Work Text:
“Please tell me you're here because you like men and are single, and aren’t a straight friend here to support someone else.” This is how Lance introduces himself to the very handsome gentlemen sitting alone at the end of the bar.
Strobe lights from the club dance across the stranger’s face, coloring him in reds and blues and sometimes various shades of purple depending on the setting. It strips his face of any mask, revealing all emotions. Even though it’s dark and loud and there are probably too many people packed into the club’s somewhat small interior, Lance’s eyes had immediately darted to this man and he never quite looked away since.
But it took knocking back a shot of something very potent for Lance to actually strike up a conversation.
“That’s one hell of an introduction,” the man replies, finally glancing up from his drink that he had been nursing for the past half an hour. Not that Lance had been keeping tabs, no not at all.
“I like to make an impression.”
The man cocks his head. Thick bangs fall in front of his eyes, obscuring Lance’s perfect view of his face. “Still, usually it’s ‘hello’ or even ‘nice to meet you.’ Normal shit like that.”
“Well,” Lance places a hand on his chest, “I am not a normal person.”
“Funnily enough, I already figured that one out for myself,” the stranger deadpans. His eyes glow purple as the music pulses to a new rhythm. “But seriously, that was quite a specific intro.”
Lance takes this as an invitation to sit next to the man as he purposefully continues to strike up a conversation. It seems for once that someone doesn’t want to get rid of Lance. “You can never be too careful. I once tried to hit on a guy who was the token straight person of that group of friends and was, in fact, also married, so I like to cover all my bases.”
“You didn’t see the ring, did you?”
“No, no I did not.”
At this point, Lance finds himself studying the stranger next to him. His long, probably black hair--though it glows red under the lights of the club--is swept up in a messy ponytail. Just one sudden movement and Lance knows it will all come tumbling down; he prays he will be able to stay long enough to see that happen.
“So you never answered my original question.”
“Yes to your first assumption; actually, I don’t think I have any straight friends.” He ponders the thought for a few seconds, his lips pulling into a soft smile as he stares at his drink, untouched since the conversation began. “Well maybe Shiro, but I swear he had a crush on Matt--”
Lance’s blue eyes light up at the familiar name. “Shiro as in Takashi Shirogane, as in my hot physics TA who’s definitely a ten out of ten would ban--”
“That’s my brother you’re talking about.” The man sends a threatening glare his way--though if he looked closely, he would realize that the man’s gaze is actually tingling with playfulness--and raises an eyebrow as if daring Lance to continue his sentence.
The bar stool squeaks across the floor as Lance quickly stands. An embarrassed blush stains his brown skin as he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. The stranger blinks up at him with complete surprise and maybe a little bit of disappoint, his lips accidentally slipping into a small frown.
“Okay, yap, this just got really awkward, so I’m just going to leave, but I can definitely see the family resemblance. You’re both smoking ho--”
“I’m adopted.”
Grimacing, Lance continues to stand in front of this man like a fool, and what’s worse, his mouth continues to speak without permission. “Well would you like to tell me anything else before I make a complete ass out of myself?”
A sweet laugh permeates the air as the man covers his mouth with his hand. His eyes are already shining bright without the help of the flickering lights of the club. “You're funny; you can stay.”
Finally, for once Lance did not completely fuck up first impressions with someone. “Thank you, kind sir,” Lance replies, bowing and about to plop himself back onto the stool.
“I’d like a name before you sit down again,” the man insists with no room for refusal in his voice. Not that Lance would ever dream of denying him his request. He only hopes to receive a name in return.
“Of course. I’m Lance.” He thrusts out a hand in the man’s general direction, wincing slightly at the lame gesture.
But the stranger doesn’t even hesitate. His fingers are warm when they slide into Lance’s grip. It’s strange though; there are no sparks or tinglings or anything similar to what Lance loves to read about in romance novels, but at the same time it feels right… perfect even. It’s as if no other hand will ever mold perfectly with his like this one does.
“Keith,” the stranger provides at long last.
They fall into an easy conversation after that, complete even with Lance making a fool out of himself as he tries to down a drink in one gulp. It doesn’t turn out too well, but the reward of hearing Keith laugh is worth bathing his throat in fire. Lance would pay any price to hear the sound again. His mouth prickles with sharp pins as he coughs.
“You okay?”
“Y-yeah,” Lance sputters out.
“You didn’t have to take my dare seriously,” Keith says, eyeing Lance with interest as he harshly wipes his mouth and chin dry, removing any evidence of alcohol that didn’t make it into his mouth.
Lance shoves the offending drink away from him. “I take any challenge seriously.”
“I’ll remember that next time.”
Next time; both of them are already planning for a next time.
It has been less than an hour but somehow he feels like he knows so many little details about Keith.
For example: Keith came here tonight to drown his sorrows from watching all his friends find love and he’s still single and will probably be alone forever. But now--he had mumbled this part quietly--he seemed to be rethinking that mindset. Lance doesn’t miss the quick glance sent his way.
