of card game.

“Hi, guys,” Lance greets them.

“The masochist returns,” Hunk says, shaking his head.

“Hunk, that was supposed to be our secret!”

Pidge rolls their eyes, takes a card from their hand and places it on the table. “Hi, Keith.”

“Hello.”

“When you finally keel over and need to be fixed,” Hunk is telling Lance, “Pidge and I can build you some rad cyborg limbs. With a drink holder and everything.”

“Sounds pretty good, yes, but it won’t happen. Gotta stay in shape for the ladies.” Lance draws out the last word, grinning, and it’s barely even out of his mouth when Pidge groans and Hunk objects, “Not funny, Lance, that has only ever been dumb and not funny!”

Keith is glad they all seem occupied with screeching at each other, because it gives him time to deal with the twinge he feels in his heart. This is the eternal brick wall, isn’t it? This is why he tries not to get too hung up on a guy just because he happens to be cute. It doesn’t matter if he has a pretty smile or seems to enjoy Keith’s company; if he doesn’t like men, then there’s no point in entertaining any silly thoughts, even if it’s only to himself.

“So, are you guys, like, pals now?” It’s Pidge’s voice, and it startles him out of his moping, which is just as well.

“He is my rival, thank you very much,” Lance says, crossing his arms demonstratively. Keith snorts at that, and so does Pidge; he meets their eyes and they exchange a little smile.

“Pals, then,” Hunk confirms, then looks over at Keith. “Hey, you’re welcome to hang out with us sometime, if you’d like. I dunno if you’re into geeky stuff, but we could teach you this game.”

“You can’t do worse than Lance,” Pidge says solemnly, earning themself a death glare.

Keith scratches the back of his head. “Um … I’d like that.”

“You probably want to take a shower now, though. Otherwise Lance will stick around and try to out-rival you or something, and stink up everything.”

“Pidge, I hope that one day you will learn to deal with your jealousy,” Lance says.

“Yeah, yeah, but you should go deal with that BO, like, today.”

Lance huffs. “Keith, let’s go. You have no obligation to speak to these people ever again.”

“Yeah, but what if I want to learn the game?”

“Ha!” exclaims Pidge, over Lance’s wail, and Hunk says, “See you later, man.”

“See you,” Keith replies, waving, and goes back to his room feeling lighter.

***

“So this game is called Voltron, and the objective is to assemble an entire mecha in order to save the universe. But to do that you need to gather five lion cards …”

Keith frowns, and Hunk holds up a placating hand. “Look, don’t worry about it making sense, just roll with it. You’ll learn as you go along.”

They are sitting on the floor of Hunk’s and Lance’s room, Pidge explaining the rules of the game. Their room is pretty messy – not totally unexpected – but they have shoved most of the socks and empty bags of Doritos aside to clear an area in the center. Lance is on his stomach, pouting; his friends are making him play because, according to them, Voltron is a lot more fun with more people. However, also according to them, Lance is pretty terrible at it, a fact of which he seems to be aware.

Keith has seen a lot of Lance’s friends recently, and is starting to feel like he might be able to call them friends of his own. Both Hunk and Pidge are intimidatingly intelligent – Pidge the most, perhaps, only seventeen and already a college sophomore – but neither of them makes a big deal about it. The way they exist in the world is so unpretentious that Keith hardly ever feels self-conscious around them, even if he can’t follow when they get caught up in their jargon-filled conversations about computers and tech. Lance doesn’t get it either, though, and Keith wonders if he appreciates having another non-prodigy around.

“I’ve played this game so many times and I still don’t get it,” Lance complains, resting his cheek on the floor. “Shouldn’t we be getting wasted or something, like normal college students?”

“There is no such thing as normal,” Pidge says sagely, and Hunk jabs a thumb in Pidge’s direction and adds, “Yeah, plus they’re like twelve.”

“I’m like twelve,” Pidge agrees, then glances over at Keith. “We don’t mind if people drink or anything, it’s just that this is more our thing.”

“Speak for yourself!” says Lance.

“Do you drink?” Keith asks, trying not to sound too nosy, but he is curious. Sure, these are the people Lance is usually around, but he can also imagine him as a party boy – dancing on tables, picking up girls with that easy smile. Lance likes girls.

“Sometimes,” Lance replies, kind of defensively.

“He went to a house party once and puked on the couch,” Pidge explains, and Lance gives them the finger. “Hey, can I put on some music?”

The question is rhetorical, because they are already on their feet and on their way to a sleek silver laptop sitting on Hunk’s bed. Keith’s not sure what he was expecting to hear, but death metal wasn’t it. Pidge grins, and seems to be enjoying themself immensely.

Lance sighs and does a dramatic flop onto his back, fingers to his forehead like a lady of delicate sensibilities. “We’ll put on Cascada for you later,” Hunk promises, earning himself a tired thumbs-up. Keith averts his eyes from the sliver of waistband and hipbone that are now visible, and looks back at Pidge instead, who is bobbing their head to the music.

“So, anyway, back to business. To fight another player, you’re gonna need both a lion card and a paladin card of matching color …”

Keith does pick up on the rules eventually, and the game is surprisingly addictive. They end up playing for hours; at one point, Hunk breaks out cups of chocolate mousse which he apparently made himself, and they are exquisite. Lance manages to win once, and gets to his feet to cheer and whoop (“I thought you didn’t care about this game,” says Pidge); another time, it’s down to him and Keith, and it’s like racing him all over again. Keith did not know it was possible to get this competitive over cards, but here he is, and it is happening. They have sunk to the level of petty insults. (“Do you really want to fuck with me? I can fight with a sword.” “Oh yeah? But consider this, Keith: your mullet sucks.” “You’re just pissed because you run like one of those inflatable arm-waving dolls.” “Excuuuuse me?!”) Keith wins that round, and Lance is outraged.

Pidge turns in around ten, saying they have some homework to finish, but generously allows the rest of them to keep the game.

“Maybe I should leave too,” Keith says.

“You can stay if you want,” says Hunk, who is now lying on his bed with his laptop on his stomach. “We’ll be up for a while. But feel free to go whenever.”

He considers. He doesn’t really feel like going back to his room, where he’ll just sit up for hours with nothing to do. “Okay, thanks. I’ll stick around for a bit, then.”

Things are very chill from there. Hunk looks up recipes on his laptop and keeps asking Lance which ones he’s interested in trying, proof that Hunk is an actual angel and Lance an undeserving brat. Lance and Keith play a few rounds of normal cards, but they stop after a particularly intense match of slapjack that leaves both their hands red and throbbing. They are sitting around, mostly looking at their phones and chatting, when Lance gets to his feet and fetches an instrument case from the foot of his bed. Keith hadn’t noticed it earlier; it had been hiding stealthily under a discarded pair of jeans.

“Not Wonderwall,” Hunk says immediately, without looking up from his screen for a second. Lance rolls his eyes. “You might want to leave now, Keith.”

“You play guitar?” Keith asks, as Lance takes the instrument out and settles down with his legs crossed.

“You’re not the only one with talents, sword boy,” Lance grins, plucking at the strings and tuning them.

“What do you play?”

“Justin Bieber,” says Hunk. Keith snorts, but Hunk goes on, “No, really, he knows the words to almost every track from Believe Acoustic.”

“I do,” Lance admits, and as if to prove it, he launches into As Long As You Love Me.

His voice takes Keith by surprise. When he talks, Lance is pretty obnoxious, loud and shrill. His singing voice is different: a bit lower, not perfect, but melodious and pleasantly husky.

Lance is practicing, not giving a concert, so Keith feels weird watching him; he takes out his phone and pretends to be busy. But what he does see, out of the corner of his eye, is doing strange things to his stomach. It’s not just his voice that seems different: Lance’s long fingers, on the strings, are graceful and deft, and the position of his arm puts his wrist in focus, fine-boned and tan. He is wearing a colorful braided bracelet – made by a younger sibling, maybe? – and its strands, blue and red, contrast against the smooth brown of his skin.

Keith’s face is getting hot; he pulls his knees up to his chest, as if to protect himself. Lance’s repertoire is pretty generic – Keith swears he has heard every single song overplayed on the radio at some point – and his soft acoustic renditions are cheesy. Keith knows this. And still …

It’s when he sings the opening lines to Counting Stars that Keith really starts to lose it. Maybe it’s the tilt of Lance’s head, the way his brown hair seems to fall over his eyes at that angle, or maybe that the key of the song suits his voice so well, but regardless …

“Lately I’ve been, I’ve been losing sleep, dreaming about the things that we could be …”

… it’s almost hard to breathe. He has to look away from Lance’s lips shaping the words, because all of a sudden he is overwhelmed with a feeling of want that wraps around his heart like a claw, and it’s just physical, he knows it is, but at that moment this annoying, loud-mouthed, infuriating boy is the most attractive thing Keith has ever seen.

When Lance finishes that song, Keith stands up, hoping that no one can tell his hands are shaking.

“All right, guys, I’m gonna head back. Uh, thanks for letting me stay and hang out. And thanks for the mousse, Hunk; it was amazing.” His mouth and lungs are cooperating to form coherent words; it helps his heart calm down a little, which is not saying much, because it is beating frantically and he has to get out.

“Hey, no problem. You’re welcome to come over anytime.”

“Yeah,” Lance grins, and his hands are still resting on the damn guitar, “but I’ll form Voltron first next time, and kick your ass to planet fucking Jupiter.”

“Pidge is going to destroy us all,” Keith manages to say, somehow, “and is Jupiter really the furthest planet you could think of?” He’s already halfway out the door.

“Good night, Keith,” Lance calls, voice dripping with sarcasm; “G’night,” he replies, and shuts the door, and he’s alone with himself in a dim corridor.

He takes the elevator down to his floor, and rests his head against the wall so he won’t have to see himself in the mirror. He makes it back to his room, curls up on his bed; Keith chews a knuckle and faces the facts.

Number one: Lance is undeniably irritating, in a we just met but I already want to fight him sort of way. Number two: Lance is also, for some awful, unfair reason, a person Keith finds incredibly sexy.

He drags a hand across his face. Oh, man. He is completely fucked.

Chapter 4

Notes:

i finished this chapter out in the middle of the woods with no internet, as my sole link to civilization. thanks to everyone who has stopped by and commented, you guys make my day ;u; <3

(fun fact: the 2009 norway spiral anomaly was a weird light phenomenon over, u guessed it, norway. the official explanation is that it was caused by russian missile testing, but some people continue to believe it was the government, or aliens. i figure that's the kind of thing keith sits around researching in his spare time haha)

Chapter Text

Saturday. Keith’s in his room, nibbling on crackers and dutifully neglecting the essay he should be writing. He’s stopped bothering with opening new tabs alongside his school ones, and just has a different browser window up. This one is full of far more interesting things: the Cryptid Wiki, a paused game of Tetris, fighter jet flight demonstration videos, and an abandoned image search for the 2009 Norway spiral anomaly (he kind of wants it for his wallpaper, but he can’t find any pictures with high enough resolution).

He is in the middle of an article about whether or not artificial intelligence will replace human pilots in military aircraft (a human pilot can always fly better, he thinks, if they’re really any good) when there’s a knock on his door. He jumps, figures it’s management come to check on something, and is surprised to find Hunk and Pidge standing outside.

“Yo,” Hunk says, and Pidge does a mock salute.

“Hi.” Keith is glad he got dressed to go stock up on snacks earlier; he’s pretty sure he looks presentable, when normally he’d still have been in his pajamas, his hair in disarray. He says the first thing that pops into his mind: “Uh, how do you know where I live?”

“You told us,” Hunk shrugs, reminding Keith that he is dealing with smart people, who remember details like a room number mentioned off-hand. Or maybe it has less to do with them being smart and more to do with them being kind.

“We’re gonna go visit Lance at work,” Pidge pipes up, and Keith glances down at them. The difference in height and size between Pidge and Hunk is pretty funny when they’re standing next to one another, especially since it means absolutely nothing: they are equal sources of dry wit and confusing technical commentary. “So we thought we’d ask if you wanna join.”

“There will be coffee and talking shit,” Hunk promises.

Hard to resist. “Yeah, I’m in.”

“All right,” says Pidge. “We’ll wait for you downstairs!”

They skip away, and Hunk waves at Keith, says “See ya” and follows. Keith closes his laptop, throws on his shoes, gloves, and red motorcycle jacket – the weather is still fairly warm, but getting cooler – and does a quick sweep for his room key, phone, and wallet.

He checks his hair in the mirror before he leaves. Tries tucking it behind his ears, changes his mind, untucks. It’ll do.

By the time he makes it downstairs, Pidge and Hunk are swept up in a heated conversation. Hunk is gesturing furiously, exasperation evident in his eyes and the set of his jaw.

“—in front of this whole diverse room of people, too – it’s just unbelievable?”

“Ugh, I know. It was so gross, man.”

“What did I miss?” Keith asks, walking over.

“New teacher. We don’t like him,” Pidge explains.

“He’s a colonialist asshole,” Hunk fills in.

“Hunk called him out on some pretty nasty things he said yesterday. It was awesome.”

“And then he had the nerve to tell me that maybe I should stop quoting ‘amateur discourse I read on the internet.’ Um, hello? Like it’s completely unthinkable that I might have some actual experiences of my own?”

Hunk makes a frustrated noise, shaking a fist at the sky. Pidge pats his arm, and half turns to face Keith.

“Hunk is going to save the world one day, I swear.”

“I might flunk the class, though,” Hunk adds.

Keith smiles a little at that. “Who is this guy, so I can avoid him?”

“Professor Sendak,” Hunk seethes, and draws a finger across his throat. “Anyway, I’m done thinking about that butthead, and very ready to start thinking about mud cake. Let’s roll.”

They leave the dorm together and make for Lance’s coffee shop, Pidge and Hunk chatting all the way. The topic flits from school to some TV show they’re both watching before settling on computer games. They question Keith thoroughly, and after finding out he plays Overwatch, jointly manage to convince him to play with them this evening.

“So who do you main?” Pidge asks, eyes gleaming behind their glasses.

“Genji,” Keith and Hunk say at the same time. Keith’s eyes widen, and Hunk punches the air and shouts, “Called it!”

For some reason Keith finds that incredibly funny, and he laughs so hard he starts to buckle over, surprising even himself. “Don’t die on us, man,” Hunk says, grinning; Keith straightens up, wiping his eyes, and sees that Pidge is smiling too.

He’s having fun.

When they arrive at the shop, Keith steels himself against the fluttering of his nerves, but Lance isn’t behind the counter. It’s a girl with short hair and big, dangling gold earrings.

“Shay!” Hunk exclaims, his face melting into a smile.

“Hi, guys,” the girl says, smiling back. “How’re you doing?”

“Great, thanks,” says Pidge. “We brought our friend Keith. Keith, that’s Shay, Lance’s boss.”

“The one and only,” Hunk says fondly. “We still can’t figure out how she keeps him in line.”

Keith and Shay exchange a nod. She’s really tall, with a soft, open face, and he instantly likes her.

“All right, we should go dump our stuff,” Pidge says. They venture off deeper into the café, in search of a table.

Hunk gives Shay a little wave, radiating barely contained excitement, and follows after Pidge. Keith wonders if he knows how obvious his crush is. It’s adorable, regardless.

“Lance, your friends are here!” Shay calls into the back of the shop. The back of Keith’s neck prickles, as if caressed by a gentle finger. Oh, man—

A terrifying thought strikes him: what if he’s being as obvious as Hunk?

Except he’s not crushing on Lance, he reminds himself, so that’s impossible.

Yeah, you just swoon over his half-assed guitar playing, which is totally different, says a horribly reasonable voice in his head. Keith presses his lips together and resolves to ignore it, then hurries to catch up with the others before the reason for his distress decides to show up.

It’s early in the afternoon, so there aren’t a lot of people in the coffee shop at the moment. Keith is grateful for the relative silence and the space. It’s a cozy place, with dark furniture and low-hanging yellow lamps. The cream and burgundy walls are lined with shelves full of old books, probably thrift shop castoffs, and the speakers play a mixture of modern indie pop and instrumental jazz. Keith finds Pidge and Hunk at a booth, their bags and jackets in a pile on Hunk’s right. He adds his own jacket to the stack.

“Um, I can keep an eye on the stuff, if you guys wanna go order,” Keith offers.

“All right, mud cake time!” Hunk whoops, and he and Pidge are back on their feet and on their way to the counter in no time.

A familiar voice drifts around the corner. “Hi, nerds. Just couldn’t wait until tonight to see me, huh?”

“Couldn’t wait to see you serve us, you mean,” Pidge chirps. “Gimme a mint chocolate cappuccino.”

“Why do you insist on this insult to my skills?”

“What did you say about my order? Don’t make me call your boss!”

Pidge comes back a few minutes later, carrying a cup on a saucer. “Go ahead,” they say, tilting their head in the direction of the counter, and resumes their spot on the padded seat. Keith gets up.

Hunk is waiting for his coffee, one hand already holding a plate with a slice of chocolate cake.

“I can take a break in, like, twenty minutes,” Lance is saying, when he spots Keith on his way to the register. “Oh! Well, look who’s here!” If his hands weren’t busy on the machines, Keith is sure he would have crossed his arms over his chest. As it is, he arches an eyebrow and sticks his chin out demonstratively. “Did you come to pick a fight?”

God, he is so weird. Keith crosses his own arms. “I came for coffee.”

“You’re the only one who does that kind of thing, Lance,” Hunk points out, ever-helpful.

Lance sniffs, and hands Hunk a tall mug towering with whipped cream and syrup. Hunk lets out a tiny excited yay as he takes it, adding, “You’re the best, Lance,” before going to rejoin Pidge.

“And don’t you forget it,” Lance says, raising his voice as Hunk’s back retreats. Then he turns to Keith. “Hello, how can I help you?”

He’s in his uniform, a maroon apron over a black polo shirt, with a golden nametag pinned to his chest. Keith makes a point of not looking at Lance’s mouth, which he figures can only be detrimental. It backfires, though – he ends up noticing how great Lance’s arms look in that shirt, and that maroon is an excellent match for the warm browns of his skin and hair. Keith finds himself thinking that boys in aprons might be the world’s most underrated concept.

“Can I have, uh …” He realizes he hasn’t considered what he wants at all – his mind was too busy elsewhere – so he looks over the top of Lance’s head to read the menu.

“Keith, my face is down here,” Lance cries in mock outrage, and Keith sucks in a sharp breath of annoyance and does his best to just ignore.

“I’ll just have a regular latte,” he says finally.

“Right, right, how very vanilla of you,” Lance says, punching it in and giving Keith a look of cool superiority. Keith grits his teeth; he was worried about getting flustered facing Lance, was right there in the danger zone for a while, but Lance is doing a great job at dispelling his fears.

“Can I get it—”

“—lactose free, right?”

Keith blinks. “Uh. Yeah. Thanks.”

He remembered.

He’s already gotten his debit card out of his little black wallet, but Lance immediately starts making the drink, and abandons the register.

“Hey, Employee of the Month, when do I pay?”

Lance glances at him over the top of the silver machine, one corner of his mouth curving up into a lopsided smile. His eyes are very blue. Why haven’t I noticed that before?

“On the house,” Lance says, “to make up for last time.”             

Oh god. Is this a flush he’s feeling? Definitely a flush.

“You don’t have to do that,” he mumbles, glancing off to the side. “I told you, I was just kidding.”

“Hey! I am not doing this to be nice,” Lance objects. “This way I don’t owe you anything. And then it’s on.”

“What? What’s on?”

“You know, I’ve been thinking, and I figure the only reason I lost to you was because my feelings of guilt were holding me back. Well, no longer.” He squints in a way that is probably supposed to be threatening, but just makes it look like there’s something in his eye. Keith bites back a scoff. “Next time, there will be no mercy. Want cream on that? Whipped, like your butt?”

“Yes please,” Keith says, without flinching. “Wait, are you talking about running or cards?”

“Both!” Lance sputters. “Everything! I’m not going to go easy on you anymore.”

“Good. Maybe that way you’ll be an actual challenge.”

Lance sticks out his tongue, and Keith feels like he’s won.

“Anyway, here’s your latte,” Lance says, handing the mug over the counter. “Don’t just toss it this time.”

And he winks – he honest to god winks – which makes no sense at all. “This mug is porcelain, why would I—”

But Lance’s attention is on the customer who just came in, so Keith turns away, inhaling the warm smell of coffee. That’s when he spots the napkin wedged inside the ear of the mug. He pulls it out, unfurls it. Scrawled on it in thick black marker are the digits of a phone number – presumably the very same one Keith threw in the trash a few weeks ago.

He tries and fails to swallow his beating heart, which seems to have lodged somewhere behind his larynx. He has Lance on Skype (and Snapchat, which, after a barrage of ridiculous selfies, he is starting to think was a mistake), but he never actually got the number for his phone. It just hadn’t seemed necessary.

Well, he has it now.

His first impulse is to whirl around and hiss what the fuck? and he follows through with it halfway. The first word is nearly out of his mouth when he realizes Lance is still helping that woman, and there’s another in line. Keith can’t needle him while he’s working.

You planned this, Keith thinks sourly, conceding that this one move might have been kind of smooth.

He keeps the napkin cupped in his hand and returns to the table. Hunk is savoring his mud cake in small, dainty bites, closing his eyes and sighing lovingly.

Keith decides to jump straight to the point. “Is everything Lance does bizarre?”

“Pretty much,” Pidge says. “It’s in his nature. Tiger can’t change its stripes, et cetera.”

“What is it this time?” asks Hunk, wiping the corner of his mouth.

Keith shows them the napkin. They exchange a glance.

“Whoa,” Hunk says. “He’s further gone than we thought.”

“You know the context behind this, right?” Keith says.

“Uhh …” Hunk suddenly seems reluctant to meet Keith’s eyes. “Maybe?”

Keith gives them a quick recap of the cup incident, and when he gets to the part where Lance showed up at the gym after running all the way from the café, Pidge collapses in a fit of hysterical giggles.

“Wow. He did not tell us about that,” Hunk says, then shudders. “No wonder! I had nothing to do with it, and I’m feeling embarrassed.”

“He’s trying to one-up me somehow,” Keith insists. “This is him proving something. But why? What’s his deal?”

“I don’t think—” Hunk starts, but Pidge interrupts him.

“Our Lance is a mystery wrapped in an enigma. He’ll keep playing his game whether you join in or no, so it’s really up to you.”

“Huh,” Keith says under his breath, folding up the napkin and sticking it in his pocket.

Pidge changes the subject, and they drink their coffee and chat about a little bit of everything. By the time Hunk has finished his mud cake, but not his drink, a voice from behind Keith says, “Been waiting long?” and Lance slips into the chair beside him.

He’s ditched the apron and is wearing a blue hoodie over his polo shirt – a paler blue than the color of his eyes, Keith thinks, and then feels stupid for noticing. Lance opens a plastic lunch box, revealing a creamy pasta dish, and starts gulping it down.

“I have thirty minutes,” he says around a mouthful of food. “So, what’d I miss?”

“More like what did we miss,” says Pidge, smirking. “Why didn’t you tell us you tried to pick Keith up and then changed your mind halfway?”

“What?” Lance screeches, nearly dropping his fork. “That’s not what happened!” He whips around to glare daggers at Keith. There’s a smudge of cream sauce at the corner of his mouth, turning his angry expression vaguely comical. “What did you tell them?”

Keith likes to think he has a good glare, more like glaring swords than daggers, and he uses it now to parry Lance. “You’re the one who did it! This is all on you.”

Their narrowed eyes lock on each other, and Keith suspects Lance is trying as hard as he is to burn a hole in his forehead with his gaze alone. Neither is willing to look away first, until Hunk raises his hands diplomatically and says, “Okay, okay, break it up, people. The Ways of Lance are inscrutable, our friend is a dumbass, blah blah blah, nothing we don’t know. Lance, wipe your face.”

Lance takes the napkin Hunk hands him, giving Keith one last dirty look before breaking contact.

“Anyway, how’s Shay doing?” Hunk asks, an open, expectant look on his face.

Lance smirks, broad and lascivious, and Pidge is going to need years of practice before their version can measure up to his: it’s like Lance was created to make that expression. “Why do you ask?”

“Just, you know, checking in.”

“She’s closing up shop today,” Lance says, tone aloof, and looks at his nails, completely aware that Hunk is hanging on his every word. “So there’s no point in lurking around ’til the end of her shift to walk her home. Tomorrow, however …”

“Hey, who said anything about that?”

Lance rolls his eyes. “Hunk, that’s what you call a hint. A dating suggestion from a pro.”

“I dunno about that last part, but he has a point,” Pidge says.

“I don’t know what you guys are talking about,” Hunk objects, in a shy tone that reveals that he knows exactly what they mean.

Pidge puts a small hand on Hunk’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “Hunk, your crush is super cute and I want you to know that as our token heterosexual, you have our full support.”

“Hey, I’m still on a life-long journey to figure myself out, Pidge.”

“Fair enough. But you are totally straight for our girl Shay.”

Hunk’s cheeks turn bright pink, and more playful banter ensues, but Keith doesn’t hear a word of it.  He is still hung up on what Pidge said – as our token heterosexual – or rather, on what Lance didn’t say in response. Not a word of protest, no denial, no fervent speech affirming that, make no mistake, Lance is all about the women, the ladies, the babes.

Meaning … he’s not?

Keith slants a glance over to his right, where Lance is laughing and making snide remarks and looking perfectly content being himself – someone who is, apparently, not straight.

All of a sudden, Keith can feel his pulse in his belly and his hands, and a tingling in his face and chest that he refuses to call hope.

***

Keith dreams.

He dreams hot and heavy and indistinct. He dreams hands on his waist and in his hair, sliding, pulling; he dreams of lips on his ear, teeth on his neck and shoulder. He dreams a breathless laugh, the flick of a tongue, his thighs trembling and sticky; Keith wants and is wanted, in this dream.

He’s being pushed down, his fingers grasping cool sheets, a palm against the small of his back; he is feeling things, impossible sensations on every inch of his skin, and he starts to teeter on an edge, between ache and release, between consciousness and bliss, between this reality and—

His eyes – his real eyes – slit open just a fraction of an inch, but it’s enough.

Keith gasps awake. Reality slams back into him with the force of a truck, and the dreamscape fades, taking every trace of sensuality and mystery with it.

He is not some sort of pure erotic being, seduced by a faceless yet beautiful lover. He’s just a young man, alone in his college dorm room and desperately turned on.

Eyes clenched shut, he turns his face into the pillow. His cock curves against the inside of his thigh, too hot in boxers and flannel pants. It feels heavy and foreign – invasive, almost, because he’s going to have to deal with it now, no matter how inconvenient. His skin is damp with sweat; it only makes the discomfort worse.

It’s still pitch black outside. Good times, he thinks grimly; woken up by a wet dream in the wee hours of the morning. He hopes he’ll be able to catch a few more hours of sleep, once he’s gotten off.

Keith bites his lip, inches his fingers under his waistband.

The back of his hand brushes his erection, and his entire body shudders hard. A small noise – mmh – escapes his lips, as he trails his fingers along the whole length, seeing for himself how sensitive he is.

Images begin to flicker behind his closed eyelids. There are hardly ever specific people in his dreams about sex, but the fantasies that come after are a different matter. Keith’s conscious mind is not good at dealing with abstract, nebulous things: if he’s going to think about getting fucked, someone has to be doing the fucking. It’s only fair.

Shiro tends to feature heavily in these brief delusions, if only because he is a safe option – Keith is sure that he’s not the only one who has spent some time alone with himself, his hand, and the thought of Shiro’s perfect abs, and somehow that makes it easier to look the guy in the face later. The thoughts are harmless; they lead nowhere, they’re only for relief …

Except this time – this time, as his right hand pushes deeper into his pants – he doesn’t have to summon anything; the pictures just come. Long fingers wrapped around him, an aggravating smirk; pointed nose buried in his hair and thin, shapely lips whispering insults, because that is all those lips ever do.

Keith startles, trembles, stills his hand, because oh shit, oh shit, he is touching himself and thinking about Lance.

A reedy moan slips out of him. He doesn’t want to do this; it’s too awkward, too desperate, and how is he ever going to mouth back at Lance again when there will be an invisible “but also I jerked off while imagining your face” tacked on to everything he says?

He tries to think about something else, change the subject, but he knows there’s no point – no matter what he imagines, it’s going to come back to Lance. Keith blames it on the fall of his hair, the flash of white teeth behind his lips, the lanky slender shape of him sitting there on the floor of his room – he was so gorgeous then, and right now that image, that version of Lance is all Keith has ever wanted.

Nothing that happens at four in the morning ever feels real, anyway. The next time Lance looks at him and says oh, hi, mullet still going strong? he can pretend this was all a dream, and roll his eyes as usual.

Keith slides his left hand up along his torso, tracing lines over his taut stomach, circling his nipples. What does Lance look like under his shirt? The pool of heat in his groin seems to quiver at the thought, and he grips himself a little tighter, moves a little faster.

He isn’t sure what Lance smells like, has never come close enough to find out. He pictures a blend of musk and sweat and boy, with maybe a hint of coffee in the mix, and wonders what it would be like to be surrounded by the scent of him. Lance is behind him in this fantasy, arms around his waist, grinning lips at the nape of his neck. His skin would be hot. I’d feel all of him, moving against me. Kisses being pressed to his shoulder, a thigh in between his, nudging up against his dick …

Whimpering, Keith begins to worry at two fingers of his left hand – sucks them, licks in between them, desperately needing something to do with his mouth. He wishes both his hands were someone else’s hands, touching and teasing; he slides his thumb over the head of his cock and feels his hips start to stutter.

“Lance,” he gasps, as his mind begins to white out; he brings his hand back down, so both of them are between his legs, one cupping his balls, the other pumping faster. In the last moments he imagines Lance on top of him, sweat gleaming on his collarbone, his mouth wet and half-open in a groan. Maybe he’d say my name too, Keith has time to think, and then he’s coming and everything feels bright, bright—

—and he lands, shuddering; his hand is sticky and his body weighs a hundred tons. His hips feel loose, battered. He can still taste Lance’s name on his lips.

Spots of heat bloom on Keith’s cheeks. I can’t believe it. Embarrassment flutters in his stomach. This might feel weird the next time he sees Lance, but, well, what’s done is done. It’s not a crime to think someone’s pretty, he reminds himself. It’s the same as with Shiro. Lance never has to know.

He slides out of bed and pads into the bathroom, grateful again that he lives alone. As he’s cleaning himself up, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror; he looks gaunt and bleary, his eyes large and black.

It’s too early for this.

Sighing, he changes into a new pair of underwear, and pulls his flannels back up.

Keith nuzzles under his covers; now that he’s spent, he is starting to feel tired again, thank goodness. As his eyes close, he realizes dimly that the fantasy isn’t over yet – because what if Lance were next to him, sleepy but content, eyelids heavy and mouth quirked in the tiniest of smiles?

His stomach flutters again, in a different way this time. He does his best to ignore it, and slowly drifts back to sleep.

***

(He considers it for hours, aware of his phone burning a hole in his pocket, before he calls.)

“Yello?”

“Hi. Uh, it’s Keith.”

“Well, helloooo. Guess my number came in handy after all, huh?”

“Jesus. Okay, I’m hanging up right now.”

“Wait – sorry, sorry. Was there something you wanted?”

“I just … why’d you write it on a napkin? That was so dumb.”

“Hey! It was not, it was clever. Like a full circle kind of thing. Episode One, I do something creepy and embarrass myself. Hey, don’t scoff, I heard that! Episode Two, same place, same situation, except this time I’ve already redeemed myself, and I make an insightful and self-deprecating gesture of goodwill out of the kindness of my heart.”

“Wow, okay. Whatever you say.”

“I can’t believe you told Hunk and Pidge about Episode One, though.”

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you plotted out Episode Two.”

“…”

“Lance?”

“Look, okay, fine! Whatever. Anything else?”

“Well, I just wanted to say we’re even.”

“Huh?”

“We’re even. Now you have my number too.”

“Oh. Uh, yeah, I guess I do.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, so—”

“Also—oh, sorry, go ahead.”

“No, don’t worry. You first.”

“Oh. Well, um, I was thinking … if maybe you wanted. To grab lunch. Tomorrow. My treat, as repayment for the coffee.”

“No, no, no – I’m gonna stop you right there. The coffee was already repayment. Now you’re just trying to stay one step ahead.”

“You got a problem with that?”

“Did I say I did?”

“So, lunch, then.”

“Fine. Hey, wait – I’m paying for it myself!”

“Okay, dude, whatever.”

“Where should we meet?”

“I dunno yet. Just text me when your class ends and we’ll figure something out.”

“Oh, right, text you. Because I have your number now, too.”

“Yup.”

“You are ridiculously competitive, you know that?”

“I don’t want to hear that from you.”

“Anything else?”

“No!”

“Then bye, Keith. And, uh, see you tomorrow?”

“Bye-bye. And … yeah.”

Chapter 5

Notes:

hi again! first of all, thank you for 150+ kudos. if we think of each kudo as a virtual high five, can you imagine how sore my hand would be?? the answer is very. thank you!!

also, school is starting, so i am not sure what updates are going to look like from now on. im going to try for once a week though, to give you some idea.

MINOR SPOILERS for content warning:
this chapter contains a panic attack! so if you are uncomfy with this, i suggest that when you get to the end of the paragraph that opens with "They’re approaching the edge of campus...", ctrl+F your way down to "Lance makes a decision". that leaves out a considerable chunk, but should be safe i hope. let me know if not!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Lance is exhausted, in the yawning, foot-dragging way he always is when he has to haul his ass out of bed before eight in the morning. He has more or less snoozed his way through math – not a good idea, but when has he ever cared? – and thanks his lucky stars for gifting him with enough innate intelligence to help him pass his classes, even half-asleep.

He glances at his phone – fifteen more minutes before the blessed relief of lunch, and then it’s back to the grindstone. Lance sighs, fidgets; then remembers about texting Keith.

Keith, who is really fun to rile up. Keith, who plays along with Lance’s games when his other friends would have sighed and told him to can it. Keith, who looks grumpy and surly all the time, and still pisses Lance off, but in a way that makes him want to stick around, see if he can manage to press Keith’s buttons right back.

Keith, who asked him to lunch today.

He scrolls down his list of contacts until he finds Mullet Menace, and writes him a quick message or three.

I’m falling asleep quick tell me where were meeting

So if I miss the rendezvous ull know its bc sth happened 2 me and not cuz I ditched u 4 s/o hotter

Death by math related incident

He runs his mouth even by text, but he doesn’t stop to consider whether it sounds stupid. It’s just Keith, anyway – that guy doesn’t have the right to an opinion on what’s silly, not with his haircut and those dumb gloves.

Predictably, Keith has to be contrary. What does that even mean, is all his reply says.

It means the gods of algebra are angered, Lance types, just as another message falls into his inbox.

Outside the engineering building? I’ll come over

Aight, he writes, in response to that.

Btw I don’t think there are any algebra gods

Aw, man, he is such a square—

Only demons.

Lance’s eyebrows shoot up.

R u making a joke??? Rly????

See u @ 12.

There’s a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, and he wonders if Keith wears the same deadpan expression even when he’s trying to be funny, or if he’s smiling to himself now, too.

