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Lance does not and will never pine for someone.
Sure, he enjoys flirting like any other eighteen-year-old man out there - a very desperate one, if we're being completely honest - but he never gets hung up on anyone. He doesn’t do relationships and romance tends to elude him more often than not. Daydreams are good, so are boobs and curves, but he knows where to draw the line. The fate of the universe comes first, and the boring life consisting of a huge house, a picket fence, a big happy family, suburban BBQ parties, and the ownership of at least three dogs will come later.
He’s sexy and free – Pidge always rolls her eyes whenever these words escape the lanky teen’s mouth – and he prefers it that way. He is a handsome hero with a lovely personality, a great sense of humor to boot, and if he tends to look at Keith more times than absolutely necessary, it has nothing to do with pining, or feelings, or whatever the hell. If anything, what he’s actually feeling is a deep-rooted hatred brought upon by years of totally not one-sided rivalry, and if Keith happens to stumble into Lance’s field of vision, that's entirely his fault.
Who the fuck even walks around shirtless after rigorous training sessions with their stupid mullet hair swept back, sticking to their pretty neck? Bruce Lee and fucking Keith, that’s who.
How is Lance not supposed to check that out?
Keith is the one who points his chiseled abs in Lance’s face, not the other way around, and he'd rather die than admit to staring at his rival.
The sliding doors shut with a mechanical click, and the tension in the room finally dissipates when Pidge fixes those over-sized glasses with a low whistle. “Man, it smells like a forest here. Mostly like pine trees. Get it? Because of all that pining.”
Lance chokes. In the background, Hunk ohh’s “Dude, she got you good” while Allura mouths a soft “I don’t get it”. Shiro kindly pats her shoulder and shakes his head. It’s better not to ask.
From the newly-installed pilot’s seat, Coran promises to teach her all about human courting. Lance almost wants to throw his lion slipper at him.
“Oh ha ha ha, very funny.” He does not pine, ever. So why does this midget keep ribbing him about it at least six times per day? “We have ourselves a comedian here, huh? Do you know what happened to the Comedian in ‘Watchmen’?”
“Sweep up the salt pouring out of your mouth hole. It’s only the truth." Pidge shrugs, returning to her three laptops and anti ‘eight-hours-of-sleep-per-night’ marathon. “You want a piece of that.” She waggles her eyebrows, suggestive. Lance kind of wants to pluck them. Keith’s too.
Fucking Keith, always worming his way into Lance’s mind.
“A piece of - what!? I’m not that desperate, what the heck!?” Lance throws his arms in the air. “Why does everyone keep implying that I’m romancing that sexy asshole!? Just because he has nice muscles and beautiful eyes, he thinks that it’s okay for him to unfold those amazing long legs and step in here with only underwear on, and, and who even does that!? I mean, for one, I am offended that he dares - ”
Hunk stares. Allura coughs into her fist and excuses herself. Shiro merely rolls his eyes.
“Lance, you’re still talking.”
“I – “ Okay, maybe that does sound a little gay. But Keith is undeniably hot and no amount of denial can prove otherwise. In a desperate attempt to save the remains of his bruised dignity, he squawks, “Keith has no ass to pine for. He’s got a Mariana Trench all up in there, and even if he had any, I sure as hell wouldn’t be pining for it. It’s gay.”
Shiro rubs his temples as though he has an excruciating headache and slowly gets up with a tired "I can’t listen to this anymore, I think I’m hitting the bed". Lance’s brainfarts at 3 am never sit well with him, especially when they breach the sexuality crisis territory.
“Dude," Hunk says, and continues eating what seems to be a pink pizza.
Needless to say, Lance feels attacked and enraged by Shiro’s offensive disappearance. How come all of his support abandons him at the last moment? He’s too jittery to take any more of Pidge’s bullshit, who’s eyeing him with a cat-like grin, ready to throw down and talk him into marrying Keith or something. Sweet Mary, why does this keep happening to him?
“I thought we were supposed to be soul bros!” Lance wails, overly-dramatic, and throws himself at Hunk. The other grunts unhappily when he almost drops his… pizza thing. “Compadres, amigos, sworn brothers in flight, fellow Paladins – “
“Don’t say heterosexual life partners, that one’s reserved,” Pidge pipes up, fingers flying over the keyboards. She doesn’t even look at the screen. Lance secretly thinks that if the Green Paladin truly wanted it, she could probably hack the entire universe and become the new God or something. He, for one, does not welcome the new IT overlords.
“Shut your poisonous trap, snake!” Lance points at her. She aims a paper plane at him, folded from the sheet that they used for the little game of tic-tac-toe – only one, because Allura got ridiculously competitive at it - and keeping the scores of various card games. Shiro absolutely kicked their asses at those with his insane bluffing skills. Then, he turns back to Hunk, “You’re supposed to take my side.”
