Chapter Text
Lance takes it upon himself to come up with at least some exclusive moves that could fill in the gaps left behind in their dance routine. He and Keith have been going over this as a team, but Keith’s part is undeniably bigger, and that’s just not right. They need to divide it at least a little more evenly to prove to the judges that they know what they're doing. Well, not really, in Lance’s case, at least.
The moment he kicks Keith out for a veeeery long water break, he goes over a few breakdancing power moves. “Nah, too intense for this song.”
Then a few drops. “Nope, it’s gonna look weird.”
And then a brilliant idea surfaces in his clouded brain, momentarily distracting the three monkeys piloting his body. Shit, he's a genius. Someone give him a medal. They’re going to kill it on the stage.
“Oh-kayyy,” Lance hums and fixes the snapback, pushing it back. “I can use this.”
He listens to the song a few more times and chooses the best timing, freestyling awkwardly, trying to combine some ideas.
18…20…24.
Thirty seconds. Perfect.
Lance whips out his good old workout playlist, scrolling down the infinite list filled with his favorite lady singers right until he finds the song that he needs, lowering the volume just in case.
‘Make it shake’ rings too damn familiar, setting his body to motion without a single beat of hesitation. He doesn’t really remember the last time he danced to it. Certainly, he tried to after that incident at the ‘Black Lion’? However, the memory of it is so blurry that he can no longer recall anything. Lance does remember the blinding frustration, the resounding words.
Never again.
He crosses his arms in front of his chest, keeping them parallel to his collarbones, weight shifting from one foot to another in a smooth wave. The move flows easily enough. Still got it!
He can definitely use it, it’s just too damn fitting for this routine. He can also incorporate some of Keith’s choice moves as well, bringing back that vivid memory from a year ago, keeping it alive.
Maybe Keith will actually remember him this time? It’s a scary thought, but it’s one that he entertains every now and then. He desperately wants a repeat of that masquerade, especially now that he knows that it’s bound to go differently.
Unless Keith’s opinion of him is going to change the moment he finds out that Lance is that mystery douchebag in a snapback. He certainly fucked himself over with this one, hasn’t he?
Lance continues practicing, shedding his sweaty shirt and going over a variety of combinations, the time limit kind of scaring him. Keith has placed his trust in him and he isn’t about to betray it a second time.
At the same time, Keith lurks just out of sight, frozen stiff. At this point, he must look like an impressively realistic statue carved from ice.
Wait a minute.
He's pretty sure that he recognizes these moves, this song. No, scratch that – he definitely does. And if these faded memories fail him, that snapback certainly doesn’t.
Knees weak, he slides down the wall and closes his eyes, the heavy curtain keeping him hidden.
Well. This makes a whole lot more sense now. Especially that strange dream, starring a hot stranger at a nameless nightclub, dressed in neon blues, all long tan limbs, and… Lance’s confident voice.
Talk about fate and déjà vu, huh?
“Damn,” Keith exhales to the point there’s no more breath left in his constricting lungs. “Played me like nobody’s business.”
>> Hunk G.
Can I ask for a small favor?
>>Cinnamon roll
Ask away!!! ; )
>>Hunk G.
I know this is going to sound a little weird but could you –
Hunk snorts and whips out his chem kit.
“Yooo, Keith! Uh, how long have you been standing there?”
He’s nervous. Good.
“I just got here. Let’s continue.”
Working together with Lance and switching up the vital parts of this choreography makes Keith’s patience thin out rapidly, especially considering the fact that he isn’t much for socializing and he’s been surrounded by people for four days now. Four long, grueling days.
He and Lance agree on a lot of things but Keith’s hard-ass attitude is hard to change in the span of a few days, especially when he remembers just how important this song is to him.
His last song, their last song. Before the shooting, before everything they’ve ever worked for got set aflame, one last dance that's never been practiced. It was Keith’s first attempt to do something for Shiro for once instead of constantly relying on the older man, asking for advice on the moves and incorporating them into their routines.
And now this thing with Lance, it’s throwing off his game completely. Needless to say, the dance instructor doesn’t appreciate it.