The clock on the wall is ticking down the last five minutes at an excruciating pace. In an attempt to nudge time along, Lance starts to slip his stuff into his bag – it’s not like he’s going to be cracking another problem, anyway. When class finally lets out, he’s on his feet and out of there almost immediately.

Lance dodges through the crowds of people in the hallway, eventually making it out the heavy doors and onto the steps in front of the building. As he casts his eyes around, he pulls fresh crisp air into his lungs, puffing out his chest.

He only has to wait a few minutes, and spots Keith an instant before Keith sees him. Keith’s walking toward the building, hands in his pockets, an absent-minded expression on his face. He’s wearing a light jacket over a muted red button-down, and his black hair curls against the collar.

There’s a tiny clenching in Lance’s stomach, like every time he sees Keith. It used to be made of pure annoyance, but now it feels more like anticipation. For what? The chance to spar, either verbally or physically, with a sort-of-rival, sort-of-friend, he supposes. That’s his favorite thing about Keith – he’s always up for a challenge.

Okay, fine – the guy does have some redeeming qualities. Lance’s head isn’t so far up his ass that he can’t admit that.

Their eyes meet, and Lance raises his hand in some attempt at a wave. Keith nods once, as Lance starts half-running down the steps to meet him.

“Yo,” Lance says.

“Hey.”

“I’m starving. Anywhere special you wanna go?”

Keith shrugs. “Don’t know. Break’s only an hour, so not too far.”

“Cool.” He ponders for a moment. “You know the food trucks behind campus? One of them makes a mean fish burger.”

“That works,” Keith agrees, and they start making their way around the hulking shape of the building, toward the nearest exit.

“Maaan, I’ve had such a long morning,” Lance complains, rolling tension out of his shoulders. “I can’t believe Pidge deals with this basically every day. I just, y’know, can’t function that early, so what’s the point?”

“So the world should just revolve around you?”

“Pretty much.” He glances over at Keith and grins, and gets a wan smile in response.

They’re approaching the edge of campus, where a few cars are whizzing by on the road outside. “Okay, so, I’m going for the fish burger, but there’s also the excellent taco truck and some Indian food or falafel if you’re into that …”

Keith is being more taciturn than usual. He hasn’t scoffed or turned his eyes heavenward a single time, even though Lance has been talking more or less non-stop. His shoulders seem a little hunched under the upturned collar of his beige jacket.

“Hey, why am I doing all the work here? You’re the one who was dying for my company, sooo …”

But Keith doesn’t answer, and he won’t meet Lance’s gaze when he tries to catch his eye, just stares hard at a spot on the ground.

“Dude, are you okay?”

“Lance,” Keith says, eerily calm. “I think I’m gonna panic.”

“Wh …”

In the several long seconds it takes Lance’s brain to process those words, Keith’s breaths start coming shallow, and his eyes go impossibly wide.

“Oh, shit. Keith? Keith!”

Now he does turn to face Lance, and the creeping terror in his expression goes straight to Lance’s heart. It hits him then, exactly what is happening, and he’s ashamed of his first idiotic thought – but what about lunch? – before the saner part of his mind kicks in. At that point, he drops everything: it’s like time is falling away from him, and all he knows is that his friend needs help.

He tries to summon everything he remembers from his sister’s episodes – when everyday things became too much for her, and anything could send her over the edge.

“Do you want to go somewhere else?” he asks, and Keith nods, very slight. Lance feels his own eyebrows draw together in a frown, a point of tension beginning to pulse in his forehead. “Keith – is it okay if I touch you?”

Another nod, and Lance puts a gentle hand at the small of Keith’s back. “Okay. Hang on, buddy. I’m gonna get you someplace private.”

He struggles to keep his own breathing controlled and calm, even as Keith’s picks up, grows more frantic. When he looks over to check on Keith, Lance can tell that he’s gone somewhere else. He can’t let himself wonder what kind of dark horrors dwell in that place – not until he’s moved him to a safer location.

There aren’t a lot of options on campus, which now seems like a pointless tangle of trees and paths and off-limits admin buildings. “Is a bathroom okay?” he asks, thinking it’s private, closed off, but maybe too claustrophobic.

Keith tries to say something, but it comes out as a little strangled hiccup, so all he does is nod again. There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

With something like desperation clawing at his chest, Lance turns back where they came from, leading Keith toward the engineering building and mumbling “Breathe in, breathe out” and “You’re walking, you’re doing fine,” under his breath. A few people give them sideways looks, but Lance focuses on exuding his best fuck off vibe, and they are left alone.

They enter the building from the back, into a stretch of hallway that’s mostly empty, thank god. It’s probably only been about five minutes, but it feels like they’ve been walking for a million years, time dragging out slow and sticky around them.

Finally, Lance finds what he’s looking for. He gets them into a wheelchair-accessible bathroom, closes and locks the door, and helps Keith sit down on the toilet.

Keith is breathing high in his lungs, and all that comes past his lips are short staccato wheezes. His pupils are blown and unfocused. Lance drops into a crouch in front of him, rests his hands on Keith’s knees.

“Keith. Keith, you’re gonna be okay. I know it’s scary, but you’re safe, you’ll be fine. Just remember to breathe, in and out … just breathe with me, all right?”

And it doesn’t really help – Keith’s still breathing in irregular pants, and his body is trembling – but Lance keeps his hands steady on his knees. “You’re in a scary place, but you can come back. You’re gonna make it back.”

Suddenly, Lance feels fingers grasping his, and he has another inane thought – he’s not wearing the douchey gloves. Keith’s bare palms are callused, hot and clammy. Lance squeezes his hand, very slightly, and Keith manages a deep, shuddering breath, and begins to calm down.

As the terror bleeds out of his face and he begins to return to himself, Keith keeps Lance’s fingers in a vice-like grip. It’s a reminder of how strong he is: Lance tries not to wince at the pressure.

And then there’s just the sound of labored breathing echoing against tiled walls, and Lance’s eyes slowly adjusting to the poor lighting, and the strain in his thighs from squatting, and Keith’s hand holding his. It could have been anywhere from ten minutes to thirty, but eventually, life comes back into Keith’s eyes. His throat bobs in a swallow, and he blinks, the tremors fading.

“You’re okay,” Lance says, very softly.

Keith nods – one, two – and releases his grip on Lance’s hand.

“Ugh. I’m s … sorry.” He scowls at the stutter in his voice, as if he’s angry with it for betraying him.

“Dude. It’s fine. You’re fine.” Lance pushes himself to his feet, straightens up. “Wanna stay here for a while?”

“… yeah.”

Keith buries his face in his hands, loops of black hair sticking out between his fingers. Lance is getting hot in his jacket, so he shrugs out of it and hangs it on the hook, then leans against the wall beside it.

A few more minutes pass, and Keith finally says, “I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. Or patronize me, for this.”

“I don’t,” Lance replies.

“I’m not fragile.”

“I know. You’re like, the one guy who might have an actual chance at beating me in a fight. I’m not about to let my guard down.”

Keith chuckles weakly at that, and it makes Lance smile, just a little. “Whatever.”

“Is this … something you want to talk about?”

Keith shrugs. “There’s not much to say. I haven’t had an attack in a while, so …”

The first thought that shoots through Lance’s mind is selfish, he knows that, but he can’t stop it from slipping out of his mouth. “Was it … something I did?”

“Not even you’re that annoying,” Keith says wryly, and Lance presses his lips together. Yeah, he’s fine now. “It wasn’t … I dunno. They’re random, there isn’t always a reason for them. I guess I’m a bit stressed right now. Our professor started talking about midterms this morning, and, uh …” he hesitates. “Yeah, anyway, it was kind of …”

“Too much?”

“Yeah.”

“I get it. I mean, I don’t get it, get it, but my big sister was an extreme overachiever when she started college. Sometimes she’d get really stressed out, and something similar would happen with her.”

“Oh. So that’s how you knew what to do to help.”

Did I? Warmth swells in his chest, at knowing he did something right. “Guess so. You want some water?”

Keith nods, and Lance takes a plastic cup from the dispenser beside the faucet and fills it for him. Keith downs it in one swallow, exposing the column of his throat, then grimaces at the slightly chemical taste.

“D’you need another minute to calm down?”

“A minute, yeah. I’ll be fine in a while. I more or less knew it was coming, so …” He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. “It’s kind of like feeling nauseated? Like, knowing you’re gonna puke doesn’t help you stop it, but it does make it a little easier to deal with.” He massages his temples, in slow circles. “What time is it?” he says, after a while.

Lance checks his phone. “Twelve-forty.”

“Aw, shit. Shit. I’m … I’m sorry.”

“Dude, do not worry about it.”

“You’ve done enough. If you wanna run and find something to eat before class starts again, just go ahead. I’ll be all right.”

Lance regards Keith – his face still too pale, despite the spots of color that have returned to his cheeks; his hands still a bit shaky. Then he considers himself: how exhausted he’s felt all day, and the way that last class dragged on forever, and how going back is about the last thing he wants to do.

Lance makes a decision.

“Nah. You’re the one who said lunch in the first place. So that’s still gettin’ my vote.”

Keith frowns. “What?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m kind of supremely unexcited about going back to class, and really pumped about eating.” He raises his eyebrows pointedly, and Keith just stares at him, uncomprehending.

“You’re saying …”

“I’m saying: let’s cut class and bust the hell outta here.” He jabs a thumb over his shoulder and grins.

Keith bursts out laughing – that high and unexpected laughter that makes a sudden pleasure well up in Lance’s chest.

“Okay,” Keith says. “Let’s get busting.”

“Yeah?” An even wider smile pulls at Lance’s mouth.

“Hell yeah.”

So Lance gets back into his jacket while Keith washes his face in the sink, knocks back a few more cups of water, and rearranges his mullet in the mirror. “Okay,” Lance whispers theatrically. “I’ll go out first.”

“What? Why?” Keith asks, perplexed.

“Two guys in a bathroom together? A little weird?”

Keith’s mouth is open, like he’s about to ask another question, but then understanding clicks into place in his eyes, and a flush of outrage erupts on his face. “What—”

Lance rolls his eyes. “Oh, please, don’t be such a virgin,” he says, a virgin himself, and cracks the door open. “Coast is clear.”

He darts outside, and Keith, sarcasm oozing from his words, hisses, “You want me to count to twenty before I follow?”

“Sure,” Lance agrees, which Keith promptly ignores. He comes out and falls into step beside him. “Anyway – it’s too bad about the fish burger, because they really are the best, but the food trucks feel a bit too close to home.” He holds the building’s door for Keith and slips out after him. “Question: do you have a bike?”

“What, like a bicycle?”

“No, like a hoverbike.” Lance rolls his eyes. “Yes, of course a bicycle.”

“Um … no.”

“All right, no problem. You can borrow mine, and I’ll take Hunk’s. He’ll be in school all day like a nerd, so he won’t be needing it. Let’s go. I gotta grab the keys.”

They head back toward their dorm, Lance feeling stealthy and excited, even though all he’s doing is skipping afternoon classes. Not exactly mission impossible, but hey – he appreciates the little things.

“I’ll be right back,” he announces by the entrance, and takes the elevator up. Back in his room, he swipes Hunk’s bicycle key from his bedside table, then takes five minutes to freshen up in the bathroom – rinses under his armpits, rolls on a new coat of deodorant, washes his face, and cards his fingers through his hair. There’s no reason to feel like a slob all day, is there?

When he gets back down, Keith’s still waiting outside, gazing off into the distance. It’s not as obvious now as when he was prancing around with that sword, but Keith’s body is so contained and capable, balanced and strong. It’s not fair that someone like that should be reduced to trembling and tunnel-vision by irrational fear. Lance swallows, his eyes tracing the contours of Keith’s profile, the elegant line of his jaw … and then Keith turns and spots him, and the moment is over.

“Here you go,” Lance says, tossing the key to his own bike into the air. Keith’s arm shoots up, and he catches it as easily as if it had been handed to him. God damn it. “You feel up to riding a bike? Or do you need to ride behind me?”

And that, Lance swears, is the closest thing to a smirk he’s ever seen on Keith’s face. “I think I’ll be fine,” he says, his dark eyes gleaming.

“Well, okay then, big shot. Just don’t forget I offered.”

He shows Keith over to his own blue bike before going to unlock Hunk’s yellow one. Once they’ve walked them onto the path, Lance asks, “Hey, are you sure you’ll be okay? I wouldn’t want you to fall off or anything. And I don’t mean that in a haha-you-suck way. Like, really.”

Keith isn’t offended, just smiles in understanding. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

“All right then. Let’s go.”

Lance hops on and starts pedaling, and hears Keith call out from behind him: “Hey, where are we going?”

“Downtown!” Lance hollers back at him. “Trust me!”

He’s pedaling hard, but it’s not long before Keith brings Lance’s bike up beside him. “You’re just saying that so you can ride ahead.”

Lance grins. “Yeah, so? Look, I’d be happy to out-bike you fairly some other time, but Hunk’ll kill me if I wreck this.”

“Hunk wouldn’t do that. He’s too nice.”

“He could poison my food,” Lance says gravely.

“The food he cooks for you?” The look Keith is giving him is totally judgmental.

“What’s your point? Look, if you lived with Hunk, you’d wanna eat his cooking, too.” Keith’s look intensifies, and Lance says, “Maybe you should just stay behind me.”

He pulls ahead again, but glances over his shoulder after a while, to make sure Keith is keeping up. And yeah, he is, whizzing along just behind Lance, the wind tugging at his hair.

They skid to a stop after making it into the city proper, parking and locking their bikes in a stand to one side of a shop-lined pedestrian street. “All right,” Lance says, lacing his fingers together and stretching his arms over his head to crack his shoulders. “So, first: food. I haven’t eaten in ages.”

Keith’s stomach chooses that moment to gurgle, and Lance cackles. Keith smiles too, a bit sheepishly. “Guess I haven’t either.”

Lance cocks one eyebrow. “How do you feel about Chinese?”

***

They gorge themselves on shrimp wonton and sweet-and-sour pork and sautéed vegetables, and even Lance is so immersed in eating that he hardly talks. Their longest conversation during the meal takes place when Lance picks up the first piece of meat with his chopsticks, and notices Keith’s look of impressed disbelief.

“Oh my god. You thought I couldn’t use them.”

“Yeah, sorry. The way you hold them is really weird.”

“What’s weird about it? It works!”

“I guess, but you have the look of a spork man about you.”

“I will have you know that I am extremely proficient with all kinds of eating utensils,” Lance says, and he blames his sense of dramatic flair for making him brandish the meat a little too zealously. It slips out from between the chopsticks, landing on his plate with a thud. Rice scatters all over, along with his pride, as Keith’s laughter washes over him.

“Shut up before I start throwing food at you.” He tries to sound angry, but can’t keep the smile out of his voice.

“You sure you wanna waste?” Keith says out of the corner of his stuffed mouth, and Lance shrugs in agreement, digging in.

Eventually, they’re full to the point of bursting, plates scraped clean and bodies slouched in their chairs as if they’re about to melt.

“Oh, man, I’m gonna explode. Or pass out, or something,” Keith groans.

“You can’t,” Lance says, sounding equally lethargic. “This was only the first stop.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means” – he straightens up in his chair – “that we’ve got the whole afternoon left, and we’re going to do something fun.”

“I’m way too full to beat you in a hopscotch battle, or whatever your idea of fun is.”

“I’m sure you’d rather go get your mullet coiffed, but I have other plans.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really.”

When they finally manage to peel themselves off their seats and pay for their food – Lance almost-sort-of regretting that he didn’t take Keith up on his offer to pay – they hop back on their bikes, Lance leading the way.

“Seriously,” Keith says, “I can’t tell if you’re taking me to Toys R Us or a seedy strip joint.”

“Neither, and better,” Lance grins. “We’re almost there. Pidge showed me the place, if that helps put your mind at rest.”

“I’m not sure. They seem like they can be pretty demonic when they want to.”

“Oh, absolutely. Hang a left up here!”

They enter an area where the streets are narrower, peppered with indie fashion labels and tattoo parlors. Lance slows down and brakes, Keith following suit; they park the bikes and continue on foot.

“Down here.”

“Are you really taking me into a dark alley?”

“Yeah, but only halfway. And it’s not an alley, it’s picturesque. Here we go!”

Lance points triumphantly at a winking neon sign, bright red and orange.

“Quiznak,” Keith reads, then frowns. “I don’t think that’s a word.”

“It’s not a word, it’s the world’s most radical arcade,” Lance says, then stops to consider. “Or, well, maybe not the world’s. But it’s the best this town’s got, for sure.”

“Arcade games?” Keith sounds surprised.

“Let me repeat that, the way you should have said it: arcade games!” Lance flashes Keith a smile, then bounds ahead to push the door open, and enters the cool embrace of Quiznak.

He says hi to the guy at the counter, then goes over to the change machine to feed it a ten-dollar bill. Keith follows, full of trepidation, his head swiveling around to take in the flashing lights and colorful hulking machines that line the walls. The place is pretty empty, except for one guy glued to a rhythm game, since it’s still early and a lot of the clientele is still in school. Skipping, Lance thinks, was an excellent idea.

Lance scoops his fistfuls of quarters out of the bowl, filling his pockets. “Here you go,” he says, and pours a share of them into Keith’s cupped palms. “So, the story is that Pidge’s brother knows a girl who knows one of the guys who runs this place. We came here for Pidge’s birthday last year, and somehow Matt – that’s their brother – managed to arrange things so that we got to play everything we wanted for free. It was sweet. You and I aren’t as lucky, since we don’t have Pidge’s demonic powers or their well-connected bro, but hey. Worth it.”

“I haven’t played these kinds of games before,” Keith says.

“Well, it’s a wonderful day to get started.”

And he gets him started with a vengeance. First pinball, then Space Invaders, which Keith is pretty good at – his hand-eye coordination is killer. He also learns fighting game combos unfairly fast, and Lance demands they stop after his character has been drop-kicked to the ground for the gazillionth time.

Lance, however, is much, much better at Dance Dance Revolution. After nearly tripping over his feet during a hysterical, high-pitched anime song, Keith gives up and sulks off to the side. Lance dances a fast song on his own, and steps down from the podium sweaty but grinning.

“Not to brag, but my moves are pretty sweet,” Lance says, bragging.

“You were good,” Keith agrees softly, without meeting Lance’s eyes, and something zings through his stomach at the praise. He was watching me?

He remembers watching Keith practicing his fencing, which is a lot cooler than DDR, and feels his cheeks get hot.

“Um, anyway,” he says, scratching the back of his head, “let’s try something else.”

Something else ends up being the UFO catchers, because why the hell not? “Haven’t you always wanted a Minion of your own?” Lance says, batting his eyelashes.

“Absolutely not, we’re going for these cutesy-looking dinosaur things.”

They end up quitting empty-handed, after Keith has cursed one too many times at the cutesy dinosaurs and hissed something along the lines of no wonder you were all destroyed by a meteor. Lance hushes him and drags him away, with soothing mentions of next time.

“Okay, time for the grand finale,” Lance says, steering Keith by the shoulders and pushing him down onto the stool in front of a machine. “This is my favorite game.”

Keith reads the jagged purple letters above the screen. “Galra Empire. What is it?”

“Fighter jet flying simulator. But in space.”

Keith glances back at Lance, his eyes wide and sparkling, and Lance’s heart hiccups in his chest – he’s never seen him make a face like that before. “It sounds fun.”

“It is fun. It’s the best. Here, try single-player first to learn the controls. Then you can play me.”

Keith pushes two coins into the slot, and the screen explodes with lasers and gunfire. He plays the tutorial, and a round on normal mode, before skipping directly up to expert and wreaking absolute havoc.

Lance stares, hardly noticing that his mouth drops open, as Keith blasts enemy ship after enemy ship to pieces and sends them hurtling into the void.

“Holy crow,” Lance wheezes. “Why did you pretend you haven’t played before?”

“I haven’t,” Keith says, his eyes intent on the screen, his fingers gripping the controls so hard they’re turning white. “This is awesome. Hey, did you want to play versus mode?”

“Not anymore,” Lance says, but then Keith turns around, and that – that is definitely a smirk, wide and mischievous, and it sends a horrid shiver down Lance’s entire spine.

“What, you scared?”

“Shut up, noob.” He parks his ass by the machine next to Keith’s, fires it up, connects it. “Let’s go.”

He’s not sure how long they play, but it gets so intense at one point that the attendant has to come over and tell them to keep their voices down, and more people start trickling into the arcade, most of them high schoolers. They keep score, and it comes out pretty even, with only one point to Lance’s advantage. He can’t even feel smug about it, because he feels certain that with some experience under his belt, Keith could be world-class.

“You are really, really good at my favorite game,” Lance announces. “You little shit.”

“I love it. Hey, look. They also have co-op. Wanna try?”

“Sure.”

In this mode, they have to combine their fire to down as many hostile vessels as possible, while also keeping the other alive. Their first round is decent, the second better. They settle into a rhythm, learning each other’s styles, and by the fourth time they play, they shatter the local high score.

“YES!” Lance yells, heedless of the attendant’s warning, and he turns around to give Keith a double-handed high-five. His palms sting as they connect, and then Keith’s gripping his hands, and Lance is gripping back, and they just sort of push back and forth in elation, Keith’s eyes wide and jubilant and his entire face aglow.

“It’s just a game,” Lance says, laughing helplessly.

“But we’re the best at it,” Keith replies, grinning, and he squeezes Lance’s hands, and Lance returns the pressure.

They both notice what they’re doing around the same time, and excitement turns to shyness all at once. Lance lets go, pushing his hands into his pockets. They’re still tingling a little.

“So, uh … should we give up for today?”

“I guess so. Nothing’s gonna beat that, anyway.”

“Nothing and no one.”

“Damn straight.”

They stand up – Lance’s ass is sore; they really have been here for too long – and put their jackets back on, then make their way out of Quiznak and its cozy cacophony. The sky is a different color compared to when they came. Lance checks the time on his phone.

“Man, almost dinnertime already.”

“Should we start getting back, then?”

“Yeah.”

The bike ride home is smooth, Keith cruising along in front this time, now that he knows where they’re going. They park in front of the dorm, lock up the bikes, and Keith hands Lance his key back.

“Thanks for the loan.”

“No problem.”

They go inside, and pause in front of the elevator.

“So, well … bye for now, then,” Lance says, and wow, isn’t he a master conversationalist.

“Yeah. Um …” Keith winds a strand of hair around his finger, glancing at his feet. “Thank you for today. For all of it. Especially, uh. Dealing with me.”

“Of course. No biggie.” He smiles. “I had fun. Or, well, I knew I would, since I set the agenda and all. But … yeah.”

“Me too. Like … a lot.”

Lance’s chest feels warm. “I still can’t believe you’re going to end up beating me at my own game, though.”

Keith chuckles. “We can have that conversation the next time we play. Anyway … I’ll see you?”

“Oh. Yeah, later.”

Keith waves and makes for the staircase. Lance presses the button for the elevator, noticing that that buzz in his chest seems to have spread all the way into his fingertips.

Next time.

***

The Chinese food is holding him over well, so he has a peanut butter sandwich and a handful of potato chips for dinner. While he’s eating, Hunk comes back to dump his stuff and announces that he’s going for a study session; Lance calls him a nerd and waves good-bye.

He takes a hot shower to rinse off the dust of the day, pulls on fresh boxers and a roomy T-shirt, and plops down on his bed. Exhaustion is settling into his bones. Class or no class, he got up early this morning, and he’s feeling it.

Sighing, Lance rolls over on his side; he inhales, and realizes that it might be about time to change his sheets. He buries his nose against the soft skin of his upper arm.

Keith’s panic attack aside, this was a good day. Quiznak is a fantastic place, one of a kind, and he owes Pidge an eternal debt. Not that he’ll ever tell them that.

Lance remembers the look on Keith’s face after their best round, and feels his heart flutter.

And then—

And then he’s thinking about kissing Keith, and barely even reacts to his own lack of surprise.

I’m nineteen, and bi, and healthy, he reminds himself. Lance thinks about kissing everyone: people at school, people on the streets, people he’s just met and people he’s known forever. He’s thought about kissing Hunk, for goodness’ sake – his best friend in the world. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything. He sees it as a normal symptom of being a young and attractive person who totally deserves to be having sex, but for some reason is deprived of the pleasure. Well, unless you count the time he drunkenly got somewhere near third base on a stranger’s couch, with a girl he kind of, sort of knew – which he doesn’t, because everything about that encounter was incredibly disappointing.

Lance hasn’t kissed anyone in ages.

He presses his lips to his own arm – and aw man, how lame is that? – but it’s the closest he can come to remembering what it feels like, touching someone else’s skin, having their lips on his. His heart aches for closeness, and he doesn’t even want to jack off, it’s not that – he’d just like to feel another person in his arms, their heartbeat against his ribs.

He kisses the inside of his arm a few more times, but gives up on it quickly, because it’s not what he wants, after all. He settles for thinking about a curious tongue in his mouth, maybe gentle hands on the back of his neck, his shoulders; it makes his entire torso feel light.

Lance wonders if Keith’s dumb hair is as soft as it looks. If his mouth is soft. If his lips are as warm as his hands. If he can make an open expression like that in any other context.

And this time, he is startled – startled by just how badly he wants to know.

Notes:

i think u guys will like the next one, so pls stick around! ;u;

Chapter 6

Notes:

whew, i actually did manage to finish this within a week! there was a longer wait for this chapter, but the chapter itself is also longer, so i hope that makes up for it~

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Just what kind of creature is Shiro? Lance isn’t sure; all he knows is that he is a little in awe of him. He gazes over at the booth behind his and Hunk’s, where Shiro is laughing and managing to look charming and cool at the same time.

Lance’s elbows are resting on the table, his hands on either side of his face. He doesn’t know if his squished-together cheeks can hide his pout, but he doesn’t really care.

“I’m really hungry,” he complains, the pleather seat creaking as he shifts his weight.

“We literally just got here,” says Hunk, opposite him. “But who am I kidding, I’m starving, too.”

Shiro is the reason they are here, Shiro and his absurd social skills and unfair good looks. He announces things occasionally in the Facebook group he started for the cosmology class, reminding them of resources and asking if people want to get together and study or go out for meals. This hamburger-joint dinner is a result of the latter. Glancing around, however, Lance is pretty sure that there are several people here who are not actually in the class. The Shiro Effect in action.

Man. Maybe by the time he’s twenty-five, Lance will also be effortlessly sociable, universally liked, and have time both to work on a smart-sounding thesis and hang out with hordes of cute underclassmen. He is hoping for some kind of secret second puberty to show up, swell his defined-but-skinny biceps, and make his brilliant pick-up lines actually work.

Shiro’s booth is already full. The guy next to him looks older – probably one of his friends from his own year – but some pretty girls snagged the remaining spots, of course. Pidge opted out of coming, citing a need for introvert time, so Lance and Hunk, who both lack Shiro’s natural magnetism, are still painfully alone.

“What’s even the point,” says Lance, “if we can’t mingle with new people?”

“No activity involving food is ever time wasted,” Hunk replies, putting his big hands together in front of his heart in a gesture of piety.

Then, as if in answer to Lance’s prayers, a beautiful, lilting voice from behind him says, “Can we sit here?” and Allura herself steps into view, looking stunning in a flowy white blouse.

Lance’s spine snaps up straight, and he does his best to forget all about the silly face-squashing position he was just sitting in, hoping that she will too.

Oh, wow. She’s even prettier up close.

“Sure,” says Hunk, beating Lance to it. She smiles, and then – god help him – sits down in the booth beside Lance.

A wave of attraction sweeps through him, and he’s trying to think of something clever to say when he sees who just took the seat next to Hunk.

Keith. And he’s here with Allura? Where is the justice in this world?

Keith looks up just as Lance is staring at him. His expression is serious edging on grumpy, as usual, but he gives Lance a little nod. Lance answers it, and feels his heart thud once in his ears.

Damn. Perhaps the hottest girl at this school is sitting next to him at this very moment, and he’s taking his attention off her for some dude with a bad haircut? Fine, he might have wondered what it would feel like to run his fingers through that hair, but that doesn’t matter. He already knows he’s a hormonal mess, and Allura is right here. This is an opportunity he can’t pass up.

Okay, Lance, say something good.

“Wow. Somebody wake me up, because I think I’m looking at the girl of my dreams.”

Nailed it.

And he doesn’t even hear Hunk groan or notice Keith’s look of horror, because she turns her gaze on him, and she’s wearing violet circle lenses, and her eyeliner is on point, and she’s smiling, she’s smiling—

“If you expect me to giggle politely at that to make you feel better about yourself, you’re going to be very disappointed,” she says in that sexy accent, obliterating all of Lance’s game as Hunk bursts into raucous laughter.

But she’s still smiling, still looking at him, so he clings to the shreds of his dignity and tries not to think about what probably happened to the expression on his face.

“You must be Lance. I’m Allura.”

She knows my name?

His mouth almost drops open, but at the last minute he manages to turn the reflex into speech.

“Yeah, that’s me.” Brilliant.

“Keith told me about you.” Oh, fuck. “Which is why we’re still talking, even after that awful line.” Oh, FUCK. Lance’s hand automatically goes to scratch at the back of his head, and he laughs, high and nervous. This is why I’ll never be Shiro.

But he does owe a debt of gratitude to Keith, and isn’t sure how he feels about that.

Allura is looking expectantly at him, and his stomach flips. Can I talk to her like a normal person? He glances at Keith, the guy who somehow seems to be best buddies with this actual goddess, but Keith is replying to something Hunk said and half-staring at the table, and is no help at all.

“Um … you’re not in the cosmology class, right?” Boring! Unoriginal! It kind of makes him want to kick himself, but it seems to work as an icebreaker.

“No, but Keith invited me to come along. I always enjoy meeting new people.”

Me, she’s talking about me! He tries another smooth smile. “Well, congratulations. You just met the best of the best.”

She raises expertly plucked eyebrows. “Did I, now?”

And he is almost completely sure he can turn this into flirting when the waitress comes by with their menus and kills his buzz. This does, however, remind him of how hungry he is, so he pages through the glossy collection of burgers, milkshakes, and side dishes with fervor.

“I already know what I’m getting,” Hunk says almost instantly, his face alight with bliss.

Lance grins. “Maybe you know what I should get, too, then.”

“Aw, dude, there are too many options. I think it’ll be quicker if you figure it out yourself.”

Lance gives his friend a fond glance, then starts to turn back to check out Allura. On the way, his eyes catch on Keith. He’s shrugged out of his jacket, and Lance realizes he hasn’t seen him in just a short-sleeved T-shirt since the last time they raced each other. It’s a different look when he’s sitting still: his hands, resting on the menu, are slender and shapely without the gloves, and there’s a prominent vein running up his arm to the crease of his elbow. Lance feels his heart in his throat, and quickly looks away.

The waitress comes back, and they order. Lance gets the most extravagant thing he could find, because he is ravenous and deserves the best. Hunk orders the Portobello burger, and recommends it so warmly that Allura gets one too. And Keith, basic as always, wants a bacon cheeseburger.

Allura starts talking to Hunk, and Hunk replies in that ultra-relaxed, easygoing way of his, like he’s totally unaware that he is speaking to a gorgeous woman. It would be weird to keep up a diagonal conversation, so Lance drums his fingers on the table and stares at the play of tendons on the back of his hand, rather than trying to catch Keith’s eye.

What’s he so nervous about? It makes no sense. Like, okay – maybe he did think about having Keith’s tongue in his mouth. That happened, he admits it. But he’s already established that he has a lot of thoughts like that, about all kinds of people. It must be because his friendship – if you can call it that – with Keith is still so tentative and new. Their closeness after Keith panicked was a one-time thing; of course they can’t just get back to that level out of the blue. So it’s a little weird to see each other again, with all the regular distance back in place. Yeah, that’s got to be it. Lance can buy that.

“So, anyway,” Hunk is telling Allura, “I’d love a part-time job where I can cook, but I’m also kinda angling to get our friend Pidge’s brother to find me a spot at this super cool place called Quiznak …”

“What, the arcade?” Keith pipes up, and looks over at Lance. “That’s where we went, right?”

“What? Oh, yeah!” The sudden question startles him so badly that the words come out way too loud. He cringes, resists the urge to bury his face in his hands.

“Wait, you guys went to Quiznak together?” Hunk asks, and Lance really does not like the tone of his voice.

“Yeah,” says Keith.

“Without me?” Hunk claps a hand to his chest in mock horror.

“We kind of cut class,” Keith admits.

“It wasn’t a big deal or anything, we were just, like, bored!” Lance says. He really meant to sound aloof, but it still comes out as a stream of babble, and why, oh why is his volume control so bad?

“So bored we set a new high score,” Keith adds, and Lance prepares to give him the stoniest glare he’s ever experienced. But Keith catches his eye first, and he’s smiling a little, and Lance can’t fucking help it – he finds himself smiling back.

“I see,” says Hunk, and the way he’s not looking at Lance feels very deliberate. Lance swears there’s something he’s leaving unsaid – he can practically feel it – but his friend keeps his mouth shut.

“It would be great if you could get a job there,” Keith is saying, just as their food arrives.

It’s not the waitress they ordered from – this time it’s a guy, tall and cute with dark skin and curly black hair. Lance says thank you, and maybe stares for a second longer than he has to as he takes his plate out of the waiter’s hands. He wouldn’t mind kissing this guy, either. See? There’s nothing wrong with him. He was just meant to be a lover, that’s all.

Digging in is a huge relief, both for his stomach and his rapidly deteriorating conversational skills. Everyone else seems to have been equally famished, including Allura. Lance considers himself blessed to be witnessing a girl who looks ethereal and fairy-like in her Instagram photos stuffing her face with fries. It almost makes her prettier, in a way – more real.

As they’re eating, Shiro swings by their table. Always checking up on everybody he invited – and everybody he didn’t – is another one of those unbelievably considerate things Shiro does.

“Hi, how are you guys doing?” The apples of Shiro’s cheeks are bright pink, presumably from the half-empty glass of beer by his seat. He’s a lightweight? Lance has a sudden, desperate wish to be of age, just so he can find out if this is true.

“Great, thanks,” says Hunk, around a mouthful of burger, and gives Shiro a thumbs-up.

“Glad to hear it.” Shiro squeezes Keith’s shoulder. “Hey, Keith. You all right?”

Keith looks up at him, lips quirked in a smile. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Lance’s heart is squeezing in on itself, and he doesn’t know why. A resentful feeling pricks at his stomach, insistent and unfair. He has no reason in the world to feel that way toward either Keith or Shiro, so he figures the feeling must be meant for him, and turns it back on himself.

Shiro says something that makes Keith laugh, and Lance resents himself a little bit harder.

Then Shiro bends down to give Allura a hug, and they start chatting as if they’ve known each other for years. The ugly emotion in Lance’s gut transforms back into familiar awestruck envy.

“Lance! Good to see you, too.” Now Shiro’s gorgeous smile is trained on him, and he feels his edges melting in the glow.

“Yeah, hey, man. How’s it going?”

“Just fine. Good to have you all here. So, I’ll see you guys around?”

“For sure,” says Hunk, and Shiro waves and moves on.

By the time they finish eating, they are all way too full – and imminently broke – for dessert. Allura takes the check, and Lance’s screech of protest dies in his throat when she stares at him hard and says, “Of course I expect you to pay me back, so calm the hell down.”