It does something strange to his heart.
Because isn’t that why Lance is here tonight too? Because he’s alone even though he has so many friends?
Is this what the hope of finding someone feels like?
On a larger scale though, Lance begins to learn that Keith is one of those people who rarely smiles or speaks, but for some reason, that large grin plastered on Keith’s face hasn’t left since Lance sat down for the second time. This man intrigues him in a way the people he usually flirts with at this bar do not. He wants something to come out of this; he doesn’t want to forget this night and he doesn’t want to leave Keith behind.
This new feeling scares him.
And it also excites him.
“College student?” Lance curiously asks between small sips of alcohol. It does little to soothe his scratchy throat.
“College dropout ,” Keith corrects with a laugh. “Don’t make a big deal about it, seriously. I knew what was coming when I decided to not show up for classes four or five days a week.”
“There are only five days in a school week,” Lance stresses.
“ Exactly ,” Keith winks. “School was just never my thing. I tried it; I didn’t like it. I’m over it.”
“So what do you do then?”
Keith plays with the napkin resting by his hand, worrying away at it until clumps of paper flutter down to the counter and you can barely tell that it was a napkin to begin with. Biting his bottom lip, Keith sends Lance a different gaze and he finally realizes that maybe, just maybe, Keith is concerned about how Lance will view him because of not having a college degree. “I work in my dad’s--adopted dad’s auto body shop and do art commissions on the side. It’s a quiet life but I like it.”
There may still be a smudge or two of graphite--engine grease?--on the side of Keith’s hand and a freckling of red paint on the other. Those details all make sense to him now.
To be fair, Lance has never met someone his age who wasn’t in college, and it surprises him a little. Not in a bad way; it just adds more to the mystery that surrounds the man. So instead he opens his big fat mouth to ask,
“Do you ever work with nude models?”
Caught off guard, Lance can picture the gears turning in Keith’s brain as he tries to decode Lance’s words. Finally he seems to settle on one of the meanings. “I never get naked on the first date. It’s my main rule.”
“Good to know.”
“For what? Are you asking me out on a date?”
“Maybe I am.” Lance winks and then sneezes, ruining the effect.
There’s Keith’s quiet laugh again, and it makes Lance feel like they are the only two partying in this club tonight. “Well maybe I’ll say yes when you ask me properly. In the meantime though, what about you?”
“What about me? Well I don’t mind getting naked on the first date, not really opposed to one night stands either. Had a really nice one with a woman once. I’m bisexual, bi the way--haha get it.” Lance literally takes no pause to breath as he continues. “Which I probably should have told you first, I know some people don’t like to date people who are bi--”
“I honestly don’t care if you’re bi or pan or whatever. I like men exclusively and you like men and woman; it shouldn’t bother anyone. If it does, those people are a bunch of fucking jerks,” Keith sighs, the mood tensing slightly, but then the fog in Keith’s eyes clears as his mini tangent fades from his lips. He continues, his voice lighter. “And that’s not what I meant with my original question,” Keith says with a giggle, an actual honest to God giggle. “You really like to ramble, don’t you?”
Lance breathes a quick sigh of relief, realizing Keith is in fact honest about his opinion on sexulaities. He hasn’t left yet, so that’s a positive sign. “It’s one of my better qualities.” A flirtatious grin is sent Keith’s way.
Rolling his eyes, he amends his previous statement. “I meant, are you in college? What do you study?”
“Oh! Well get ready for this. I’m honestly torn between space and the ocean, and I’m graduating in May. So like please kill me now. My major is marine biology, but I minor in astrophysics.”
“Holy shit, you must be some kind of genius!”
Keith almost knocks over his drink in awe. The glass teeters on the counter, and both Lance and the unoccupied bartender watch it with apt curiosity. But Keith has quick reflexes, catching the glass before it can cause any type of disaster.
‘Sorry,’ he mouths silently to both Lance and the bartender, who has already turned away with a giant expression of relief. A faint blush creeps its way to the surface of Keith’s pale cheeks.
Adorable , Lance’s mind supplies.
“Nah,” he blushes as well, suddenly unable to hold Keith’s gaze. “That’s my friend Pidge.”
Keith’s look reads along the lines of ‘What I’m saying is the truth, so you better listen,’ or he could just be simply gazing at Lance for the fun of it. He’s not really sure. “Don’t sell yourself short. That’s still mad impressive.”
The blush deepens, now spreading to his ears. “Th-thanks.”
There’s a quiet lull in their conversation, but Lance enjoys it. It’s not as if both of them have run out of topics to bring up. Instead, it’s more like they both know how important Keith’s words were and they want them to hang in the air between them for a little while longer. Lance allows it to soak in; maybe he can figure out this college thing before he’s thrown to wolves known as real life.
“Wait,” Keith breaks the silence, posture straightening in realization. “You don’t mean Pidge Gunderson, do you? Short girl who always carries around a computer? Matt Holt’s sister?”