“Look, what’s got your panties in a twist?” Lance finally snaps a few hours later, eyebrow twitching. He’s worn out and looks like the devil himself. He has pretty much no time to chill and fix his appearance, and damn, how could he forget this one tiny, insignificant detail – they’re really goddamn pressed for time. “Let’s just go over it one last time and take a break before you decide to go ‘homicide mode’.“
“It’s not funny, McClain,” Keith snaps, pushing messy strands of hair away from his burning eyes. “Don’t try to bullshit your way out of this. We don’t have much time left.”
“Jeez, man, I was kidding.”
“And as I said, not funny. Just do your goddamn part without complaining for once, okay!? I’m not here to babysit you through this one.” Irritated, Keith takes a swig from a water bottle and glares some lingering people away. They scurry away immediately, scared. “This’d be so much easier if we had left it how I designed it. Shiro wouldn’t complain. Take him as an example if you want to keep up with me.”
The insensitive, hurtful words slip away before he can try to hold them in, but Keith’s way too pissy. Perhaps a small, petty part of him wants for them to sting, wants to take out his frustrations on Lance’s poor, unsuspecting head.
The brunet’s shoulders sag at that, his mouth hanging open. He looks like a sopping wet dog who got kicked out into a thunderstorm, eyebrows furrowed lightly.
Lance takes in a steadying, shuddering breath, inspecting the floor as though it’s the most amazing, interesting thing out there. As though it has a valid explanation for Keith’s horrendous behavior. He doesn’t even bother to fake a smile, only sighing out a defeated “I’m sorry that I’m not Shiro.”
He quickly gathers his belongings and leaves.
Keith wants to punch the mirror until it shatters. This is low, even for him.
“What the fuck is wrong with me…?” he groans once he's alone, running a shaky hand over his face.
Em glares at him as though she wants to set his mullet on fire, peach-pink lips thinned out.
“Where’s Lance?” Keith asks tentatively, feeling himself shrivel under the short girl’s intense gaze.
Em eyes him warily, as though she’s considering whether she should answer the question or tell him to go fuck himself. Her shoulders drop when she deems Keith’s appearance guilt-riddled enough for her liking. “Third floor, I think. It’s not a good idea to seek him out right now,” she mumbles, voice tinged with sadness on her brother’s behalf.
He’s in the wrong here. He knows it. “Thank you anyway.”
The girl huffs, suddenly pissed off. “Lance likes you a lot, you know. If you hurt his feelings, I’ll hurt you,” she threatens, snappy.
“That’s fair.”
Em kicks his shin. Pretty hard. “Apologize to him, don’t be a dick.”
Well, if Lance wants to kill him for seeking him out, at least he can chalk it up to the extremely intimidating sister, glaring at him as though she wants to see his kidneys get pecked out by a flock of ravens.
Shiro seems just as disappointed with him, but he doesn’t say anything. He stands behind Em and stares his partner down until the other rounds a corner.
Keith only truly dares to seek out the brunet a few hours later, with only six hours remaining until the final review.
True to his younger sibling’s words, Keith finds Lance in the third-floor hall, which is, naturally, off-limits, but keeping the other away is impossible. Keith tries to keep his steps as light as possible, ready to check on the other first and only then assess whether he should give it a few extra hours. Hours that they don’t have.
Keith doesn’t have the time to do any once-overs because he finds Lance curled up on the floor, rubbing at his ankle, banging a fist against the floor, and muffling curses whenever he probes at the injury too much.
Keith’s by his side in a heartbeat. “Are you okay!?” he falls to his knees next to his partner, hands hovering over the injured leg.
Lance recoils from him, wincing a little. His teeth painfully dig into his lower lip. “Peachy!”
“You don’t seem peachy, more like ‘lemony’. Let me take a look!” Keith shakes his head. Now's really not the time. Besides, he is tired of reasoning with the other, as though he’s some disobedient, petulant child in need of a scolding.
“Ha ha. Hilarious,” Lance groans through grit teeth, eyebrows furrowed. “Here’s a thought, Mullet - don’t fucking touch me. I got this.” Lance says, even though he clearly does not. He looks in serious need of some painkillers and elastic bandages.
“Stop tossing around, you’re hurting yourself more. Let me.“ He smacks away Lance’s twitchy fingers, lightly probing the leg. It earns him a whimpering hiss. “Looks like an old trauma with too much strain put on it.” Keith glares. “Let me guess. You locked yourself up and started overworking.”