After exiting the restaurant into the crisp night air, Hunk announces that he’ll be leaving them. “I texted Shay, and I’ll be just in time to meet her after she closes the shop, so I’m off. See you guys later.”

“Aha! Never dismiss my advice again!” Lance yells, thrusting a triumphant finger in Hunk’s direction. Hunk just laughs, waving over his shoulder as he walks away.

So now Lance is left with Keith and Allura, the unlikely duo. Allura says she’ll walk them back to the dorm – apparently she parked her bike there (referring, of course, to her motorcycle) when she met up with Keith.

They walk in silence for a few minutes – a comfortable silence, on Keith and Allura’s part, but Lance is buzzing with the need to say something, to prove he’s not just a third wheel. Keith said he wasn’t into her, and Lance is pretty sure he was telling the truth. There’s something almost familial about the way they exist around one another: Keith’s relaxed shoulders, the softness in Allura’s face. He wants to call it trust, and it’s a circle he isn’t part of.

Just as he’s figuring that literally anything he can say will be annoying, Allura speaks up, in her voice like a bell.

“By the way, Lance, would you like to hang out with me and Keith on Sunday evening?”

Whoa. He wasn’t expecting that. Neither was Keith, apparently, judging by the look on his face.

Lance quickly bundles up his astonishment and fires off his most charming grin.

“Aw, hey, you could just have asked me for a date. But if you need a support system, I totally get it. I mean, my good looks can get a bit overwhelming.”

“Like your ego?” Allura replies sweetly, and Lance feels his smirk faltering.

“No! Yes? Uh …”

Her mouth curves into a wry smile. “Well, which is it? Do you want to come?”

“Um. Yeah. Sure.”

Allura’s face lights up, and it is absolutely blinding. “Terrific! We’ll let you know when to meet us.”

“Wait, what are we doing exactly?”

Keith inhales like he’s about to say something, but Allura interrupts, “You’ll find out then. It’ll be lots of fun, I promise.”

“Okay, so now I’m dying to know. You’re not going to sacrifice me on a pyre or something, right?”

“I’m not going to make any jokes about virgins, even though you walked right into one,” Allura says, giving him a pointed look, and before he knows it, they’re both laughing.

The silence evaporates after that, with Lance asking if he can ask what it’s like to be famous on the internet, and Allura saying she’s grateful he came out and said it instead of goggling at her like she’s some sort of alien. Lance arrives back at the dorm with a lot more insider info about the life of Instagram and YouTube fame than he ever thought he’d have.

“See you Sunday, then,” Lance says, as Allura starts tying back her hair so she can fit it into her helmet.

“Definitely. It was great meeting you, Lance.”

And then she opens her arms for a hug, and Lance is truly all kinds of blessed. She’s soft in his arms, her hair smells like sweet shampoo, and he thinks he blushes seven different shades of pink.

“Keith? You coming?”

“Actually, uh, I’m gonna stay out here and chat with her for a while,” Keith says, the implied alone so obvious he might as well have said it out loud.

“Okay. Um …” There’s that brief, awkward moment where Lance isn’t sure if he should hug Keith or not, so he decides to just ask. “One for you too?”

Keith hesitates, and glances at Allura like she’s his mom or something, and Lance is just thinking that he might have made him really uncomfortable when Keith takes a step forward and puts his arms around Lance’s shoulders.

It’s a brief hug, and light, Keith’s arms looped loosely around Lance and Lance giving Keith the barest of squeezes. But it’s enough for him to discover that Keith’s body is more compact than he expected, even knowing how well muscled it is, and enough to let him breathe Keith in.

He smells so good. It’s making Lance’s head spin.

And it’s over, and Keith is out of his arms, although Lance kind of wishes he wasn’t.

“Good night,” Lance manages to say, somehow.

“G’night,” Keith replies, without meeting his eyes.

***

“Lance,” Hunk announces. “You’re smitten.”

“What?” Lance wants to frown at his best friend, but if he turns his head, the sheet mask he’s wearing will stick to Hunk’s arm, so he opts for not moving an inch. They’re sitting in Hunk’s bed, watching videos, Hunk’s back leaned against the wall and Lance slouched against Hunk like a wet noodle. “I’m bored with TED Talks, put on a dancing dog or something.”

“Don’t change the subject. You. Smit-ten.”

“Why are you saying that the same way you would say ‘bubonic plague’?”

“Because I’m going to be the one feeling the adverse effects. You’re already mooning, dude.”

“I’m not mooning.”

“You’re moping around in your bathrobe and beauty mask.”

“I’ve always valued self-care!”

“And you haven’t made a single unoriginal comment about girls all day.”

Lance sighs, loud and drawn-out, but Hunk is relentless.

“You know this is dramatically increasing the likelihood that I’ll walk in on you with your hand in your pants?”

Lance sits up, indignant. “That was one time! You can’t use it against me forever! Besides, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Am I really going to have to explain this to you?”

“No, I’m totally fine with you shutting up right about now.”

Hunk cups his hands around his mouth. “You. Are crushing. On Keith.”

“Literally what?!” Lance exclaims, and hopes he manages to sound as outraged as he should be feeling. Because, well, he is aware that he’s replayed that hug in his head almost as many times as he’s recalled the way Keith beamed at him back at the arcade. He also knows that he fell asleep last night thinking about pressing kisses to Keith’s mouth, breathing in the smell of his skin. And he’ll keep denying that it means anything for as long as he draws breath, because he is so not ready to be crushing on a guy with a mullet, whose standard emotional setting is “indifferent to all of creation.” “Look, the only reason I’m interacting with Keith is because he’s the only person I’ve been able to find who prefers running a race to making unfunny jokes about math.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s a rival thing. His haircut sucks and his face annoys me.”

“Whatever, I don’t care if you think it’s a hate-crush, it’s still romance. I think I read a webcomic about something like that once? But anyway, the point is: you obviously like him, now do something about it.”

“How am I obvious?”

“How aren’t you? You gave him your phone number on a napkin.”

“That was—”

“Don’t care. Also, you took him on a date at our arcade.”

“It wasn’t a—”

“Yeah, except for the part where it totally was. And in the restaurant, you were looking at him all the time, and talking too loudly whenever he said anything, like you were trying to drown out the sound of your own tender beating heart.” He enunciates the last three words by wrapping an arm around Lance’s shoulders and shaking him once, twice, three times. “Any objections?”

Lance lets out a thin and helpless wail.

“So that’s settled, then.”

“I don’t know what to do. It’s not like I asked for this.”

“Yeah, unlike everyone else who has a crush.”

“I bet he doesn’t even like guys.”

“No, we’re pretty sure he does.”

Lance frowns. “Who’s we?”

“Me and Pidge.”

“You and Pidge were discussing Keith’s sexual preferences?”

“Yeah, that, and whether you’d realize you like him on your own or if we’d have to stage an intervention.” Hunk shakes his head. “Guess Pidge was right about that one. I was rooting for you, man.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Lance peels the sheet mask off his face and gets up to toss it in the trash. “Look, it’s stupid and pointless and will probably go away if I try not to think about it, okay?”

“Aw, come on, man, that’s sad. Shouldn’t warm fuzzy feelings make you happy?”

“Not when they’re doomed.”

“What makes you say they’re doomed?”

“I dunno. It’s just a feeling.”

“A feeling.”

“A feeling that all I ever manage to do is be a complete shit to him.”

“You’re a complete shit to everyone. It’s part of who you are.”

The look on Lance’s face must have told Hunk that that was the wrong thing to say. Sighing, he sets his laptop aside, and opens his arms. “C’mere.”

Lance lets himself disappear in his best friend’s hug, and all of a sudden he wants to cry, because this is a crush, isn’t it? No matter how stupid or unwanted it might be, that’s what it is. He has a dumb crush on Mullet Menace. Part of him wants to hit Hunk for being such a nosy gossip and pointing it out like that, but then again, his hug feels so comforting and safe and good, and he wishes he could stay in it forever and never have to come out.

“It’ll be fine, Lance.” The rumble of Hunk’s voice breaks through the sound of his steady heartbeat. “For what it’s worth, we both think you’d make a cute couple.”

This time Lance does hit Hunk, a weak and pathetic punch to the gut. And Hunk just squeezes him harder, because that’s what best friends do.

***

Seven PM, outside the dorm, Allura said. Wear comfortable clothes.

Lance dresses in jeans and a T-shirt and his favorite brown jacket. He has decided that he can push whatever feelings he may have for Keith to the bottom of his consciousness, determined to let this whole farce die. They can hang out as usual, and Lance can act as normal as he ever does. Maybe he’s just a lonely almost-twenty-year-old who’s in love with the idea of being in love, to the point where his stomach flips when he looks at the guy he spilled coffee on and more or less harassed into forgiving him, but that doesn’t mean he can’t make an effort to change.

He takes a deep breath in, lets it out, and feels his chest fill with conviction. He will be the most bromantic bro this world has ever known, no more, no less. Perfect. He slips out the door and goes downstairs.

When he comes outside, Allura is already there. And holy shit – she’s in black leather from head to toe, her purple helmet under her arm, heavy black boots on her feet. Lance feels his neck flush – he's not too big to admit that he might be the kind of guy who would be okay with a hot girl stepping on him, and Allura is the hottest girl of all. Keith? Who’s Keith? This will be easier than he thought.

“Hi, Lance,” Allura says and waves, and he loves the way she pronounces his name – all drawn-out, like Laaahhnce.

“Hey.” He tries to keep his cool and look suave, even though his face is probably bright red by now. “Doing as good as you’re looking?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” she says, and rolls her eyes, then looks over his shoulder. “Oh, Keith’s here. Time to go.”

Lance turns around, completely ready to be a guy who is not even a little bit smitten.

And he feels like he’s been punched in the stomach.

Keith’s wearing a red leather jacket, zipped up to his chin, with tall red-and-white boots that hug his calves, and black pants that are so tight Lance feels his throat constricting. His hair is tied back, putting his jaw and neck on full display. He looks amazing, and all of Lance’s promises to himself are crumbling in the wind, because he has a crush: a massive, hopeless, desperate crush.

“Hey,” says Keith.

“Hi,” Lance half-croaks, half-squeaks.

“Shall we go, then?” Allura says, sounding pleased with herself.

Keith nods, already on his way over to unlock a streamlined red motorcycle parked outside the dorm. That’s when it hits Lance that Keith is also carrying a helmet, and shock rises up inside him like a cresting wave.

“You said you didn’t have a bike!” he yowls, pointing an accusing finger at the metal beast Keith is leading onto the path.

“You asked if I have a bicycle. And I don’t,” says Keith, frowning.

“Well, the natural next step is saying ‘but I do have a fucking motorcycle’!”

He is almost ready to pick a fight with Keith over this. It is completely unacceptable to keep a fact like this hidden from Lance until he began to realize that Keith is someone he kind of wants to make out with, and then drop it on his heart like a bomb.

Just in time, Allura taps him on the shoulder and hands him a helmet of his own, streaked blue and white.

“Keith’s a speeder, so you’ll be safer with me,” she says, and winks.

If you had told Lance a few months ago that he would find out that he was going to get to ride behind Allura on her motorcycle and feel relief, he would have laughed his ass off. But that’s the truth – he is relieved that he gets to sit safely behind the girl he should be in love with, instead of being pressed up for who knows how long against the guy that he is (okay, fine!) incredibly attracted to.

Lance fits the snug helmet over his head, keeping Keith out of his peripheral vision as best he can. Allura swings a leg over her bike – a mass of smooth black and twisted silver – and pats the raised portion of the cushioned seat behind her. Sucking in a deep breath, Lance gets on.

Off to their side, Keith straddles his bike, his pants clinging to his ass and thighs, and god, Lance is such a fuckup, and he can’t look away.

He loops his arms around Allura’s waist, and he does have to admit that this is a fantasy come true, even if the circumstances are unfortunate. He’ll just have to make up his mind to enjoy it.

“You comfortable?” Allura asks.

“Very.”

“We’ll start slow, don’t worry.”

Now, if Lance was himself today, he would have said something about not minding if they skipped foreplay and jumped right in. But he’s not, so he just does a thumbs-up, lifting his hand enough so that Allura can see it.

“See you guys on the other side,” says Keith, and throttles the engine. Suddenly the fingerless gloves he’s wearing make all sorts of sense, and Lance can’t even summon up the will to think they look stupid anymore.

Then Allura’s bike rumbles to life beneath him, and they’re off.

As promised, they take it slow on their way off campus, and part of the way down the road. Keith rides ahead of them, but even he sticks to a reasonable pace. The seat of Allura’s bike is surprisingly comfortable, and even through all her leather clothes, the groove of her waist fits his arms perfectly.

Then they hit the highway, and Keith rockets ahead. Lance feels Allura heave a deep sigh. She speeds up, too, but Keith’s going so fast that he’s only a red streak in the distance. Lance tightens his hold around Allura’s waist.

They ride for about twenty minutes, and it’s good – really good. Speed feels different when you’re out in the open, the wind whipping around your body, and Lance likes it.

Allura stops the bike in front of the tall entrance to an area that reminds Lance of a sports field at first. He stares for a moment, reads the signs, and realizes what it actually is: a race track. Of course.

Keith is already here, leaning against his motorcycle and talking to a tall, gangly guy wearing a leather aviator’s hat over his bleached, shaggy hair. Lance and Allura take off their helmets – the hair at Lance’s temples is already damp with sweat – and walk over to join them.

“Hi, Rolo,” Allura says, and the guy turns around to give her a hug. He’s so tall that she has to stretch up on tiptoe. “I told you we were bringing a friend. This is Lance.”

“Hey,” says Rolo. His eyes are droopy, making him look tired, but his handshake is firm. “Nice having you.”

“Thanks.”

“We’re technically closed already, but Allura’s a friend, so I let her in after hours,” Rolo explains, and Allura giggles. The privileges of the pretty and semi-famous, huh? Lance nods, impressed and a little intimidated, and Rolo goes on, “You’re gonna need some more equipment, so come with me, and we’ll get you kitted out.”

The four of them enter the premises. The wide track is oval and paved, surrounded by low bleachers. Rolo takes Lance into a building off to the side, into a room full of gear. He finds him a pair of boots in his size, to exchange for his sneakers, an armored leather jacket, and some protective plates for other parts of his body. Lance feels a bit silly – he looks patchwork, definitely not as cool as Keith or Allura. “Better safe than sorry,” Rolo points out, in his slow drawl.

Lance gets back outside. The track seems kind of eerie in the darkness, the bleachers empty and the asphalt illuminated by ghostly spotlights. His friends cast multiple shadows on the ground, some of them darker than others: twisted, eldritch versions of themselves.

“Have you ridden a motorcycle before?” Allura asks, her voice echoing a little in the vast, quiet space, as he walks up to them, awkward in his new bulk. Lance shakes his head.

“Great day to get started,” says Keith, and smiles. His arms are crossed over his chest, and he looks perfectly at ease. “I’ll teach you. C’mon.”

So Lance, his stomach aflutter, gets onto Keith’s motorcycle, and Keith shows him what all the gauges mean, what the levers do, how to start and accelerate and brake. Lance starts the engine, and it growls to life beneath him before settling into a steady purr.

After he’s more or less learned how to balance and maneuver, Keith says, “Okay, let’s try a slow circuit. And remember – whatever Hunk would do to you if you wrecked his bicycle, my wrath and vengeance will be a billion times worse.”

“Oh, I believe you,” says Lance, and Keith laughs.

There’s a pang in Lance’s chest, because this person, the one he’s looking at right now – that’s Keith, the way he was meant to be. Completely relaxed, comfortable in his skin, exuding excitement and dark confidence … Lance remembers Keith trembling, scared of invisible shadows, hunched in on himself with his head in his hands, and knows in his bones that that’s just wrong. Keith deserves to always be this way, spine straight and eyes sparkling.

Confidence, Lance thinks, swallowing, is really hot on Keith.

He accelerates, and the bike inches forward. He’s constraining a monster here, he can tell – this machine is capable of so much more than he’s letting her do. Keith walks along beside him for the first few yards, telling him to relax his shoulders and make a few other small adjustments, then says, “Okay, I think you’ve got it. Give us a lap.”

Lance speeds up and takes the bike once around the track, getting used to the way it responds to his movements. Obviously, he knows that he’s riding like the complete noob he is, but it makes him feel like a total badass.

He stops in front of Keith, who claps as Lance gets off and hands control of the bike back to him.

“Nice,” says Keith, and Lance flushes with pride.

The three of them spend a while just messing around, Allura letting Lance try her bike as well. Then Keith and Allura decide to race, and Rolo comes out from his office or garage or wherever he’s been hiding to watch, making small talk with Lance in the meantime. Keith wins, unsurprisingly.

The sky is very dark by now, a gibbous moon floating high above their heads. Lance nearly mistakes it for one of the spotlights.

Suddenly, a hand lands on his shoulder, and he jumps.

“Hey,” says Keith. “Did I startle you?”

“Uh, yeah. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Keith’s lips curve into a mischievous grin. “You wanna find out what my bike can really do?”

Lance’s entire face starts burning. “What do you mean?”

Keith tilts his head in the direction of the track. “Until you’ve ridden like me, you don’t know what speed is.”

That doesn’t exactly help Lance’s frantic heart. “Uh, I …”

Keith arches one full, dark eyebrow. “You don’t have to. Just thought I’d offer.”

So it’s a challenge, huh? Fighting spirit rears its head inside of Lance. “Sure. I’m game.”

There’s a dangerous gleam in Keith’s eyes, and he smirks, and Lance cannot back down now. “Sweet. C’mon.”

Lance climbs onto the bike behind Keith. The red motorcycle is smaller than Allura’s, and there isn’t as much space, but they both fit. Lance supports his hands against the back of the seat as Keith starts the engine.

“Look, you’re going to have to hold on. I promise you’ll be safer with me than anyone else.” He turns his head and grins through the helmet, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. “As long as you trust me, and don’t let go.”

Heart pounding in his chest, and not just from anticipation, Lance nods and wraps his arms firmly around Keith’s waist. His body is as slim and hard as he remembered.

“Ready?” Keith shouts. “Let’s go!”

The bike lurches ahead at a speed so incredible that Lance is pretty sure all his viscera are left behind. He can’t think, can’t breathe, can only clutch Keith desperately and pray that he’ll survive, because Keith was right – this is a whole different definition of fast that Lance has never even come close to experiencing before. The world blurs around him, becoming a smear of color and sound and rushing wind, almost as if their surroundings are moving and they’re the ones standing still.

It might have been one lap, or it might have been twenty, when Keith nudges the bike a little bit harder – Lance hears the slightest shift in the tone of her engine – and hurtles forward at an insane velocity. And here’s a curve, coming up ahead—

—and Keith corners the bike, whips it to the left and leans all his weight into it, and as everything tilts around them Lance swears he feels his elbow graze the ground and holy shit he’s gonna die he’s gonna die—

—and they’re going straight again; he gasps for breath, for oxygen to his brain, and at the next curve he’s ready, ready for the smooth way Keith’s body adjusts, balancing both the bike and Lance’s dead weight all the way around the turn, as if they’re part of him.

And they are slowing down, coming to a stop, and Keith brakes and makes the bike skid before stomping one foot onto the ground and bringing them to a complete halt.

Lance is not even sure he’s still alive.

He gets off, and his knees are jelly, his hands a trembling mess. Keith takes off his helmet, shakes out his hair, and he’s grinning ear to fucking ear.

Lance’s voice is barely even a wheeze. “Holy. Freaking. Crow.”

“Good, huh?” says Keith, just as Allura stomps over and starts shrieking her head off about what the fuck do you think you’re doing oh for devil’s bloody sake Keith do you know how dangerous that is, and then she begins apologizing profusely to Lance, who doesn’t even hear her, because he still feels like his mind has been shot right out of his skull.

That marks the end of the day, Allura declaring that things have gotten too reckless to be allowed to continue. She stomps off in search of a bathroom and a vending machine, leaving the three guys alone.

“Christ, Keith. You can straight up ride, you know that,” Rolo says, shaking his shaggy blond head, “but please, kid. Take it easy.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Keith replies, the picture of calm.

“Then you can take Lance to return his gear, ’kay? I’m going to start closing up for real.”

Keith nods. “Okay. C’mon, Lance.”

They go back into the building Lance was in earlier, Lance still amazed that he is able to walk straight, since he still feels half-high. Keith shows him the way to the equipment room, where Lance sheds all of his extra padding and changes back into his own shoes. Somewhere along the way, he finds his voice again, and adrenaline is still surging through his veins, so he babbles.

“Jesus, Keith. Jesus! I thought you were going to kill me, you know? Is that even a normal way to ride a motorcycle or is it just you? Man, I really thought I was going to die there.” He straightens up from tying his sneakers, heart still thudding in his chest. “I mean, it was also awesome – like, mind-blowingly epically fast – but really, you’d think you were planning for me to fall off and die and then call it an accid—”

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up.”

“You shut the fuck up!” Lance screeches, and Keith is glaring at him, and blood is roaring in Lance’s ears—

—and for a moment he really thinks Keith is going to hit him, because he grabs the front of his shirt and slams his back against the wall next to a shelf of helmets, the impact knocking the breath right out of his chest—

—but then Keith is crushing their mouths together—

—Keith is kissing him—

—and there’s a gear-shift in Lance’s brain, and his arms are wrapping around Keith’s shoulders, pressing him close. He tries to gasp for air, his mouth opening under Keith’s, and then his tongue is there and oh—

Lance’s hands slide up Keith’s shoulders and his neck, coming to rest around his face, and he tilts his head to the side, so that he can lick his own way into Keith’s mouth. Keith makes a sound low in his throat that nearly sets Lance on fire, and he presses up closer; his hands release their grip on Lance’s shirt, flattening against his chest instead, sliding down his stomach before settling on his hips.

Unfortunately, Lance needs to breathe, so he twists one hand into Keith’s hair – and even through the day’s grease and sweat, he can tell it’s soft, his hair is soft – and pulls his head back, breaking the kiss. Then he dives back in, kisses messily down Keith’s jaw until he can bury his nose in his neck, pressing his lips to it, licking his pulse, breathing him in. Keith’s heart is hammering, and Lance feels his own heart leap in response as Keith digs his fingers deeper into his hipbones.

He wraps his other arm around Keith’s back, and in one swift motion he’s flipped them over, so Keith’s the one pushed against the wall. He runs one hand down Keith’s side, all leather and firm, hard muscle, and then Keith’s hands are on his jaw, guiding him back to his lips, to more open-mouthed kisses, and Keith’s gloves are rough against his skin, but his fingertips are warm, and just this once, Lance might think those gloves are pretty hot.

They kiss hard a few more times, Keith’s fingers twisting into Lance’s hair, the sweet pain in his scalp sending a jolt down his spine. And gradually, it slows down, and slows down, and it’s just Lance’s lips pressing against Keith’s, over and over, dry and soft, gentle but firm. If Lance is able to think about anything other than how much he wants, it’s that this is really Keith, that this is Keith’s face so close to his, Keith’s hands resting on his arms – it’s really him, so impossibly near, and Lance’s heart is one big tender ache.

Finally Lance pulls back, and swallows, pulse thundering in his ears, hands shaking. Keith won’t meet his eyes at first; his hair is a mess, his face flushed, his lips pink and swollen.

He is so fucking hot.

“Uh,” Lance says, not trusting his own voice. “Wow.”

“I’m … sorry,” says Keith, very quietly, as if he is equally unsure.

“No. Oh, god, no,” Lance breathes, and leans his forehead against Keith’s, taking a deep breath in. “Holy shit.”

“I guess …” Keith pauses, swallows. “Guess that’s … been in the air for a while, huh?”

Has it? Lance has been thinking a lot about Keith’s eyes, and his hands, and his mouth, oh, god, his mouth. Was it obvious? He laughs breathlessly. “Guess so.”

Keith leans his head back against the wall, exposing his long, pale neck. “Oh, my god.”

“Yeah,” Lance whispers, and leans down, unable to help himself, to kiss Keith’s gorgeous neck again. The smell of him is intoxicating. He starts kissing up toward Keith’s ear, wants to run his tongue along the shell of it, put his lips to the soft spot right behind his jaw …

“We should get back,” Keith says, his voice unsteady, and Lance’s heart stutters in his chest.

“Um, yeah. Okay.”

Keith’s hands slip from Lance’s shoulders slowly, as if he’s reluctant to let go, his eyes lingering by Lance’s collarbone and neck. “I should … I need to wash my face.”

Lance nods, swallows. He takes his coat from its hook, and follows Keith to the bathroom. He waits outside as Keith cleans himself up, then trades places with him, splashing his face with cold water, loath to be washing away the feel of Keith’s mouth on his skin. Oh, god. He’s just lucky he didn’t get hard, or this would have been a much trickier situation.

He feels like everything they just did is written all over their faces, but when they come back outside, no one bats an eyelash. Allura announces that she’s going to ride straight home from here, so Lance will have to ride with Keith (“And you’ll stay within the speed limit!”), and Lance is sure Keith is trying as hard as he can not to look at him even for a second, because he’s doing the exact same thing.

Lance says thanks to Rolo, who gives him a lazy wave, and good-bye to Allura. Thankfully, she doesn’t try to hug him, probably because of sweat. He’s sure she’d be able to smell Keith all over him if she did.

He gets onto the bike behind Keith for the second time today, wrapping his arms around his middle. He can feel Keith’s pulse in his stomach; it’s still elevated, galloping. Lance’s face gets hot.

The engine purrs beneath them, the sound almost comforting, and they roll away from the track – at a snail’s pace, compared to earlier.

As they ride home, Lance’s head is spinning, full of a million thoughts at once. Part of him can’t believe it happened, but his lips are still tingling, and he knows what Keith’s hands feel like gripping his shoulders to press him close. He closes his eyes, his cheeks heating up.

Somewhere along the way, Allura turns off in a different direction, raising her hand in a wave. Cars whoosh by around them for the next several minutes, and then they leave the highway, and traffic calms down. They’re almost home.

They don’t speak as Keith locks up his bike and Lance hands him back the helmet. Inside, Lance presses the button for the elevator, and Keith says, “Well, good night.”

And he can’t let him go yet, has to know that this really did happen, that it won’t all evaporate when he wakes up the next day, like morning fog.

Keith’s turning away.

“Keith,” Lance says, just as the elevator arrives, and Keith turns back around, a question in his eyes.

Two quick steps close the distance between them, and Lance kisses Keith on the mouth, once, hard, like he means it.

And releases him. Looks into his wide dark eyes, and smiles.

“Good night,” he says, and goes.

Notes:

ahh, so there it is. this fic has been smoochless for 5 whole chapters, which is way too damn long. thanks for sticking around! B)
disclaimer: i don't actually know anything about motorcycles, so if anything in this chapter ended up breaking the laws of physics or something, the fault is entirely mine. do not try this at home, et cetera.

as always, your comments and kudos light up my day ( ´ ▽ ' )ﾉ bless u all and until next time <3

Chapter 7

Notes:

for those of you who wanted keith back - here he is!! this is another long one, bc fair is fair c:

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

I kissed him.

Keith’s hands are covering his eyes, his heels drawn up almost to his butt. He hasn’t moved for ten minutes, as if by lying still, he can calm the shrieking cacophony in his mind.

He kissed me.

Lance’s hands around his face, Lance’s lips on his neck, Lance sighing against his skin …

Lance kissing him good night.

Keith’s stomach feels like it’s trying to float up into his ribcage. He’s happy – that nervous, swoopy kind of happy – but there’s also an encroaching feeling of dread, dragging him down and pinning him to his bed. It’s just as well, or he might have left the ground and drifted into space.

I went too fast.

Keith bites down on his lip, presses the heels of his hands harder against his eyes.

It’s not that he blames Allura for this – that would be stupid – but she definitely played a part. After all, she was the one who invited Lance to their traditional Sunday evening track-race without asking Keith first, on their way home from that diner.

After Lance hugged him – the hug that had Keith braving his skittishness, because he wanted it so badly; the hug that ended up making his heart race, and that finally let him find out what Lance smells like – he stayed outside with Allura and demanded an explanation. The track days had been his and Allura’s thing for more than a year, and she didn’t even know Lance, so what the hell was this all about? He’s ashamed to admit it, but he was remembering the way Lance had flirted with Allura, and despite all the evidence to the contrary, maybe she didn’t actually mind. The thought made something hard and ugly take root behind Keith’s ribs.

“You’ve been going on and on about him taking you to that arcade and how much fun you had and how you wish you knew how to do things like that for other people,” Allura said, and Keith frowned – firstly, because he does not go on and on about things, ever; and secondly, he never said that last part, at least not in those words – but he didn’t correct her either, because Allura had gotten down to the heart of the matter, as usual. “So I figured this would be a great way for you to surprise him back. Take him somewhere personal to you. Right? I’m good at this sort of thing, trust me.”

Oh. So she’d been thinking about him all along.

“You could have asked me first,” he muttered, and then felt bad when her face fell.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. It just sounded so good in my head … oh, you know how I get ahead of myself and feed on drama!” She sighed, and looked up at him, imploring. “I didn’t mean it like that, Keith. It was presumptuous and shitty of me.” She considered for a moment, then said, “Do you want me to fake a period and cancel?”

“No! No, you don’t have to do that.” After the initial shock had worn off, he’d started imagining the face Lance would make when he found out that he’d get to ride a real motorcycle, and admitted that it was something he wanted to see. “It … it is a good idea. And I wouldn’t have thought of it myself, either. So … thanks. I was just surprised.”

Relief softened Allura’s face. “I’m glad. Not that it wasn’t still shitty of me to set you up,” she admonished herself, “but yes – it is a damn good idea.”

She grinned, and Keith had to smile back. Allura’s so sweet, after all – she had probably been plotting this out and getting all excited about making it a reality.

Allura got onto her bike, fitting her helmet into place. “For the record, he’s not serious about me, either,” she added, and winked. “That kid is all bark and no bite.”

Spots of heat flared in Keith’s cheeks. “Wha—”

“See you Sunday!” Allura called, and drove off.

And Sunday came, and Keith is only now realizing the full depth and genius of Allura’s plan. It’s not just that the track is personal to Keith – riding his bike is the only thing that lets him be completely in touch with himself. It’s the one thing where he knows he won’t fuck up, won’t freak out, with no anxious barrier between his insides and outsides. He gets steely and focused in the way that only comes with being totally at ease, and honestly? On his bike, Keith feels fucking invincible.

Not even looking at Lance was hard, because for one night, Lance had stepped into Keith’s world, and had to play by Keith’s rules.

And so he got ahead of himself. He already knew he was attracted to Lance – was painfully aware of it, in fact. But in that little dim room, with Lance breathless and wide-eyed and jabbering, and the thrill of the ride still pumping through Keith’s veins, and his mind alive with the memory of Lance’s face after he got off the bike – dazed and open-mouthed, like he’d just been fucked within an inch of his life, making that face because of him … It was too much, and Lance looked so damn good right then, and Keith’s bad impulse control combined with adrenaline-fueled overconfidence took him over.

Still, he wasn’t ready for Lance’s mouth opening against his, and when their tongues touched he felt flames shooting up in his gut, and then Lance kissed his neck, oh …

Keith’s face starts burning, but he keeps his hands over his eyes, still immobile. He hasn’t showered yet, just took off his boots and jacket and threw himself on his bed, and here he is now, trying to process what he did.

Too. Fucking. Fast.

He hugged the guy once, was a little cagey even about that, and then jumped right ahead and made out with him. Arrogance and lust, he realizes, make a bad addition to the already unlikely mix of anxiety and impulsiveness that is Keith.

First I break down in front of him and then I push him up against the wall. Keith’s a mess, an unstable, volatile mess, and he can’t even imagine what Lance must think of him.

And that panic attack, god – it had been his idea to meet up in the first place, but then all kinds of things came together and ganged up on him: general stress on top of general anxiety on top of looking into the smiling, adorable face of the innocent boy he had fantasized about fucking … It was overwhelming, and then came the familiar lightness in his head and tightness in his chest, and he knew exactly where this was going.

But then Lance was there, with his patient voice and gentle hands, earnest and serious for once. And after, when it was finally over, his big goofy smile was back – not like nothing had happened, but like it didn’t matter, because Keith was still Keith, and Lance was Lance.

Keith’s heart clenches.

Does he want Lance? Hell, yes. He’s got those arms and that expressive mouth and a weird, cocky magnetism, all of which Keith already knew. But as of tonight, he also knows that Lance is eager when he kisses, and that he makes these shallow little gasps, and he knows what it feels like when Lance’s soft lips press against his skin.

Does he like Lance? Yeah, because despite all his weirdness and shouting and strange habit of turning everything into a fight, he’s fun, and considerate, and sincere when he needs to be.

Does he like Lance?

He doesn’t know. He couldn’t say. He hasn’t been in love before, not in any way that matters, so he can’t tell the difference between the desires of his body and his heart.

But would he kiss him again?

Oh, definitely.

Keith groans and rolls over onto his stomach, pulling his pillow over his head.

He is an idiot.

***

Keith sleeps restlessly, and wakes up with Lance still on his mind.

Now what? He wishes he’d been able to think ahead and realize that there’s always a day after.

Is Lance thinking about him, too? And if he is, what is he feeling? Oh no – what if he’s telling Hunk about last night? A black hole opens in Keith’s stomach as it dawns on him that he might have made things awkward between him and several of his newfound friends, not just Lance.

He feels jumpy on his way out of the dorm, and later in the corridors at school, expecting Lance to appear behind every corner and having no idea what to say if he does. He keeps checking his phone, belly tight with anticipation every time, and nearly falls out of his seat when he gets a message. It’s from Shiro, though, and is it mean of him to be a little disappointed when he should really be relieved?

Should I be texting him? He has to say something, doesn’t he? Otherwise he’ll just end up seeing Lance in class, and he doesn’t think he can handle that if the last contact they had was Lance pressing that final kiss to his lips before disappearing into the elevator. That kiss is burned into Keith’s mind: the way he smiled after, not the usual silly grin but soft and slightly crooked and somehow mature …

His heart beats extra hard, and he feels it like a shiver through his entire body.

I want him. God, I want him. He doesn’t even care that this is the same guy who talks with his mouth full and picks petty fights, because it’s also the guy who held Keith’s hand when he was upset and looks great in an apron and plays the damn guitar.

He has to get in touch with him. He has to.

He opens his last texted conversation with Lance, hand shaking a little, but his mind is blank. And then the tendrils of fear come creeping. What if he doesn’t answer? What if he’s pissed because he realized afterward that the whole thing had been a mistake? What if Keith’s being too hasty again, and forcing his attentions on a guy who wants space?

He can’t do this. Keith swallows and puts his phone back in his pocket. The heat of it feels like a burn.

The whole day passes, and although focusing on his classes is difficult, it helps to calm his mind so that it isn’t reeling quite as hard with emotions and memories and low-key self-hate. He still feels a little sick every time he checks his phone, though.

Before he knows it, he’s back in his room, curled up in his bed, and decides to watch a documentary. He has already seen most of the interesting ones, so he settles on something really bad and obviously staged about psychic detectives, hoping it will at least get him thinking.

