Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A realm of shadows, the Underworld was more often shrouded by misunderstanding than in the actual inky blackness with which it was so deeply associated. While it was true that the skies of the chthonic were cast in eternal night, the subterranean plane was not a place entirely pitched in darkness or marked by chasms filled by roaring flames that existed exclusively to torture the damned. The exceptions were much more frequent than the rule, in this case, and nowhere was it more apparent than if one simply looked skyward: there, one could not miss the iridescence brilliance of a celestial body, a lovely bauble that had occupied the skies since the fall of the Titans, and now, it hung eerily, eternally, to the west. Upon first glance for most mortals, the sight was mistaken for a moon, but it was much too large, too close, and, frankly, too wicked, to be a lunar entity like the one they were used to seeing on Earth.

Keith called it Notos.

Condensed within its moonglass surface was what appeared to be the centrifuge of a storm, the singular source of natural luminescence in the Underworld, and from its’ opalescent aura, a cloud-like vapor suffused the atmosphere. It was not unlike a pearl, but the outer walls were translucent, and gentle brushstrokes of lavender clouds poured out from its porous mass. The skies were infinitely black otherwise, and the ground was rendered in dark tones of charcoal, expanding out as far as he could see into ridges of dry plains and craggy mountains.

After having spent a few days with Shiro, Keith couldn’t help but reflect on how his own lands were so... strange. He didn’t understand why there were trees that grew, but would yield no leaves, or how there could be seas that crashed with waves when there was no wind, but it was, he supposed, not his job to understand. He did not create the world, nor was it made in his image; it had come to him from the divine equivalent of drawing straws with Shiro over who would rule where.

The Underworld was by no means the proverbial short straw, though. While he was not one to gloat, Keith was at least self-aware and realistic enough to understand the indefatigable sense of power that attached itself to his realm, could understand why others looked at his subjects and world with fear and suspicion. There was a reason the Titans were kept here, leagues beneath the others, least of all for his convenience – it was the same reason he had  his appreciation for the power of this realm. It was inherently realistic that Keith could not conceivably understand all of the workings of the realm itself, but it was his, had been for as long as he could remember, and it was home.

After seven of Earth’s sun cycles, he was glad to be back.

Keith did not care much for the Overworld. It was bright as starburst, loud throughout as the deepest depths of Tartarus, and even the air tasted strangely sweet – compared to the mortal plane, which left a vaguely salty taste in the back of his throat. (The Underworld did not taste of anything in particular, which is how Keith felt it should be.)

That said, it had still been an important summit and Keith could not have avoided it if he wanted to. It was all part of the effort across planes to keep Chaos maintained. If ever the force grew too powerful, Zarkon, the entity’s physical form, could all too easily manifest from the flow of the Styx. As things were, the passage of life and death remained steady, and Chaos could not collect enough energy to take a shape great enough to wreak havoc, but it was always a threat, ever-present in the background.

And all of the heavenly deities had been, of course, perfectly hospitable hosts from beginning to end. They treated all of Keith’s subjects with their distinct brand of… well, respect was one word for it. It was, more accurately, just poorly disguised fear masquerading as respect, but it still amounted to cordiality between all involved, so Keith wasn’t going to hedge any complaints.

Adam and Shiro were the only two he could reliably expect to act without fear around him, but even they weren’t immune to the veil of distrust between the attending daemons and other gods. They trusted Keith not to do anything and not to hurt anyone; they did not hold the same faith in his courtiers, however, and the occasional spark of tension could have very easily led to the destructive flames of dissent.

Alfor seemed in better spirits than usual, and he would even go so far as to say Lotor had been companionable, but he’d only been present for the first few days before his mother sent him on some errand. Coran was always friendly, of course, but otherwise… the attending deities and gods had all acted with severe reservations, their gazes frosty at best, outright contemptful at worst.

Frankly, Keith didn’t give a fuck what they thought about him. He’d long gotten past that insecurity and doubt – he was, and always would be, this. Where the Overworld gods were sanctified and adored by mortal and immortal alike, it was a necessary burden that an evil stood against their goodness. And, while Keith was not evil, he was the best proxy for it in the minds of most. Fighting such a thing was more trouble than it was worth.

And yet…

I’m not a monster.

Why had he felt so… wary yesterday?

Time blurred together, but he was certain it had been a very long time since he’d even worried about what someone thought about it. It felt like he’d taken a smithy's hammer and smacked down his own common sense, melted his resolve in the roaring fire of a forge and presented himself as stupid and vulnerable.

I’m not a monster.

No, I don’t suppose you are.

At present, the King of the Underworld stood at the outer edge of the balcony of his chambers, arms resting over the edge of the overhang. At his fingertips, Keith held the stem of a tiny flower, one that refused to wilt as he twirled it between thumb and forefinger.