Hunk gives him The Look. Lance can see his ‘mom friend’ mode kicking in as Hunk places large palms on Lance’s bony shoulders, gaze serious and determined. “I bless this union. You just have to tell him what you told us, and you’ll show him, definitely.”
A moment later, Keith walks back in - this time with a shirt and a jacket on, damn it – to pick up his forgotten alien-equivalent of iPod, only to find Lance curled up on the sofa in a fetal position, crying out "God, I hate this family". Hunk comfortingly pats his ankle and asks if he can organize Lance’s bachelor party.
Pidge doesn’t even look up. “Lance said you have no ass.”
Keith rolls his eyes and ‘accidentally’ kicks the aforementioned teen’s shin on his way out.
Boobs and curves are nice, but so are Keith’s solid muscles, indigo eyes, and those rare, but beautiful smiles, even that stupid mullet is somehow endearing, and –
Shit, maybe he does like the asshole a bit more than necessary, Lance realizes, as he goes to bed that night and the image of that pale, sweat-slicked skin still burns vivid behind his eyelids. It’s no longer all about aesthetic alone, this is some serious shit right there.
He does not, however, pine. That’s just lame.
One training session later, Keith’s on top of him, panting, shirt too tight around the ever-growing muscles, and this is really, really unfair. Lance doesn’t even have it in himself to be sour over his loss in this wrestling match turned a bit too sensual and vintage porn intro-like. Keith smirks down at him, smug, unfairly sexy.
He shifts his ass – which, okay, Lance has to admit that he was lying because it’s pretty nice, and from what he can feel, firm, too – on top of his aching torso. When he doesn’t immediately pop an unwanted boner, thinks of kissing those parted lips instead of Keith riding him, Lance is finally willing to revisit his problem.
He’s probably pining.
Sullenly, he puts a quarter into ‘Pidge was right’ jar located in the kitchen, rests his forehead against a very confused Hunk’s back, and determinedly avoids the black-haired teen’s inquisitive stares for the rest of the evening. His ears feel hot whenever their eyes accidentally meet. Shiro even lets him skip out on the daily training out of the goodness of his fatherly heart.
Lance thinks that he should do something nice for him in return.
(He almost burns down the kitchen and gets an earful from Coran.)
The dreams make it hard to avoid the truth. Literally.
Is it just him or does Keith walk around shirtless more often now? What a show-off.
“Mierda,” Lance whispers and crosses himself three times.
They’re flying back to the Castle after yet another friendly run in with their local Galra, chattering away about their developing teamwork – Lance and Keith - and coexistence – Lance and Keith. Their mission was too easy, Lance thinks, and laughs when Hunk’s grinning face focuses on him over the video feed. “Keith’s like the Spock to your Kirk, man.”
Pidge enthusiastically agrees and asks if she could be Chekov now that they’re applying characters to their team, but their entertainment dies when Spock’s confused voice reaches over the com. “Wait, who?”
Even Shiro gasps, indignant.
Lance halts his Lion in his surprise. “Wait wait wait, you wanna tell me that you’ve never seen 'Star Trek'? It’s like a must watch - it’s like, 'Godfather' in space. Dude, we are living the nerdiest dream here.”
“My eight-year-old self would be foaming at the mouth, if only he knew,” Hunk agrees. Shiro informs them about the landing, to which he responds with a thick-accented "Aye, Ceptein".
“This is all rather confusing," Keith mutters, earning some groans – mostly Lance.
“You uncultured swine!” Pidge yells. They cringe at the ringing feedback that follows. “This cannot carry on - no future in-law of mine will live out the remainder of his days in complete dark.” Lance’s flustered ‘Hey!’ falls on deaf ears. No reaction from Keith, except for that owlish blinking. Fuck, that’s adorable. “We are having a marathon the moment we get back!”
“I’ll make the snacks, it’s gonna be like a sleepover,” Hunk bounces in his seat in excitement. “Oh, it’s just like back in Garrison, 'cept no Sarge to bite our heads off and make us run laps around the training facilities for violating the curfew.”
“They still have that punishment?” Shiro wonders with a low hum and laughs. “Back when I was a student, the RA ratted out our 'Star Trek' party and we had to run twenty laps. My roommate requested a room switch because I used to watch all kinds of stuff after midnight and he really hated running.”
They land with cheerful loud hoots and a lot of teasing – Dad was such a rebellious punk back in the day, oh can you even believe it? Hunk signs them, voice grave when he says "Live long and prosper" for dramatic effect before disconnecting from the video feed.