Keith’s just getting into the green-filter-and-spooky-music mood when his phone buzzes in his pocket. There’s the usual tug in his stomach, but weaker now: he’s getting over himself. So he presses the button to light up the screen and oh god it’s Lance.

Hey, u ok?

He slams his hand down on the spacebar, pausing the dumb show and possibly causing his computer permanent damage. No, he is not okay! What does that even mean?

Yeah

Oh god, he can’t just send that; that’s so rude.

Yeah, you?

Not much better, but whatever. He sends it, and waits with his pulse throbbing in his throat.

I’m fine B)

They’re in emoji territory. So he’s not mad. Right?

Keith is terrible at coming up with answers to messages that don’t contain any questions. So he’s sitting there, freaking out, staring at the phone in his hand and willing it to think of a reply on its own, when yet another message arrives.

So are we cool?

Keith’s first thought is not really, Shiro is way cooler than us, for one, but then he understands that Lance means whatever this thing is between them.

Are they cool? Again, what does that even mean? His throat feels tight.

Keith is a pessimist by nature – he figures it’s the path of least disappointment – so he concludes that this must mean Lance wants to forget any of this ever happened, but continue being friends. Not totally unexpected. He acknowledges the lump forming in his gut. It sucks, but he’ll deal.

Yeah? he types, then deletes the question mark – it sounds sarcastic, not like he’s asking for confirmation. Yeah. We’re cool

The coolest B) awesome

What is up with that smiley face? Is :) too basic for Lance? Or does it have some hidden nuance Keith doesn’t know about? Maybe it’s because sunglasses are cool, but isn’t that referring to cool in the other sense? Is it a pun? He is probably overthinking this, but emojis are a good sign, aren’t they?

What’s the look on Lance’s real face right now? They live in the same building. It would be so easy to find out.

Keith banishes that thought. Space, remember?

He’s stuck with another message he doesn’t know how to reply to, though. His palms are damp with sweat.

Why did I have to fuck up? Why did I have to kiss him?

He did kiss you back, points out a voice in his head, the Anti-Keith. He kissed you good night.

How could his past self have been so convinced that kissing Lance would be a good idea? Maybe it’s because riding, to him, is so much like what he imagines sex to be like. Maybe since they’d both experienced it – the speed, the thrill, the sharp jolting of the bike beneath them – he figured Lance was feeling it too, that high like arousal, and would want to act on it.

Which he did, evidently.

Another message arrives, and Keith nearly jumps.

Anyway midterms r coming up sooo I was wondering if mayb u wanted to study together sometime?

Like 4 cosmology

Or anything else I guess

This string of messages finishes with a thumbs-up. It’s so Lance, spread out and all over the place, and Keith feels a smile tugging at his lips.

Studying, huh? That should be safe. They can sit in the library, or in Lance’s coffee shop (he gets a generous employee discount). His heart picks up speed in his chest. He’s going to have to see him again, and act normal when he does.

Yeah, sounds good to me, he types.

Ok! Talk 2 u after class?

Sure. See you.

Lance sends him multiple hands making an “OK” sign, and Keith sighs. Things will be okay, or so he fervently hopes.

***

The next time he sees Lance is before class. Lance is on time, for once, and he catches up to Keith on the path leading toward the school building, running up behind him and saying “Good morning!” in his breathless, cheerful way.

“Morning,” says Keith, and although he might be clutching the straps of his backpack harder than he should, he thinks he manages to keep his cool pretty well.

There’s a brief silence, Lance looking at Keith like he’s expecting something from him, and not saying anything until Keith turns his head to shoot him a questioning look. Lance scratches the back of his head, laughs, and then says, “Hey, so, what have you been up to?”

Before Keith can answer, he’s blathering on about himself again, which Keith is honestly kind of grateful for. “Me, I’m watching this new series with Hunk and he insists it’s brilliant but I’m kinda on the fence myself …”

While Lance talks, Keith sneaks glances at him out of the corner of his eye, and notices details, the facets that make up Lance. His hair is sticking up at an odd angle, like he slept on it wet. He has at least two kinds of genuine smiles: the huge, bright ones that light up his whole face, and the smaller, lopsided ones, where just one corner tugs up toward his ear. He talks with his hands a lot, and he has beautiful, long piano fingers – or guitar fingers, Keith supposes – that express as much as his voice. Watching them, Keith is reminded of what they felt like on his skin, warm against his face, tangled in his hair, and feels the dull ache of desire in his chest. What he wouldn’t give to have those hands all over him … but he’s sworn off those thoughts, remember?

Things aren’t weird or stiff between them, not exactly. It’s more like they’re sharing a secret that they both agreed to forget, even if the latter part never technically happened. Lance is acting like Lance, and treating Keith like a friend, not like someone he wants to back up against a wall. Keith has seen Lance hit on Allura, and he’s actually glad that he doesn’t have to navigate that forest of pick-up lines and flirting – he’d be so uncomfortable and confused – so maybe in the end it’s a good thing that Lance isn’t really interested in kissing him. He got caught up in the heat of the moment, that’s all.

And that’s fine. That’s fine.

When they make it to class, Lance goes to join Hunk and Pidge at the back, and Keith sits near the front, as usual. Lance gives him a wave and a smile as they part ways.

Keith spends the class looking hard at Shiro, thinking about how good-looking he is – he’s so buff, and he has that square jaw and flattering undercut, and isn’t that Keith’s type, really? Sure, maybe Shiro’s everyone’s type, but still. Lance, on the other hand, is lanky, and his chin is too long and pointed, and his face can go sort of rubbery and extreme sometimes, his eyes bugging out of his head when he yells (which is often). So what’s the big deal about Lance, anyway?

It’s an exercise in futility, though, because Keith doesn’t actually mind any of those things. All they do is make Lance more Lance, and more Lance is really all Keith wants.

Shit. He’s so gone.

After class, Lance catches his attention – not that it’s hard; part of Keith’s attention always seems to be on him, and it makes him feel clingy and weird. “Is tomorrow evening all right? For studying?”

Keith nods, trying not to think about the fact that he could probably take one step closer and feel the heat from Lance’s body. “See you in the library?”

“Yeah. See you!” Lance flashes him a smile, bright like the sun, and hurries off.

Keith closes his eyes and takes a long, deep breath.

***

“You would think I’d be sick of coffee by now, on account of my job,” Lance says, “but no – it seems a man is never too good for his buzz.”

He slurps the cup of black he bought at the library café and plops down in the chair opposite Keith. They’re in the part of the library where it’s okay to chat in low voices, and have spread their stuff out all over the table, as if this will somehow encourage the piles of books and papers to leap up and transfer information into their waiting brains.

Keith stares down at his textbook. They have a couple of general courses in common, so they’re focusing on those. “Well, addiction is a powerful thing.”

“Mm, true. But so sweet.” Lance sets the cup down on the table.

“Hey, is that why you’re like this? You’re always high on caffeine?”

“Why I’m like what? My giddy, boyish excitement is one hundred percent natural, only slightly enhanced by the magic bean.”

It’s good, normal banter. They’re doing fine. Keith’s doing fine. Lance is in a pleasant mood, joking about everything like he always does, and Keith listens and makes the occasional snide comeback. There’s distance between them, yeah, but it’s good distance, he repeats to himself. It’s where they would have been if Keith hadn’t jumped ahead like that. He wonders if he would have been sneaking this many glances at Lance’s lips even if it had never happened.

He’s trying to think of it as it, and not as kissing, because if he doesn’t, it will make him flustered and disturb the delicate balance he’s struggling to maintain.

They sink into their studies, and Keith does get a lot done. Not wanting to get caught staring at Lance is a powerful motivation, and the books provide a welcome distraction.

After a while, they start on cosmology, going over everything they’ve covered in class so far. They read about the expanding universe and relativity and dark matter, then quiz one another on it as best they can.

Keith’s starting to feel a bit dizzy – the fatigue that comes with sharing air with strangers and hard concentration. His eyes are moving sluggishly across the page. Lance seems to be going through the same thing, forehead resting in the palm of his hand, mussed-up hair sticking out between his fingers. Finally, his head snaps up, and he announces, “I can’t do this anymore. My brain feels like it’s been abducted by aliens.”

“Oh, I thought that was just your personality.”

“Shut up, Keith. Wanna get out of here?”

They gather up their things and traipse out of the library. Outside, it’s dark; there is a crisp chill in the air, and Keith zips up his jacket.

“Hey,” says Lance. “You feel like going for a walk?”

Keith glances over at him; he’s stretching, arms over his head, and not looking at him. “Yeah, okay.”

They wander along the path for a while, not saying much, but Keith is hyper-aware of Lance next to him, only an arm’s length away. Campus is fairly quiet at this time, and most people who are out are only on their way home. They walk until they make it to the soccer field, which is lit up but mostly empty, aside from a lone jogger running laps around the surrounding track and a few people sitting on benches.

“Check it out,” Lance says, pointing at the sky. A few brave stars are twinkling, despite the light pollution, and a crescent moon hangs above them like a grin. “Real cosmology. That’s what I’m about.”

“You mean astronomy,” says Keith.

“Whatever, it’s still space. Hey, uh, d’you mind sitting down for a while? I’ve been indoors for too long, need to stay out.”

“That’s fine.” He doesn’t know why he does this to himself, why he insists on staying around Lance even when it makes his heart ache. But it’s been working so far, the Anti-Keith points out, so why not?

They find a bench near the edge of the field, and sit down facing the illuminated expanse of it. The breeze tugs at Keith’s hair, and he tilts his head back, still looking at the sky. Calm fills his chest.

“Hey, Keith. You spacing out?” Lance sniggers, and Keith snaps out of it.

“Please.”

“Sorry,” says Lance, who is clearly not sorry at all. “You just looked so into it.”

“I just … I like the night sky.”

“Oh?” He half expects some kind of sassy comment, but Lance actually seems to be listening, his head tipped slightly to one side.

“Yeah, I dunno. It’s just … space is so vast, you know? So I figure there must be something out there, right? Something or someone on a planet far away that doesn’t give a shit about me or my stupid problems.” He flexes his fingers, looks at his hand instead of Lance, his stupid problem in the flesh. “And maybe they feel the same way. It’s … kind of comforting.”

“You’re talking about aliens, right?”

“I guess.”

“You believe they’re real?”

He shrugs. “It seems statistically likely.”

“Maybe. I doubt we’ll ever get to meet them, though, unless the rumors about Dr. Coran turn out to be true.” He wiggles his eyebrows, which Keith ignores.

“Doesn’t matter. I just like to think they’re out there.”

Lance hums. “Space is cool, yeah, but also huge and empty and full of dead rocks. I like the ocean better. Calm and blue.” And because he’s Lance, he has to add, “And it comes with beaches, snorkeling, half-naked people …”

“Dude, wrong. Calm, my ass. The ocean is full of freaky shit.”

“But aliens are fine? What if they invade us?”

“Aliens probably built Stonehenge and the pyramids and our entire civilization, so I don’t see why they would.”

Lance barks a laugh. “Sorry to kill your hype here, but didn’t somebody debunk everything on Ancient Aliens?”

“Look, I’m not saying distrust everything you hear. But if you were the government and you knew there were extraterrestrial forces beyond your control, would you be telling the world about it?”

“Hell yeah, I would! I’d make World UFO Day into a national holiday.”

“Okay, sorry, bad example. If someone competent was the government and knew there were extraterrestrial forces …”

“Oh my god, stop it. Your tinfoil hat is coming off.”

Keith glowers. “I’m. Just. Saying.”

“Man, you’re so weird,” says Lance, but he’s grinning.

“If it’s weird to wonder about the truth, then yeah, sure.”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you talk so much about anything,” Lance says, his voice uncharacteristically soft, and Keith’s stomach ties itself into a knot.

“Oh. I … sorry.”

“No, no. I, uh. I like hearing you talk.”

Keith’s face heats up. “I would never have guessed, being around you,” he mutters, ducking his head to hide his flush.

Lance just chuckles at that. “What can I say? I’m a man of many words and much wisdom.”

But for a while, he’s a man of no words, and they just sit, watching the jogger finish another lap, pass them, and run back into the distance.

“Actually, uh …” Lance pauses, and Keith can hear him swallow. He scratches the back of his head, without meeting Keith’s eyes. “I wanted to ask you about something.”

Here it comes. Oh, shit. Keith feels protective walls shoot up around him. “Yeah?”

“It’s about … well. You know.” His laughter sounds nervous. “Last weekend.”

“Yeah?”

“I just, I, uh …” Is this Lance, fumbling for words? Really? “I’ve been thinking about it. And, well, about you. Um, a lot.” Oh, Jesus. “But, I mean, you haven’t brought it up, so I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything …”

“No. It’s fine.” Is it? His head is spinning. He’s going to pass out, or cry, or something. He can’t remember being so nervous in his life.

“Oh. Well, I guess, um, I was just wondering if it … what it meant. Not that I’m saying it had to mean anything! I just … I … well, you know.”

Oh god. What should he do?

“I just …” His throat is parched. “I wanted to. Kiss you. I guess.”

He is going to melt and be absorbed into the ground. What a dumb fucking thing to say! Although, he supposes, it is more or less the truth.

“Oh.” Was that … did Lance’s voice crack a little? “Uh …” And then Lance is turning to him, and his eyes are very wide, and he’s blurting, “Would you do it again?”

Time stops for Keith. He swears his face is going numb.

“Wha …”

“I mean,” Lance babbles, “if you didn’t like it, of course I wouldn’t want to be weird or anything, like, I really don’t want to make things weird, but I was just, you know, thinking, that if you did want to then I’d be … like, really okay with that and—”

“I …” Keith is probably just one big blush by now. “I did. Like it.”

Did those words really just come out of his mouth? Is this happening to him?

All the breath rushes out of Lance, like he’s been holding something in that he can finally release. “Oh. Good. Me too.”

Keith is going to die right here in this spot, and he’s honestly not sure if he can think of a better way to go.

They sit there, looking at their hands or the ground or anything but each other. For once Keith feels sure that Lance is as flustered as he is, but if anything, it only makes his heart beat faster. His fingers and face and toes are tingling, and it’s dawning on him now that maybe he was just being stupid and anxious and making things more complicated than they had to be. After all, he’s right here, right now, next to the boy who fills his belly with butterflies, and that boy just told Keith he liked kissing him, and he is so happy he could just float right off the ground.

Maybe he can let himself enjoy it.

“Um …” It’s out of his mouth almost without him thinking. “Do you wanna start heading back?”

“Oh. Yes, I guess so.” Lance almost sounds … disappointed?

“If you want,” Keith says, and he’s not sure what part of him is bold enough to be doing this, but grateful to it nonetheless, “we could, um, go back to my room. Finish the cosmology reading, or something. I … I could make tea.”

Lance looks up, and he’s smiling a little. Cute. “Really?”

“Yeah. Uh. I … I don’t mean to be pushy or anything. Just … if you want.”

“Sounds good,” says Lance, really smiling now, and Keith’s heart skips a beat. He’s always liked Lance’s smile. It makes him look so open and handsome and …

Jeez, slow down, he thinks, but his heart blatantly disobeys him. Is it obvious that he’s kind of wishing Lance will kiss him again? Is he imagining the buzzing tension between them?

They get up, throw their bags over their shoulders, and start making their way back. Keith is trying to think of something good to say – he wants to hear Lance laugh again – but Lance beats him to it, of course, chattering away.

The conversation settles into a comfortable rhythm, and things feel good between them, relaxed even. It’s made better by the fact that Keith knows he wasn’t imagining the attraction. Lance kissed him back because he wanted to, and he didn’t regret it after. Keith’s cheeks feel pleasantly warm.

They reach the dorm and take the stairs up to Keith’s floor, footsteps echoing in the stairwell. In front of his door, Keith gets nervous – suddenly so aware of Lance standing behind him, and that he’ll be letting him into his room, his space – and he just hopes Lance won’t be uncomfortable. He swallows, unlocks the door.

“So, um, this is my place,” he says, holding the door open.

“You have your own room?” Lance exclaims, in awe.

“Yeah. I don’t think, uh … I wouldn’t have been able to deal with a roommate I didn’t know.”

Lance exhales. “Wow.” And then Keith swears he sees his cheeks turn the slightest shade of pink.

“After you,” Keith says, and Lance steps inside, kicks off his shoes.

It’s a bit strange to have him here, among all of Keith’s things, and suddenly every single item in his room seems to flash before his eyes, and he can’t help but wonder what Lance will think.

“You really like motorcycles, don’t you?” says Lance, right on cue. He must have spotted one of the posters on Keith’s wall.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Wait – is that why you’re such good pals with Allura?”

“Kind of?” Keith drops his backpack on the floor and sits down on the edge of his bed, leaving the desk chair for Lance. Lance follows suit, lifting his messenger bag over his head and putting it beside Keith’s. “We were both sad kids who liked bikes.”

“Allura was a sad kid?”

“Yup. She turned out all right, though,” says Keith, with a wry smile.

“She sure did.” Lance turns around, eyes landing on Keith, who’s crossing his legs beneath him. He closes his half-open mouth, like he forgot what he was about to say.

“You can take the chair,” says Keith, and Lance nods. “Oh, right. Do you want tea or instant hot chocolate or something? I have green and chai.”

“Now, chai I am sick of because of my job,” says Lance, and makes a face. “Green sounds good.”

Keith jumps up to get the water boiler ready, and as he’s filling it at the faucet, Lance says, “So, did you guys bond over, like, My Chemical Romance or something?”

“What? No, god. Allura’s into indie,” he adds, without thinking, and Lance smirks.

“But you’re not?”

Keith turns on the kettle, then faces Lance, crossing his arms over his chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Did teenage you shop at Hot Topic?”

“Lance, god.”

“You’re not answering the question.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Did you listen to all those other bands?” He sounds positively gleeful. “Like, I dunno. Panic at the Disco? Escape the Pain?”

“Escape the Fate,” Keith says automatically, and Lance cackles, doubling over on his chair. “Jesus, why is this so funny?”

“It’s just,” Lance wheezes, “it’s just that the mullet makes so much sense now. Oh my gosh, you’re an ex-emo kid, aren’t you?”

“I had a phase. Maybe,” Keith says, and okay, fine, he’s smiling a little too.

“Did you have green streaks in your hair?”

“No.”

“Purple?”

“Red.”

“That’s adorable,” Lance nearly shrieks, and collapses in another fit of giggles. “Oh, man. You would’ve hated me. I was the king of hair gel and trashy pop.”

“Yeah, I would’ve,” Keith admits.

“I’m actually still the king of trashy pop.”

“Well, I’ve grown as a person since then.”

“Glad to hear it.” He wipes the tears out of his eyes – actual tears; Lance’s sense of humor is so weird.

Keith pours them tea as Lance gets their cosmology textbooks out of their bags, putting Keith’s on his bed and opening his own in his lap.

“Hey, by the way, what’s this?” he asks, and points at the miniature of an F-22 Raptor on Keith’s desk.

“Oh, that’s a twin-engine fifth-generation supersonic super maneuverable—”

He trails off when he notices Lance laughing to himself. “So it’s, like, a warplane?”

Oh. Keith gave him the long answer, not the one he was looking for. “Um, yeah. One of the best in the world. It’s not the war part I’m into, obviously; it’s the plane.”

“Cool. Keith’s a nerd.” Lance grins, and Keith hands him his cup, rolling his eyes. As he takes it, their fingers brush, and Keith feels a pleasant zing all the way down his backbone.

They drink their tea and go over the final chapter, each reading in silence until Lance admits he’s forgotten just what a quasar is, and Keith doesn’t quite remember either. So they check the glossary and determine that it is a very luminous active galactic nucleus.

“You should name your emo band Active Galactic Nucleus,” says Lance, and Keith tosses a pencil at him.

A few minutes later, they slam their books shut with sighs of relief. “Finally,” Keith groans, eyes falling shut. “We better ace the test, after this.”

Lance nods in agreement, but he doesn’t say anything, and the back of Keith’s neck prickles. He opens his eyes again, and discovers that Lance is looking at him in a way that sends a jolt through his body.

“Uh,” says Lance, and swallows, and Keith’s pulse gets overexcited again. “I … I hope I’m not, y’know, reading anything into this that’s not there.” He’s blushing all the way to his ears. It might be the cutest thing Keith has ever seen. “But, um … maybe we could …” – and a wavering smile finds its way onto Lance’s face, a brave, nervous version of his usual cocky grin – “… finish what we started?”

And he actually makes finger guns, and he is so sweet and so silly that it takes Keith’s breath away.

Does he even have a choice?

“Yeah,” says Keith, light-headed. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

There’s a moment of stillness, where they’re just looking at each other, none of them sure who should make the first move. Then Lance gets up from the chair – Keith’s heartbeat spikes – and sits down next to him on his bed. Oh god, he’s really here …

Keith’s hands move on their own, coming to rest on Lance’s shoulders. I’m touching him. He feels the strength of them, the softness of his T-shirt, and then Lance’s hands slide around his waist, and he lets out a little gasp. His hands are so warm, and he’s missed them.

He’s unable to take his eyes off Lance’s mouth, and feels his own lips parting, his breath coming shallow. Lance leans in, very slightly, and Keith stretches up just a little bit, and their mouths meet in the softest, lightest, sweetest kiss.

Keith’s whole body is buzzing. He can smell Lance now, and it’s filling his head and chest, making him feel light and giddy. They’re so close, Keith’s nose brushing Lance’s nose, lips brushing Lance’s lips …

Keith reaches up for more at the same time Lance dives down, but they’re going slowly this time, so slowly – just lips on lips on lips, and Keith’s arms sliding around Lance’s neck, Lance’s hands rubbing circles into Keith’s back, like he’s trying to find him, map him, keep him.

He can feel Lance’s heart, pounding just as hard as his own, and it fills him with excitement and a burst of confidence. Keith licks once, brief and soft, at Lance’s upper lip. A shiver passes through Lance, strong enough for Keith to feel it, and his lips part.

It’s enough. Keith kisses harder, dipping his tongue between Lance’s lips this time. Lance responds in kind, his arms tightening around Keith, and it feels so good, so amazing to be wanted, and part of him never wants Lance to let go.

He slides his hands into Lance’s hair, short and soft as silk, and kisses him long and deep and still slow. Lance makes the softest mmm sound on the exhale, and Keith’s heart squeezes. He wants to hear more.

He goes in with a bit too much zeal, and their teeth click together, uncomfortably. He’s just about ready to be mortified when Lance’s mouth curves into a smile against his – he loves that he can feel Lance smiling – and a tiny chuckle bubbles out of his own throat. They pause for a second, change the angle, and this time Lance kisses each of Keith’s lips in turn – first the upper, then the lower, and slides his hand down Keith’s thigh.

That feels so good that a low moan escapes Keith’s throat, and Lance’s breath hitches.

“Oh, my god,” he whispers, and pulls away, just a little. For a moment, Keith’s scared – but then he opens his eyes, and he’s looking into Lance’s eyes, dark with want, and feels a flame flaring in his gut.

Lance’s hands come up around his face, his thumb caressing Keith’s cheekbone. “You’re so hot,” he breathes, and it sounds like he means it, and how is Keith ever going to recover from this?

He has to swallow first, lets his fingers stroke through the hair at the nape of Lance’s neck. “Says you.”

And Lance laughs, low and breathless, his hand still resting on Keith’s thigh. “I’m so glad you kissed me.”

Fuck. He needs more.

“C’mon,” Keith says, against Lance’s lips, and pulls him back onto the bed. Lance’s eyes go wide and blown as Keith lies down on his side, but he joins him, without hesitation.

This way, they can wind their arms tighter around each other, and Keith feels Lance’s chest against his, tangles one leg in between Lance’s legs – all his senses are full of Lance, Lance, Lance, and he is perfectly content and ravenously hungry all at the same time.

Keith rolls onto his back, pulling Lance on top of him; Lance gasps and Keith sighs as the other boy’s weight presses him down. They kiss again, openmouthed this time, Lance’s hands stroking down Keith’s sides. And then Lance’s mouth is leaving Keith’s, moving down his chin, his jaw …

And there are those lovely neck-kisses again, and Keith throws his head back, wanting to give him better access, let him touch everything. He gasps as Lance’s tongue laves against his skin, buries the fingers of one hand in his hair to press him closer. Lance moves to his shoulder, tugs the collar of his T-shirt aside, presses a smattering of kisses to his collarbone …

He had no idea he was so sensitive there. “Ah,” he gasps, and Lance stops abruptly, the ghost of his mouth still hovering over Keith’s skin.

“Shit,” he mutters, “oh, shit, Keith.”

His own name makes his face and neck burn. The hand in Lance’s hair slides down to stroke his jaw. “What? What’s wrong?”

Lance inhales deeply, nose still pressed to Keith’s collarbone. “I just … I’m …” He props himself on his elbows, so he can look Keith in the face, and all Keith can think is wow, because messy-haired, swollen-lipped, red-cheeked Lance is doing wonderful things to his insides.

“I’m gonna get hard if we keep going,” Lance blurts, in his usual way, “and I – I don’t know – if we’re ready for that yet?”

Keith swallows. He’s right, and although part of him wants to insist that yes we are, a sudden shyness seizes hold of him. No, he’s not sure if he’s ready to take that step either.

Besides, Lance said “yet.” That means there’s a next time. Delight blossoms in Keith’s chest.

“You wanna stop?” he murmurs, and reaches up to tuck Lance’s silky hair behind his ear.

“Not really.” And wow, that sent a thrill right to Keith’s groin. “But we should … maybe … tone it down a little? Gosh, I can’t believe I’m saying this.”

“You’re probably right, though,” Keith admits. “And it’s … it’s getting late.”

“Yeah.” Lance rolls off of him, settles beside him, and drapes an arm over Keith’s waist. “Maybe just this is fine? For now.”

“Mmm,” Keith agrees, and snuggles closer.

They lie that way for a few moments, and then Keith feels Lance’s nose against the top of his head, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to his hair. His cheeks flush; his own face is level with Lance’s neck, so he leans forward to taste the skin there for the first time.

Lance’s skin is so smooth, so fragrant, and the way he sighs at the touch of Keith’s lips … He’s going to be the end of me, and we’ve barely even started.

“That feels … real nice,” Lance whispers, which Keith, of course, is thrilled to hear.

They stay in each other’s arms until their heartbeats have more or less evened out. “I think I should go upstairs,” Lance says finally, “or Hunk’ll probably call the cops or something.”

Keith laughs. “Yeah, okay.”

They untangle, and Lance gets to his feet and gathers his things. Keith watches him from his bed. It feels strange not to be touching, and even stranger to look at Lance and know that this is the boy he just kissed. Strange, but really, really good.

“I’ll see you, then,” says Lance, standing in Keith’s doorway, his shoes on and his bag over his shoulder.

“Yeah, absolutely.”

They both hesitate for a moment, and then Lance leans in for another kiss goodnight, and Keith is more than happy to oblige him. This time, though, he cups Lance’s face in his hands, and it’s not just one, hard, surprising kiss, but three, soft and in succession, before they finally break apart.

And there’s Lance’s smile, big and wide and radiant, that goes right into Keith’s heart.

“Asking if you’d wanna kiss me again was like, the decision of the year,” he says, and Keith feels himself blushing.

Lance waves, and Keith manages to wave back, watching the door close behind him. And then all he can do is make his way back to his bed on wobbly knees and collapse there, a flustered, happy, grinning mess.

Notes:

as always, thanks SO MUCH to everyone who takes the time to read and leave comments & kudos, you guys are the greatest and make me so excited to keep working on this... whatever this thing even is, haha! i hope all of you have the loveliest day~~~

Chapter 8

Notes:

okay, so i might as well just announce this here: this is where the m rating really starts coming into play, so be prepared for that! otherwise there are no warnings for this other than that i am hopelessly sappy and im so sorry

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Meet us at four, Hunk and Lance’s place, Pidge told him (before glancing at the long, slender bag over his shoulder and adding “Hey, is that a sword?”).

Keith’s standing outside their room now, and there’s indistinct shouting coming from inside. For a moment Keith’s not sure if they’ve started playing without him and are in the middle of an intense match, or if he’s walked in on something that’s none of his business. But Pidge did say four, and he’s here now, isn’t he?

Well, here goes, he thinks, and knocks.

Footsteps approach from the other side, and Keith is able to make out words: “—just get the hell out, Lance!” Then the door swings open, and he is greeted by Hunk’s friendly smile.

“Oh, hey, man,” he says. His dark brown hair is loose around his face for once; it somehow makes him look softer. “Sup?”

“Uh, Pidge said we were all meeting up at four?” Keith suppresses the urge to avoid Hunk’s eyes. Midterms, and all the time-consuming stress that goes with them, came and took over all of their lives, so Keith hasn’t really hung out with Hunk since he made out with his best friend. How much does Hunk know? Is Keith blushing? And if he is, can Hunk tell? “I ran into them on my way back from the gym, and they said they had a new expansion pack for Voltron …”

Hunk groans. “Aw, yeah, I should’ve figured they’d invite you. Things got a little postponed, because Lance here decided he needed to run an emergency marathon or something, and is now taking an ENDLESS FUCKING SHOWER!”

He yells the last part in the direction of the bathroom, and yes, there is indeed the sound of running water, and Lance’s annoyed voice saying, “I’ll be out in a minute, stop riding my ass!”

“I’ve had to pee for like, the past fifteen minutes, and he won’t unlock the door,” Hunk seethes, but Keith hardly hears him. The words Lance and shower converge in his mind, forming an image of wet hair and rivulets caressing naked skin and oh no no no, think about airplanes instead, Keith!

Rolling his eyes Lanceward, Hunk steps back from the door and gestures inside. “Pidge isn’t here yet, but you can come in if you want. Can I get you a snack or something?”

“Uh, no. I’m fine, thanks.” Keith doesn’t think he can eat, doesn’t think he can focus on doing anything, until every trace of Lance-in-the-shower has been scrubbed from his mind.

He steps inside, and is enveloped by the mellow tones of one of Hunk’s playlists. It looks like they’ve cleaned up; the room is more or less in order, except for a stack of textbooks dumped next to Hunk’s desk and workout clothes thrown on Lance’s unmade bed. And Keith is an idiot, because now he’s thinking Lance and bed and no clothes, and if the way he is feeling wasn’t obvious to Hunk before, it will be soon unless he does something about it.

Hunk offers Keith his desk chair, sitting down on his own bed and reaching for a bag of tomato crackers. “How’ve you been?”

“I’m … good,” says Keith, lamely. “It’s nice to have midterms over and done with.”

“Tell me about it.” Hunk shakes his head, brushing crumbs from his dark grey Half-Life T-shirt. “I haven’t slept for a week.”

If Hunk does know that Keith wants his roomie’s hands under his clothes, he gives no indication. They chat about a little bit of everything, including his date with Shay yesterday (“So are you guys officially dating now?” “Well, I wouldn’t say officially … but that was definitely a date!”) and how fall is too damn cold in this part of the country.

“By the way,” Hunk says, “did Lance tell you about that show we’re watching together? His mind is too one-track to grasp its genius, but you might actually …”

“Hunk, have you seen my bathrobe?” Steam pours out of the now-open bathroom door, closely followed by Lance, who is wearing a towel wrapped around his hips and nothing else.

Keith’s heart and stomach switch places. His last coherent thought is, At least my tombstone will say “he died happy.”

And then, the only thing filling his head is Lance’s smooth brown skin, the damp hair sticking to his forehead, his flat taut belly, his arms, his collarbones, his hips …

Fuck me, he thinks, in quite the literal sense, and tries not to fall off his chair.

Around this point, Lance notices Keith. “Oh. Hey.”

If Keith makes a noise right now, it will sound either like a dinosaur shriek or a filthy moan. So he just acknowledges Lance and Lance’s chest and Lance’s calves with a nod that he hopes comes off as aloof.

“How am I supposed to know where your stuff is?” Hunk is saying, somewhere far away. “If your idea of cleaning wasn’t just ‘relocate the entire mess to the closet,’ maybe you’d be able to find your shit afterward.”

“I’ll just get dressed, god,” Lance says, and makes for his closet. He doesn’t look at Keith, but the tips of his ears are pink. It could be from the hot shower, Keith thinks. It could. It’s not like he’s noticed that Keith’s about to hyperventilate just from looking at him, right?

As Lance slips past him, Keith notices how broad his shoulders are, compared to his waist. The towel rides low around his hips, and it’s so sexy, and Keith feels about fourteen years old.

Lance gathers an armful of clothes from the closet – which does indeed look like a garbage dump inside – and goes back into the bathroom, one hand clutching the towel in place. Alternating waves of heat and cold wash through Keith. It would be so easy for him to just drop it …

The bathroom door clicks shut behind Lance (“Aw, Lance, come on!” Hunk yells), which gives Keith a moment’s reprieve. He has to collect his thoughts. Calm his heartbeat.

“You’re paying this month’s hot water bill!” Hunk calls, which is met by a muffled “shut up” from the other side of the door.

Keith manages to revert to a state where his heart is still fluttering but all of his body parts feel more or less stable. “I texted Pidge, so they should be coming soon,” says Hunk, and offers Keith an orange box of chocolates. “Caramac?”

“Oh. Thanks.” He takes one, the caramel achingly sweet between his teeth.

“Okay, I’m done,” Lance announces, and comes back out.

“About time.” Hunk darts toward the bathroom himself, calling over his shoulder, “It’s like you never leave the bathroom anymore, man.”

Lance’s still-pink face goes pinker. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, as Hunk shuts the door behind him.

He stands there for a while, pouting in the direction Hunk disappeared in, before he turns to Keith. He’s wearing ripped jeans and a vee-neck T-shirt that’s not exactly tight, but clings to his body just right. Handsome. They’re sort of alone now, and the image of Lance’s body is still burning in Keith’s mind, and he’s wondering what he should say—

“Hey, goth wannabe. Have you been woken up inside yet?”

Why is he attracted to this jerk? “Save me,” Keith deadpans, and Hunk bursts out laughing from the other side of the bathroom door.

Just then, there’s a small, sharp knock at the door of their room. “That’ll be Pidge,” says Hunk, who comes out of the bathroom looking much less tense, and Lance goes to let Pidge in.

Pidge’s small body is drowning in a massive cream sweater, their hazel eyes sparkling behind round glasses.

“Hey, nerds and Keith,” they say, and whip something out of their tote bag. “Here it is, guys. New planets. New weapons. And most importantly, new robots!” They hold the purple box up reverently for all to see. “All hail the latest expansion, Wrath of the Balmera.”

“Remind me why I hang out with you guys again,” says Lance, while Hunk throws up his arms and cheers, and Keith claps politely.

“Because you are a huge dork who cries every time you watch The Lion King,” Hunk replies, without missing a beat, and Lance aims a kick at him.

Pidge is already cross-legged on the floor, shuffling cards; Hunk is saying “Okay, last offer for snacks, guys,” and Keith is realizing again how much he likes these people, glancing from Pidge to Hunk to …

Lance meets his gaze before he can look away, and Keith gets caught there, in the blue of his eyes.

And Lance smiles at him, for the first time today. It’s soft and genuine, a secret smile that says hey, so here we are again, huh? and is meant just for Keith.

Keith’s heart flips in his chest, his entire body filling with warmth.

He wishes he could reach out and take Lance’s hand. He wishes Lance would put an arm around his shoulders, make a bad joke because he’s Lance, and let Keith scowl but cuddle closer.