Lance’s nostrils flare with indignation. He tries to slide out of Keith’s reach. “I’m fine, okay!? Let’s just get this done. Ten minutes of rest and I’ll be as good as new,” he lies, knowing perfectly well that it’s only going to get worse after this. He never should’ve tried to copy RB, this is what happens. A life-long ligament trauma, and now, degradation in front of the judges yet again. Yay! This day keeps getting better and better. “I do my part, you do yours, we pretend that we’re Bonnie and Clyde of the dance world, slay our competition, hopefully not get verbally shanked, head home, and never see each other again. Sounds like the perfect plan, right?”
“Lance-“
“I mean, I’m just a bother to you, right!? I don’t know what I was expecting. Hah. I never should’ve signed up for any of this. You probably think of me as some incompetent obstacle holding you back.“
“Lan-“
“I know that I’m not Shiro, and will never be Shiro, but I don’t want to fuck this up for you! Argh! I just can’t be like the two of you, alright!? I’m just dumb Lance with big dreams. Ugh, now Allura will hate me! Estúpido, estúpido, estúpido-“ Lance looks close to smacking his leg in frustration.
Keith’s patience snaps like a twig.
“For the love of- will you just shut up already!?” He grips Lance’s slimmer hands in his, holding tight enough to leave behind bruises. He catches his partner's wild gaze. “Do you even hear yourself? Are you seriously that dense? Lance, you may not be Shiro, but that’s why you’re good. You’re your own goddamn person.”
The brunet takes in a sharp inhale, eyes gleaming with unshed tears. Keith continues. “I took it out on you. It was a damn shitty thing to do and I’m sorry, but goddamn. Stop comparing yourself to others. You have your own dance style that’s unique, and if we manage to pull this off, you’ll get to see just how well we match! And we match pretty damn well, Lance. I’ve known this from day one. I could’ve picked anyone, and I still went for your arrogant ass! And do you know why? Because I saw potential.”
“You’re just saying this to make me feel better!” Lance chokes out around a sob, a lone tear slipping down a tanned cheek. His shoulders are shaking uncontrollably.
Keith’s throat is tight as he softens his grip and catches the straying droplet with his thumb, tone gentle. “No… I'd never say this if I didn’t mean every single word. Shiro… He’s Shiro, okay? He’s good, it’s undeniable, but you gotta remember that you are you. Just as good in your own way.” Keith lines their foreheads together, giving the brown strands an awkward pat as he looks into his partner's startingly blue eyes. “I took it out on you because of my own personal issues. This... This is the last dance that I actually worked on very hard. It was supposed to be for me and Shiro, true. I was mad because you were ruining that vision, I guess. But this. This is good too. We can make it work. I – I just always feel guilty that he can no longer dance. He could, and yet, he took those bullets for me.”
Lance’s breath stutters against Keith’s damp lips. His eyes well up with a fresh wave of tears, as another silent sob rakes his lean frame. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”
Strong arms wrap around Keith’s stiff shoulders, their hold surprisingly tight, wringing a surprised gasp from the black-haired man, but he forces himself to sit completely still, allowing the other man to drop his head on his shoulder. He lets Lance crumple against him, sobbing, bravado gone, all while he rubs soothing circles on his back. “It’s fine now, shhh.”
“It’s not! I was being selfish,” Lance cries, the tip of his nose rubbing against the soft material of the instructor's clean shirt.
“It’s okay.”
“Why are you so nice to me? I don’t deserve it.”
Keith stays quiet. Honestly? He doesn’t know.
He has a strong feeling as to why, though, especially after that night at the pub.
He carefully disentangles himself from the other when the shaking gradually subsides and the noises of distress die down. Keith offers his companion a hand to help him up. “Can you stand? Move around?”
“Y-Yeah. I’m used to this, it’s just gonna be a bitch to use my legs too much.”
“Then don’t,” Keith says, lending his shoulder for support. He watches Lance carefully shift his weight, teeth digging into his lower lip to bite back another wail of discomfort. “Just stay here for a bit, I’ll get some stuff from the staff room. Don’t want others to see that you’re down and think that they’re losing competition.”
Lance forces a laugh, hopping on one leg and awkwardly leaning against a marble column. “We’ll win this,” he reassures himself rather than Keith.
The black-haired man pats him on the shoulder before rushing out.