Shiro snorts, returning the gesture, and reminds them to bring their blankets to the monitor room, and to brush their teeth for the night. Mouth hygiene is important, especially now that they’re in space, he says, not understanding the erupting giggles.
“We’re not five," Lance elbows him, playful.
Shiro claps him on the back. “You might as well be. Except that five-year-olds are more obedient.”
“Love you too, dad,” Pidge gives him a hug, flutters long eyelashes innocently. Shiro smiles broadly, hugging her back. Lance bristles – favoritism at its finest. He almost wants to warn the older man that he’s holding a literal Satan in Harry Potter glasses, but hey, at least it’s not Keith, who’s immediately ushered away by a happy Hunk, belting out plot summaries.
Now that Pidge rants about the blatant homoerotic undertones in 'Star Trek', Lance thinks that it’s a whole lot more, uh, homoerotic than he remembers it to be. He feels like one of his favorite childhood fandoms has been greatly violated, but it’s still undeniably good, and Keith seems to be invested, sometimes asking them questions and whatnot. Shiro is usually the one answering them, his arm firmly pressed into Keith’s, and Lance is decidedly not jealous. He observes through hazy vision the spaceship's adventures on different planets until Spock somehow shapeshifts into Keith and Lance belatedly realizes that he’s been zoning out for the last ten minutes, mindlessly staring at that ridiculous mullet illuminated by the faint glow of the huge monitor.
“Keith can’t pull off Spock, I’m just saying. Eyebrow game too strong,“ he confides in Pidge. She nods her head, attention still focused on the screen. Hunk overhears him, exchanging a few quick looks with the Green Paladin, and it doesn’t take long before Lance is sprawled across Keith’s legs, popcorn flying everywhere while Hunk apologizes for being clumsy.
Keith’s fingers are warm against the back of Lance’s head as he asks if he hit his nose against his knees too hard, and even if Lance does make a few comments about pointy-ass kneecaps, they’re a far cry from sounding mean.
He ends up taking Shiro’s place. After that, the rest of the movie is clearer.
Right before the credits roll, there’s a certain weight on Lance’s shoulder and a softness against his neck. He doesn’t dare to move an inch, too afraid to wake the other, silently hoping for this to last. Hunk’s snoring away on the sofa, Shiro had padded to the kitchen to take care of the dishes and stray candy wrappers, which means.
Lance’s warning is barely a hiss of breath. “Don’t you dare.”
Pidge hovers over their curled forms, a camera ready. Her grin is positively shit-eating. “You guys are adorable. It would be a shame if I didn’t take a pic. For the memories.”
“Pidge, I swear – “
“Can’t stop me,” she cackles and takes another pic, from a different angle. Lance sees an opening to reach out and take the offending object from her grubby, tiny hands, but it only ends in her scurrying away and knocking over a plastic bowl in the process. It lands on top of Hunk’s head, but the other continues sleeping, blissfully oblivious to the fact that he now has a helmet. Keith moves at the sudden jolt. Lance freezes, heartbeat uncomfortably wild.
How is he going to explain this, he thinks in a rush of panic, but the black-haired teen only smacks his lips, nuzzling further into his neck.
Lance swears to god that he feels Keith tug at his sleeve.
Pidge squeaks in excitement, obviously taking notice of Lance’s reaction, and attempts to poke Hunk awake right as Shiro steps in, wondering if he should carry Keith to bed.
And when, with a lot of regret, Lance yells into Keith’s ear to ‘Rise and shine, sleeping beauty!’ and gets subjected to a lot of cursing, followed by half-assed violence, he swears that it has nothing to do with jealousy.
“That’s you," Pidge tells him during breakfast, shaking a violet jelly blob in front of him.
Lance is too tired to even reply. He only glares and steals a spoonful.
“Cannibalism," Hunk says sagely, and asks Shiro if he’s seen Keith.
The Red Paladin doesn’t show up till late evening. Somehow, Lance is glad for that. His stomach does a funny leap when he catches a glimpse of the other right before he starts his training session against the dummy and his heart pricks with discomfort when Keith firmly refuses to look his way.
Lance writes letters sometimes. Sadly, space doesn’t have many post offices to offer, but the idea seems nice. Once he’s the liberator of the universe, he’ll make sure to ask Pidge and Hunk to come up with something. That is, if he’s not too busy fighting over dominance with Pidge, the God who hacked the entire galaxy. If she can achieve that, then surely, the idea of sending mail to his family located thirty-two light-years away isn’t too insane.
He writes to his Ma, his sisters and brothers, aunts and uncles, grandmothers. Not much is happening in this vast ocean of stars, but Lance always finds the words, especially when it comes to his most important people. How many months have they been out here? Certainly not a year?