He wishes they could be together, like, for real, and is surprised by the sheer longing that seizes hold of him.

I want him so much, he thinks for the millionth time, and feels the words in his heart as much as his body.

***

“Hey, Shiro? How do you know if you’re in love with someone?”

Keith’s hands are wrapped around the warmth of his mug, rotating it in nervous circles. Opposite him, Shiro’s sipping his cappuccino. The dainty cup looks kind of ridiculous in his big but careful hands. They’re sitting at the Starbucks just off campus, which Keith is starting to think can’t measure up to Lance’s coffee shop – more sad proof of how far gone he is.

“Huh? Well, I guess it’s different for everyone.” Shiro sees the look on Keith’s face, and adds, “That’s not a helpful answer, is it?”

Keith sighs, staring down into the depths of his coffee. “No. But you’re probably right.”

“Okay, well …” Shiro sets his cup back on its saucer, props his elbows on the table, and rests his perfect chin on the backs of his hands. He looks Keith right in the eyes, and Keith’s reminded of what pretty eyes Shiro has: tilted up at the corners, eyelashes continuing outside the edges to form natural wings. “How are you feeling?”

Keith must have made a face like he swallowed a lemon, because Shiro laughs and holds up his hands in a deflective gesture. “Hey, no pressure. Sometimes talking can help you sort things out.”

“I don’t want to throw my issues all over you,” Keith mumbles.

“Don’t worry. I’m happy to listen.”

He is so grateful for Shiro, for being able to confide in him. It’s good to know another Asian guy who likes other guys, even if Shiro is more of a personality-first-gender-later kind of person, and Keith is just hopelessly gay. Even though Keith was originally intimidated by Shiro, Allura was convinced that they would get along, and slowly but surely pushed them into hanging out with each other. And yes – it turned out they have a surprising number of things in common, in a way that lets Keith talk with no filter, because he knows that Shiro will know what he means. Shiro’s told Keith something similar, too – I like talking with you, it’s like you get it.

They get each other. Shiro will understand.

But what does he say? What is he feeling?

“I just feel … confused?” Shiro’s expression is sympathetic, so Keith goes on. “It’s just … I don’t know. He’s weird. He goes out of his way to piss me off. But then he’ll do something really sweet, and I … I wish I could do that for him, too. Like, I want to punch him, don’t get me wrong. But I also … I like it when he smiles.” He bites down on his lip, hard. “Oh, crap. I like him, don’t I?”

Shiro smiles. “Yeah, you might.”

“Ugh.”

“Why ugh?”

“I don’t know. I just … it feels like another thing I can’t control. Do I really need another thing in my life that I can’t control?”

“Maybe it’s not always a bad thing, not being in control. Sometimes life can take you nice places, too.”

Keith looks up at Shiro, imploring. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, do you want it to lead somewhere?”

He thinks about holding Lance, in his bed. Lance behind him on his bike, arms around his waist. Lance smiling at him under the stars.

“Yeah.” The word leaves his mouth on its own, a response as natural as breathing. “Yeah, I do.”

“Then you should tell him how you feel.”

“What?! No way.”

“Why not?”

“What if he tells me to fuck off?”

“What if he doesn’t?” Shiro’s smile is so kind, like he’ll support Keith no matter what dumb thing he decides to do next.

He kissed you back, Keith, whispers that voice in his head, that sounds so much like his own.

“I guess,” he mumbles. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”

He takes a sip of his coffee. It’s starting to get cold.

“Shiro?”

“Yeah?”

“You … you get confessed to a lot, right?”

Shiro laughs a little, scratches his ear. He’s wearing a button-down that seems to be struggling to keep his bulk contained. “Well … I suppose.”

“Are they … like, are people serious about you?”

“Some of them are. Some of them have never even spoken to me before, so there’s obviously not a lot of substance there.”

It’s something Keith’s wondered about before. After all, everybody knows Shiro, but does anybody really know Shiro? Sometimes Keith suspects they just see this perfect, idealized version of him and ignore or dismiss the rest – his kind heart and his occasional childishness and the way he gets overly excited about stuff he likes, all the things that make him really worth crushing on.

“How do you know if … I mean, how should I …”

Shiro’s warm smile has this magical property that helps soothe Keith’s frantic nerves. “Just be honest. If you mean what you’re saying, he’ll know.”

It’s going to take Keith a while to even begin to consider doing that. His belly is swooping just from the thought.

“Can I ask you something?” Shiro says.

“Yeah?”

“Is this about Lance?”

Embarrassment makes heat flare in Keith’s cheeks, worsened by the way that name sends a little happy thrill through him.

“… maybe.”

“You know, if my two cents are worth anything, I think he really cares about you.”

Just crank up the burn, why don’t you? He’s going to combust. “What are you basing this on?”

“I’ve seen you guys talking during class breaks. Also, I spotted you jogging together, or something? It looked like you were running from an army … but anyway.” God, Shiro is the picture of earnestness. “He looks at you a lot, Keith. Even when you don’t notice. And he really loves to make you laugh.”

Keith’s face must be glowing. “He’s like that with everyone.”

“Is he?”

Isn’t he? He remembers grabbing Lance’s hands at the arcade, and Lance squeezing right back. Remembers Lance’s gentle voice, talking him down from the high peak of panic.

Asking you to kiss me again was, like, the decision of the year.

“I suppose … I’ll tell him,” Keith mumbles, unsure where to look. “At some point.”

“Believe in yourself, kiddo,” Shiro says, very seriously.

That makes Keith laugh. “Are you fifty years old?”

“Halfway there,” Shiro grins, then rests his hand on Keith’s arm. “But hey, really. You won’t get the chance to be twenty and in love again, so why waste it? Go get your boy, Keith. You deserve it.”

***

He obsesses, and obsesses, and obsesses for so long that when Lance actually texts him, it takes him a second to figure out whether this is real, or just another scenario he’s imagined in his head.

Heyy hmu 4 dinner y/y

Keith smiles at his phone. Not w that attitude, he types back.

Pls u kno u wanna

He thinks long and hard about something clever to reply, but comes up blank, because yeah, he does wanna.

Fine. See you downstairs

When he comes down and finds Lance waiting for him, he’s surprised by how calm he feels. He was expecting himself to melt, or burst into a cloud of butterflies and float away. But he realizes that somehow, he’s more nervous about his feelings for Lance when Lance isn’t around. When he’s there in front of him – snorting with laughter at his own terrible puns – Keith gets … not disillusioned, exactly, but more … grounded. This is Lance, and Keith likes him, and there’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s that simple.

“Hey,” Lance says. “Wanna go to Subway or something?”

“Sure, but isn’t it kind of far?”

“You have a motorcycle, dummy.”

“It’s in the shop right now, actually. It was making some weird noises, so …”

“It takes after you.” Lance deflects Keith’s glare with a grin. “Anyway, you’re forgetting about my noble steed. You’re not the only one who can give people rides on your bike.”

“You’re not serious.”

Lance’s face hardens into a stubborn pout. “Try me.”

So Keith ends up perched stiffly on the back of Lance’s bicycle, and all he can think of to say is, “This feels so uncool.”

“My bike may not be able to break the sound barrier, but it’s a loyal friend!” Lance insists, in its defense. “You comfortable?”

“Well …”

He can almost hear Lance rolling his eyes, and then they’re off, Keith watching Lance’s back most of the way. The actual dinner becomes an exercise in observing how much of a foot-long Lance can cram in his mouth at once; it is disgusting, in a fascinating kind of way.

When they make it back home, Keith watches Lance lock up the bike, his ass sore from sitting on metal for so long. Lance’s hair is a little mussed, and backlit from the streetlamps; Keith loves looking at it, now that he knows how soft it is, knows that he can run his fingers through it, if he wants.

Lance straightens up and walks back over to him, and Keith feels a familiar coiling in his belly, a thrill of happy anticipation. “So …”

They end up looking at each other for several long moments. All of Keith’s thoughts are aimed in the same direction, and finally they slip past his lips as words.

“Um … you coming upstairs?”

He hadn’t realized how tense Lance’s face was until it relaxes into a soft smile. “Hell, yeah.”

Neither of them moves, and Keith is starting to wonder if they’re going to get anywhere or just stand here seeing who can eye-fuck whom into looking away first when Lance’s phone suddenly rings.

He jumps, fishes his phone out of his pocket, glances at the screen. “Oh! Sorry, I gotta get this,” he says, with an apologetic glance at Keith, and picks up. “Hi, mami! Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry,” he mouths at Keith, who shakes his head to show that it’s fine.

And Keith’s eyes widen as smooth, fluent Spanish comes flowing out of Lance’s mouth, switching languages as easily as he’d unclench his fist. It’s kind of fascinating, and Keith can’t help but listen, even though he doesn’t understand. The timbre of Lance’s voice changes, turning a little richer, a little deeper, to accommodate the melody of Spanish. But he’s still so Lance – he uses the same gestures (even on the phone), makes the same sharp outbursts, has the same contagious laugh. Occasionally he’ll drop an English word into the conversation, without pausing or hesitating, and Keith swears he hears Pidge’s name somewhere in there. Maybe Lance’s mother is asking about his friends.

 “Okay. Sí. Sí. Yeah, I gotta go. Give abuelita a kiss from me! And bang those little rascals’ heads together and tell them to respect their mother.” He looks over at Keith as he says the last part, rolling his eyes, but there’s a fond smile on his lips.

Keith kind of half-smiles back at him, but his heart is throbbing a little. He’s realizing just how little he knows about Lance. So he has a big family? He’s mentioned an older sister, but it seems like he is a big brother, too, and Keith can imagine him chasing kids around and showering them with affection and oh, no – he wills away the lump that’s forming in his throat.

“Yeah, love you too,” Lance is saying. “Bye!” He puts his phone back in his pocket. “Sorry. That was my mom, you might have guessed.”

“Uh-huh. So, Spanish, huh?” He keeps his sentences short as he waits for that sudden helpless feeling to retreat.

“Yup. Mom’s side of the family is from Cuba. My dad’s got Latin heritage, too, but his parents mostly spoke English at home so he never really picked up the language. He understands everything we say though,” Lance says, and Keith nods. He does like learning more about Lance. “So what about you? I don’t wanna be the guy who’s all, ‘oh, so where are you really from,’ because god knows I get that enough anyway, but, yeah.”

And this, he knows, is Lance trying to learn more about him. Keith feels a familiar feeling of dread tightening inside him, already anticipating how this will go. He knows Lance is just curious about his Asian face; he has no way of knowing Keith’s life is a fucking made-for-TV sob story.

“My parents were Korean-American,” Keith says, putting it out there, because it was going to happen sooner or later anyway.

“Were?” Lance arches an eyebrow. “Like they stopped being Korean? Or American?”

“No, like they passed away.”

“Oh. Oh my god. Oh, Keith, I’m—”

“I know. Look, I know you’re gonna feel sorry for me no matter what, because … well, ’cause you have a heart,” he mumbles, “but, like, please don’t think of me as ‘Keith who has no parents.’ It is what it is, and it was … a long time ago, and I don’t like to talk about it. I’m … I’m just Keith, okay?”

“I … all right.” Lance bites his lip, and Keith hates this, hates that he’s always the one who feels bad in this situation. “Sorry. I don’t really know what to say.”

Keith shrugs. “You don’t have to say anything. We were talking about me being Korean-American, and no, I don’t speak Korean, or any other Asian language, for that matter. But that hasn’t stopped strangers from asking me if I can read their Chinese tattoos, and every time I just want to say ‘it means you’re a dickwad, leave me alone.’”

Lance bursts out laughing, and Keith smiles a little, glad things didn’t get too weird.

“So, anyway, it’s freaking cold out here,” says Lance, and rubs his arms to show how much he means it. “Shall we?”

Keith nods, and they make their way inside. The remnants of the sick feeling from earlier fade, replaced by a tension that hangs between him and Lance like a tight cord. He feels his heart pattering in his chest, is grateful to the people studying in the lobby for forcing him to maintain self-control.

At some point, in the stairwell, Lance starts talking. Keith only pays attention with one ear, humming at appropriate lulls. Lance gets like this sometimes, babbling on about absolutely nothing, and Keith is starting to wonder if maybe, just maybe, it’s his way of coping with nervousness.

Maybe Lance is as jittery as he is.

“So, does this feel weird to you?” Lance is saying, as Keith unlocks his door. “That your room is becoming, like, make-out central?”

Warmth floods Keith’s face, because wow, he actually said it. “Well, when you put it that way, yeah, kind of. But what else are we supposed to do?”

“Fair enough.”

They slip into the room, Lance closing the door behind them, and kick their shoes off. All Keith can hear is their breathing and his own heart, and before he knows it they’re facing each other. Then he’s wrapped in Lance’s arms, and Lance is wrapped in Keith’s, his face pressed to Keith’s shoulder. Lance is so warm, so firm, and it makes a ribbon of desire uncurl inside of Keith.

Lance, I like you.

He can’t say it, just curls his fingers against Lance’s back, lets himself feel the heat from their bodies melding. Lance inhales deeply, squeezes him a little harder.

Then Lance’s hands come up around his jaw, and Keith rests his on Lance’s hips, and their mouths are touching. Kissing like this, he can smell the sweet, musky scent of Lance’s skin. He can’t believe the way it’s starting to affect him, his chest and stomach and face buzzing.

Lance’s thumbs stroke his cheeks, his mouth moving softly on Keith’s, and Keith thinks, I want to see him.

He slits his eyes open, ever so slightly, and sees that Lance’s are closed, his brow creased as if in deep concentration, as he kisses Keith over and over. Something tender blooms in Keith’s breast, and he lets his own eyelids fall shut again, feeling only Lance’s lips and curious, gentle tongue.

Their mouths miss, once, and they both laugh. Keith loves it – this feeling that it’ll be okay, even if he messes up.

They break apart, and Lance says, just above a whisper: “You know, for such a hardass, your lips are really soft.”

“Do you really need to talk right now?” Keith hisses, although he’s sure he’s blushing hard.

And there’s that crooked smile that makes Keith’s heart skip a beat. “So shut me up.”

“Sure.”

He takes Lance’s hand, twines their fingers together, and pulls him toward his bed. Glancing over at Lance, he spots him chewing his lip, and even in the dark he can see the flash of white teeth against soft flesh. Oh, man.

Keith ends up on top this time, the front of Lance’s shirt bunched in his fists. Lance’s hands stroke up and down his sides, and he gasps as cold air brushes the sliver of skin between his own shirt and the waistband of his pants.

And then there are warm hands under his shirt, on his back – Lance’s skin on his skin – and Keith knows at that moment that he’s going to need so much more of this.

A little, desperate noise slips out of him as he presses closer to Lance, and Lance responds by gathering Keith up against him more fervently. He keeps stroking his back at first, then his sides, his hips …

Then Lance is kissing up his jaw, toward his ear, and takes Keith’s earlobe gently between his teeth. A shudder passes through Keith’s body, his hips rolling up against Lance’s on pure reflex.

That draws a grunt out of Lance; his nails dig briefly into Keith’s back, and Keith makes a sound somewhere between a gasp and a groan. Blood is surging through his body; all he can see against the insides of his eyelids is a deep red.

“God,” Lance breathes; it sounds like it just slipped out of him, against his will. It’s so hot – Keith rolls his hips again, deliberately this time, and a shock that’s almost electric zaps through him when he processes that Lance is hard.

So is he; his groin is throbbing, and he feels hot and heavy and full of want.

Keith buries his nose against Lance’s neck, kisses him there, once. “So …” His voice is dry, raspy. “Are we ready now?”

Lance is breathing shallow, his hands sliding down Keith’s sides, fingers stroking against the elastic edge of his boxers. “I … yeah.” Keith feels him swallow. “I want this … pretty bad, honestly.”

“Mmm,” says Keith, because that’s about as coherent as he can be right now.

Lance’s hands are trembling a little, on his hips. Keith remembers his sweet, sweet glimpse of Lance’s mostly-naked body, and decides there’s something else he wants before they go any further.

He sits up, and Lance cries out as Keith’s weight settles against his crotch. The sound breaks off abruptly into a little strangled squeak, as Keith reaches behind his neck and whips off his own shirt in one fluid motion.

“Oh, sweet holy …” The way Lance is staring at him sends a surge of confidence through Keith – blue eyes wide, mouth half-open, like Keith’s the best thing he’s ever seen.

“You too.” He grasps Lance’s arms, helps him sit up, still straddling his lap. Lance is breathing hard, but he doesn’t hesitate. His shirt comes off as well – he drops it somewhere beside Keith’s bed, and Keith has never been happier to see anything go.

It’s dark, but there Lance is, right in front of him – every smooth inch of his chest. Keith runs his hands down it in awe, feeling the toned muscles sleeping in his stomach, his fingertips burning against Lance’s skin.

“Oh, god.” Then Lance’s hands are on him too, moving from his shoulders down his sides, until his fingers are on the buttons of his jeans, and Keith’s fumbling with Lance’s, and they’re falling back into a horizontal position again.

Part of him can’t believe this is happening, but Keith’s knuckles are stroking against what is most certainly – he flushes just thinking it – Lance’s dick, and Lance is making little contented sounds, and he’s here, in Keith’s bed, Keith’s arms, again.

“I’m … not used to this,” Keith mumbles, because sometimes blunt is all he knows how to be.

“Me either,” Lance replies, and his voice is wobbling, wow; “or, I mean, I’ve done some stuff and all but it’s not like I’m an expert or anything, so, um …”

Even through his haze of arousal, Keith manages a chuckle. “You just admitted you’re not good at something?”

“I said not an expert, not that I’m not good!” Lance snaps, and as if to prove himself, he swoops in to kiss Keith hard.

Keith can’t help it – he moans against his lips, and then Lance’s hands are smoothing his underwear down around his hips, palms against the bare skin on his pelvis, and then his fingers wrap around Keith and oh, fuck—

Keith reaches between Lance’s legs, too, and his hands are clumsy, his body is shaking from how good Lance’s hand feels on him. But it’s worth it, worth the sound Lance makes when Keith finally manages to find his dick and stroke it, worth the way Lance’s other hand digs into Keith’s hipbone and ass.

“Keith, shit—ah, god, I’m …”

So he babbles, even in bed. The realization makes a wavering smile form on Keith’s face, delicious excitement rise up in his belly.

Lance’s hand moves from Keith’s ass, up his side, to his cheek. It’s supposed to be tender, probably, but his thumb brushes over Keith’s lips, and Keith lets out a soft moan, his tongue darting out to touch it.

He hears Lance’s breath hitch, and then his index finger caresses Keith’s upper lip, very tentative. Keith catches his finger between his teeth, bites softly, then strokes it with his tongue, nice and slow. Lance whimpers, and Keith will be able to subsist for weeks on the memory of that sound alone.

He sucks Lance’s finger, drawing another moan out of him, and it makes his own body feel even more flushed and heavy. Then Lance is pulling his hand back, and his mouth is on Keith’s again, hot and messy. The whole thing is hot and messy, Keith’s hand moving more on instinct than will, his other hand clutching Lance’s bare shoulder, Lance doing things that make him gasp for breath and see stars. Their stomachs are pressed up against one another, and Lance’s skin is so smooth; Keith loves the hard planes of his body, the contrast with the softness of his mouth and his hair.

And then he’s barely thinking at all; everything is just heat and pleasure and Lance’s hands and Lance’s mouth, and it’s like every part of him below the waist turns to liquid. He trembles there, in that in-between state, gasps something that might have been Lance’s name, and doesn’t even have time to feel embarrassed before he’s coming into Lance’s hand.

It’s not long before Lance follows, muffling the noise he makes against Keith’s shoulder, and goes limp in his arms.

He’s high for a while, his head still spinning, and all he can do is hold onto Lance as he comes down.

“Oh, my god,” Lance whispers into Keith’s hair. “Oh, wow.”

Keith squeezes him tighter. “Yeah.”

They hold each other, not moving, just waiting for their hearts to calm down. Lance’s bare chest is pressed to Keith’s, and this closeness is almost more than he can bear.

“I feel like I should be saying something good right now, but I think my brain fell out of my skull,” Lance says, after a long while.

“That’s news to you?” Keith says, and Lance’s hand darts out to pinch his nose. “Hey, quit it!” And he can’t help the laugh that escapes him as he swats Lance away.

He glances up at Lance’s face, and oh – the way he’s looking at Keith right now – like there’s something about him that’s brilliant – god, he can’t remember ever feeling so—

Lance, I like you.

The words are so close. They’re right there.

His heart picks up speed, but the sentence just won’t come, and the moment is over.

“I … I have to go, I think,” Lance is saying. “I need to … I gotta change, oh shit …”

Stay, Keith wants to say, and clutch him closer, stay with me, don’t go. But he can’t, because that’s not what they are, is it? He doesn’t know what they are, and he’s too chicken to ask, too chicken to do anything.

“Do you need to … um …” Keith reaches for the roll of toilet paper on his night table and hands it to Lance, his cheeks burning.

“Wow, you keep this right there? The perks of having your own room, huh?”

“Oh my god, you do have a one-track mind,” Keith says, without meeting Lance’s eyes, as Lance wipes himself off and tugs his pants back up.

“Keith?” Keith glances over at him and feels his stomach clench: shirtless Lance, in his bed, eyes still misty from … from whatever that was they did. Will he ever see anything this beautiful again? “That was … that was really, really good.”

A flush spreads from Keith’s face down his neck. “I … yes.”

After that, everything seems to move in slow motion. He watches Lance retrieve his shirt from the floor and pull it back over his head. It makes Keith feel naked and vulnerable, and then Lance turns to him, eyes trailing down his body for a long, long moment.

“Man, you’re so …”

“Huh?”

Lance bites his lip. “Uh. Never mind. Sweet dreams.”

It’s like the world speeds up again, and Lance has gotten his shoes back on and darted out the door before Keith can think of anything to say.

He throws an arm over his face. The lower half of his body is still heavy, as if he’s submerged in warm water.

Does he feel happy? Empty? Both? All Keith knows for sure is that he’s in deep for this boy, and has no idea how to tell him.

Notes:

idek what im doing anymooore /spirals into the void
anyway!! it always makes me so happy and excited to hear what you guys think, the comments on the last chapter were just out of this world ♡ thanks a bazillion. hope you liked this one as well, and see you next time!!

Chapter 9

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Lance is really bad at resisting temptation.

He notes this for the umpteenth time, as he ends up scrolling through his and Keith’s message logs again. It’s as if he thinks looking at the words he and Keith exchanged will help him find the answers to all his worries, if he just reads them enough times. It hasn’t worked yet, but it doesn’t stop him from trying.

Lance sighs and swipes the conversation aside, knowing he’ll open it again within the next ten minutes. He leans back on his bed and glances over at Hunk, who’s poring over massive tomes of math and physics. It would be unfair to expect him to act as Lance’s distraction; he’ll have to manage on his own.

He rolls over onto his side, cheek pressing against the sheets. A tingling warmth spreads out from his heart as he remembers having his cheek pressed to Keith’s sheets, in Keith’s room. Everything there smells like him, and every detail, from the posters and the dorky miniature airplane to the slippers kicked off beneath the desk, is like a little secret about him that Lance has been invited to discover. The feeling is perfect. Lance is scared, not for the first time, of getting too comfortable with it.

He stares at his stupid dead phone again, knows that it won’t change anything – and there he goes, predictably reopening the convo for the billionth time.

I’m so clingy. An uncharacteristic despair gnaws a hole in Lance’s chest as he scrolls through what feels like miles of him pestering Keith. Asking him to lunch, to dinner, to study, to go out for coffee, to take a walk together, to just hang out …

There have been exceptions, but the general rule is that Lance is the one who asks. Every time, Lance tells himself to lay off, to just not, to let Keith come to him when he’s ready. And every time, he so badly wants to be near him, sneak glances at his face and tell jokes to make him roll his eyes and maybe fight a smile – so he ends up writing to Keith anyway, forcing himself into his space.

And he realizes he’s afraid – afraid that if he doesn’t write to Keith, Keith won’t ever get in touch again, and that’s honestly more than he can bear.

Feelings, Lance thinks, as he lets his screen go dark, are stupid. Stupid, and deadly as hell. Feelings are what make him afraid to stay in Keith’s bed and Keith’s arms the way he wants to. He knows he’ll end up stroking his hair and staring at his face like a weirdo, and probably his big mouth will get ahead of him and he’ll let something slip – like you’re so beautiful or I’ve never felt like this before or would you ever consider something as crazy as being mine?

He can’t let that happen.

Lance bites his lip, curls in on himself a little; it makes him feel safer, even though the crappy emotional turmoil or whatever doesn’t go away. Like, yeah, he’s pretty sure Keith likes being in bed with him – he does take initiatives, once they’re horizontal – but maybe that’s all he wants? A fuck-buddies kind of thing. If Lance was really as suave and worldly as he pretends to be, he’d have been totally into that. But Lance is a dumb teenager with a bleeding heart too big for his chest (and will most likely continue being one, even after he turns twenty next month), so he can’t help but wish for more.

God, I suck, Lance thinks, because he’s come to the grudging realization that he’s in love – in love with stupid Keith and his stupid haircut and his stupid, wonderful kisses – and he has no idea what to do with himself.

Lance’s phone chooses that moment to shriek, and he almost echoes it as he fumbles to see who’s calling.

It’s not Keith – of course it’s not; he tells himself he never felt that little surge of hope. The number is unfamiliar; he frowns and picks up.

“Hello?”

“Lance? This is Allura.”

He scrambles into a sitting position. When did he get cool enough for this? “Hi!”

“I got your number off Keith, hope that was fine?”

“Yes, of course!”

“I was wondering if you have plans tomorrow? One of my friends is helping me do a photoshoot in the park, and I thought it might be nice to have a little picnic there or something. Enjoy autumn, you know?”

Allura, Lance thinks, is two people in one: both rad biker chick and soft Instagrammer whose veins are probably filled with pumpkin spice latte. In retrospect, he’s kind of glad she shut down his flirting; Lance is a simple man, and she is far too complex for the likes of him.

“Sounds cozy,” he says.

“Right? If you can come, it’d be you, me, my friend Nyma, and Keith.”

“So, like, a double date?” he says, voice slipping into smooth mode, in an attempt to convince himself that he is still Suave Lance and not Dumb Crushing Lance.

“Oh, no, Nyma and I are just friends,” Allura replies, and he feels his neck flush, glad that Hunk can’t hear both sides of the conversation (because he is totally listening in, even though he’s pretending to be deep into astrophysics or whatever). There’s no point in explaining that’s not what he meant, because now he’s thinking about going on a date with Keith, and it’s doing very strange things to his insides. So much for Suave Lance.

“Uh, anyway, sure. I’ll join,” he says, picking at the hole in the knee of his jeans.

“Brilliant. Oh, and feel free to invite your friends! Hunk’s a darling, and I’d love to meet Pidge.”

“Hold on a sec.” He lowers the phone from his ear, looks over at his eavesdropping roommate. “Hunk, you wanna go on an autumn picnic with Allura?” He draws the final words out into an exaggerated British accent.

Hunk puts a hand to his cheek in delight, and replies in the same badly emulated accent, “Oh, do I!”

“Hunk’s in,” Lance says into his phone. “Want us to bring anything?”

“I make great snacks,” Hunk adds.

“Hunk says he makes great snacks. I can vouch for him.”

“Sounds perfect,” Allura says, laughing. “We’ll meet you there. You know which park I mean, right? The big one on the other side of town?”

“Sure, we’ll find it.”

“Great. See you then!”

“Bye,” Lance says, hangs up, and slouches down on his bed. “Dude, Allura just asked us to hang out. What did we do right?”

“Made friends with Keith, probably,” Hunk says. “Hey, is he going, by the way?”

“Yeah. Why?” He sounds defensive even to himself.

“Aww, that’s perfect. You guys can jump in piles of leaves together. It’ll be super romantic!”

“Hunk, shut up.”

“I’m just saying, Allura’s doing you a huge favor here, dude.”

“Weren’t you studying?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He leans back over his books, sing-songing under his breath, “Keith and La-ance, playing in the leaves, K-I-S—”

“HUNK!”

“Fine, geez.”

Lance rolls over to face the wall, grabbing the stuffed lion he keeps in his bed and clutching it to his chest (he sleeps better with something to hold onto, okay?). His anticipation is fading, becoming slowly replaced by nerves. Does Keith even know he’s coming? And if he does, does he want him there? He chews his lip, brow creasing. All he wants is some sign from Keith, something to say yeah, I like being around you, to reassure him this isn’t all in his head.

He hugs the lion tighter, and doesn’t check his phone again.

***

Hunk offered to drive everyone who lives in the dorm, so he and Lance are meeting Keith and Pidge downstairs after they get the last preparations ready. He hears Hunk humming as he stuffs his cooler bag full of homemade snacks.

Lance is in the bathroom, washing his face and making some final, pointless adjustments to the hair that’s going to end up in a beanie anyway. He sighs, props his hands on the sink, and leans forward to stare down his reflection.

He squints at himself, then widens his eyes, wrinkles his nose. He tries to give himself a sexy glance, creasing his forehead a little and biting his lip, then feels stupid and squishes his cheeks together.

Does Keith like this face? He looks at his smooshed lips and nose and lets go, returning them to normal. Lance usually thinks he’s pretty hot, but on some days he’ll get hung up on his forehead being too high, or the pointiness of his nose and chin. He frowns, scrutinizing every flaw – the blackheads even his skincare routine couldn’t get rid of, stubble from his weak-as-hell moustache threatening to sprout, his unplucked eyebrows – and hopes that he’s good enough.

Ugh. This is leading nowhere. He tears his eyes from his reflection, splashes his face with more cold water.

Lance leaves the bathroom, puts on his hat and varsity jacket, and slings his guitar case over his shoulder.

“Are you serious?” Hunk groans.

“What’s a hangout in the park without some live music?”

“Filled with peace and quiet?” says Hunk, and Lance rolls his eyes.

They go downstairs, a now-familiar nervous cloud buzzing in Lance’s stomach. When they step out of the elevator and spot Pidge and Keith already there, it’s like the cloud contracts and then expands, dispersing throughout Lance’s entire body, because Keith, wow. He’s in Doc Martens, a close-fitting beige jacket, and closer-fitting black jeans, and bundled into a red scarf that nudges the curling ends of his hair in every direction.

Keith’s so damn pretty. Will Lance ever get used to just how pretty he is?

They all pile into Hunk’s battered yellow car, Pidge calling shotgun despite Lance’s cries of “you’re four feet tall!” Lance gets in the back with Keith and all the stuff, and they’re off.

Once they make it to the park – Keith lugging the cooler bag, Hunk carrying blankets – they don’t have to wait long. “There’s Allura,” says Hunk, and yep – she’s right by the entrance, jumping up and down, waving her hand above her head.

The four of them walk over to where she’s standing, her silver hair loose and cascading over her shoulders. She’s dressed in warm, earthy colors – burnt oranges and browns that look amazing with her skin, a flowing knitted poncho, soft suede boots. Her eye makeup is bold and spreads across her temples, and her forehead and cheeks are dotted with rhinestones.

“Oh my god, you look fantastic,” Lance croaks, and when she laughs, he swears it leaves sparkles in the air.

“Yes, I keep telling her she’s going to need to do a tutorial for this look,” says the girl standing behind Allura, and steps out of her shadow. “Hi. I’m Nyma.”

And wow – Nyma is tall, blonde, and willowy, with a mischievous curl to her red lips, and every inch Lance’s type. He feels his smoothest smile slip onto his face.

“Lance,” he says, extending his hand. “Enchanted.”

“Oh my god, who actually says that?” she laughs, but takes his hand. “Nice to meet you too. Hi, Keith.”

Keith nods in her direction, arms crossed over his chest, and man, Lance’s knees go weak just looking at him. The angles of his face, his figure in that jacket … He swallows and looks back at Nyma – also gorgeous, and safe for Lance to rest his eyes on without the risk of passing out.

Meanwhile, Allura is exclaiming, “So you must be Pidge!” and Pidge is saying, “Yup, that’s me,” and making the world’s most awkward thumbs-up.

Once everyone has been introduced, they enter the park. Allura says there’s a fountain further in that she’d love to do the shoot by, so she leads the way along tree-lined walkways. The ground on either side is covered in a patchwork of fallen leaves. Along the way, Lance chats with Nyma, and finds out that she’s doing an internship as a photographer – she gestures to the camera around her neck – but also works part-time doing auto repairs.

“Cool,” Lance breathes. “Hit me up if there’s ever an opening. I always thought I’d make a good mechanic. Overalls are, like, my look.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and she laughs.

Finally, they make it to the fountain, made of tiered grey stone with some freaky-looking cherub things on top. A few people are sitting on the grass nearby, but it’s empty enough to get some good shots.

Hunk and Allura spread blankets on the ground, which Pidge and Keith plop down on. Lance joins, taking his guitar case off his back. Meanwhile, Nyma makes adjustments on her camera, and Allura smooths out her skirt, falling into the balanced poses of the naturally photogenic. Her long silver hair paints a striking contrast against the colors of fall, like a ray of moonlight.

“Does Allura even have flaws?” Lance asks, rhetorically.

“Yeah. She thinks she’s always right, and she can whine on the phone for hours, even if she knows you have to get up at six-thirty the next day,” Keith replies.

“Huh. Good to know.”

The rest of them sit around talking (Lance tries and fails to resist peeking inside the picnic basket, only to have Hunk slap his fingers away) until Allura declares the shoot over, and she and Nyma join them on the blanket. Hunk and Allura finally break out the edibles, laying out homemade muffins, thermoses of hot chocolate, little bite-size sandwiches, store-bought cookies, bags of trail mix – an entire feast.

The cup of hot chocolate is comfortingly warm against Lance’s chilly fingers, but he drains it fast. It’s high time to break out his guitar.

“Oh, wow, you play?” Nyma exclaims, as he unzips the case and lifts the guitar into his lap.

Lance winks. “Sure do. Any requests?”

“Not Wonderwall,” Hunk says, as always, which Lance ignores.

“Play Taylor Swift,” calls Pidge.

“You just pulled that out of your ass, but okay,” he agrees, and starts an un-vocalized, finger-picked version of Love Story.

“You’re talented,” Nyma says, and Lance preens, shooting her a smile.

“Don’t feed his ego, it turns into a gremlin after midnight,” says Pidge, and Lance rolls his eyes.

After he’s played for a while, he says, “Man, my fingers are getting cold. I need gloves like Keith’s, except they’d make me look like a douche.”

“Says the guy who brought an acoustic guitar,” says Pidge, and Lance glares at them.

“Fine, whatever, don’t appreciate my talents! I’ll just hang out with Nyma here,” he says, and sidles over in her direction. She’s the outsider in the group, so he figures someone’s got to help her feel included. It might as well be him.

“It’s so cool that you can play,” she says. “I’ve always wanted to learn an instrument, but I never had the chance.”

Lance perks up. “Well, no time like the present! I’ll teach you some basics.” He hands her the guitar, watches her settle it into her lap, then shows her how to position her fingers to play some simple chords. “Now try strumming them all together.” She does. “Nice job! In no time you’ll be as good as me.”

“Oh my gosh, shut up,” she says, giggling, still intensely focused on getting the position of her fingers right.