He wasn’t supposed to care. Keith was supposed to be above worrying about things like that. Hell, Shiro had told him that he was the only one who could do a job such as this, because he didn’t care.

No, as god of the dead, his duty was not to care; his responsibility was to oversee, to manage, to maintain.

Sometimes, Keith felt rather like he lived within a paradox. Despite his title, the god was really only interested in preserving the universal balance, devoting all his time and focus to keeping the daemons under his fealty, and their subsequent responsibilities, in check, and keeping those who were eternally bound to Tartarus to stay there.

Balance. That was Keith’s purpose.

And yet, balance was not central to Keith’s own life.

By living chiefly in the interest of keeping order, placing the needs to the three realms above his own to ensure a chance at equitable life and death for all creatures, Keith had assured himself a liminal existence. As part of living up to that higher creed, there were personal consequences – he was the image of what was wrong and immoral, looked upon as the abject ruler of a cursed domain. Being feared was essential to succeeding in a world such as this, because to rule with an iron fist made maintaining the greater balance that much easier.

That’s how people saw him, anyway. He was used to the persona – if anything, fear only made his job easier. But the reality was simply that Keith was just committed to being impartial, not cruel. After all, morality was necessarily vulnerable, and life was even more fragile.

Mortal or immortal, he saw all creatures die or fall from grace, corrupt or kill, cheat or lie or sneak, but it wasn’t his place to judge. Of all that was given life, Keith had to assure it all met its inevitable end.

With one very, very small exception.

His gaze followed the sway of the petals at his fingertips, pausing after rotating it a few times, and then spinning it back.

Keep it.

Pause, spin, repeat.

How did it survive down here?

He might have stood there and examined the little flower for hours, for he had little interest in tracking the time, or much else, really, aside from reliving the past few days.

Aside from the steady stream of atmosphere that oscillated from Notos, the entire Underworld was either black, white, purple or red. There were no exceptions.

Many daemons were purple-skinned, but just as many were pale or dark entities, some with shocks of white tresses that made them look remarkably like fallen angels, and others with jet-black hair that were messy and unkempt, like Keith’s own. With nothing besides those few shades painting the landscape, the sky, the oceans, the people, it was easy to forget about how much more there could be, especially after long stretches without seeing Shiro and Adam.

Keith had always assumed other shades were reserved for the Overworld gods or those who dwelled on Earth in the mortal plane; here, beneath the muted glow of Notos, there had been no other color to exist, not anywhere, not even in the roaring fires of the Phlegethon, not since the Titans fell.

Until yesterday. There was a new life here now, glowing and radiant and elegant. Sharper than purple, cooler than white, more fragile than black, less violent than red, it was alive and it would not die, immutable even at his immolant finger tips.

Blue.

Keith bit his lower lip and stopped twirling the oleander blossom, holding it still.

He had protested accepting the flower, claiming he hadn’t done anything to deserve it – and that was absolutely true. In fact, he’d practically run his mouth, divulging much more than he normally would with a perfect stranger, but there was something about that god that had just been so… intriguing? A turn of his head that was mesmerizing like a cloak and the sharpness of daggers in his smile, a sense of humor that didn’t seem concerned with catering to Keith’s name or title, some sort of… sincerity that he was unused to, especially in strangers.

A bit amused, Keith had to wonder if the god had poor survival instincts. Most people’s instincts make them reel upon seeing him, but Lance?

Lance brought life to flowers around him. A meadow of his own amusement.

Privately, Keith was even glad that the dark-skinned, quick-witted god had insisted he take this tiny blue flower, because Keith was genuinely mystified with its lambent petals. He wanted to study it, understand it, figure out where to keep it – all distractions from what he should be doing, but this was similar to the novelty that had been raising Kosmo from puppy to proper hellhound.

Keith was entirely unpracticed in the ways of enjoying something just… just because. It seemed so senseless and wasteful and sort of beautifully simple.

I didn’t really do anything.

You didn’t really have to. That’s the point of a gift.

He banished the thought, cheeks rushing with warmth.

It was probably dumb of him to have left that book, right? Just thinking about it made him uneasy, almost embarrassed – why did he do that? Keith groaned, running a hand down his face and slouching into his folded arms.

Stupid impulse, stupid flustered emotions – he just wanted to thank Lance properly, but didn’t want to get him into trouble with his mother. But a book? The idea had come to him It had been a bit of a cheap substitute in exchange for the tiny, stubborn flower that had brought new light to the Underworld, but he hadn’t known what else to do.

He should have just slipped the note under Lance’s sheets or something – but then, that would have been weird, too. (“Hey, Lance, thanks for not being judgemental and surprisingly nice to me, I really appreciate the flower. Also I broke into your room to leave you this note and unmade your bed to hide it. Don’t freak out, I promise I’m not scary or creepy!”)