His heart aches when he thinks about the fact that he had missed out on his cousin’s wedding, his little brother’s eight birthday.
He knows that he’ll come back to earth sooner or later, doesn’t matter - he saves every single letter in a plastic box, dates them all. Will show them to his family the first thing he sets down on familiar ground.
He kind of wants the final battle with Zarkon to come closer. It’s getting pretty dull here these days and it seems like the further they go, the less exciting it gets. As exciting as getting shot at with lasers can get. Which is pretty damn exhilarating, believe it or not.
It sure beats sitting around and grasping at straws as to what to write. Hunk daring himself to eat peanut butter-like substance was by far the most entertaining thing to happen this week and that’s just kind of sad. It’s the same old routine of Coran and Pidge programming, Hunk tinkering, Shiro doing Shiro things, Allura simply being amazing with her presence alone no matter what she does, and Keith holing up in the training room, working himself to near-coma.
Oh, and sort of refusing to talk to Lance, but he’s not salty about that.
(He is.)
Mindlessly, Lance begins sketching out the final battle. Zarkon with x’s for eyes, on the ground. Lance, victorious, standing proud on top of his body with his Bayard transformed in one hand and a flag in another. He keeps on drawing and then adds Keith as a damsel in distress just to be an asshole. It’s pretty shitty and there’s not much one can do with a pen and a green highlighter, but it’s a good way to burn away the minutes. Right as he’s drawing big tears on Keith’s scribbly face and adding a speech bubble that predictably spells ‘Oh, my knight in shining armor, thank you for saving my ugly mullet!!!!’ Hunk hovers over his shoulder.
“Put this on the fridge,” he says with a whistle, squinting at the page. “Is my nose really that big?”
“How dare you question my artistic gift!?” Lance clutches at his chest, feigning deep offense. “I’ll have you know that this is a masterpiece worthy of Louvre!” he leans back in his chair with a smug grin. “My beautiful art will hang in the grand halls of fame, alongside Bach.”
Hunk opens his mouth, but the voice that reaches Lance, is a different one. “Bach was a composer, stupid.” Keith strolls into the room, a frown twisting his attractive face. He regards Lance with some annoyance.
This bitch.
“Oh, look who decided to show up?” Lance clicks his tongue, whirling around in his chair, biting down the urge to say the automatic ‘Whatever, dropout’. Hunk says something like ‘Oh would you look at the time’ even though there are no clocks in the general vicinity, only palpable tension, and leaves the duo alone. “I thought you lost your voice there for a week.”
He tries not to sound too bitter, but Keith is an asshole, and he’s messing with his mind too much. Lance’s pining for him, for god’s sake, the least he can do is stop being an insufferable shithead.
At least he has the decency to look ashamed. Lance presses on. “Do you have a fucking problem with me?”
Keith looks up. Blinks owlishly. “What?”
“A problem. Do you have one? Or are your ears lost on you as well?”
He’s steadily getting angry, even though he has absolutely no right to do so. “I’m gonna have one real soon if you keep up on this track. I don’t have to explain myself to you," Keith huffs and crosses his arms. Mr. High and Mighty. Lance kind of wants to punch him in his perfectly straight nose.
“You ignore me for reasons unknown, and you’re telling me that you don’t have to explain yourself? Really, Keith? Are you that big of a douchebag?”
“The one who has a problem with me is obviously you!” the other snaps back, walking closer. Lance gets up from the chair, stance guarded, eyeing him warily. “The least you can do is stop pretending and shifting the blame onto me!”
By now, they’re pretty much nose-to-nose. Lance completely misses the quick glance focused on his lips. “I’m the one riddled with cosmic radiation-induced antisocial mood swings? Who gives you the right to – “ He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because the room gets bathed in red, and the alarms start blaring. Over the com, Allura’s voice informs them that they’re under attack, and Lance huffs a shaky breath as they spring apart. His knees feel strangely weak but it has nothing to do with the small prick of fear. If anything, he’s glad to finally get some action.
“This isn’t over!” he yells after Keith’s retreating back, and takes off, too.
“If I’m the first one to land – “ Lance shouts through the com, shaken to the sides when a powerful blast hits Blue’s side. Fuck, he’ll have to repaint again. “We get down to the bottom of this. If it’s you, I’ll stop asking.”
“Sounds great!” Keith yells, and colorfully swears when he dodges out from three laser beams. “How do you want to do this?”
“Twenty questions!” Lance types in a command. The Lion freezes another Galra ship. “I want to know what’s got your panties in a twist. I want to get to know you in general.”
The video feed flickers before Lance can gouge Keith’s reaction, replaced by Pidge’s sweaty face. “Alright, can you save the flirting for later and help me out here?”