“Thanks,” Lance whispers once more when Keith bandages the leg, keeping touching to a bare minimum.
“You’ve already thanked me.” Keith points out, but doesn’t look up as he continues working. The tips of his ears color a bright red.
“It’s never going to be enough,” Lance sobs, tears of affection gathering in his eyes.
His emotions are messier than his bedroom.
[18:42 pm] Group chat name changed to: klance is canon yes vs no
pornbot justice (Pidge Gunderson): Ladies.
Tonight is the final night to place your bets and win a hefty sum.
Bets are open until 8 p.m. aka the time of the final performance.
Beach hunk (Hunk Garrett) sent itsthefinalcountdown.mp3
It’s been an awesome five days but all good things must come to an end!! or continue, i guess we’ll see
30 bucks say that lance and keith get together at the end of this. 20 more is a dare
sirlancealot (Lance McClain): a dare you say
im listening
pornbot justice (Pidge Gunderson): 35 bucks if you and keith change up the moves and give us some fanservice
Beach hunk (Hunk Garrett): What pidge just said!!
sirlancealot (Lance McClain): i was planning on doing it either way weve encountered some technical difficulties so its unavoidable but thanks for the easy cash dudes
as for the getting together id hold onto that cash tbh
don’t think were gonna make it ive accepted this
pornbot justice (Pidge Gunderson): Why you lyin, friend?
sirlancealot (Lance McClain): no pidge listen its fine if we dont get together the point is that i made friends here
even jellybean boi wished me good luck
i think he had his brains fried somehow because wtf creepy
pornbot justice (Pidge Gunderson): You sound as though he rejected you already, mate.
sirlancealot (Lance McClain): not exactly i just dont get ~the vibes~ from him. at one point today i really thought he was going to kiss me man it was the perfect romcom moment but with less com and more salt
dun dun dun he didn’t
what a shocker
i accept death if my leg doesnt kill me before this is over
pornbot justice (Pidge Gunderson) sent narutosadnessandsorrow.mp3
Beach hunk (Hunk Garrett): You know what screw it, 60 dollars that you are gonna get together mark my words, lance
sirlancealot (Lance McClain): i appreciate the enthusiasm bearbro but like let it go man youre just rubbing more salt into my achy breaky heart
pornbot justice (Pidge Gunderson): Me@Keith: “don’t break his heart, his achy breaky heartttt~”
Curse of the Billy Ray Cyrus mullet, man, that’s what this is.
Beach hunk (Hunk Garrett): Me@lance: fuck your bad vibes, bro >: ( chin up!!!
Lance puts together the best outfit that he has at this point, digging out the nicest track pants and throwing on the light blue button-down over his black shirt for the aesthetic. Keith joins him in the packed hall a moment later, looking divine as always in his tight leggings and a loose red crop top.
“Thought you aren’t teaching.” Lance tries to joke, fixing his hat. There’s a limp in his step, fuck.
Keith only shrugs. “I kind of am. Teaching the others their place.”
“Sick burns, pal,” Lance snorts as they make their way to the main hall of the event.
Lance goes over their moves, catching Keith’s form with unwavering arms, face emotionless when they look into each other’s eyes. He tries to keep it impersonal, thinking of what could be changed that would make his friends’ jaws drop.
Hunk and Pidge sneak into the back stage, with Hunk immediately dragging Keith away, squeezing something into his hands. Probably some good luck charm.
Em gave him hers, a braided bracelet with a small dolphin charm. He hugged the little struggling rascal, thanking her for actually giving a shit when it mattered the most.
“Floor us, bro, and this will be over.” Pidge claps him on the shoulder a few times, grinning wide. “Maybe you’re gonna get the fame and the boy.”
“In my dreams, ha,” Lance sighs, trying not to sound too devastated, sneaking in a secretive glance at Keith’s curvy form. Beautiful as always. A crater on the surface of his achy fucking breaky heart. Curse you, Billy Ray Cyrus.
“We'll see,” Pidge says smugly, as though they know something that Lance does not, and then they have to drag Hunk away. The bigger man flashes him a thumbs-up before the curtain falls back into place.
Keith hides Hunk’s item in the folds of his hoodie before Lance can see what it is.
“Ready?”
“Not really,” the brunet replies honestly, anxiety beginning to surface. The crowd’s mumbling is rather ominous. Even the instrumental music of the ensuing ballet performance cannot drown it out.
