Chapter Text
When Keith walks into the dining hall the next morning, smile wider than Lance has ever seen on anyone, let alone Mr Grumpy McGrumperface, Lance’s first thought is that the universe is out to get him.
Well, no. His first thought is actually that Keith looks unbelievably handsome when he smiles, but he’s so mad at himself for having that thought at all that he refuses to acknowledge its existence.
“Well hello, everyone!” Keith says, as jolly as the goddamn Green Giant. “How did everyone sleep, hm? Everyone have a good night?”
Lance takes a moment to look under the table and consider whether it is worth his dignity to slide down there are simply perish.
It might be. It really, really might be.
“I slept fine,” Shiro says warily. He hesitates a moment. “Did…you sleep well, buddy?”
Keith hums as he squeezes some food goo into a bowl, merrily skipping his way over to the table and sliding in his seat next to Lance.
He sits way closer than usual, scooching his chair towards Lance to the point where they’re nearly touching. Lance buries his face in his hands and prays that the universe will make everyone blind and deaf so they will not bear witness to his impending humiliation.
“Please shut up,” Lance begs as quietly as he can manage.
“Not on your life,” Keith whispers back immediately. He turns to his bowl and starts eating his goo with gusto. He starts fucking humming between bites.
Pidge squints at him suspiciously. “Have you been replaced with a pod person?”
Keith grins at her. Does he not understand that this whole bit he’s doing is also giving the team ammo on him, as he acts like an insane person? God, he’s the worst. Lance hates him for real.
“Nope!” he says cheerily. “I just received the most wonderful and thoughtful gift in the world last night, and it has melted the ice in my heart. My lungs fill with joy. I will forever be changed by the knowledge that Lance cares ever so deeply for me, to the point where he hand-crafted me these cute, dorky slippers in the dead of night.”
Hunk raises a bemused eyebrow. “We all got slippers, dude, but you’re the only one acting like a lunatic about it.”
“None of you are Lance’s esteemed rival,” Keith points out.
Hunk, because he is a traitor of the worst proportions, inclines his head.
“Point.”
“No! Not point! All of you shut up!”
Lance is fully aware that his face is flaming for all to see, now, and his outburst is only enabling Keith’s bitch ass.
But dear God.
“I only made you the stupid slippers because I knew you would get that annoying pouty look you get when you think you’re excluded from something!”
Lance had meant for that to be a cutting blow, for Keith to acknowledge that Lance was the superior rival of the two of them and he only made the slippers so their rivalry could continue. Besides, now Lance is winning in the craftsmanship competition, so there.
But Keith is unfortunately completely unphased.
“Spend a lot of time agonizing over keeping me pout-free, huh, hotshot?”
He vaguely hears Allura and Pidge giggle at Keith’s tease. He really starts to reconsider his decision to avoid accepting his premature death. Perhaps he can see if the castle is willing to try and murder him again via slow and painful asphyxiation. Anything would be better than this.
“I do not! I just — ugh! You’re so frustrating!”
Keith’s grin can only be described as wolfish.
“Do I make you’re brain all mushy, pretty boy? Betcha I do. You get flustered real easy, and ain’t that fun to poke at.”
“You’re the worst,” Lance says weakly, because where the hell did that accent come from and why is it doing weird things to Lance’s psyche?
I kind of want him to say mean things to me in that accent, is one said example of a weird psyche thing, and dear Lord Lance needs to get a grip and maybe also a therapist.
“What is happening,” Shiro says, and instead of sounding horrified he sounds intrigued.
Aw, man. Him too? Why does no one love Lance? What’s wrong with team Lance?
Keith fucking winks at him again. “So much for being arch nemeses, huh? You can’t win against me no matter what you do.”
That is the last straw.
“I hate each and every one of you and Keith especially,” Lance snaps, shoving himself from the table and ignoring everyone’s calls for him to stay and that they’re “only teasing”.
Lance stomps down the hallways, muttering curses to himself and coming up with hateful things to think about each and everyone one of his so-called teammates.
“Hey. Lance, hold on.”
Oh, great. Just who he wants to hear from.
“Ser jodido, mójol. Leave me alone.”
This, of course, does nothing except for make Keith huff and jog to keep up. Lance seriously considers elbowing him in the head and making a run for it — he’s pointy and he’s fast and that always works on his siblings — but unfortunately Keith is kind of a ninja, and his stupid ninja reflexes are sure to catch Lance in a headlock before he can get away.