There’s a hole in the Castle's left flank where a smoking Galra ship had crashed and Lance is the first one to land.
“Favorite color?” Lance yells it out over the pew pew of the laser guns and throws away his helmet. His brown hair sticks to his forehead uncomfortably. He is in a desperate need for a haircut, this time from someone who isn’t Hunk and his "professional hair-styling" that mostly involves bowlcuts.
Keith pulls up his visor, cutting down another robot, stabbing it cleanly through the head. Kind of sexy. “Gray,” he growls, hopping over the sparking remains. Lance almost receives a hole in his side for staring and locks onto more robots.
“I thought you were red kind of guy!”
“Just because I’m the Red Lion’s Paladin, doesn’t mean that my favorite color has to match." His powerful body twists with grace that Lance envies and appreciates at the same time as he dodges out of another gun. “Let me guess, yours is blue.”
“Hon, you know me so well.”
They go through things like summer vs winter (Lance is a die-hard summer kid, while Keith prefers neither) favorite foods (they both dislike the Altean goop and are huge suckers for extra cheese pizza). Keith is of Korean descent, does not like long walks on the beach (boo), is a cat person (double boo), prefers briefs (Lance almost gets shot) likes tea to coffee, and morning to dusk.
Keith also, shockingly, but kind of predictably, has never had a date for a prom, never went to any of the Garrison’s homecomings before he got booted out, and never went to any dances in general.
“Not even middle school?”
“Nope.”
“Dude, that’s just sad.”
“Not really.”
Lance shakes his head. He’s boiling in his suit and new robots keep piling up. Sweat drips down the tip of his nose. “Unacceptable. It’s like you’ve never lived. School ain’t all about acing everything, Mr. Top Pilot.”
“I think that’s the whole point of it,” Keith shrugs, sounding winded. “Not everyone gets off to dancing with some nameless classmate.”
“Okay, wow, to that second part, and to the first one - nope, definitely not. You’re missing the point completely. It’s supposed to be fun and – “ He grabs a robot by the arm and slams his heel against its center-core. “I, the great and merciful Lance,“ The arm disconnects from its body and Lance shoots it a few times just to make sure it stays dead. “Will not rest until you get a proper prom. A space prom. In space.”
“Are you looking for excuses to dance with me?” Keith says it almost nonchalantly. Lance sputters, face red.
“I take everything back! You’re unreasonable!”
“What's up? Can’t dance?” Keith teases with a nerve-grating smirk. The robot he’s about to cut down twitches a few times and the violet lights flicker out. About fucking time, Pidge. They all collapse in a pile of useless humanoid metal.
“I bet I can dance a million times better than you, promless jerk. At least I’ve danced before!”
Keith takes off his helmet, his mullet stringy and wet from sweat. He still manages to make the movement look otherworldly and almost seductive. Challenging. “We won’t know till we try, it seems,” he pants.
And Lance isn’t one to back down from a challenge.
“Prepare to get blown away by the best time of your life, punk.”
Because this is totally how one-upmanship works. Lance almost feels proud.
Hunk and Pidge nearly cry from laughter when Lance tells them all about it. Shiro sighs and tells Allura to calm down when she gets surprisingly giddy, planning out their next trip to some ‘human courting-appropriate’ planet.
The planet they land on makes Lance miss home more than ever, and he tells Keith to prepare his ass for the best dance in his life. He’s going to leave the other swooning.
“Can’t wait,” Keith says, monotone, retreating to the training room. Lance is kind of used to the lack of shirt by now. Poor dude needs to buy some new clothes, those tight v-necks won’t suffice forever.
Allura points out nice remote places to him when they hit the town and get separated to drool over the advanced tech (Pidge) local food (Hunk) and collect all sorts of provisions (Shiro, Coran and later on, Keith). She gives him his USB filled with good old Earth music courtesy by Pidge, the process strictly supervised by Lance – unbeknownst to him, she does manage to sneak in gems like 'No Homo' and 'I’m not gay'. Allura then asks him about pop culture and Lance is more than happy to educate her on the music and whatnot.
They end up having a very nice time and taste-test the local ice cream. The old Lance would cry at the fact that this feels so much like a date that it could almost pass as one, but the new Lance is nervously wringing his hands and constantly thinking what he should play later that night.
He’s not sure if this is some bizarre side-effect of pining or something. Allura is beautiful as ever, she’s alluring and all, but. He's not feeling it.
“Goddamn Pidge," Lance says and looks into the distance.
His companion only raises one perfect, white eyebrow, and continues chewing on a raspberry-like fruit.
“Goddamn, Pidge," Lance cackles later that afternoon as he looks around, nervous. They just got to this planet and he doesn’t need space cops on his ass. “You actually stole me a ride.”