Keith says nothing, probably feeling the same.
When it’s their time to go, Lance catches the other’s wrist, making him turn around. “Just so you know, I’m not doing this for you.”
“Didn’t expect it to be any other way.” Keith nods tersely, but Lance’s grip tightens.
Now or never.
“No, hear me out... I may not be doing this for you, but just so it’s clear, this is for us. As a team.”
Keith doesn’t get to say anything in return because their names are called and they step into the lights for the second time at this cursed dance camp of hell and heaven combined.
Guess they’ll never talk this one out, huh?
They skip the introductions. The first beats of the song fill the air. Lance rolls up his sleeves, praying to every deity out there, wishing hard for his leg and bullshit to pull him through one last time, and Keith bounces lightly as though testing his mobility, gathering some strength.
The first moves leave Lance feeling content. It is something more so based on his personal style rather than Keith’s. Still, the instructor keeps up with him just fine, completely in sync, shifting his weight comfortably to the right and using powerful moves with his arms, locking at the right points as though he’s been dancing to this song in particular for years now.
The lights are no longer blinding. In fact, they kind of feel pleasant.
Their last dance. Gotta make it great.
He doesn't need to rely on his periphery to see Keith perfectly well, winking at him at the right moment, right when they face away from the crowd and work through those low squats followed by hip shimmies, Lance making his far more playful in a reflection of his style, stepping in and out of the beat just on time.
He starts counting down the seconds to the moment when he can start improvising. The squat has left his injured knee aching like a bitch, somewhat fucking up his timing and bounciness.
‘Fulfill my fantasies-'
The weird look that Keith shoots his way, right as Lance pulls his old moves, is strange, to say the least. He keeps going, still, allowing Lance his brief moment of glory.
Lance’s mind is a buzzing beehive of counting down beats, and when he sees a perfect opening, Keith’s arm raised, ready to do that awesome shift of his, Lance sneaks up to him, placing the other’s extended arm on his shoulder instead. Keith doesn’t even bother to glance his way as they shift down together, as though it was supposed to be like this.
As though they’re one.
The crowd gives an appraising roar as Lance grins. He cannot believe how well they’re working together in their impromptu freestyling. It’s almost as though Keith’s reading his body language like an open book without having to properly look at him.
They spin around and face each other again, nearly laughing, Lance’s arm loose around his partner's slim waist, legs spread wide and dipping lower again, a personal tribute to the exaggerated booty shaking and their ‘dance session’. Oh, they’re going to leave some mouths hanging open.
Keith mock-waves Lance off when they roll around on the floor, and, oh god, none of this is scripted, and yet it works out perfectly, Keith is actually freestyling, what is Lance’s life even. The playful brunet offers his partner a hand, mentally preparing himself to do that catch and spin. He hopes for his knee to hold up the extra without any excessive problems.
It works. Keith's muscular, yet surprisingly light body is warm and pliant against him, the scent of sweat and sandalwood momentarily overtaking Lance's senses.
Normally, this would be the part where they end their routine, but Lance feels like a little shit, leaning in to smugly whisper into his partner's ear. “I’m going to dip you now.”
Keith barely reacts to that, planting his feet firmly on the ground before Lance does it, both grinning wide at the crowd that goes wild.
The clapping is positively deafening.
Lance takes off his hat and holds up his free hand, burning the image of his smiling, no-longer-instructor into his eyes. Who knows how long they have left? They’re one of today’s last performances.
Who knows if they’ll ever see each other again?
Lance can only hope that they’ll remain good friends and continue to stay in touch, even if his stomach churns with discomfort at the thought. He really thought that there was something more going on between them. That there was some spark of sorts. Something, anything.
He doesn't want to be Keith's friend, oh no. He wants to be so much more.
“Slayed it!” the brunet hoots, pulling his hand away when Keith goes in for a high-five. “Too slow!” he teases, desperately trying to fend off the beginnings of sadness threatening to pull him under now that the adrenaline was beginning to wear off.
They leave the stage, with Lance going for the left side and Keith going for the right.
Lance would love to stay and watch at the rest of the performances – sadly, Em didn’t make it, but she doesn't seem to be too disheartened by that – but he needs to pack his stuff. Pidge and Hunk showered him in praise and promised to wait in the hall, help him carry his things, mindful of his less-than-stellar condition.