“Lance. Hold on a sec.” A gloved hand wraps around his arm, making him scowl and pull away. Keith doesn’t try to touch him again, but stands stubbornly in front of him so he can’t move away without touching Keith first.
That’s fine. Lance is very good at staring blankly at people and playing stupid until they go away.
“I’m sorry,” Keith says, and he actually sounds pretty sincere.
Oh, fuck this asshole. How dare he start being mature when Lance has decided to be childish. It’s very rude and inconsiderate.
“I didn’t mean to piss you off.”
Lance raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, I did mean to piss you off,” Keith amends, “but I didn’t mean to actually make you upset. You’re just kind of cute when you’re mad.”
…Pardon.
“What,” Lance croaks.
Keith grins again, and there’s a look of mischief in his expression, but it’s not…malicious. It’s hard to explain.
“You’re cute. You’re also very good at getting under my skin, so when I had the opportunity to flip things around I did. I didn’t mean to actually hurt your feelings.”
“You didn’t hurt my feelings,” Lance manages, and he’s honestly pretty proud of himself for that, seeing as most of his brain has shut down and he doesn’t have much to work with. “You think — you think I’m cute? We’re rivals!”
“I never agreed to be rivals,” Keith points out.
“You have started twelve separate competitions in three days!”
Keith shrugs. “What was I supposed to do, let you think you were winning?”
“I don’t know! I just — argh! You’re so confusing!”
This, finally, manages to tick Keith off.
“I’m confusing, you walking mixed signal? You’re the one who refuses to be friends with me but holds my hand and says we’re a good team!”
“I was experiencing a brief lapse of judgement due to being exploded!” Lance screeches. “I latched onto the first pretty face I saw! That was my reptile brain and I cannot be held accountable!”
A look of surprise takes over Keith’s face, and then Lance’s words click and a slow smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth.
Lance is going to beat his own ass, actually. He’s not joking this time. If he ever catches sight of himself in the mirror realm it’s on sight.
“So you do remember our bonding moment.”
“No,” Lance backtracks. “That was — I am simply trying to explain the delusion you are having about said bonding moment. I am — providing you with a possible explanation. I have no idea what you’re talking about and no bonding moment occurred, because you are the worst and I despise you on a molecular level.”
“Let’s check something, shall we?” Keith takes a step towards Lance, counting on his fingers. “You make me lion slippers even though I am your supposed rival.”
Lance takes a step backwards. Keith follows.
“You admit that we had a bonding moment wherein you held my hand, stared into my eyes, and said that we make a good team.”
Another step.
“You have apparently sustained a rivalry with me, which is well-known as the most homoerotic relationship known to man.”
Another.
“And, funnily enough, you called me pretty not two minutes ago, and you frequently ogle at me when I do something cool during training.”
Another step, and Lance’s back hits the wall. There’s nowhere else for him to go. This doesn’t stop Keith, who places a hand next to Lance’s head and leans in so close he can feel Keith’s warm breath on his lips.
“Sounds like you’ve got a crush on me, Sharpshooter.” Keith’s eyes flick down to his lips, then back up to his eyes as he grins sharply. “A big one.”
“Shut the fuck your mouth,” Lance says hotly, and shoves their lips together.
It hurts, initially. Lance pushes hard, and Keith pushes back harder, his stupid fucking crooked incisors nicking the thin skin of his lips. Their noses are kind of pressed together, and it’s not so much a kiss as it is a fistfight with their faces.
But then Keith sighs out a kind of laugh — a breathy, horrible thing, low in his throat, that makes Lance’s knees weak — and tilts his head gently, instantly softening the kiss. His gloved hands come up to cup Lance’s face, calloused fingers brushing the soft skin of Lance’s face.
Lance melts like a goddamn popsicle on a hot, hot day.
One second his fists are clenched by his side and the next second they’re tangled in that stupid mullet as he holds on for dear life. His mouth moves against Keith’s, wet and hot and God, there is nothing Lance can do to keep himself from succumbing to that gentle grip and searing touch.
“Luckily for you, I have a thing for pretty boys who hate me,” Keith mutters, pulling away just enough to make eye contact.
“You are the worst,” Lance complains, hands still in the stupid asshole’s hair.
“Mhm. Tell me more.”
“God. I can’t believe we’re going to date. I have horrible taste.”
Keith laughs as he kisses him again, much more chaste this time.
“Sure you do, baby. Sure you do.”