“It’s what bros are for,” she says, but then her grin drops. “No, but seriously, I’m not stealing it, I'm borrowing. I plan to return it.”
“Did you fucking hot-wire this or what?” He’s actually impressed, despite all odds. The engine purrs like a baby. Lance almost wants to keep it, except that he can almost feel his Ma slapping the living shit out of him with a slipper for having such impure thoughts. “How’d you even get it here? I’m pretty sure that even by alien standards you’re too young to drive. How come they didn’t pull you over?”
“We’re the same age, doofus,” Pidge huffs and punches his arm.
Lance snorts. “Uh-huh, that Garrison ID was obviously fake. You’re the tech master, show me your actual passport or it isn't real.”
“As flattered as I am that you think of me as a tech master,” she drawls out as Lance opens his mouth, but gets cut off. Pidge's face is twisted up. “I gotta warn you, I don’t know how the law system works around here, so try not to get any… bodily fluids on the backseat.”
“Never thought I’d say this, but I’ll keep my pullout game in check.” He immediately bites his tongue at Pidge’s sour expression. “Shit, no, this is a joke, don’t take it seriously, we are not going to do that. I do not want to fuck Keith on the backseat of – “
“Okay, before you give yourself an aneurysm, TMI!“ She rubs her temples, a habit that she picked up from Shiro. By now, they call it the ‘Goddamn it, Lance’ gesture. “Just. Have a good time, use protection, no sex before marriage, no pot, robberies, yadda yadda.”
“I hate you," Lance mutters, gripping the steering wheel, knuckles white, neck blazing hot. He could set this ride on fire. “Now get the hell out, I promised a dance to a beautiful and hopeless mullet man.”
“Have fun on your date. Get some.” Pidge flashes him a thumbs up through the window and rushes out.
Lance swallows nervously as he takes off.
The ride gets a bit banged up before he gets a hang of it, but no one's going to see it. Probably. Maybe the owner has bad eyes or something? He can only hope.
He mentally thanks Allura for picking out a deserted spot with the most wonderful view that Lance has ever seen in his life. The thousands of city lights down below gleam in soft oranges and pinks, and it almost feels like the endless void of space, but this one leaves a familiar ache in Lance’s heart. He’s standing on solid ground for the first time in weeks, and Keith looks just as entranced as he does. They spend at least ten minutes just walking around, drinking in the unforgettable sight of the new planet. Keith’s gaze lingers on Lance just a little too long before he finally notices.
He misses home in a way that Keith will never understand.
Both of them miss the rain showers, though.
After a while, Lance suddenly remembers why they're here in the first place. His heartbeat is loud inside his ears when he coughs into his fist and hops over a few sturdy roots of the thick, strange trees to get to the ride. “Right, the dance.”
Keith seems just as jittery as he does. He plays with his fingerless gloves, and if Lance’s eyes aren’t fooling him, Keith has finally gone shopping. The shirt is looser on his frame, and the lanky teen almost mourns the loss of yet another majestic view.
He plugs in the USB and sets it to shuffle, extending a shaky hand for Keith to take. The black-haired teen’s nervousness disappears when the first chords of the song kill the relative silence. With a snort, he grabs Lance’s hand, more relaxed now. “Really, Lance? I can’t tell if this is for irony purposes, or – “
Lance huffs. “Hey man, ‘Careless whisper’ is a good jam, so you don’t get to talk shit. It’s not what it looks like, my playlist’s on shuffle, but we can work with this, too,” he places his sweaty hand on Keith’s waist, expects complaints about him leading, but none come. Keith really has no idea as to how this works, does he? Lance’s glad that the he's wearing the gloves - he'd sweat all over that pale skin and die from the intimate, physical contact, which is kind of a sobering thought. He remembers his disastrous junior prom and the pretty girl that he asked out. Becca? Beth? She complained about his palms the entire time and then ended up dancing away with some cadet who wasn’t Lance, obviously, for the rest of the night.
Keith’s eyelashes are ridiculously long whenever he lowers his gaze. Lance’s clammy fingers spasm around his waist. Should he step in closer? Would that be too bold? He settles for yapping instead, too nervous to function. “I’m more amazed that you know about the reputation of this song,” he says, voice even, and steps in a little closer. Fuck it.
“I lived in a shack in the middle of a desert, not under a rock,” Keith replies, bemused. The hand that rests on Lance’s shoulder pulls him in. It looks like Lance isn’t the only one feeling adventurous tonight, ready to explore this unfamiliar territory.
“You know about the memes yet have no basic understanding of pop-culture.”