“Okay, now you strum and I’ll do the fingerwork.” He sits down next to her, props his right hand behind her so that his left can reach the frets. She can’t stop laughing, and exclaims “This feels so silly!” but he just smiles. “Hey, you’re getting more confident, see?”

“Can we see the pictures, by the way?” Hunk asks, and Allura hands him the camera. “So, this proves it,” he says as he scrolls. “Allura isn’t human; she is literally a princess from an alien planet.”

“Hunk, please,” Allura admonishes, but there’s a hint of delight in her voice.

The camera gets passed around, and when it makes it to Lance, he confirms that yes, Allura is indeed a faerie being descended to the mortal plane. “Nice camera,” he says.

“Oh, thank you!” says Nyma, and proceeds to tell him all about the camera’s make and what specs and features it has, all of which goes over Lance’s head.

“Okay, sounds cool, but does it take good selfies?” He flips it around, leans back toward her so they’ll both be in the frame, and puts on his best duck face before snapping a pic. Nyma’s laugh rings out, and Lance grins. “Hey, mind if I borrow this?”

“Go ahead.”

He proceeds to take pictures of everybody, including himself in most of the shots. Hunk, ever-reliable, makes a face along with him, Pidge shoves their hand in front of the lens, and Allura manages to make him look like a swamp troll just by existing. Finally, Lance comes up behind Keith, looping his arms around his neck and resting his chin on the top of his head like a totem pole. He smells sweet; the combination of Keith and crisp autumn air is making Lance a bit light-headed.

“Cheese!” Lance says, but Keith’s expression hardly even changes. “Man, aren’t you the life of the party.” He rolls his eyes, then hands Nyma her camera back.

They spend the rest of the afternoon eating up what’s left and talking. Lance gravitates toward the girls – he really doesn’t get to hang out with girls enough, and he’s missed the way they laugh. He turns up the charm, seizes the chance to flirt a little and bask in attention – it’s fun, and makes him feel more like himself, less like a bundle of nerves and insecurity. He compliments Nyma’s lipstick and outfit, asks her more questions about her life and her job (apparently the auto-repair business she works at is run by Rolo; small world), and just enjoys being sociable and funny and utterly Lance.

After a while, Allura and Nyma announce that they have to leave, and gather up their blanket and basket. “Thanks so much for coming, everyone!” Allura says, glowing. “I had a wonderful time.”

“It was great meeting you!” Pidge chirps, then adds, “And those pictures are gonna slay.”

They exchange a smile, and Lance suddenly feels sure that Pidge and Allura must never team up, or the fate of the world will be at risk.

“It was nice to meet all of you,” Nyma pipes up; Pidge says “You too,” and Hunk gives her a nod.

“The pleasure was entirely mine,” Lance purrs, and fires off a smile; she laughs, and waves, and the two girls walk off together.

“Okay, so, just us losers left,” Lance says, turning to the rest … and is he imagining this, or did something about the atmosphere just get really weird? Hunk’s jaw is set in that way it gets when he’s genuinely exasperated with Lance; Keith is looking at his hands; Pidge is checking their phone. There’s a twinge of discomfort in Lance’s belly, which he decides to ignore. “Uhh, so anyway, what do we feel like doing now?”

“I haven’t played Pokémon Go in weeks,” Pidge says, “so I wanna take a walk. Hunk?”

“Sure.”

Keith glances up. “So should we clean up all the stuff?”

“I guess. I mean, if you wanna sit and chill for a while, that’s fine. We can meet by the car in, like, an hour?”

“Oh. Um, okay.”

“Then I’ll keep Keith company,” says Lance.

“You do that.” Pidge gets to their feet. “Later.”

Hunk and Pidge wander off together, and Lance looks over at Keith, who’s still examining his hands. Being around Keith is easier for Lance when he’s in a group; he can just act like the Lance people expect to see. But when they’re alone, he feels stripped-down, peeled, like Keith will see through any farce he puts on. It’s scary, being so vulnerable.

“So, anyway, today was pretty cool. But I’m kinda getting hungry again.”

“Mm.”

“How about you?”

“I’m full.”

Keith doesn’t make any moves to continue the conversation, and Lance feels silence approaching like a looming wave. Silences make him feel like something is expected of him, and it stresses him out. He grasps desperately for something to say.

“So, like, I’m honestly not looking forward to winter. It’s cold enough already, and if you’ve seen snow once you’ve seen it all, right? Although snowball fights are pretty cool, I guess. I bet I could beat you. I’m good at ranged combat.” He mimes a throwing motion with his arm, makes a schwing sound.

“Yeah, you probably could,” Keith says. He’s being awfully taciturn, even for him.

“Hey, man, you okay? You haven’t said much, well, all day, actually.”

“I’m fine.” But Keith’s not looking at him, and a horrid suspicion begins to dawn on Lance.

“Hey, are you mad at me or something?” Keith just stares at the ground, and now real fear is digging its claws into Lance’s gut. “Keith, seriously! What did I do?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing! Tell me!”

And Keith glares him right in the face. It feels like a punch. “Well, maybe I don’t like seeing you all over other people, but it’s really not important.”

“Huh?” It takes a while for it to click, but then he realizes there’s only one possible explanation. “Is this about Nyma?” Keith doesn’t reply, so Lance exclaims, “Oh, come on! I was trying to make her feel comfortable!”

“And I’m sure it didn’t hurt that she’s pretty and blonde.” Keith’s expression can only be described as a sneer. It doesn’t suit him.

“What’s your point?” Lance feels prickly, defensive. “I can’t talk to girls now?”

Keith scoffs. “Of course you can. It’s not like we’re dating, so whatever. Do what you want.”

And that hurts. That’s everything Lance was afraid of, concentrated into one precise shot aimed straight at his heart. All his insecurities come bubbling to the surface, rising up around him like protective walls.

“Yeah, I guess not, huh?” he snaps. “I don’t know why you’re so angry with me when you don’t ever want to even see me.”

That seems to catch Keith off guard. “… wait, what?”

“I’m always the one who calls first. I’m always the one who says ‘oh, Keith, you wanna hang out? Keith, you wanna have dinner? Keith, you wanna acknowledge that you fucking kissed me, or just keep ignoring it like nothing happened?’ I feel like I’m the only one who cares, so how was I supposed to know you even gave a shit?”

He’s being too loud, he knows that. But the park is pretty empty, the few people scattered around wrapped up in their own business, so he prays they’ll just ignore this, just let them have it out in peace.

Keith’s glare is on him again, eyes flinty and hard. His words come out as a hiss between his teeth. “I don’t know if you bothered to notice this, Lance, but I struggle with anxiety.” His gaze wavers, folds, and it makes him look less upset, and more vulnerable. His anger, Lance realizes all at once, is only a front for this. “I can’t just … it’s hard for me to …”

And that should be Lance’s answer, the word to fill in the blanks. That should be where Lance apologizes, the point where he says of course, I get it, I misunderstood. You mean the world to me, so let’s work on this together.

But Lance feels selfish and cranky and wants to hurt Keith like Keith’s hurting him, so he ends up saying, “What, so I’m supposed to do everything?”

He knew it was a mistake before he said it, but the full implications sink in when Keith’s chin snaps up and he stands up to really, physically leave.

Lance fucked up bad. Something hysterical is rising up inside of him.

I can’t let him go. I can’t let him go.

“Keith, wait! I didn’t mean that, I really didn’t, I—” And when he grabs his wrist to stop him, Keith turns around to glare at him again, but his eyes are shiny with tears. Lance is dumb with emotion and guilt, and the one brilliant thing that comes out of his mouth is, “Are you crying?”

“No!”

“Yes, you are! Jesus, Keith, why are you so upset?”

Keith rips his arm out of Lance’s grasp. “Because I’m in love with you, you idiot!”

And Lance’s entire world changes – it’s only the barest shift, because everything is still the same, but somehow brighter, clearer, better …

“Oh, shit,” Keith is saying, covering his face with his hands. “Oh, fucking shit.”

“Keith—”

“I’m sorry. Please, just forget it. Fuck …”

“Keith, really?”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this! I wasn’t supposed to say it angry! Jesus Christ, I’m such a fuck-up, I—”

A strange kind of calm has settled over Lance, even though he’s pretty sure he’s spinning out into the far reaches of the universe. “Keith, it’s fine.”

“How is it fine?” His voice is high-pitched, verging on a shriek.

“Because. Me too.” He takes a deep breath. His head feels light – is he really saying this? “I mean, Keith, I’m … I’m kind of crazy about you, you know?”

Keith’s hands fall from his face, and his mouth drops open. Lance’s heart feels like it’s floated away and is hovering outside of his chest.

“Oh my god,” Keith whispers, and then, “I think I need to sit down.”

So they do – Lance folds up the blanket and slings his guitar case back over his shoulder, while Keith takes the cooler bag. They make their way over to a nearby bench, sit down next to one another, Lance still trying to process that this is happening. For a while, all he’s aware of is the beating of his own heart, his breathing, and the buzz in the air between them.

All of a sudden, Keith groans, and buries his face in his hands again. “Oh, god, I suck. First I kissed you out of nowhere, and then I jumped on you, and …” He bites his lip hard. “And now yelling my confession at you? Really? I mean, that’s so fucking weak. This isn’t how it’s supposed to work.”

“Hey, what?” says Lance, a little startled, and turns to face him. “What’s that even mean? I don’t think there’s a way it’s supposed to work. Unless you count, like, scripted movie romance. But in real life things just happen. And for us, making out after the world’s most badass motorcycle ride and touching each other’s junk happened before we talked about our feelings.” A little, dry laugh finds its way out of Keith, and Lance grins at him. “Look, I’m not disappointed I got to kiss you, Keith. Like, not one little tiny bit. And we made it here eventually, right? So don’t beat yourself up about it.”

“You really mean that?”

“Yeah, really.”

They stare at each other for a moment, and then Keith breathes in, and the words come out of him slow and deliberate.

“I’m … sorry, Lance. For snapping at you. I overreacted.” He sighs. “I just … I got so jealous.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Is it wrong of him to feel a little bit happy that Keith got jealous over him? Probably, but he can’t help it. “Plus, I … I need to learn to keep it in my pants. I mean, my shitty flirting isn’t serious, but I am serious about you. So I should … I should show it better. I was an asshole, and I’ll do my best to make it up to you.”

Keith sits quietly, his cheeks bright pink.

“And, hey, I’m sorry too,” Lance goes on. “About the mean things I said. I’m just … I’m really needy, and clingy, and I get weird and touchy about it.” Nervous laughter slips out of him; he bites down on his lip to stop it.

“It’s odd to hear you say that,” Keith says.

“Huh? Why?”

“I felt like I was the one being clingy. I’ve been … kind of obsessing about you, I guess.” He chews his lip, and god, Lance’s ego is never going to shrink back to normal after this, is it?

“Like, in your head?” he asks, and Keith nods. “Keith, you know that I can’t hear you when you do that, right?”

And Keith looks stunned.

“I never actually thought of it that way,” he says, and Lance bursts out laughing.

They sit in silence for a while – and this, Lance thinks, this is what people mean by a comfortable silence. After a few minutes, Keith says, “Hey, Lance?”

“Yeah?” He turns toward him—

—and then yowls as a shower of damp leaves hits him square in the face. And aw, man, he’s wearing a beanie and a knitted scarf and the damn leaves are going to get stuck everywhere—

—and Keith, the brat, is laughing. “That was for being an asshole!”

Yeah, okay, so Lance totally deserved that. He’s not sure he deserves the radiant miracle that is Keith’s easy, open smile, though, but he isn’t about to give it up any time soon – he’s going to fucking treasure it.

After he gets Keith back, of course.

“Come back here, you little shit!” Lance yells, because Keith is already running for it, loping away with those unfairly speedy strides. Lance pauses to scoop an armful of leaves off the ground, then chases after him at full tilt, and empties his arms over Keith’s head.

And Keith’s still laughing, and how is he so damn fast, is all Lance has time to think when another barrage of leaves rains down on him. He spits out the ones that nearly got in his mouth, the musty taste of earth on his lips, and then catches Keith in a chokehold. He twists out of it with ease, and then Lance is the one with his arms pinned – he’s not sure how Keith’s managing it, with the guitar case in the way. He laughing and yelping and bucking like a bull to shake Keith off, and he’s a hundred and ten percent sure that all the old people walking their dogs are giving them dirty looks – but he doesn’t even care, because Keith is Lance’s entire world, and he’s right here.

Finally, they give up, doubled over and winded, and call a truce. Keith checks the time on his phone.

“Shit,” he says, out of breath. “We’re already late.”

“Let’s go, then, dipshit,” Lance says, another breathless laugh escaping him as he straightens up.

He glances over at Keith as they walk – and god, how can any human being be so beautiful? The apples of his cheeks are bright pink, his dark eyes are sparkling, and his lips are quirked up in the tiniest smile.

“You’ve got a leaf in your hair,” Lance says, and reaches out to pluck it away. Keith turns his head to look at him, and he’s perfect, and gosh, Lance is so far gone.

After flicking the leaf from between his fingers, letting it fall to the ground, he reaches out and strokes Keith’s face – he just needs to touch him, needs to affirm that he’s here. Keith’s expression softens at the touch, and Lance thinks he’s about to melt.

At some point, they determine there’s nobody in this park they feel threatened by, so Lance reaches out and grasps Keith’s hand in his. The leather of his glove is rough against his palm, but his hand fits there perfectly.

By the time they make back to Hunk’s car, the other two are already there. Hunk doesn’t even look surprised when he sees them holding hands, just tells them to get in the back already.

They’re pretty quiet during the drive, and Lance has the weird experience of listening to Pidge’s depressing death metal while also feeling giddy and high with emotion. When they get out of the car, Hunk and Pidge start gathering the stuff, and Keith and Lance exchange a look.

“Hey, guys, uh … go on ahead. I think we need a moment.”

“Take your time,” says Hunk, and as they walk off, Lance swears he hears Pidge say, “Dude, fucking finally.”

There’s a moment when they just look at each other, before Lance finds his voice again. “So, um … do you still like me?”

Keith’s eyes widen incredulously. “What kind of stupid question is that?”

“Hey, I’m still having a hard time believing this! So? Do you?”

“Of course I still like you. A … a lot.”

Lance’s heart is dancing. “Great. I still like you too.” And he smiles, shyly. “So … will you go on a date with me?”

“Huh?”

“Like, a real date.” He puffs his chest out, the truth of his words dawning on him as he says them. “I’m asking you out.”

Keith blinks, like he can’t believe his ears.

“I … yes. Yeah. I’d like that.” He’s blushing. It’s so cute.

“Perfect. I’ll get back to you about when, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Time to call it a day, then?”

“Yeah.”

They go back together, although Lance feels more like he’s drifting on a cloud. He walks Keith up to his room, but there’s this unspoken feeling that they don’t have to go inside this time – there will be more times for that, later; as many times as they need.

“So, see you.”

“Yeah.”

And he can’t leave without kissing him. There’s just no way.

Keith seems to agree. His hands come up around the back of Lance’s neck, Lance’s hands go to Keith’s shoulders, and their mouths meet, and meet, and meet. He doesn’t think either of them can help it – they’re young and dumb and into each other, after all, so a bit of tongue slips in, and it sends an excited thrill through Lance’s stomach.

They break apart, and laugh a little. “Enough of that, huh?” Lance says, and Keith smiles, and he loves Keith’s smile more than anything.

He takes the stairs back up to his room, and when he comes back inside, it’s like a totally different place than it was this morning, even though all his stuff is exactly where he left it.

“You all right?” Hunk says, looking up from his laptop.

“Am I? Hunk – I have a date to plan.”

“With your crush, who is also Keith?”

“Yes! With my crush who is also Keith.” The realization dawns on him all over again, and it feels like sparks bursting in his chest and laughter bubbling in his throat. “Hunk, he likes me.”

“Yes, Lance. I know.”

Notes:

so i'm rly rly busy with school, and that means updates are going to get scarcer. but if u like this fic, don't worry -- i have more or less everything planned out and i fully intend to finish it, it's just going to take some time <3

also, thanks for 500+ kudos. that was one of my stretch goals for this fic, so like, wow, ty every single one of you ;v; (some amazing people have even mentioned making art, and like, if anything about this dumb story triggers ur creative urges, u don't have to ask -- just do it and deliver the result into my trEMBLING GRATEFUL HANDS!!!)

as always, your comments mean the world to me and i love hearing what you think <3 have a nice one and see you (hopefully) in ch10!!

Chapter 10

Notes:

so, this is lance's last chapter; final two will be back to keith! i cant belive we made it this far omg

AND!!! ch. 5 now has art!!! aka this, by the lovely monset. i made up this scene in my head and now im seeing it with my eyES HOW AMAZING is that omg, look at their lil hands, thank you so much!!! ♥♥♥

i hope u enjoy ;v;

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“This one looks like you.” Lance points through the glass at a large fish with suspicious hooded eyes and a droopy, frowning mouth, then turns to Keith, smirking.

Keith scoffs, arms crossed over his chest. “In what universe?”

“You’re doing the face right now, dude. You’re doing it as we speak.” Lance’s grin widens, and Keith’s scowl intensifies, proving his point.

“So which one is my face double?” Lance asks, crouching down to peer at a clownfish darting through colorful anemones. A black-and-white striped fish drifts past, and he glances up to the side just in time to spot a school of bright neon.

“You’re a dead ringer for a dolphin,” Keith replies, after a moment’s consideration.

Lance looks over at him, batting his eyelashes. “Because I’m smart and talented and adorable?”

One of Keith’s eyebrows arches just slightly. “Because you’re a show-off with a superiority complex.”

“What! Have you literally ever seen a dolphin?”

“Yep. Smug fuckers.”

“Whatever, grumpy-gills. Let’s move on.” Lance puts one hand on Keith’s shoulder, steering him gently past a kid exclaiming about how she found Dory, her dad struggling to keep her grubby little paws off the glass.

Keith jumps a little at his touch, and Lance lets go like he’s been burned, worry leaping up in his gut. “Sorry, was that …”

“Oh. No. It’s … it’s fine.” Keith looks down at his Docs for a moment, then back up at Lance, sincerity bright in his eyes. “I really, really don’t mind. I’m just … not used to it yet.”

“Oh. Okay. Good to know.” Lance rubs the back of his neck, musters a little smile. Neither of them are used to this yet. He suspects that snarky banter is a safe refuge for both of them – touching, or holding hands, or getting caught staring at each other, are still new and unfamiliar things. They’re things he really wants them to have, but it’s going to take a lot more awkward eye-contact and stumbling hesitation before they get there.

It’s with Keith, though, so it’s worth it. They’ll learn the ropes together.

And what opportunity is better than a first date? The idea was conceived while Hunk was helping an increasingly panicked Lance rattle off every classic dating scenario in the book. He was on the verge of giving up, saying “I dunno, take him for a long walk on the beach” when Lance suddenly sat up straight in bed and exclaimed, “That’s it.”

“Uh, dude, you’re aware that I was kidding? There are literally no beaches here?”

“No, not the beach. Aquarium.”

So far, everything has gone smoothly, apart from one tiny hitch in the plan. “So,” Lance told Keith earlier, over the phone, “Hunk says that while he’d trust me with his life, his car is a different matter. And, well, um … I definitely wouldn’t mind giving you a ride on the back of my bike again, but it’s pretty far and I wouldn’t want you to have to amputate your ass afterward, sooo …”

“Are you asking me if I can drive us?” Keith said, sounding amused.

“Maybe. Yes? I know this was supposed to be my date for you and all, but …”

“Sure. Don’t worry about it.”

And so they ended up whizzing to the Blue Planet Aquarium on the back of Keith’s bike, Lance feeling utterly blessed. How many guys get to go on their first official date with their mutual crush on the back of his sweet motorcycle? He doesn’t know, but he’s one of them, dammit, and it feels great.

“So, are you convinced that the ocean is freaking awesome yet?” Lance asks, mostly so he has an excuse to look at Keith again. The knitted sweater he’s wearing over his button-down is a great look for him – it makes him seem almost squishable. And even though the helmets messed up their hair, completely negating all of Lance’s comb-and-gel efforts, Keith’s is glossy and fluffy and frames his sharp chin and cheekbones so well. Lance never thought the day would come when he’d be swooning over a mullet, but lo and behold, here he is.

“Sorry, what?” Keith says, and Lance sighs in mock exasperation.

“Remember our conversation about the ocean versus space? Well, this is my hand in favor of Team Ocean.”

“Our first date is part of a contest, really?” Keith quips – then seems to realize what he just said, and a bit of color rises into his cheeks. The same thing is probably happening to Lance, whose heart did a flip at hearing the words first date from Keith’s lips.

“Well, it doesn’t have to be,” Lance says, flicking his eyes from Keith to the sucker fish clamped onto the side of the tank, so he won’t get stuck in the land of senseless mumbling. Sounding cocky is difficult when his date (his date!) is so unfairly gorgeous. “If you’d just admit that beautiful fish and a rich, varied biosphere beat dead rocks on every count.”

Keith’s bottom lip juts out in the way that means it’s on. “To be fair, though—”

“Ha! Who’s competing now?” Lance gives his shoulder a light shove, and Keith jabs a finger into his chest in retaliation. The playful touch makes a bright ember of joy crackle in Lance’s chest.

“To be fair, these are all technically surface dwellers. Go deeper down and the life-forms get less cute, more downright terrifying.”

“Yup, and if you go even further, you might find the lost city of R’lyeh. How is that not rad?”

Keith narrows his eyes. “Don’t speak so lightly of the Old Ones.”

Lance laughs, then glances back at Keith, his smile faltering at the deathly serious expression on his face. “You … you’re joking, right? You are joking?”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Yes, I’m joking. As in, whatever horror lurks at the bottom of the ocean, it’s probably not Cthulhu. It’d probably be more like—”

“Okay, I’m gonna stop you right there! Hey, did you know that in middle school, Hunk and I had matching Cthulhu for President pins?”

“Oh my god. Whose idea?”

“His.”

Keith laughs. “You owe Hunk for everything you are today, huh?”

“Yup, him and Beyoncé. I’m not ashamed to admit that.”

“I admire your self-insight.”

“You admire everything about me,” Lance retorts – then feels his whole body heat up when Keith glances to the side and mutters, “Whatever.”

Having a crush on a guy he used to think he hated can be extremely weird sometimes. The leftover urge to prove himself to Keith battles with the desire to hug him close and kiss his stupid face all over. Lance feels tangled up inside, but it’s not entirely a bad thing. In fact, he thinks, watching the flush fade from Keith’s cheeks, it’s mostly a pretty great thing.

“Anyway!” Lance says, too loudly again, and even he can tell that he’s trying to talk over the beating of his heart. “I’d say it’s shark time.”

They move past the tropical tanks and enter a long glass tunnel, where the fish get bigger, leaner, and meaner, and swim around them on all sides.

“Did you know that sharks have been around for, like, four hundred million years?” Lance says, as one drifts by above their heads. “Isn’t that the coolest thing? I mean, look at this little guy.” He points at a skinny shark about as long as his arm. “Some ancient creature might have seen something just like him. He’s a miracle.”

Keith is not looking as hard at the sharks as Lance would like, but he’ll forgive him, because he’s smiling softly and it is precious. “What are you, his dad?”

“Are you saying I wouldn’t make a great shark dad? Anyway, we have a lot to thank shark-kind for. Where would our culture be without Jaws?”

“And Sharknado?”

“And Sharknado.”

They walk down the tunnel, chatting about everything and nothing, Lance’s eyes catching on the way the muted blue light wobbles on the planes of Keith’s face. If he doesn’t say something to distract himself, he knows he’ll stare, so he starts rattling off more ocean trivia that he vaguely remembers from documentaries and aquarium tours he did as a kid.

“So, giant squid and killer whales are pretty awesome, but the ocean is still mostly an unexplored watery mystery pit. We have more detailed maps of Mars and Venus than we do of the seafloor.”

“I think I’ve heard that before,” Keith says, nodding. “That’s pretty cool.”

“Right? Hey, you know, maybe space and the ocean aren’t so different after all.”

Keith laughs. “Is this you compromising?”

“No, shut up. It’s me making a valid point. Because, like, they’re both vast and mysterious. And …” He looks over at Keith and grins. “… they’re both full of stars.”

“Explain.”

“One word: bioluminescence. There are lots of cool glowy undersea animals, like jellyfish and stuff. In Japan, there’s one called the firefly squid that lights up with pinpricks of blue and white. Once a year, during egg-laying season, they float up to the surface in hordes, and their light looks like millions of stars twinkling in the water.”

Keith’s quiet for long enough that Lance starts to freak out about taking his rambling too far – he knows he’s an idiot who talks too much, and suddenly he’s worried that Keith’s annoyed. So he peeks over at him, out of the corner of his eye, and nearly jumps when he discovers Keith gazing at him.

His eyes are wide and dark, his brow slightly creased, his lips parted like there’s something he wants to say. A shiver ripples through Lance’s body. I really, really like this boy.

Finally, Keith looks down, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. “I … I’d like to see that.”

“It’s really beautiful,” Lance breathes, and he knows he doesn’t mean the squid.

He reminds himself of why he’s really doing this. Keith was right about the way they happened, after all – haphazard and messy and out of order. And although Lance doesn’t mind one bit, he hasn’t forgotten for a moment how distressed Keith seemed about it.

So he’s decided he’s going to do things right. He wants to give Keith a perfect first date, a perfect confession. He’s not sure if he’s the best guy for the job, but hey, no harm in trying.

“So, uh, next room?” Keith says, his voice a bit unsteady.

“Uh-huh,” Lance says, his heart swelling with emotions. “Let’s go.”

***

Once they’ve seen everything there is to see at the aquarium, they settle at a corner table at the adjacent café, and Lance buys them coffee and sweets. Keith’s attractive, tapered hands wrap around his warm cup, and it takes Lance several long seconds to process that, yeah, those are the same hands that did some pretty amazing things to his delicate bits.

“So,” he says, to distract himself, “you’re still Team Space?”

“Well, glow-in-the-dark animals are a convincing argument,” Keith admits. “But overall, yes.”

“Stubborn, huh?”

“Yep.”

Lance rolls his eyes at Keith, who takes a self-satisfied bite of his apple pie.

“Well, did you find a favorite fish, at least?”

“Hmm … I’ll have to say my lookalike.”

“Oh really!”

“I feel he’d agree that you’re annoying as hell.”

Lance puts a hand to his chest in outrage. “You dare!”

And then Keith’s laughing – giggling, almost, into his hand, eyes crinkled up around the corners. Warmth spreads behind Lance’s ribs. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over the way Keith looks when he laughs, but then again, he isn’t sure he wants to.

He sips his own coffee, feels his stomach flutter like a curtain in the wind. It’s about time he got down to business.

He’s so nervous. His head is spinning.

The coffee burns going down his throat. Sweet whipped cream gets caught on his lips. The café speakers are playing corny, old-timey music. This is going to be so cheesy.

Lance takes a deep breath, closing his eyes like he’s preparing to jump into ice-cold water.

He dives in.

“Keith.” And those pretty eyes are on him, inquisitive and beautifully shaped. His insides swoop. “So, um, there’s a reason I invited you to go to the aquarium with me. Besides convincing you the ocean is totally cool, I mean. It’s the same reason I’m buying you this cup of coffee at full price, instead of insisting we go to the chain I work for and getting fifty percent off, which is what I’d do to anybody else.”

“I thought you were paying because I’m the one who drove us here,” Keith grins, and Lance hushes him fiercely.

“This is not the time for Baby’s First Joke! I have to get this all out before I lose it!” He takes another deep, calming breath. “Look, you were all freaked out about things happening too fast or in the wrong order or whatever. But now we’ve looked at sharks together and we’re having coffee and gazing into each other’s eyes and frankly being cute as fuck, so I think … I think it’s okay for me to say this now, correct me if I’m wrong.”

Keith’s eyes are wide, and his expression seems stuck in some in-between state, like he isn’t sure if he should bolt or cry. It’s exactly how Lance feels, too, but he pushes on through it.

“Keith – I really, really like you. You and your mullet and your motorcycle skills and your dumb conspiracy theories and even the fact that you used to be emo as hell. I mean, I like like you. A lot.” Lance swallows, because here it is. “So … will you be my boyfriend? Like … officially?”

At some point during Lance’s monologue, Keith’s face goes fire-truck crimson. And at another, he drops it onto his arms lying on the table, hiding it from view, only the bright tips of his ears still visible through his hair.

“Hey, oh my god! What kind of reaction is this?” A shaky laugh trembles its way out of Lance’s throat, and he gives Keith’s arm a playful shove, trying to ignore how unsteady his hand is.

“Just … give me a second,” Keith mumbles, from somewhere down there. “And … yes. Yeah, I will. Of course.”

This might just be the best day of Lance’s life. He’s grinning so hard he thinks his face will split. “Wow. Okay. Neat.”

Keith straightens back up, less red by now, but his face is sort of wobbly, one side of his mouth pulled up in a smile. He is the cutest thing Lance has ever seen.

“Hey,” Lance says, feeling a little wobbly himself.

“Hey.”

They grin at each other like a couple of fucking saps for a while, until Keith finally clears his throat and looks away.

“Oh, shit,” he says. “It’s raining.”

Lance glances out the window, and yes, the sky has indeed opened up. “Ugh, gross. I guess we’ll be stuck here for a while.”

Keith sighs and turns back to Lance. “Guess so.”

He takes a sip of his coffee, his throat rippling as he swallows. Lance’s eyes catch on it, and when Keith sets the cup back down, he can’t help but notice his lips. He remembers how soft they are, what they taste like, the little noises that can escape between them, and he wants to kiss those lips so badly …

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Ugh. Caught red-handed. Lance runs a hand through his hair.

“Well … now that the movie-style romance plot of your dreams is back on track …” – Lance ignores Keith’s noise of protest, because he knows Keith knows it’s the truth – “… I was just thinking about the next step.” He wiggles his eyebrows, thoroughly enjoying the way color explodes on Keith’s cheeks.

“Lance!”

“C’mon, don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.” Lance’s smirk widens, and he props his elbows on the table, leaning closer.

“We’re in public!”

“Does that turn you on?” Lance purrs, and then – “OW! Guess that’s a no,” when Keith stomps on his foot. “Combat boots on sneakers? Rude.”

Keith responds to Lance’s pout with a deadpan stare, void of all empathy.

Lance scratches his ear, clears his throat. “But, anyway, uh … I wanted to ask you about that, actually. If you don’t mind.”

“About what?”

“About, like …” He lowers his voice, and says behind his hand, “the stuff we did.”

Keith flushes again. “What’s there to say?”

“Well, I mean … what was that? Was it sex? Have we had sex?”

“What, you mean the time when …”

Lance angles his body away from the rest of the shop and makes a jacking-off motion with his hand. Keith’s mouth drops open in horror.

“Stop that!”

“Okay, so?”

“I dunno,” Keith mumbles, casting a furtive glance to the side. “It was … pretty sexy.”

Lance bites down on the urge to say so were you; time enough for that later. “Yeah. I guess I just … look, don’t take this the wrong way, but I always assumed my first time would be with a girl. So I’ve thought of sex as, well …”

He makes a circle with the index finger and thumb of one hand, and is just sticking his other index finger into it when Keith’s boot lands on his foot again. “Keith, geez!”

“Stop. Being. Gross,” Keith hisses, and Lance sticks out his tongue.

“Hey, I’m serious, though. I guess I’m not really sure what counts as sex anymore, if we move away from what Pidge would call the ‘musty Hollywood cishet version.’ Like, who decides this stuff, anyway?”

Keith rubs his neck, not meeting Lance’s eyes. “We do, I guess?”

“Fair enough.” He grins up at Keith. “Well, whatever it was, it was not Official Boyfriend Sex. Which any sex we may be having in the future most certainly will be.”

He winks, and although Keith is doing his best to look scandalized, Lance suspects that flush on his cheeks is part delight.

“Official Boyfriend Sex is another good name for your band,” Lance says, dropping every pretense of keeping his voice down, and ow – Keith’s back in action, and Lance, yelping, thinks he’s going to have to ask Hunk to build him a prosthetic foot.

Keith’s Docs might be lethal, but his tentative smile deals an instant killing blow to Lance’s poor heart. “So, um … that was your first time?”

Lance’s face heats up, both from embarrassment and the memory of Keith’s skin on his. “My first time being in that particular situation, yeah.”

“That’s … I’m not sure why, but that makes me feel really happy.” Keith bites his lip to stop his smile from widening. And looking at him, his heart fluttering, Lance thinks there’s nowhere he’d rather wait out the rain.

***

Nearly an hour later, Lance is able to think of several other places he’d rather wait out the rain. He is, however, unable to get to any of them, because it isn’t fucking stopping.

“Holy crow,” he gripes. “I knew the weather forecast wasn’t great, but not that Armageddon was coming.”

“It’s not going to stop, is it?” says Keith, gloomily. Lance groans and buries his face in his hands.

“I didn’t want to die in a coffee shop. The irony is too cruel. My ghost is going to haunt these halls forever, and in a hundred years people will still hear me sobbing ‘an extra shot of espresso with that?’”

“They won’t if we just leave,” says Keith.

“What? Are you nuts?”

He shrugs. “It’s just water. The sharks manage fine.”

“Touché,” Lance sighs, and so the decision is made. Keith hands him his helmet, and they pull their coats back on. “I am so going to regret this later.”

He regrets it the second they step out into the downpour, when he is instantly soaked to the bone. Judging by the way Keith marches over to his bike, he seems to believe that the rain won’t touch him if he ignores it hard enough. Lance, however, is a drama queen, and he hates this. He feels a pout tugging at his face.

Keith slings his leg over the seat, and Lance tries and fails not to check out his butt in the process. He glances, far more skeptically, at the sheen of rain on the portion of the seat reserved for him.

Keith just shrugs. “What the hell, we’re already wet.”

Lance gets on behind him, letting out a long-suffering sigh as cold wetness soaks through his jeans. “I’m so sorry. This wasn’t how I imagined this going.”

“It’s fine. It’s in keeping with your water theme,” Keith grins, and Lance smacks his arm. “Okay, let’s go. I’ll drive carefully, don’t worry.”

The ride home is cold and wet and miserable, Lance’s only solace Keith’s body in his arms. To distract himself from the way he is slowly transforming into an amphibian creature, he thinks about Keith’s thighs straddling the bike, then about them straddling him. That thought warms him up, at least, but he realizes quickly that it will only make his pants even more uncomfortable, so he stops himself in his tracks and accepts his suffering.

After a lesser eternity, they finally arrive back at the dorm. Once they’re inside, they pull off their helmets and stand there, dripping.

“Urgh,” says Keith.

“Agreed.” Lance bursts out laughing, claps a hand to his face. “Oh, man. What a finale.”

Keith chuckles. “Hey, not even you can control the weather.”

“Only the chemtrails can do that, right?”

“Right.”

And then they’re doing that thing where they just make eyes at each other, the one where they get stuck unless someone makes the active decision to pull away. This time, it’s Keith.

“Um,” he says, tucking a strand of damp hair behind his ear. “Guess we should go get cleaned up.”

“Yeah.”

“So, uh. Do you … want to grab dinner together? If it stops raining, I mean.”