For the first time in a long while, he feels that he needs a moment to himself.
Sadness and disappointment bloom in his chest, much like poisonous plants, spreading down his body like ivy tendrils.
If anyone had told Lance McClain that one day he would end up at a dance camp with RB members and actually enjoy it despite a few minor setbacks along the way, as well as the heavy start, he would’ve laughed right into their face, saying something along the lines of ‘Lame joke, try harder’.
Well, the joke’s on him.
He feels that he should be seeking Keith out and thanking him for his time and infinite patience. Lance must’ve cost the other man a lot of nerves, especially judging by Keith's final outburst, but he knows that he's likely going to tear up before voicing any of it out. He’s been pretty terrible, he cannot deny it, but Keith wasn’t exactly very nice to him either. No point in looking back to that now. They’re a team, a duo, and while they may not be RB, they’ll always be something – Lance and Keith, the Wonder team, red and blue, fire and water, two sides of the same coin.
“Leaving without saying anything? Didn’t peg you as that type of guy.”
Lance halts, turning around to meet Keith. He tries to school his features into something carefully neutral. With very little success, though, considering the sharp pangs of pain coursing down his body, knee aflame. He cannot wait to ice it. “I’ve a lot of packing up left to do. Would’ve properly said goodbye afterwards.” Maybe. Not really. Definitely not.
Keith closes in on him, carefully inspecting Lance’s snapback, squinting. It’s the same one from that night a lifetime ago. “Hey. Remember that douchebag that I told you about? The one in the flashy snapback,” Keith steals his hat like the goddamn tease that he is. Lance almost wants to crack up at the irony of it all. He watches Keith pull the hat over his head. “He ran off on me, too. So yeah, I don’t think I really trust you enough with this.”
Lance coughs into his fist, awkwardly shifting his weight. His leg is killing him. “Best of luck finding that asshole. He’s undeserving if he bailed on you like that.”
Keith laces his fingers behind his back and crosses his ankles. “Oh yeah, I agree. Real dipshit, that one. I’m going to ask him why he did that the moment I see him again, along with some other stuff. Had me curious, you know.”
Lance is at a loss of words. Bitter regret and anger directed at himself surge in his chest at that. He cannot believe that he acted like such a coward, and doesn’t want to damage his image in Keith’s eyes any further. He’s already been acting like a huge, needy baby.
It’s better if they never talk this one out.
“I see. I, uh, really gotta go now. I’ll see you in the hall, man.” Lance vaguely gestures behind himself, taking a few steps back in the direction of the grand staircase, head lowered in defeat.
The next three seconds are a bit of a blur.
“Hey, Lance, think fast!” the black-haired man warns right before Lance feels some cold, gooey substance splash down his face, dripping in rivulets.
Son of a bitch, that stings!
“Keith, what the shit!?“ Lance coughs, spitting out some of the goop that enters his open mouth, nose wrinkling at the taste. Paint. It’s bloody body paint. “What’s gotten into you?“
He feels Keith’s cool palm rub at the lower half of his face.
With a dull sense of horror in his gut, Lance watches him retract the hand, now completely covered in smudged electric blue paint.
Oh. Oh no.
The snapback is placed back on his head. Keith’s smile is smug when he speaks up again. “I knew it was you. Those moves are unmistakable. You’re the mystery guy, Lance.”
Lance’s eyes are the size of saucers as he opens his mouth a few times, only to close it dumbly, no sound tumbling out. Instead, he tries to force a grin, spreading out his arms. “Bam! Surprise!” He rather lamely attempts to regain at least some of his lost dignity. Fuck. Shit. Damn it. Why him? “It is I, the mystery douche in a snapback. From Team Voltron, in case you’ve forgotten," he guffaws, too loud in his ears. Lance winces, cringing inwardly and openly terrified, as Keith continues gaping, bemused. "And now I must skedaddle. It's been pretty fly dancing with you, Keith!” he squeaks out, voice high-pitched, strained, and attempts to bail – oh, the irony – but Keith tugs him back by the sleeve of his shirt, leaving bright blue fingerprints all over it.
“Not so fast! I’ve got stuff to ask.”