“Pidge and Hunk extensively educated me back when we were gathering information on Kierya. You and Shiro were still lost in space." His eyelashes tremble, tone turning solemn. Lance frowns. That was the most stressful month of his life – no, theirs, as a team, lives.
“Let’s not talk about that." With a forced smile, he shuts down the subject before it can escalate. Keith is so close that he can almost feel the other’s bangs brushing up against the bridge of his nose. He is grateful that Keith is too busy following the movements of their feet to look up and meet his roaming gaze. He whispers a small ‘Yeah’ and they slow-dance in the middle of an alien planet to the sounds of sensual saxophone.
Keith snorts, crooning out ‘Got no rhythm’ alongside George Michael.
Lance lightly kicks his ankle. “I’m not that horrible, shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything, though,” his date whispers, innocent, and the smile that pulls at his lips makes Lance weak in the knees. His heart is beating so fast that he’s amazed it somehow hasn’t broken out of his ribcage yet.
“But you were thinking it.”
“I wasn’t.”
“I bet you totally were.”
“Clearly, you have no understanding as to what I’m thinking," Keith shoots back as Lance steps on his foot for the third time. His expression is neutral when he looks into Lance's eyes. “And clearly you have no idea as to what you’re even doing.”
“Hey, I’m decent at this, it’s just that I’m kind of - “
“Yeah?”
'Nervous' doesn’t make past his lips. Lance bites the lower one in an attempt to concentrate. It’s awfully hard because stupid Keith - with his stupid long eyelashes - is all up in his face. “I’m trying my best, okay.”
Keith hums, a low sound that leaves Lance’s mouth dry, and he’s kind of thirsty in more ways than one, but it probably isn’t appropriate to pull something like ‘Hey, my tongue is dry, mind moisturizing it with yours?’ on the first not-quite date.
But if he’s reading the signals correctly - and Lance isn’t as dense as people like to believe he is, give him more credit c'mon - the vibes that he gets from Keith say that he wouldn’t mind if Lance did just that. But it’s Keith, so there’s no way for him to know for sure. Maybe he just wants to humiliate Lance, and with a heavy heart, he has to admit that Shiro has light-years on him when it comes to potential lover-material.
The songs blur together. Lance doesn’t know if his head is spinning from the overwhelming emotions or the actual spinning that they’ve been doing, when he sees Keith leaning in closer. He barely bites down the urge to lick at his dry lips.
The black-haired teen leans in to whisper into his ear. “You have shit taste in music.”
The magic of the moment is gone with the wind.
Fucker.
“Like you can do any better," Lance bristles, only a little saddned when Keith disentangles himself from his hold, digging a hand into the back pocket of his tight jeans before making his way to the car. “I bet it’s all edgy tween music.”
But then ACDC reaches his ears and he relents. “Okay, maybe slightly better than expected, but still pretentious as hell.”
Keith merely climbs over the center console to sprawl out across the backseat. Lance stands very still, Pidge’s words echoing in his head.
Oh shit, is this an invitation?
“You’re gonna stand there or join me?”
It is, ohhh.
“What did I do wrong in my life?” Lance inhales, dragging his hands across his face. He wants to peel the burning skin off. “I have this asshole luring me into this – ugh, why?”
The backseat is surprisingly cramped. He awkwardly attempts to fold his overly-long legs and keep the physical contact with Keith to a minimum, but it’s an impossible task to complete, especially when the other’s spread out like that, black shirt riding up to show that hard stomach just right. Lance winces.
“I can’t believe it, mis pobres sentimientos, por qué eres tan guapo?” He doesn’t even feel it when he slips into rapid-fire, muttered Spanish, eyes glued to that cursed patch of skin like it's got hypnotic abilities.
He knows what proms plus backseats equals. A bad time, because he's so awkward.
He’s startled by a light sound, eyes bulging when he sees that it’s coming from his date, Keith is laughing, an arm thrown over his eyes while 'TNT' blasts at near-full volume from the speakers.
“Por qué te ries de mi – shit, why are you laughing!?” Lance squeaks out, face burning. Keith doesn’t stop, only starts cackling in earnest like he’s making fun of Lance. He slaps the curled up man's leg a few times, but it does nothing to stop him, only fuels his outburst. “Hey! Keith, goddamn it, have you lost it? What’s so funny?”
Keith finally opens his cursed beautiful eyes, gleaming with mirth. He wipes at a stray tear as he tries to collect himself. “Are we going to talk about how you keep complimenting me in Spanish whenever you think I can’t hear it - or understand it, for that matter - or should we just leave it at that?”
Wait.
Wait, what?
Lance stares. Keith smiles, flashing his perfect teeth.
Oh. Oh no.