Lance’s heart swells with happiness. “Hell, yeah. Even if it doesn’t stop. We can have romantic instant ramen.”

Keith ducks his head, unable to hide his smile. “Uh-huh. Should we meet down here then? I really need a shower first, though.”

“Mind if I join?” says Lance, clicking his finger guns, because he is an incurable flirt and ridiculous lines come to him automatically. And then he realizes what he just said, as Keith’s eyes widen and his face turns red and his spine goes very, very straight. Lance claps a hand over his mouth. “Oh my god. I’m sorry, I was just kidding, you know I’m a dumbass—”

“No,” says Keith, and one of Lance’s eyebrows arches by sheer reflex.

“You’re saying I’m not a dumbass?”

“I’m saying no, I don’t mind.”

Lance is surprised he doesn’t explode right there on the spot. Suddenly every bad pick-up line he’s ever pulled becomes so, so worth it. Dude, you’re a fucking genius.

“Oh. Okay. So …”

“So.”

“I’ll just. Go grab a change of clothes.”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

They part ways, and it’s like Lance is wading through Jell-O, the world blurring around him, his mind just one long loop of holy shit holy shit holy shit. He makes it to his own room – Hunk’s not home, and it’s a huge relief, honestly, because he doesn’t think he’s in any state to be explaining things right now.

He grabs a random towel and some fresh clothes, then hurries back out, hardly even noticing the uncomfortable squelching in his shoes. He takes the stairs down, two at a time, and is breathless by the time he skids to a stop and knocks on Keith’s door.

It cracks open, and Keith lets him in.

He’s taken off his sweater, and damn – the button-down underneath is half transparent from the rain, damp fabric clinging to his body. Lance’s mouth goes dry.

“Uh. Hi.”

“Hi.”

Keith’s face is a bit flushed, his hair still in disarray from the helmet. Lance’s heart flutters in his throat.

Finally, Keith says, “So.”

“So.” Lance tries on a smirk, hopes it looks more confident than he feels. He is still not sure this is really happening. “Should I, like, put on the water …?”

Keith clears his throat. “Go ahead.”

“Well then. Whenever you’re ready,” Lance purrs, and darts into Keith’s bathroom, high on anticipation.

Alone inside, he sheds his wet clothes, hanging them over Keith’s towel rack. He shivers a little as the cool air touches his skin. Lance isn’t shy about his body – growing up with a lot of people in a relatively small house makes a guy less concerned about modesty – but he hopes Keith will like what he’s got on offer.

Lance turns on the water, adjusts the heat until it’s nice and steamy. His face warms to a similar temperature as he realizes that Keith is out there right now, taking his clothes off. Oh, god.

Right on cue, he hears footsteps slip inside and the door closing. Lance pulls the shower curtain aside and peeks out, his smooth smile already in place. “Welcome,” he starts to say, then chokes on his words halfway.

Keith’s standing there in just his black boxer briefs, and all Lance can think is whoa. Yeah, they’ve been shirtless in front of each other before, but that was in the dark – this is Keith in all his glory. Lance nearly sighs like a lovesick maiden at the sight of his muscled arms and strong thighs, his chest with its pert nipples, the subtle contours of his abs …

There’s color high on Keith’s cheeks. “I … I’ll be right in.”

“Okay,” Lance squeaks, and drops the curtain, his heart pounding like crazy.

He steps under the water, closing his eyes, and hears the soft rattle as the curtain opens. Lance takes a deep breath, slits his eyes back open—

—and Keith’s there, so close. It’s kind of cramped in here, but there’s enough room for them to stand without touching each other. Lance swallows. That’s useless extra space he doesn’t need.

He is acutely aware that they’re both completely naked, somehow managing to keep his eyes above Keith’s belly button, and the way Keith is staring back at him makes Lance grateful for every single time he dragged his ass to the gym. They look at each other for a long, suspended moment, tension tingling between them. They’re both on edge, being so exposed, so close, but that puts Lance at ease somehow – knowing they’re in this together.

And then Keith leans in for a kiss, and Lance meets him with a sigh. His lips open under Keith’s, taking his tongue into his mouth, and Keith’s arms wrap around his waist, his body slick with water.

The spray from the shower trails warm fingers down Lance’s back and neck. He can feel the shape of Keith’s cock against his thigh, and it makes blood rush to his face. His hands move to Keith’s biceps, feeling the firm strength in them, and Keith kisses up his jaw, nibbles at his ear. Lance shudders, Keith’s hands stroking down until they settle at the small of his back. His lips are so soft, his hands so strong – Lance’s body aches with desire.

Keith moves up against him, chest pressing to Lance’s chest, his thigh slotting between Lance’s legs. The pressure makes Lance’s mind glow red; he bites down on a groan.

Then Keith’s backing him against the wall, the tiles icy on his skin. A shiver ghosts through him, but the heat from the water and from Keith more than make up for it.

“How’s this?” Keith murmurs, low in his throat. Lance’s knees go soft – that deep, husky tone Keith gets when he’s turned on is his ultimate weakness.

“’S good,” Lance breathes. He feels his heartbeat in his fingertips, his gut, his groin.

“Can I … can I touch you?” Keith’s words are soft against his jaw.

“Yeah. Please.”

Keith’s hands slide down Lance’s sides, over his ribs. His hips grind up against Lance’s, making them both draw sharp hissing breaths. Lance’s head and heart are both pounding.

And then Keith’s hand is there, between their bodies – and he wraps it around both their lengths – his palm is wonderfully callused, and every inch of him is so hot, and the way it feels to be pressed to him like that, oh, shit—

Lance loses his breath, gasps to regain it, and Keith’s hand starts to move, excruciatingly slow. Lance’s palms press against the wall, tiles slippery under his fingers, a reedy moan escaping between his lips.

His eyes fall shut, and he becomes all sensation, his hips straining toward Keith’s, pressing as close as he possibly can. His right hand goes to the back of Keith’s neck, tangles in his wet hair; his fingers tighten in it when Keith does something that feels particularly amazing, and Keith hisses from the brief flash of pain.

Lance’s mind is getting scrambled, his legs and stomach turning liquid. “Keith, ah … so g-good, I’m …”

Keith buries his nose in Lance’s shoulder, inhales long and deep; his hand tightens around them both, and Lance moans. His other hand, shaking a little, slides down Keith’s hip to his ass; he digs his fingers into firm flesh, relishes the way Keith’s whole body vibrates at the touch. They’re both breathing hard, and Lance is close, so close; he’s trembling, keening …

And then he falls over the edge all at once, legs nearly folding beneath him, crying out sharp and high. Keith moans, a delicious sound, so sweet Lance can almost taste it, his hips pushing Lance harder against the wall as he comes—

—and then he’s soft and pliant and in Lance’s arms, and they’re kissing, with just a tinge of desperation, to hold onto that feeling that crested in both of them and is slipping away with the water running down their legs and stomachs.

“Nice,” Lance breathes, and Keith bites his shoulder – to shut him up, presumably, but it tickles pleasantly, and Lance laughs. Keith looks up at him, cheeks still flushed, eyes still blown, wet hair plastered to his jawline, and god, Lance is so in love.

They figure it’s time to get clean for real, and lather up each other’s bodies with soap, Lance marveling at Keith’s pale skin and its tiny blemishes – proof that he’s real, that he’s here. He sighs in delight as Keith’s hands stroke down his shoulders and back, and tickles Keith’s stomach in return – it makes him yelp and slap at Lance’s arm, exclaiming “Stop that before we both slip, idiot!”

There’s a bit more kissing, and then they’re finally done – the warm water is running out, and their fingers are pruning up. They towel off, get into fresh clothes – Lance puts on the sweatpants and tank top he brought; Keith slips into boxer shorts and a worn Alice Cooper tee and sits down on his bed.

Lance’s hair air-dries fast, but Keith’s, of course, is longer. “You’re still wet,” Lance says, and tosses his towel over Keith’s head. It’s actually Hunk’s towel, his Star Wars one, and the Death Star settles gracefully over Keith’s left eye.

Lance points to him and gasps. “I knew it! You’re a Sith Lord!”

Even through the curtain of wet hair and towel, Lance sees Keith roll his eyes. Lance chuckles, gives Keith’s hair a good, proper rub, and Keith peers out from inside the towel like a curious animal.

“Hey,” Lance says fondly, hands still around Keith’s face.

“Hey. Um … Lance?”

“Yeah?”

“I was thinking … about something you said. In the park.” Keith swallows. “I mean … my thoughts are so loud to me, and I always feel like it’s really obvious what’s on my mind, but you made me realize maybe it’s not.”

Lance scoffs, but caresses Keith’s cheek to take the edge off. “Yeah, no, Mr. Dark and Stoic, it isn’t.”

Keith bites his lip and looks away, and guilt rises up in Lance.

“Hey, look. I’m a talker. I mean, duh, maybe you noticed.” He rolls his eyes, and Keith smiles a little; it makes a tender feeling wrap around Lance’s heart. “Like, talking is how I deal with things. Sometimes I can’t figure out obvious shit unless I’ve blabbed about it for half an hour first. But you’re different, and that’s, um … it might be hard for me to understand sometimes, but I really want to learn to communicate on your terms, too.”

“Thank you,” Keith mumbles, his voice a little dry. “But, uh, same. About that last part. So … there are some things I think you should know.”

“Yeah?”

Keith looks up at him, his eyes wide in his heart-shaped face, and he’s so beautiful Lance forgets to breathe.

“Lance, I … I really, really like you. I can’t stop thinking about you, even though you act like a dumb shit most of the time, and when you asked if I’d be your … your boyfriend, I was really happy because … because being with you makes me happy, and I’ve never had feelings like this for anyone and I’m just going to stop … talking … now …”

Lance is officially deceased. His soul has left this plane, and it is uncertain whether it will ever return.

“Lance, oh my god, please say something.”

“Okay.” He feels like the whole world has lifted him onto its shoulders. The view from here is so, so amazing. “You’re literally perfect.”

And Keith turns scarlet, and Lance is dizzy and elated, and all he can think to say is, “Can I kiss you?”

Keith nods, and scoots over, and takes Lance in his arms. And they do kiss, then, soft and sweet, and there’s an emotion welling up in Lance that’s almost like the urge to cry, but good and warm and happy.

Just for now, he doesn’t have to worry about filtering the right words out of the stream that normally pours out of him. He doesn’t have to worry about being sassy or funny or anything other than here, with Keith. Lance hopes his kisses feel as sincere to Keith as they do to him – hopes Keith can tell how much Lance cares about him.

Finally, they break apart, Keith’s hands resting gently on Lance’s hips, Lance’s hand on Keith’s thigh.

“Hey, you know,” Lance murmurs. “I actually had another thing planned for today.”

“Oh?”

“Uh-huh. Can I just run back to my room for a second?”

“Oh. Sure.”

He flashes Keith a grin, steps clumsily into his shoes. He’s up and back down again in what feels like no time at all, his guitar case slung across his back.

Keith’s eyes widen. “Wha …”

Lance rubs the back of his neck. “Look, okay, so now that I’m standing here, this feels really dumb. But I kind of wanted to, uh. Serenade you?”

“Oh my god,” Keith says, as Lance unsnaps the case.

“I don’t do things half-assed, okay?”

“Okay. Oh my god.”

He sits down beside Keith’s bed, cross-legged, and settles the guitar in his lap. As his fingers fall into place on the strings, he grins up at Keith, who flops onto his side in his bed, like all his bones just turned to mush. His face gets kind of smooshed against the pillow; it is, naturally, fucking adorable.

“So, this song is dedicated to my boyfriend Keith.” Lance swells with pride, and the boyfriend in question hides his face in his pillow.

He starts playing, hoping his voice won’t betray him – and it holds, thank god, it holds, all the way to his favorite part.

“What you’ve got, boy, is hard to find; I think about it all the time” – and he feels the truth of it as he sings, he really does – “I’m all strung out, my heart is fried – I just can’t get you off my mind …”

Eventually, Keith peeks back out, bright red, and watches as Lance plays through the rest of the song. He strums the final chord, lets it fade into silence, and awaits a response from the blushing mess on the bed.

“That was Kesha,” Keith croaks, finally. “I know you played acoustic Kesha for me, Lance.”

“Yeah, so?” He grins and pats the side of his guitar, enjoying the hollow sound it makes. “I love Kesha unironically.”

“You would.” Keith pauses, red face still half buried in his pillow. “I loved it. Thank you.”

Lance whoops and throws his hands up, and Keith is grinning at him like he can’t help it, and then he’s laying the guitar down on the floor and climbing into bed to join him.

Keith melts against his side like he was made to fit there, his arm going around Lance’s waist.

“You’re dumb,” Keith mumbles against his shoulder. “And … really amazing.”

Lance’s body is light as air. “I’m so, so glad the cutest person in the universe thinks so.”

Keith punches him in the shoulder blade, and Lance does the only thing he remembers how to do, and smiles like a goddamn fool.

Notes:

confession time: my strategy for getting into lances head is listening to a LOT of kesha. this is the song he plays for keith! just imagine it cheesily rendered on acoustic guitar. it is basically my anthem for them now..... theyve got that dorky 2010 aesthetic.

still ultra busy w school stuff so i rly cant say when the next ch will be up. it will, however, be the chapter where we collectively remember that Barista Lance did not stop being a thing.

if you liked this, dont hesitate to let me know!! i read and reply to everything and your comments always brighten my day 50000% c': thanks for reading! <3

Chapter 11

Notes:

this chapter is dedicated to my friend who works in a coffee shop and has let me sit in after closing and learn All The Secrets™, thank u ily
enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“It’s his what?”

“His birthday,” says Hunk, raising his voice so Keith can hear him over the chatter in the corridor. “We thought we’d do something for him this weekend, like take him for dinner and then go bowling or whatever. His actual birthday is on Thursday, but he’s working then. Plus we all have school, so yeah.”

“Oh. Yeah, uh, he mentioned it.” Lance did say something about his birthday, actually, but Keith’s bad with names and dates and faces, so it slipped his mind. I’m the worst boyfriend! “I’m down with anything, of course.”

“Cool. It’ll probably be pretty chill, so don’t worry. You know, just us,” says Hunk, whose psychic powers seem to have instantly detected Keith’s discomfort at the thought of sitting on the sidelines, watching Lance hang out with people he doesn’t know.

“Thanks.” Another realization dawns on Keith. “Oh, shit. I have to get him something.” He turns to Hunk, eyes wide and imploring.

Again, Hunk picks up on the vibes, bless him. “Well, if you ask me, you should aim for something stupid but heartfelt. Since that’s like, the dictionary definition of Lance.” He cups one hand around his mouth, and leans over to whisper surreptitiously, “He’s a total sucker for that stuff.”

Stupid but heartfelt, huh? Keith chews his lip. He’s got his work cut out for him.

***

When Thursday, November seventeenth, rolls around, Keith texts Lance first thing in the morning.

Happy birthday :)

Aaww thx <3

Keith swears under his breath. Of course he should have typed a heart! He is so bad at this.

Well, better late than never. He sends off a <3.

Jsdgfjkbv, comes the reply, and he actually does have to rest his face in his hand for a minute, to recover. Does Lance grin at his phone like a dork too, or is that just Keith?

What time r u working today?

I’m closing so from 4-9pm

Can I come by?

Omgggg yes pls!!!!

Agh. Keith squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. Too cute.

Okay. I’ll see u there.

C u babe <3 <3 <3

***

Keith makes it to the coffee shop around six-thirty, pausing for a moment to admire the warm glow from the windows, cozy and inviting in the early-winter chill.

He pushes the door open and slips inside – and there’s Lance, behind the counter, taking someone’s order with an open smile on his face.

Keith gets in line, huddling a little deeper into his scarf. He doesn’t think he could ever work in service – he’s uncomfortable enough on this side of the counter – but Lance does it so effortlessly. It’s fascinating and perplexing, the way he can smile like that at a stranger, and laugh like it’s nothing. Keith admires Lance, and envies him – what is it like to have even a fraction of that brilliance? He’ll probably never know.

But he does know what it feels like to have the sunray beam of Lance’s attention focused on him. As Keith walks up to the counter for his turn, Lance’s entire face lights up, melting Keith’s heart like a pat of butter.

“Hey!” Lance exclaims, and catches his bottom lip between his teeth, as if to stifle a smile.

“Hi. Uh, happy birthday, again,” says Keith, and watches Lance’s cheeks go pink.

“Thanks. I’m practically ancient now. So what can I get you, on this, the day of my birth?”

“Can I have a macchiato? And one of those sandwiches, please. I haven’t had dinner yet.”

Keith pays and moves off to the side, as Lance starts making his coffee. Should he really be getting this much enjoyment from watching Lance work? The coffee-making process in itself is not all that fascinating, so it must be his capable forearms, the brown tousle of his hair, the way his black work pants accentuate his butt …

“There you go,” says Lance, whirling around with perfect flair and handing Keith his coffee. “Sandwich’ll be done in a bit.”

He winks, and something in Keith’s chest flutters in response.

“Okay. I’ll go sit down.”

“Sure.” Their eyes catch, briefly. “Hey, um … thanks for coming.”

“Of course.”

Lance flashes him a smile before turning back to his work, and Keith goes to find a table, the cup cradled in his hands as warm as his heart.

He still can’t believe he has a boyfriend. He still can’t believe that boyfriend is Lance. It’s something he’s daydreamed about for years, but was seriously starting to believe would never happen. He’s too awkward, too bad at expressing what he feels; he figured anyone who might actually want him wouldn’t have the patience to stay with him for long. And then, enter Lance, cheerful and vibrant, who draws Keith out of his shell one earnest look and dorky laugh at a time.

He likes me too.

He tries those words in his head, as he lifts some textbooks out of his bag, sets them on the table.

Lance likes me.

The thought is almost enough to make him bury his face in his hands.

Lance brings him his sandwich, utensils and everything, then hurries back to service the next customer. Keith digs in gratefully – he hasn’t had dinner, and he’s starving.

Once he’s finished eating, he studies as best he can in the lulling, softly lit atmosphere, mellow music wrapping around him. He’s unable to resist sneaking glances at Lance – at those long-fingered brown hands mixing drinks, wiping counters, balancing dishes.

He’s so damn attractive in that apron. Keith’s not sure why anyone is allowed to look so good in anything.

He indulges in a low-key fantasy of Lance’s lips on his throat, his hands on his butt, and feels his whole body grow warm.

His phone buzzes: it’s Pidge, writing in the group chat the four of them have (“Your chat’s called Legendary Defenders?” Keith asked, when they added him; “It’s a reference, okay?” said Pidge), to say they’re up for hanging out if anyone’s free.

Keith replies that he’s at the café, and Pidge types ofc u are ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), then: im coming over!

They show up fifteen minutes later, wiping their fogged-up glasses on their Slytherin scarf, and wave to Keith.

“Hunk’s busy, but he said to tell you hi,” Pidge says a while later, as they settle down at Keith’s table with their cappuccino.

“Too bad he couldn’t come.”

“Yeah, but we’ll see him this weekend. And it’s for the best, honestly. You know he made Lance breakfast in bed this morning? There’s a limit to how spoiled one dude can get.”

“He really did that?”

“Really.”

Keith whistles. “Wow, looks like I picked the wrong boyfriend.”

“You might have,” Pidge agrees. “Hunk is the mcfreakin’ best.”

Keith nods in agreement, even as he feels a weird twinge in his stomach. It’s stupid to be jealous of Hunk, he knows that. He is obviously into Shay, for one; it’s not like he’s a threat to what Keith has with Lance. But he’s been Lance’s best friend for years – he knows Lance, in a way that Keith never will, knew him firsthand as he was growing up, growing into himself. And he lives with him. Gets to wake up to him in the mornings. Bring him breakfast in bed.

Keith bites his lip, makes a conscious decision not to succumb to the petty emotions tugging at his gut. Let yourself feel it, then move on, he thinks, in a voice that sounds a lot like Allura’s.

“Hey, nice bag,” he says, half out of sincerity, half to distract himself, and nods at Pidge’s black shoulder bag, patterned with bright green alien heads.

“Oh. Thanks.” Pidge pushes their glasses up the bridge of their freckled nose, leans closer. “Lance mentioned you were into aliens.”

Keith frowns. “Okay, I’m not even going to ask exactly what he said.”

“Just that you think they’re real,” Pidge grins.

He shrugs. “Well, yeah. Don’t you?”

They consider for a moment. “I guess, in theory. I’m just not sure if it’d be a good idea to make contact. Could be pretty risky.”

“For them or for us?”

“Depends on who they are. They could be anything from like, imperialist monsters to … I dunno, cute little snail-looking things.”

“Snailiens,” Keith says under his breath, sending Pidge into a fit of cackles.

They have a long conversation about aliens – the forms they might take, how best to deal with them if they’re ever discovered. Keith favors a confrontational approach (make them surrender their ray guns); Pidge is more cautious (start out by seeing what the ray guns can do, and if they might be useful). By the time Keith suggests that maybe the government has actually already been in contact with extraterrestrial life, Pidge’s mouth curves into a frown.

“I dunno. My dad works for NASA, and based on what he’s told me, it seems unlikely.”

“Your dad works for NASA?”

Pidge puffs up with pride. “Yep.”

“Wow. Nice. Is there any chance you’d be able to get your hands on classified information?”

“Only if I hacked my way in,” says Pidge, in a tone implying that they most definitely could.

After an hour or so, Pidge leaves – off to ride the coffee high for some late night productivity, they say. As business slows down, Lance is less busy making drinks, and can chat with Keith across the counter.

“Um, should I start leaving too?” Keith asks, as the time approaches nine o’ clock.

“You can stay if you want,” Lance says, sounding almost … hopeful? “After closing. I mean, you don’t have to, but I’d love the company.”

Keith raises his eyebrows. “Is that allowed?”

“Officially? No. Unofficially? Let’s just say it’s happened more than once.”

“I’ll stay, then,” Keith says, without a moment’s hesitation, and Lance beams.

The last few customers leave, and Lance puts up the closed sign, turning away a final straggling caffeine hunter with an apologetic smile. Keith does his best to blend in with the wall.

“Is there anything I can do to help out?” he asks, as Lance starts cleaning up.

“Oh, sure. Could you put the chairs up on the tables?” Keith nods, grateful for something to do. He stacks chairs while Lance covers muffins with plastic wrap, gathers up dishes, and finally disappears into the back, attending to whatever clandestine café business is left to deal with.

A while later, when all the chairs have been lifted off the floor, Lance comes out from the back of the shop, rubbing the tension out of his shoulders. “I’m almost done. Thanks for waiting for me.”

“Sure.”

“So, can I have a birthday hug?”

He opens his arms slightly, and Keith walks over, gathers him up in his own. He’s warm, and smells like coffee and the memory of kisses.

“Hey,” Lance says against Keith’s shoulder, voice fond.

“Hi.” Keith squeezes harder.

They break apart, and Lance straightens up, hooking his thumbs in the neck-band of his apron in this awful, incredibly un-endearing way.

“So, tell me. How do you feel about men in uniform?”

Keith prays he’s not blushing. “Annoyed with them, usually.”

“You don’t like what you see?”

“That’s a different question.”

“A-ha! We learn something new every day.”

“Such as, you’re a complete dork, now and forever?”

“Hey, don’t be like that.” Lance tilts his head to the side. “You could be asking me more interesting questions. For example …” – and he looks very smug all of a sudden – “… do you know how I like my men?”

Keith lets out his best long-suffering sigh. “This is going to be a pun, isn’t it?”

“You won’t know until you ask.”

“Fine. How do you like your men, Lance?”

And there’s his best smirk – more of a leer, really, Keith knows that, but he’s got this stupid filter over his eyes that makes everything Lance does look less lascivious, more plain sexy. “The way I like my coffee – hot and strong.”

He wiggles his eyebrows, and Keith is appalled – absolutely appalled! – that a line like that can make him flush with pleasure.

“You are so incredibly lame.”

“I know, right? You should totally be kissing me, so you won’t have to deal with my lameness anymore.”

“Hmm. Good plan, for once.”

“Rude,” Lance is saying, but Keith’s arms are already around his waist, his lips finding Lance’s and claiming them in a long, delicious kiss. It’s hot and sweet, like a freshly brewed latte, like Lance himself. Keith sighs into it, lips opening, Lance’s tongue touching his. Keith’s not sure if someone as perpetually insecure as he is has the right to feel such uncontrollable desire – the need to press Lance closer, to have him on top or pinned against the wall or any way, really, as long as he’s in Keith’s arms, sighing Keith’s name – but he can’t help it; it wells up inside him all the same.

Between kisses, he murmurs, “Should we really be doing this here?”                                    

“Nope. If Shay knew I’d get fired for sure. But there’s nobody here, is there?” Lance smirks against Keith’s mouth. “Plus, you admitted you dig the apron, so I’m not passing up this chance to woo you.”

Keith’s automatic impulse to object withers and dies. There’s not really anything he can say to that. “Shut up.”

“Gladly.” And Lance takes Keith’s face in his hands, kisses him soft and chaste. Then he pulls back, looks into Keith’s eyes. His own eyes are so blue. Keith gets caught on the high cheekbones, the thin shapely lips. He swallows. There is some definite, ominous stirring going on down below.

“Hey, um, by the way …” And is that a tremor in Lance’s voice? “There’s something … I’ve kind of been wanting to try.”

A tingling sweeps through Keith, part nerves, part excitement. “Okay?”

“Uh, have you ever … gotten a blow job?”

All at once, Keith’s insides turn into an erupting volcano. Did his eyes just go unfocused for a second? Roll back into his head? He suspects so. “Um … no?”

“Oh. Good. Then you won’t notice if I suck at it.” And Lance bursts into giggles, high and nervous. “See what I did there?”

“For fuck’s sake,” Keith hisses, and squishes Lance’s dumb cheeks together so he doesn’t have to look at that way-too-attractive, shit-eating grin.

“So, would you be interested?” Lance says, almost shyly. “Like, right now?”

Why does he even need to ask? “Um, yeah.”

“Nice.” At least he has the decency to blush, even through the smirk. “So … I guess you could say shit’s about to go down.”

“I literally cannot believe you just said that,” says Keith, because focusing on Lance’s idiotic lines is easier than processing that Lance just offered to … that he … oh fuck. “Also, wouldn’t that make you shit?”

“Wow, Keith. No, just no.”

“You’re the one who said it. Karma for bad puns.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” And then – oh, damn – Lance is dropping to his knees, his hands settling around Keith’s hipbones. “This angle is a bit weird,” he says, glancing up, “but also kind of hot?”

If Keith so much as breathes right now, it will become very apparent just how hot he thinks it is, so all that comes out of him is a curt, “Yeah.”

“Look, we don’t have to, if it feels like the wrong time.” Lance, that asshole, bites his fucking lip. “But … I wanna do this for you. And for me. I mean, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious.”

His tongue darts out, wets the corner of his mouth. Keith’s going to implode. “Mm. I really … I mean, it’s fine.”

“Right. Okay. Great.” And then Lance is unbuttoning Keith’s jeans, Lance is taking out his dick, Lance is—

“Oh, fuck!” Keith exclaims, as Lance kisses up his length, lips ghosting over his skin. Then his mouth dips down over the head, and Keith sucks in a sharp breath, eyes clenching shut as fireworks burst in his belly.

He covers his mouth with his hand to stifle the noises he knows he’ll be making. And Lance’s head starts to gently bob, warm wetness slipping over him only to disappear again, leaving him breathless, desperate to have it back. A whimper escapes Keith’s lips, and his other hand cradles Lance’s head, slips through his silky hair in what he hopes is a gesture of encouragement. Lance is putting himself in a position like this for him, and he can only imagine what it would be like if their roles were reversed: how nervous he’d feel, how self-conscious, how scared that it wouldn’t be good for Lance.

This is good, though. He wants Lance to know that.

Although maybe he doesn’t need to know the full extent of it: that Keith’s mind is blurring at the edges, that his body is blurring, that he’s melting from the heat of Lance’s mouth.

Keith stares at the opposite wall, the book-cases, the low-hanging lamps. The chairs on the tables make everything look inverted, upside-down. The world around him seems surreal – how can this coffee shop or anything outside it exist when Keith is obviously in a dream? His eyes squeeze shut, and he takes a shuddering breath in as Lance’s tongue strokes the underside of his cock.

His hips jerk, a bit too roughly – he can’t help it, and Lance makes a tiny noise of discomfort, his hand coming up around the base of Keith’s dick to stop him from thrusting too hard. His palm is warm and dry; Keith’s breath catches in his throat.

Lance is inexperienced, so he goes slow, excruciatingly slow. It has Keith’s body trembling, his knees nearly folding, his fingertips tingling. “Lance, fuck,” he groans, “I can’t – ah.”

He glances down at one point, his fingers carding through Lance’s longish bangs, and realizes Lance is touching himself, too. He’s gorgeous, his brow creased, his long eyelashes throwing shadows over his cheeks, the hand that’s not on Keith thrust deep into his own pants.

And then he moans around Keith, the hum of it resounding all the way up Keith’s spine.

“Ah—!” And that was sharper, higher than he would’ve wanted, threatening to give away how badly he craves this, how right now Lance’s mouth and hand are the center of his world and feel so impossibly amazing …

Lance speeds up, just slightly, finding a rhythm that’s slick and full of perfect friction—

—and Keith sees galaxies as he comes, he swears.

It might be the most tumultuous orgasm he’s had in his life – and he can’t think about the fact that it was in Lance’s mouth, or he might die on the spot.

He’s gone for several long seconds, so that he doesn’t even notice that Lance has gotten himself off in the meantime until he’s standing up. He wipes his beautifully reddened mouth with the back of his hand, a strange, satisfied glow in his eyes. “How was that?”

“Um …” He’s surprised his voice actually holds. “Can I get back to you after my knees solidify?”

An impish grin pulls at Lance’s lips, crinkling the corners of his blue, blue eyes, and god damn – if what they just did was technically a breach of rules, then Lance’s existence must be completely illegal. No one should be allowed to look like that after just giving – he can barely even think it – oral that good.

And if that was his maiden attempt, what will it feel like when Lance has some experience under his belt? Or under Keith’s belt, more like it. Oh, fuck.

“I’m gonna go change,” Lance says, and ugh, finally he’ll be rid of that stupid uniform and all its ungodly powers.

“You’re such an idiot,” Keith blurts, finding his voice again. “What if I … what if something had gotten on your clothes?” He’s blushing hard as he says it, he knows.

Lance considers that, then winks. “Well, lucky it didn’t.”

Ugh.

When he comes back out, wearing his coat over a soft hoodie and track pants, he hasn’t gotten any less cute. Something about this whole game is rigged – Lance has him in permanent checkmate.

“Come on, let’s go home.”

Lance switches off all the lights and activates the alarm, then ushers Keith out ahead of him. They leave the empty coffee shop behind, and Keith isn’t sure if he will ever be able to go back inside without fainting, unless someone performs an exorcism or something. The place is no longer pure.

They walk toward home through pools of street-light, when Keith suddenly remembers something else.

“Hey, um, I got you something. For your birthday.”

“What! No way,” Lance says, as Keith reaches into his bag, hands over the clumsily wrapped parcel. “Can I open it now?”

“Go ahead.”

Lance tears into the paper like a kid at Christmas, and when he sees what’s inside, his eyes widen and he bursts out laughing. “Sharknado 2? Really?”

Keith’s boot scuffs at the ground. He thought it was funny at the time, but maybe this was all a dumb idea? Stupid but heartfelt, Hunk said; what does that even mean? “You have to open it,” he mumbles.

“Ooh, I must go deeper,” Lance says, waggling his eyebrows, and Keith rolls his eyes.

Lance cracks the case open, and reads the note Keith’s tucked inside, wrapped around two movie tickets.

You’ll have to watch this one yourself, but next time we can go together.

He looks up, beaming.

“Sorry it’s not more personal,” Keith mumbles.

“Are you kidding? Any excuse to hang out with you is my favorite present in the world.”

“How can you say stuff like that with a straight face?” Keith says, the tips of his ears burning.

“My face is never straight, I’m bi,” says Lance, aiming finger guns at Keith. “And you know we’re totally watching this one together, too? I’m not suffering through it alone.”

“That’s fine, I guess.”

More than fine. He looks over at Lance, who’s grinning, and feels himself smile in response. He makes me so happy.

Even as he thinks it, his heart throbs with something else, with the shadow of anxiety, with what ifs. Do I really deserve this? I’ll just end up holding him back. When it really matters, I won’t be able to tell him what I’m feeling.

He remembers how he felt seeing Lance with Nyma – an ugly, ugly emotion, that made him despise them both, and hate himself most of all. You’re not enough. There’s someone out there who’s better for him, he’d thought then. He’s thinking it again now.

He steels his heart against the mutinous chatter, summons his inner Allura, or Shiro, or some version of himself he wishes he could be. Someone calm and reasonable.

Yeah, okay, so maybe there is somebody else, somewhere. But he picked you, Keith. That counts for something.

He picked you.

Can’t he just trust in Lance? After all, this is the boy who knew he got jealous over the guitar thing, and responded by confessing to him over coffee, then playing him his very own song. This is the boy who likes him back.

Every time he says it – Keith, I like you so much – it’s like Keith temporarily ceases to be himself, and becomes just a glow, without any worries or fears. He wishes he could feel that way all the time, that he wasn’t so hopelessly cynical, so in love with the prospect of disaster.

“So,” Lance pipes up, beside him. Keith shakes himself out of his thoughts. “Hunk and company are probably doing something for me over the weekend.”

“Yeah, he told me.”

“You’re coming, right? We can hold hands in front of everyone. Gross ’em out.”

Keith tries to scoff, but he thinks he’s probably turned a brilliant pink. “If that’s what you’re into.”

“Don’t kinkshame me for being romantic. You know, I’m even going to make our viewing of Sharknado 2 overflow with romance.”

“I don’t think that’s humanly possible.”

“Oh yeah? Watch me, babe.”

Keith sniffs dismissively, but admits to himself that he really does not mind watching Lance.

“Hey, um, Keith?”

“Yeah?”

“I … really, thanks so much for staying.”

“Oh. It was nothing. I think I got the best deal, honestly.”

“Heh. Look, I don’t want to be too forward—”

“Too late for that,” Keith grins, and Lance sticks out his tongue.

“Why can you only joke when I’m trying to be sincere, you nerd? I just … I would love to, um, spend the night with you.” And Keith’s face must have turned tomato red, because he adds, “I don’t mean, like, having crazy animal sex or anything! I’m pretty sleepy, honestly. But, you know, just … just being with you. A little longer.” He laughs nervously, scratches the back of his head. “Ugh. Sorry I’m so cheesy.”

“Well,” says Keith, cheeks glowing, “maybe I like cheese.”

And oh, god, did that just come out of his mouth? Time to kiss his dignity goodbye and sink into the ground forever.

But Lance laughs, and he is adorable, so maybe looking like a complete idiot was worth it. “Aren’t you lactose intolerant?”

Keith sticks his chin out, ignores the way his face and neck are burning. “What I meant is, I’d … really like to have you over.”

Spots of pink bloom on Lance’s cheeks. Keith’s heart beats faster. “Oh. Cool.”