“Please don’t,” Lance whines, covering his face with his free hand, and smudging the paint even further. “I already know that this was a horrible idea. I ran off on you and I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to, I-"
“It’s okay. You came back in the end, so I kind of forgive you.“ Keith’s fingers curl into the collar of his shirt, indigo eyes flickering to his lips for a second. “But here’s the catch - I’m going to forgive you if you actually kiss me this time. No running, alright? It’s been like a year.” Those alluring, cursed eyes flick back up to Lance's, determined. "Do it properly."
Lance stumbles forward, knees far too weak and achy to hold his weight. Is this really happening? What the hell, oh god.
Did Keith just seriously ask him that?
Did he die and go to heaven? Is he dreaming? If so, please let him sleep.
“Unless you don’t want to…?” the black-haired man trails off, sounding far less self-assured now that the silence between them has ended up dragging out. Far less spirited and more than a little confused, he shifts to pull away, but Lance only shakes his head to the sides so fast that he hurts his neck.
His crushing sadness gets replaced with warm, fuzzy feelings, threatening to overspill. Threatening to kill him.
He'll die if he doesn't feel Keith Kogane's lips on his.
“No! No, no, no, no takebacks! Here I go,” he babbles nervously, hyping himself up before finally leaning in. Keith snorts when Lance’s snapback gets in the way, the brim bumping against his forehead. He pushes it to the side, finally meshing their lips together.
Lance dies and goes to heaven three times in a row, one of his legs popping up as though this is a teen romance movie. A mistake, because ouch!
Keith’s kisses are a little clumsy and definitely inexperienced, but that's alright. Lance will be more than happy to teach him all of his smooching techniques. He’ll teach him a whole lot more things in the future, too.
“You wanna dip me maybe? For that ultimate cheesy effect?” Lance whispers against the other’s soft lips.
Keith complies, ducking his head for another kiss.
Beach hunk (Hunk Garrett): Im gonna make it rain cashmoney B)
Free mickey ds for you my friends
[22:01 pm] Group chat name changed to: Hunk’s ALWAYS right
Beach hunk (Hunk Garrett) added Valoroucious (Keith Kogane)
They don’t win the first place, but Lance walks out feeling like the king of the world anyway.
“You know,” Keith says, taking a bite of his fry. “You should seriously consider starting a dance choreography channel.”
“Oh my god, yes!” Pidge squeaks, nearly dropping their ice cream. “I've been saying the same thing for ages! We could be, like, so famous! Especially if Keith and Shiro agree to throw around some promos.”
“Or I can simply be a frequent guest,” the aforementioned man shrugs. “I mean, someone’s gotta keep Lance in check. The fame might get to your thick skull, McClain.”
“Do you wanna go, pretty boy!?” Lance roars, his eyebrow twitching. How dare.
“Oh, I wanna. Come at me!”
“Yeah, you wanna go? You wanna go on a fucking date!?”
“We’re already on a date!”
Hunk finishes his cola, slurping noisily. He faces Pidge, shrugging. “And all is well.”
All is well, indeed.
Except they get kicked out for throwing fries.
“Stop tugging on your sweater like that. It’s just a family dinner, not a wedding, sheesh.” Lance reprimands his date, smacking his fingers away from a loose thread hanging in the other’s sleeve. “Ma cooked up a storm. I think we could feed half of the world's population like this.”
“No pressure, am I right, McClain?” Keith mumbles moodily, fixing his hair now. Lance can see right through that fake chill façade, he’s far too nervous to function.
“Will you still be calling me McClain when we share the same last name?” Lance chirps, ringing the doorbell again.
“What?”
“Nothing, nothing.”
“You know what? You’re – you’re insufferable!” Keith huffs, face turning a little red. Lance kind of wants to kiss it. No, scratch that - he really wants to do it.
So he goes for it.
It’s how they usually end their petty arguments as of late.
Pidge opens the door, face scrunching up when they see Lance backing Keith up against the wall. “Ma, they’re being gross again!” Pidge calls out.
Em yells somewhere from the hallway. “Use the spray bottle, it works for me. They should calm down.”
“Don’t be hating my game just because you’re all jealous,“ Lance laughs, quickly pecking Keith on the cheek one last time before dragging his boyfriend inside.
This is the guy he’ll eat all the nut cheese for, he thinks, when he sees a huge one lying on the kitchen table.
This is the guy who is his equal and always will be.