“That would be her,” Lance confirms, with a slight nod of his head.
“Small world.”
“Not small enough to meet you before tonight, beautiful.”
“Hmm.” Keith smirks. His foot bumps into Lance’s leg and Lance knows this was done on purpose, so he presses back. “Does that line work on everybody?”
“I don’t know. Did it work? ‘Cause I’ve only used it on you.”
Keith leans forward, and the sudden momentum causes the rest of his hair to slip away from the messy ponytail. Inky locks fall into his face, bumping slightly into his neck and brushing his shoulders. Casting shadows across his silky skin to highlight his sharp cheekbones, his hair perfectly frames his face. Lance almost chokes on air.
“It did not, but it’s good to know I’m special.”
“You are,” Lance admits.
They’re inches away now, and Lance’s gaze narrows in on Keith’s lips. He wonders what it would be like to release all reservations and simply feel, not think. He also wonders if Keith struggles with the same idea, so he lifts his eyes back up to be met with Keith’s beautifully colored gaze. Now his skin is dusted in a light blue, the song changing once again, and the screams of other people in the club echo a little bit louder.
He almost forgets where he is.
“Let’s dance,” Lance says instead.
Keith playfully scowls. “I don’t dance.”
A large smirk appears on Lance’s face as he stands, holding out a hand as an invitation waiting to be accepted. “I know you can.”
“Don’t start that High School Musical shit with me! I’m not drunk enough for that,” Keith pouts. “Actually I’m not really drunk at all.”
The smirks turns into a bright smile and he practically claps his hands in glee. He almost bumps into another person. “Ah! I see you know the movies of my childhood. I think I’m slowly falling in love.” Lance dramatically places a hand to his head and flutters his eyelashes.
“I think you’re the drunk one here.” Keith stands nonetheless and crosses his arms, his foot already tapping to the rhythm of the music.
“Trust me, I’m not.”
Keith smiles again at that.
I can be louder, I can be hot
Build an empire and put it on fire
Better get down, down for what?
Down for the people who don't give a fuck
At first, they dance together but as two separate people. Their hips brush sometimes and playful grins are etched on both of their faces. Lance focuses on the music and on Keith; everything else falls away from his mind.
Every worry of failing or worry associated with life in general and every emotion that isn’t combined with ecstasy are pushed far back into his mind that he doubts he’ll ever see them again. His body moves with a fluidity that was never there before as he just lets everything inside of him go.
A caged bird released for the first time.
Free to do what he pleases.
Suddenly Keith’s fingers lazily drift across Lance’s skin and a new kind of passion sparks inside his mind, filling every crevice that had been vacated.
Call you off 'cause, telling you quitting
Pull to the air, go pick up a digit
Better get down, down for what?
Down for the people who don't give a fuck
Lance gains enough courage to press his chest up against Keith’s back. His hands slowly slide down to grasp Keith’s hips, and suddenly they are one entity, dancing in perfect sync. Guiding Keith’s hips with his hands, Keith arches his head back to lean it on Lance’s shoulder, his long, dark hair tickling Lance’s neck. His hands weave their way into Lance’s hair, tugging lightly and curling a few strands around his pale fingers.
Different lights dance along their skin, painting them in so many colors that they’re blinded to the reality of the world.
Keith’s lips brush over Lance’s skin. The slight contact has Lance shivering and his hands tighten their grip on Keith’s waist as they rock together.
The whole world watches.
And we go na na na
We down for the people who don't give a fuck
When they break from the crowd, Lance’s skin buzzes with electricity and he doesn’t realize his hand is tightly grasped in Keith’s.
His companion hasn’t noticed either.
They walk back to the corner of the bar. It’s easier to move now--because maybe the weight has not settled back onto Lance’s shoulders, though the more realistic reason is that people have been slowly clearing out. It’s two in the morning after all. The light of Lance’s phone almost blinds him, and it sends a crisp glow over the bar and across Keith’s skin.
For once, Lance finally sees Keith, a Keith who’s unobscured by weird, pulsing lights and the overall darkness of the club. He’s just as beautiful now as he was at the beginning of the night. His hair is a little mussed and his skin glistens with tiny beads of sweat, but Keith is beautiful.
Perfect in body, spirit, and mind.
Well, maybe the few drinks Lance had are starting to take hold, but he still agrees with himself, even if he only met Keith a few hours ago.
Keith gazes at him with a look that must mirror his own, their entwined fingers never loosening.
Lance doesn’t want to leave.
Suddenly, Keith pulls a tube out of his pocket, uncaps it, and applies the balm to his lips. Lance follows the movement, watching the faint gleam that is slowly added to Keith’s lips. Somehow it softly accents the bow of his lips, as well as deepening their color under the extravagant lights of the club. Lance can’t break his gaze away.
“What flavor’s your chapstick?”
Keith’s lips part with a pop and his eyes crackle. “Wanna find out?”