And so they get back to the dorm, and Lance comes down to Keith’s room carrying an armful of clothes and a toothbrush. They squeeze into Keith’s bathroom and brush their teeth together, then change – Lance into sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt, Keith into his standard uniform of boxers and oversize tee. Lance splays on Keith’s bed, watching him undress and complimenting his legs, until Keith finally crawls in beside him and rests his head on his arm.

Lance is staying this time. He’ll be here all night. Keith will wake up next to him in the morning.

“Best birthday ever,” Lance murmurs, as if in agreement, gazing at Keith with a silly little smile on his lips.

Keith shoves him gently in the chest. “Liar. You spent it at work.”

“I made money and got to go down on my cute boyfriend. I call that an excellent day.”

“Dumb,” Keith announces, and leans forward to press a kiss to Lance’s lips.

And they’ve never been able to stop at just one kiss, have they?

Finally, Lance breaks away, his nose still brushing Keith’s, his voice breathless. “Can you stop being so fucking hot?”

“No. I’m gonna keep doing it, just to spite you.”

“Hmm. I might have to ravish you, then.”

“You couldn’t ravish if your life depended on it.”

“That a challenge?” says Lance, and dives for Keith’s oversensitive collarbone.

They make out in bed for what feels like ages, Keith’s legs tangling between Lance’s, Lance’s hands twisted into Keith’s hair, thumbs stroking against his cheekbones and fingers caressing his nape. Lance’s pants are soft against Keith’s bare legs, his skin warm, his lips gentle.

It’s late and they should be sleeping, but sleep feels so overrated when he has Lance’s hands under his shirt, smoothing down his back, teasing his nipples (“Fuck, stop that!” he hisses, when it starts to feel too good). He rests his own hands on Lance’s ass, kisses down his jaw, feels the strong tendons of Lance’s neck under his lips and teeth.

“You’re gonna leave marks,” Lance gasps, not sounding altogether unhappy about this.

“Good thing it’s scarf season, huh?” he growls in response.

And it’s good and sexy and pleasant and fun – playing like this, exploring one another, finding out what feels nice, how to make each other gasp and sigh. Keith enjoys having a body for once: a rare feeling, when sometimes that body is heavy with gut-clenching nervousness, or empty from crippling sadness, or sweating and cold with senseless fear. But this makes him feel light and happy and pretty and wanted, and he laughs against Lance’s lips as they kiss – sloppy, so that they’ll need to wash their faces afterward, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

At some point they both get tired, breathy chuckles and daring touches fading into soft sighs and fingers carding gently through hair.

“I’m happy you’re here,” Keith whispers finally, into the dark. And he sees the gleam of Lance’s eyes, feels the pressure of Lance’s hand where their fingers intertwine.

“Yeah, me too,” Lance whispers back.

And all at once, an unwelcome emotion sucks at Keith’s insides, telling him this is only temporary, that someone like him can’t keep something like this for long. It feels like a chasm, yawning ahead of him, threatening to swallow him up.

It’s something that doesn’t belong in this moment. He decides his worries can wait, pushes them deep into the recesses of his mind, and squeezes Lance’s hand harder.

He ends up the big spoon, Lance curled into him, his heart beating a comforting rhythm against Keith’s ribs. It calms him down, brings him back from the edge of doubt.

Keith falls asleep with his lips quirked in a smile, and the warmth of Lance’s body nestled in his arms.

Notes:

you can now hmu on tumblr!! main is charmkvark and voltron side is lvtvr! im not very active atm but im working on setting them up so come talk to me if u wanna~ (EDIT: i'm pretty active now lol)

as always, heaps and heaps of gratitude for everyone who leaves kudos n comments, i reread them whenever i'm having a bad day and am reminded that there is good in the world bless u all <3

and thanks so much for sticking around for this long (*ﾉ∀'*) i cant believe we're almost there kids! see you next time for the last chapter!!

Chapter 12

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Lance goes home for winter break, and Keith is surprised by just how much he misses him.

Living two minutes away from Lance has become a comfort in itself. He’s started to take for granted that he doesn’t even need to put his shoes on, that he can just stick his feet in his slippers, go upstairs, and be in Lance’s arms in a matter of seconds. Now that that possibility is gone, it’s as if two things have been taken away from him: both his actual boyfriend, and the promise of him.

Keith doesn’t have a place to go back to, so he stays in his dorm room over the holidays. “What? No way, next year you’re coming home with me!” Lance crowed, when he found out. It made Keith’s heart feel warm – both at the thought of celebrating the holidays with Lance, and of being Lance’s boyfriend for another year. But it’s too late for either of them to change their plans, and besides, he doesn’t think he could handle a spontaneous visit to Lance’s allegedly huge family, even if they were okay with it.

Allura’s gone back to Britain, and Shiro and Hunk and Pidge are all leaving to be with their families, too. Keith holes up in his room for his annual three weeks of boredom.

He spends Christmas Day with one of his old foster families, who are nice enough to keep inviting him over, even now. Keith chooses to think of it as kindness, not pity – he’s learned to separate the two; he’s grown since he was fifteen and broken and angry at the world – so he accepts, if only to get out of spending Christmas staring at a wall and trying to convince himself he doesn’t need anyone.

There’s more time to kill after that, so he catches up on a lot of TV shows, plays Overwatch until dawn, and spends hours at the gym with his practice sword, imagining that he can hear the sound of snow falling outside.

Quiznak is closed over the main holidays, but once it is open, he takes his bike over and parks himself in front of Galra Empire. He plays for hours, disappearing into focus, into enemy ships exploding onscreen. I could do this for a living, he thinks, as he sends his own ship careening through the stars, dodging asteroids and hostile fire.

He tries to immerse himself completely in the game, but unwelcome thoughts come knocking, insistent and niggling at the edges of his mind. Most of them are about Lance.

What’s he doing right now? Is he thinking about me?

Lance has so many people who care about him. Even if Keith wasn’t around, he’d still have his family, and his friends. Parents and grandparents and siblings and cousins – all those people each have their own special place in Lance’s big heart. Keith finds himself feeling desperately jealous of everyone who has existed in Lance’s orbit longer than he has. After all, no amount of young passion can make up for bonds built in childhood and strengthened by time.

He sets his jaw, swerves to avoid a purple laser beam. He’s hoping he can beat his own high score, but if he starts thinking too hard about it, he’ll fuck up and die. Keith plays best on pure instinct.

He manages pretty well, for a while, but of course his traitorous mind slips back to Lance. His stomach churns with anxious tension.

If Keith were to tell him you’re becoming the most important person in my life, he’d probably get dumped on the spot. He knows it’s weird and desperate and lonely, and Lance – who values his family more than anything, and is valued by them in return – could never understand what it’s like to have someone you’ve known only a few months become the center of your world. Not that Keith would ever wish that kind of cruel understanding on him, but it still hurts, somehow – knowing that if Lance lost Keith, he’d have so many embraces to fall into, so many hands to put him back together.

If Keith lost Lance, all he’d have is his reflection and a red motorcycle and a blunted sword.

Keith’s ship crashes into oncoming debris, and the HP bar empties to zero. He rubs the bridge of his nose, exhales long and slow.

Okay, he knows he’s being melodramatic. He gets like this when he spends too much time alone – stuck in his own head, hung up on his thoughts. It’s not like he doesn’t have friends, and it’s not like he isn’t thankful for the people who’ve been there for him. He can almost hear Allura saying anxiety lies, feel her hand squeezing his shoulder.

But anxiety can be so convincing sometimes, especially when you’ve been uprooted like Keith was, when you know first-hand what it’s like to be virtually alone in the world.

His chest aches with the irrational desire to have Lance give up everything for him, for Keith to be the brightest – no, the only – star in his sky. He pushes it away, because he knows it’s unreasonable – he wants Lance to have all those people around him, to nourish his warmth; it’s what makes him Lance, what gives him that glow that is so uniquely his. But he feels it nevertheless, pricking at him, selfish and insistent: be mine, all mine.

He’s fucking it up already, getting too invested in this. It’s so pathetic.

I wish I could be less …

Less what?

Less agitated. Less possessive. Less frightened.

Less Keith.

***

It’s not all turmoil and angst, though. In his clearer moments, when he goes for walks in the sunshine reflecting off bright snow, or is snuggled up in bed with his phone and a warm cup of tea, Keith remembers that he is very blessed.

Lance messages him every day, and the texts make Keith smile, even when he can’t think of any good replies. He tries to answer all of them – he doesn’t want Lance to think he doesn’t care; that’s happened before, and it made him feel awful – but sometimes he has no idea what to say. He doesn’t understand how words come so naturally to Lance, when they evade Keith like water slipping through the spaces between his fingers.

They Skype each other on New Year’s Day. Lance is curled up in a big green armchair, dressed in soft pajamas, and god, Keith has missed that crooked smile.

“So, um, my mom knows about us. I mean, she’s my mom. I tell her everything.” Lance grins shyly. “She really wants to meet you. She says you’re invited next time I go home.”

Keith is sure his ears are pink. “Oh. Cool.”

A little girl appears from the side and tries to clamber into Lance’s lap. Her complexion is lighter than his, but their eyes and hair are almost exactly the same color. “Who’re you taaalking to?” she asks, as Lance balances the laptop with one hand, keeps the kid steady with the other.

“Mi amorcito,” he replies, lifting the girl off and making kissy faces in her direction. She shrieks in the deeply grossed-out way that is unique to small children and runs off. Lance turns back to Keith, shrugging. “Sorry.”

Holy shit, he’s so cute. “Was that your sister?”

“Uh-huh. Kids.” Lance rolls his eyes. “So, have you been up to anything?”

Keith shrugs. “Just chilling, mostly. Playing games.”

Lance shakes his head. “Man. I’ll have to take you on so many dates to make up for this. Unacceptable, dude.”

Keith grins. “Nice,” he says, and Lance winks at him. “How about you?”

“Hmm, well, yesterday we did fireworks, and my cousins and I got completely wasted after the little kids went to bed. Then my uncle caught us. Long story short, it was very undignified and I’m hungover.” He yawns, stretches. Keith can hear loud voices in the background, speaking a cocktail of both Spanish and English. “And I think I’ve gained ten pounds. I swear, nobody in this house does anything but cook and yell.”

Keith laughs, wishing he could be curled up next to Lance, that he could touch him, smell him. He hadn’t known it was possible to feel someone’s absence like a physical ache. “I miss you,” Keith says, in a sudden burst of sincerity.

Lance looks at Keith with a fondness that only intensifies the pangs of longing in his chest. “Yeah. I miss you too.”

***

“Keith, you know I’ve been invited to this YouTuber convention, right?” says Allura, slipping a hair band from around her wrist and tying her long hair back into a ponytail.

Keith glances up from his books. Break is over, and it’s back to the grindstone. He isn’t unhappy about this – it’s a return to normalcy for him, now that all his friends are back. Now that Lance is back.

“Yeah, you mentioned it.”

“Well … I sort of need somebody to stop by my flat while I’m gone. To water the plants and get the mail, you know?” She twirls her pen between her fingers.

“Sure, I’ll do it.”

“Brilliant, thank you!” And there it is – Allura’s most mischievous smile. “You know, if you wanted to bring Lance, you could stay the night there.”

Keith straightens up, sputtering. “Wait a sec, what?”

“Come on, Keith. Your dormitory isn’t exactly the height of romance.” She leans in, still smirking. “Wouldn’t it be nice to get away for a while?”

Oh, geez. Sometimes he wonders if this relationship would have gone anywhere without Allura. She’s done more heavy lifting than he has, honestly.

“I … but it’s your place.”

“And I’m letting you have it, if you want. Look, I know it’s important to spend time together away from everything else.” She gives him a fond smile across the table, and he feels himself caving, smiling back. “Just sleep on the sofa bed and make sure you leave the place the way you found it, and I promise I won’t ask too many questions.”

His stomach lurches. “Allura, oh my god.”

She laughs, clear and high. “Oh, Keith, live a little.”

He stares down at his textbook, the words all seeming to melt together on the page. The area where Allura lives is calm and pleasant, removed from campus without being too far out. It does feel a bit like its own tiny dimension – and Keith has good memories from there, of safe and happy times spent with a friend. And he could be with Lance there. Wake up with him, have coffee together in a real kitchen. Oh no – is he blushing?

“Okay, fine. And … thanks,” he mumbles.

“I’ll leave you the key, then. Oh, and … I really do expect you to water the plants, you know? So don’t get too busy.”

“Allura!”

She suddenly becomes very absorbed in studying, a grin still tugging at her lips.

***

When Keith told Lance about Allura’s suggestion, he made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a shriek. Then he started going on about how it was like visiting a royal residence or something (“aren’t there rules?”), making Keith glad that fame is something he just doesn’t get. Lance got over it eventually, but now that Keith’s unlocking Allura’s door, his babbling is back in full force.

“I can’t believe she trusts us like this. What if we dug up some kind of dirt on her and posted it online? Or auctioned her stuff off on eBay? I mean, she doesn’t really even know me. I could be some kind of pervert!”

“Yeah. She knows me, though, so I guess she figures I can keep you in line.”

“Wow, Keith, what a wonderful and reassuring response.”

Keith grins. “Dude, chill.”

“You’re telling me to chill. You’re telling me to chill,” Lance huffs, as they shrug out of their jackets and take off their boots and hats.

Allura’s apartment is small, but when you’re confined to a dorm room most of the time, it feels plenty spacious. They go inside, and Keith gives Lance the brief tour: kitchen, bathroom, living room. Allura really does have an excessive amount of plants: succulents, leafy green things, and a large pot of big pink flowers that smell peculiarly sweet.

Allura’s own bed is tucked away in an alcove in the living room, behind a beaded curtain. She has already unfolded the couch for them into a slightly wider, if less comfortable, bed.

They’ve brought their own sheets. Keith flushes. He cannot believe she is actually endorsing this when she knows he and Lance have such trouble keeping their hands off each other.

Lance, Lance, Lance. Keith adores him, and that very affection frightens him half to death. How can he tell him about this? That he’s fallen so hard, so fast? That he’s terrified of everything falling apart?

The Mac computer in the corner of the room has a post-it stuck to the edge of the monitor, with the password for the guest account scribbled on it in Allura’s looping handwriting. Lance logs in as Keith starts making the bed. A few seconds later, there’s music pouring from the speakers, and Lance is sashaying over to Keith, taking his hands and mouthing the words to the song as his hips sway to the rhythm. It’s Teenage Dream, by Katy Perry. Keith’s starting to believe there isn’t a single four-chord pop song by a female artist that Lance doesn’t like.

“You can put your hands on me in my skin-tight jeans,” Lance sings along, and he really does take Keith’s hands and place them on his body, running them down his hips and thighs. Lance’s own hands are warm, and the way he moves is effortlessly sensual. He grins like a cat all the while, and Keith blushes, but hopes he manages to look stern.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m seducing you,” says Lance, waggling his eyebrows, and kisses the palm of Keith’s hand.

“You’re embarrassing me.”

“Hmm, por qué no los dos?”

“… I hate that I understood what you just said.”

Lance bursts out laughing, and ugh, he’s so beautiful when he laughs, all white teeth and crinkled nose and dorky, perfect charm. “Because of the meme?”

“Maybe.”

“I knew it! We’re the meme dream team, babe.”

“You’re the actual worst,” says Keith, but he’s smiling, damn it.

“That gif is the best gif on the internet and you know it.” Then Lance’s mouth is being pressed to his, and fine – Keith might be really, really okay with this.

They dance to Lance’s shitty playlist in Allura’s apartment, surrounded by her plants and books and good intentions. Lance’s arms are around Keith’s waist, Keith’s around Lance’s neck, and sometimes they kiss a little, and sometimes Lance gives his butt a squeeze, then looks ridiculously smug about it afterward.

For dinner, Lance orders Indian. They eat it with excellent naan bread and watch Mad Max: Fury Road, because even they need a break from bad movies sometimes, and this one is the literal best.

By the time the movie is over and they’ve cleaned up after their meal, it’s already dark outside. Allura keeps a string of star-shaped Christmas lights on the wall behind the couch, a detail that Lance falls in love with instantly. He finds the switch, turns off the ceiling lamp, and they get back onto the sofa bed, curling into each other under the pale yellow light.

Lance is warm, and Keith cuddles closer to him, wishing he could just enjoy this without the insecurity pricking at his heart.

“Babe, you okay?” Lance says, smoothing Keith’s hair back from his forehead.

“Huh?”

“You look tense. Maybe I’m imagining it?”

Lance’s expression is open and concerned … and Keith promised himself he’d try to communicate better, didn’t he?

All he has to do is get the words past his lips. You can do it. Come on.

“We’re going to fight,” Keith blurts. Wow, good job, dumbass!

“What? Like, right now? Are you challenging me?”

“No.” Why is he like this? Regroup, regroup. “I mean. In the future. Even if everything’s fine now. We’re gonna get annoyed with each other. Hurt each other. I just … I can’t stop thinking about everything that could go wrong. I’m always … I’m worried about it. All the time.”

Now that he’s said it, he almost wants to cry. He is not letting that happen.

Lance has gone very still beside him. “Well, I mean, yeah,” he says. “At some point, something probably will go wrong.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“Well … it’s not like I can predict the future. So I just focus on you being here with me now. And on treating you right.” Lance’s hand finds his, intertwines their fingers. Keith sighs.

“I wish I could do that.”

“Is it anxiety stuff? Stopping you?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’m a lot better than I was …”

“Glad to hear that.” Lance squeezes his hand.

“Mm. It was the worst when I was in and out of foster homes. I either felt like I couldn’t trust people at all, or like I’d only disappoint them. I’ve improved, but … if I lose touch with people for whatever reason, or if I have a fight with them, I convince myself they’d never want to hear from me again. Like, I know I’m alone, more or less, but they aren’t, so why would they want me to bother them? And I just … I can’t. Pick up the phone, or whatever. I just can’t. And I’m worried about that happening with you.”

Oh, boy. Has he ever said so much at once?

“Keith, sweetheart …” And Lance pulls him close, kisses his forehead, wraps him so, so tight. “I promise to spam you with memes every day, so you know I am always, always interested in getting on your nerves. Okay?”

Keith smiles against Lance’s chest. “Cool.”

“Jokes aside, you’re not a burden.” Lance hesitates for a moment, then says, “You know, my sister studied psychology. She might be able to hook you up with somebody good. Like, if you want a professional to talk to.”

He flinches a little at the thought, but he knows it’s an offer worth considering. “Thank you. I’ll think about it.”

They lie in each other’s arms for a while longer, listening to the silence, Keith watching the play of shadows on Lance’s face.

“I’m scared too, you know?” Lance says softly, after a while. “Of getting too attached, and you … not wanting me. I mean, I’m so intense. I know it gets annoying.”

“You’re not annoying. I mean, not much.”

“Rude.” Lance knocks their foreheads together.

“And … don’t ever worry. About me not wanting you.”

“Back at you.” Lance chews his lip. “Uh … there’s another thing, though. Don’t laugh at me, okay?”

“Promise.”

“I’m afraid you’ll realize you’re out of my league.”

Keith nearly chokes. “What?”

“I mean, come on. You ride a motorcycle. And you’re gorgeous. You’re all athletic and muscly and … and everything you do is so aloof and cool.” He sighs. “Like, I’m worried one day you’ll open your eyes and see you got a raw deal.”

Keith can’t believe what he is hearing. Lance, who is so radiant, so charismatic. Lance, who’s funny and friendly and thoughtful and kind. Out of his league? Is he kidding?

“Lance. I tried to order takeout once and spent twenty minutes pacing around to mentally prepare myself. Then I hung up immediately once they answered. I am not cool.”

“Then that’s because you’re hot. Like, super hot.”

Keith can’t even bother to be flustered at the compliment, just grabs Lance’s shoulders and shakes him. “Lance, have you seen yourself?”

“Yeah. I’m cute. But I’m not you. You’re, like, ridiculously attractive.”

“Well …” Keith frowns, hesitates. “I think you’re beautiful.”

Lance’s expression changes to something Keith has never seen before. “Oh.”

“Yup.” He tucks Lance’s hair behind his ear, for longer than he needs to, just to keep touching him. Lance stares back at him, blue eyes wide. Keith’s heart throbs.

“Hey, Keith?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

For a moment, Keith’s heart stops in his chest.

Lance’s cheeks are bright red, and Keith’s head is spinning. His thoughts try to keep him grounded, but he feels like he’s floating away, reaching for the stars.

“Like, sorry if I’m coming on too strong,” Lance babbles, “but it’s … that’s how I feel, and …”

“I …” This is not the time to be tongue-tied! Keith wills his lips to move. “I love you too.”

I said it.

The words seem to grow around them, filling out the spaces between them, warming Keith down to his soul.

“Fucking rad,” says Lance.

All of a sudden, uncontrollable, giddy laughter rises up in Keith, and he’s giggling, grabbing onto Lance, feeling his soft skin under his hands, his breath mingling with Keith’s breath, their noses rubbing together. They roll around like that, just laughing, just clinging, and Keith loses track of everything except sheer joy.

It takes a while before they can bear to disentangle from each other. Once they do, they change into their pajamas, make tea, and drink it in bed together, Keith’s head resting on Lance’s shoulder.

Lance clears his throat. “So, subject change. Have you thought any more about, like … sex and stuff?”

Keith feels himself blushing. Apparently they are not done talking. “How do you mean?”

“Um, just if there’s anything … you wanna try, or ask about, or whatever. I want us to be on the same page.”

“Well, you’re my boyfriend” – god, he loves being able to say that – “so, I mean, yeah. I think about it.”

Lance’s expression goes … the word is squishy. God, he is so adorable. “Have you … I mean, I have you done anything before?”

“Um, not really. Not like … what I’ve done with you.”

“Yeah, same. More or less.”

“Cool.”

“Cool. Wow, I can’t believe we’re having sex.”

“Yeah.”

“Nice.” Lance giggles, and Keith sets his teacup on the table beside the couch so he can pull him in closer, feel him warm and solid against himself. Lance’s arm goes around Keith’s shoulders. “Actually, uh … I mean, I’ve been thinking about stuff too, and I’ve realized I’m kind of uncomfortable with … you know.”

“What?” His face feels warm, but he knows this is an important conversation to have.

“Well … anal.” Lance’s shoulders are up around his ears. “I’ve seen it in porn, and … I dunno, it squicks me a little? Like, hygiene-wise? And it seems like it’d hurt.”

“It’s not … I mean, you kind of get used to it.”

Lance’s eyes widen. “I thought you said you hadn’t done stuff!”

“No, um. I haven’t … with a guy, or anything. Just … by myself.”

“Okay, I admit that is kind of hot,” Lance mutters, and Keith elbows him. “Look, it’s not that I mind the thought of, well. Having you inside me.” And the way he says it is almost shy, like the expression on his face. How does Lance say this stuff without exploding? Keith is about to burst into flames. “I just thought you should know.”

“No, I get it.” Ugh, he’s so flushed. “I mean, if you’re worried about it hurting, I wouldn’t mind, uh … bottoming, either. Like, at all.”

“Oh man. I’m going to embroider that quote and frame it.” Keith digs his elbow into Lance’s ribs again, and he yelps. “Ow! Nah, but … I’m not totally opposed to the thought forever and always. I’m just not feeling it right now.”

“Sure. That’s totally fine.” Keith hesitates. “Everything is good with you, so …”

Lance blushes, reaches out, and clasps Keith’s hand. Keith loves everything about it, the way it feels, the way it looks – Lance’s dark long fingers between his shorter, paler ones.

“I’m so …” He bites his lip, then blurts all at once, “I’m so happy I’m with you.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

They stare at each other, and Keith feels his stomach stir – yeah, that is definitely tension in the air. Who are they kidding? It’s been building up all day.

A seductive smile touches Lance’s lips. He’s obviously feeling it too. “Hey, you wanna do it?”

“What do you think?”

“So that’s a yes,” says Lance, and Keith rolls on top of him, shuts him up with a kiss.

And he’s so hungry with Lance under him, overwhelmed by a burning need to hold and kiss and claim. Lance’s skinny hips bite into Keith’s; he loves the way that feels, grinds down into him a little, and the breath nearly goes right out of him when Lance lifts his pelvis to reciprocate. Lance’s arms twist around Keith’s neck, his tongue quests into Keith’s mouth; he’s delicious, gorgeous, addictive.

Their clothes come off, one piece at a time, leaving them in just their underwear. Keith loves Lance’s smooth brown skin – so perfect and unblemished, moles dotting his back like constellations. Keith can never get rid of the breakouts on his own skin; Lance fascinates him, in all his softness.

Smirking, Lance takes Keith’s hands and runs them down his chest, letting him feel ribs and muscle, guiding him from his nipples to his happy trail. His thigh is wedged between Keith’s legs, and Keith rubs up against it, sighs at the friction and at the way it makes Lance’s breath come fast.

“Good?” Lance breathes.

“Mm … yeah.”

Keith kisses down Lance’s body, down his flat taut stomach, mouth ghosting over his boxers all the way to the tender skin of his inner thighs. Lance is flexible, effortlessly propping his long legs on Keith’s shoulders to let Keith kiss his calves, touch his ass, run his knuckles over his crotch. Lance’s back arches prettily as Keith kisses up between his legs again, passing over the bulge there – he mouths at it, teasing without giving in, and Lance makes the most fantastic, needy sound.

Lance rolls over onto all fours, and Keith kisses his nape, bites his ear. Moaning softly, Lance pushes his ass up into Keith’s crotch, and Keith shudders at the way that feels through the layers of thin fabric. He rucks Lance’s boxers down, slips his hand to his dick, sucks in a breath at the way he whines and stretches into Keith, inviting him further in.

It turns him on, having Lance submissive and willing. He didn’t know it was possible to feel a deep-seated desire like this, that culminates in him feeling almost more satisfied from making Lance come into his hand, back arched and arms trembling, than from his own shuddering orgasm. He reaches it grinding against Lance from behind, marveling at his soft hair and perfect skin and oh … “Lance,” he whimpers, and Lance hides his face in the pillow, ears ruby-red.

They catch their breath lying beside each other, sweaty and grinning. Keith’s eyes sweep down Lance’s body, lithe and slender; he feels his heart pounding in his throat.

Neither of them have had enough, so they’re at it again more or less immediately, soft kissing quickly seguing into more. Keith ends up on top this time, too, but now he’s the one giving Lance a show. He straddles him, mimics what Lance did earlier by taking Lance’s hands and running them down his chest and torso, nice and slow and sensual. It flusters Lance, a flush staining his cheeks, but Keith gasps and shivers too, when Lance’s fingers brush his skin in unexpected patterns.

Lance’s hands come to rest around Keith’s waist, and Keith starts to ride him, loving the way their bodies feel against each other, the warmth and softness of their palms and skin and eyes. Lance’s hand is down between their legs, touching both of them, and Keith rests his own hand on top of it.

He looks at Lance as he rolls against him, and at first Lance stares back, eyes dark with lust. Then Keith sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, tosses his head to flick the hair out of his face, and Lance visibly swallows, squeezes his eyes shut, and mumbles incoherently as he presses Keith down harder.

Lance’s hand goes to Keith’s hair, strokes down his sweaty neck and side. Keith grabs it, brings it to his mouth, and sucks on Lance’s long, pretty fingers, relishing the heavy blush that seeps into his cheeks. Fine, maybe he has a bit of an oral fixation. It’s a little embarrassing, but judging by the way he shudders, Lance doesn’t seem to mind.

Keith leans down to kiss Lance’s lips, moaning soft and drawn-out as they guide each other over the edge. And Lance says his name this time – “Keith, Keith, Keith,” he whispers into his hair, and holds him so close Keith’s not sure where he ends and Lance begins.

And Keith loves Lance. Keith loves Lance.

They cuddle afterward, pinky fingers hooked together, and talk about all kinds of things, make each other blush and laugh.

“Your butt is really cute,” Lance is saying, patting Keith’s ass and yawning, and by the time Keith’s finished rolling his eyes, Lance is already asleep.

His heart squeezes in the best of ways, and he lies there, just watching him, his slack jaw and long eyelashes and his ridiculous hand still resting on Keith’s butt.

He kisses Lance’s forehead, very softly, drapes an arm over him, and eventually drifts off to sleep.

***

Keith wakes up the next morning alone in bed, his face pressed to the tangled mass of once-crisp sheets. The whole place still smells just a little bit unfamiliar – a reminder that the space isn’t his, that he is only a visitor – but Lance’s scent lingers, too. Keith inhales deeply, feels a sleepy smile tugging at his lips.

He can hear Lance moving around in the kitchen. There’s the hiss of a frying pan, and the thought of Lance acting all domestic nearly makes Keith burst out laughing at the same time as it fills his chest with warmth.

He’s singing to himself out there. Keith rolls over onto his side, the comforter cool against his bare chest, so that he can hear better. It’s a song he doesn’t recognize; it takes him a second to realize that the words are in Spanish. There are moments when his singing actually sounds good, but he switches to a ridiculous high-pitched falsetto as soon as there’s a note he can’t reach. Keith’s mouth curves into a grin all on its own – his reflexes are as crazy about Lance as his conscious mind, apparently.

Lance hums indistinctly for a while, something sizzles in the pan, and then the song changes. “With a taste of your lips I’m on a ride …”

Britney, huh? Keith drags a hand down his face. It is dawning on him that his main rival in love will always be generic pop.

He swings his legs out of bed, pads into the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth (he’s angling for morning kisses, he admits it), and pulls a shirt over his head before he joins Lance in the kitchen.

He finds Lance with his baggy jeans low around his hips, pajama shirt on, feet bare, flipping a pancake. Keith’s heart does this fantastic thing where it unfolds into something like eleven different dimensions.

“Morning,” Keith mumbles.

“My lonelineeess is killing meee,” Lance sings in reply, clearly having moved on in his quest through Britney’s discography, “I must confess, I still belieeeve—” He tips the pancake onto the stack on a plate beside the stove, then moseys over and takes Keith into his arms.

Keith squeezes him back, every lanky, noodly, perfect inch of him, as Lance hums the rest of the chorus and nuzzles into his neck. Keith locks his arms around the small of Lance’s back, kisses his temple; Lance’s soft hair tickles his nose.

“I made breakfast,” Lance says against Keith’s jaw, presses a kiss there.

“Mm.”

Lance kisses up to his lips, and god, Keith loves kissing Lance – even without tongue, like this, just the soft dry press of their mouths against each other, the scent of Lance’s skin filling his head.

“You want some pancakes?” Lance murmurs against Keith’s mouth.

“Hunk taught you well, huh?”

“Hey! This is my mom’s recipe, okay?”

Honestly, what Keith wants most of all is Lance, to tangle in the sheets with him and feel his warmth against his back – but seeing him smile over homemade pancakes isn’t all that bad, either. “Yeah, I want some.”

“Of course you do. Go sit down.”

Keith slumps into one of the chairs by Allura’s kitchen table, reminding himself to water the spider plants crowding the windowsill. He watches Lance from behind – the smooth, sexy shape of him, narrow waist widening into strong shoulders – and remembers that he is a lucky, lucky guy.

Then Lance prances over, and sets a plate of pancakes topped with maple syrup and sliced banana in front of Keith. He kisses him on the mouth before sitting down on the opposite side and digging in.

“We’re so cute, Keith,” he says, with his mouth full. “Like, this whole situation is absolutely adorable.”

“Meh, it’s all right,” Keith replies, grinning as Lance kicks him under the table.

“Hey, do you think we’re being so fucking cute because this is Allura’s place? I mean, she’s basically a pastel blog in human form, so maybe we’ve like, caught aesthetics from the air or something.”

“We’re being fucking cute because we’re in love, Lance,” says Keith, and he wishes he could keep the look on Lance’s face forever.

***

As they’re getting ready to go home – Allura’s plants watered and her apartment back in order – Lance says, “Hey, maybe we should just take off somewhere. Get on your bike and drive and work for a living. I could waitress. You’d be … a hitman for hire.”

“What?”

“Shut up, it’s in character. We’ll live in a seedy motel and buy a crappy pickup truck and lie in it and look at the stars, and we’ll make love every night and discover America.”

And part of Keith really does want to say yeah, let’s do it, because he is so in love with Lance that the rules no longer apply. He settles for cuffing Lance over the head, then kisses him until he stops giggling.

They do get on Keith’s bike, but only make it as far as a fast-food joint where they stop for lunch before driving back home. And it doesn’t matter that they’re not going on a big cross-country adventure, because Keith’s already found his destination, right here, wrapped in Lance’s arms.

***

There is no special occasion – Hunk is just a kind and wonderful person who loves his friends, and manages to convince everyone to come to dinner-and-karaoke night. As in, literally everyone: Pidge’s brother Matt – a slightly taller, slightly more freckled version of Pidge – shows up, and so does Shiro, who (of course) turns out to be great pals with Matt, and Hunk’s now-definitely-girlfriend Shay is there, and Allura insists on coming too: she loves how Hunk was never the least bit starstruck by her. That boy is truly the chosen one.

So there they are, a ragtag group of nerdy kids and Instagram queens and whatever else they might be called, laughing at bad jokes over deliciously greasy food. Hunk and Shay hold hands and are voted most adorable couple of the evening, to which Lance takes great offense, because he hates losing at anything. Hunk then performs the sickeningly cute act of feeding Shay a French fry, and Lance, struck by inspiration, holds one out for Keith to take.

He feels stupid eating out of Lance’s hand, and says so – “This is fucking stupid.” But he leans in anyway – only to have Lance pull the fry out of reach at the last minute and collapse laughing as Keith’s teeth snap closed on air.

“Aw, Lance, low blow,” says Hunk, and Keith puts on his best look of wounded shock, turning his face away as though he’s actually upset. Soon it has Lance apologizing profusely, taking Keith’s hand and saying baby, I’m sorry until Keith turns back to him and sticks out his tongue, and Lance looks absolutely horrified as he realizes he’s been played.

“Whipped,” Pidge coughs into their hand. Lance glares, but he is taking Keith’s hand under the table, and Keith’s cheeks are warm with joy.

This is good. They’re good.

“Hey, guys, throwback to when Lance thought he hated Keith because Keith is better at sports,” Pidge announces loudly, and Lance glares harder.

“Don’t forget he spilled coffee on me,” Keith adds. Lance’s mouth falls open in horror.

“Traitor! I trusted you.”

“Man. I can’t believe he actually managed to bag you,” Pidge says to Keith, smirking.

“Hmm, well. He’s not that bad,” Keith replies, looking over at Lance and grinning, and Lance scoffs, putting a hand to his heart.

“Excuse you! I am an absolute delight.”

“Lance is a delight,” Hunk cheers, ever-reliable.

The conversation moves on in another direction, Shiro catching Keith’s eye across the table and shooting him an encouraging smile. Keith looks away, embarrassed but pleased, Lance’s hand still in his.

After they finish eating, they move on to karaoke. It’s Lance’s time to shine, and his dramatic performances more or less make up for Keith’s categorical refusal to get anywhere near the mike. The entire thing is just as cheesy and awkward as it should be, culminating when Allura pushes Shiro into singing an embarrassing duet.

While Hunk is belting out Frank Sinatra, Lance leans over and presses a quick kiss to Keith’s cheek. Keith feels relaxed and safe and warm. I’m so happy.

He’s happy. The way he … does he dare think it? The way he deserves to be.

And the boy Keith loves smiles at him, as if to say he agrees.

Heart dancing, Keith smiles back.