“Oh my god, you actually understood – all those times!” Lance covers his face in overwhelming shame. Keith laughs again, sits up and places a hand on Lance’s shoulder. He pats it awkwardly as if to console him. Jerk! “How long – oh my gosh, did I say anything even more embarrassing!?”
“I took Spanish for at least five years, so. And don’t worry, nothing too bad, just that you love mi culo. Mucho.” Keith tries to peel Lance’s hands away to make sure he's not trying to suffocate himself, but he doesn't succeed. The lanky teen shoves at his shoulder and continues wailing.
“Shut up, dios, shut up, you smug asshole.”
“I know that it’s tan perfecto, but jeez, Lance, if you’re going to flatter a guy, at least check in with the language barrier.”
“I will not hesitate to strangle you, man.” Lance goes in for his neck, but stupid, strong Keith grabs a hold of his wrists like it’s nothing. It wounds his pride, but whatever, it’s already shattered beyond repair. This is the single most embarrassing thing to have ever happened to him in his entire life, non-counting that one instance back when he was seven and his cousin dared him to put a fish down his swimming trunks. He was a dumb kid who didn’t know any better, but it seems like he didn’t learn anything since then. “I’m going to strangle you, bury your body, and no one will be able to prove anything,” he babbles.
This is just humiliating.
“Kinky,” Keith says, like the smug bastard that he is, as Lance points at him.
“No. No no no, you don’t get to do that, you’re the shy one and I’m the sexual deviant, take that back this instance.”
“Make me.”
He only stares. The tension skyrockets. Lance can feel himself freezing up – oh, the irony – and Keith leans in, almost expecting something.
When Lance doesn’t move, looking like a deer caught in headlights all the while. Keith shrugs. His dumb shirt slips down one shoulder just the tiniest bit. “We are in the backseat of a hover car at a pseudo-space prom. I know what happens next. Are you sure you weren’t lying when you told me that you’ve been to a prom before?” He then cocks his head to the side like the adorable tease that he is. Lance has about had it with this sass.
He squeezes Keith’s cheeks, makes sure the other sticks his lips out just enough. “Are you gonna kiss me or keep running your mouth, oh my god, do I have to do everything around here by myself – “
Soft lips press against his chapped ones. Lance immediately turns to putty in those hands, letting out a desperate whine when Keith attempts to take it slow. It’s a space prom, they’re in a backseat of a stolen ride, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t stick his hand down the front of Keith’s pants tonight. The black-haired teen welcomes Lance’s enthusiasm with open arms – literally - and they desperately grab at each other until Keith’s back presses against the leather seat and Lance is half on top of him, licking at the inside of that perfect mouth that tastes of peppermint and vaguely of smoke.
Lance disconnects for a moment to breathe. “I thought you promised to quit.”
Keith groans, lips cherry-red and wet. He brings him back down for another kiss, but Lance firmly keeps his mouth sealed. Between insistent, short pecks on his lips, he manages to breathe out an airy “Don’t ruin this for me, I was nervous.”
“You’re going to die at like, twenty, at this rate.”
Keith gives him a flat stare, voice equally unimpressed as he quits his ministrations and utters. “Ohhh, Lance, talk lung cancer to me, death turns me on.”
The lanky teen only shoves at his face. “Shut up, punk, or I'll tell on you.”
“Naggy jerk.”
Lance pecks him on the lips to shut him up and just because he can. “You kiss like my grandma.”
“Dude.”
“Kidding.” Lance nibbles on his lower lip playfully and then they’re making out again, relaxed for the first time in weeks. Keith doesn’t mind it when Lance sticks his sweaty palms under his shirt and finally does the thing he has dreamed of over and over again - traces those amazing abs. Keith snorts when Lance whispers "I thank every deity out there for this cheese grater along with the VIP access to it", and runs his fingers over the short brown hair at the nape of Lance’s neck.
The mushy look that he gives Lance is absolutely gross. He decides he loves it.
“Nan dangsin eul joh-a, Lance," Keith whispers.
The brunet only bats his eyelashes at the smooth-sounding gibberish that comes out of his mouth.
He squints, meanly tugging on one perfect cheek. “Not fair! I have no idea what you just said!”
“I said that you’re a horrible kisser. I’ve never had so much spit in my mouth.”
“And I say that you’ve insulted me and will not be getting these hands today. So take that, Mr. Oh look at me, I can now shit talk Lance in Kor-”
Keith successfully shuts him up. Lance lets him.
Dear Ma,
I got laid to 'Thunderstruck' by ACDC. Best prom ever.
Never going to send this.
Yours truly,
Lance
“I told you not to get any fluids on the goddamn backseat!” Pidge yells as they wormhole out of the planet, chased after by what seems to be a horde of local space cops.
“I don’t even wanna know,” Shiro says, and gets up to leave.