Ugh, and then Keith lost his nerve with his stupid shaking hands and scribbled out the first thing that came to mind.

Maybe I’ll see you there?

Gods, what was he thinking?

The book was from his personal library, but it wasn’t particularly special or meaningful – he just didn’t know what else to give. It was the first thing that had come to mind when he slipped back down to the Underworld before the proceedings concluded, and he thought the text seemed inconspicuous so that if Melenor just stumbled upon it, she wouldn’t have any reason to be suspect. But a book on botany and flowers in human scripture? In retrospect, such a thing might have even been insulting – it was like a weird biography written by a different species that had no idea what they were really talking about, like someone leaving a scroll with a picture of a red-horned, red-tailed, fiery devil on his doorstep and saying “hey, this reminded me of you, so I wanted you to have it!”

Fucking hell. Keith felt like a gigantic idiot, flushing this time in mortification.

And Keith, frustrated with his own – preoccupation, that’s what he’d call it, because he certainly hadn’t developed any sort of feelings – didn’t even realize he was being watched. It was unlike him, which made it all the more fun for his audience.

The titular goddess of witchcraft and magic, known to many as Hecate, floated out onto the balcony outside of Keith’s chambers that oversaw the realm at one of the highest points, so close to Notos it seemed you could reach out and touch it.

She glimpsed over the god’s shoulder, raising a thin brow at the vibrant, aquamarine and phosphorescent petals.

“Ooooh, how pretty!” the girl sang in his ear, and Keith flinched so suddenly he nearly dropped the flower over the ledge. “What is this little flower?”

“Romelle,” Keith said through grit teeth, face turning even darker in embarrassment. “I hate when you do that. Why can’t you walk like a normal person?”

Laughing, high and musical, the girl touched down onto the stone steps beside him, propping her chin up on a hand as she rested an elbow against the stone.

“Normal,” the girl sighed meaningfully. “That’s rich, coming from you. So, what is it you’ve got? Something bewitched? Cursed? Let me see, let me see!”

While it was sort of silly, Keith’s immediate reaction was to be defensive, turning the flower inward and holding it close to his chest, away from her grabby hands.

“No, it’s not cursed or any of your weird, witchy stuff. It’s just… alive. If you must know.”

“Who are you trying to pull one on, honestly?” She hummed questioningly, scrutinizing his guilty, if-not flustered, expression. “I wasn’t born last century.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he shot back before turning and marching towards his room, leaving the goddess to grumpily follow after him. “It’s really nothing like you’re thinking.”

Keith let out a large breath of air before setting the oleander down on the dresser across. Crossing the room, he slid down to sit on the edge of the mattress, facing Romelle as she leaned in the doorway leading in from the balcony.

“Why are you always so mean?” she huffed with feigned irritation.

He rolled his eyes. “Why are you always so whiny?”

“Because! The Underworld is so boring, and seeing as you didn’t let me join you in the Overworld, you better bet I’m going to complain!”

“It’s not my fault the Overworld kicked you out. You’re lucky I even took you in.”

The tall goddess hmmp’d moodily, flipping her long hand over her shoulders and straightening her posture. Arms crossed, she sent the chthonic ruler a hardened glare.

“Three things. One, you’re grateful I’m here so don’t even try it with the holier than thou act. And yes, I realize the irony, thank you, Your Majesty.”

Keith snorted lightly, but did not interrupt. He knew Romelle wasn’t actually upset with with him, and he didn’t mind – this had been the way of their friendship for over a thousand years. If they were well and truly fighting over something, which was itself a rarity for how difficult it was to disturb Romelle’s breezy nature, they would slip into stony silences rather than carry out clipped conversations.

“Two, I wasn’t kicked out. Shiro and Adam both love me very much and the only reason I am here is because I didn’t want you to be stuck alone all the time… and, the added freedom is nice, I guess. Shiro and Alfor were all don’t do this and don’t do that. Adam was pretty cool about it but –”

Carding a hand through his hair, Keith fingered through the tangled locks at the end, almost bored. “That’s not freedom, Rom’, it’s Chaos. But go on.”

She acted like she hadn’t heard him.

“Three, I could go back at any point. But I won’t, not until I find Bandor.”

“Ah.” Keith pursed his lips, sensing an edge of sincere anger edging her tone, and he tried to appear apologetic. “Sorry, Romelle. I really didn't mean it.”

The goddess hugged her arms over her chest, a little more tightly than before. “I know. I didn’t mean to make things all serious and be a downer, either... Sorry. I guess I was just lonely for the past week without you or Krolia or Kolivan or anyone… Not that Kolivan is exactly good company.”

She cracked a grin at the afterthought, which Keith returned.

“What, you mean you don’t love chatting it up with Kolivan?”

“Rude,” she gasped teasingly, strolling away from the open doors and approaching the wardrobe opposite the bed.

Plucking up the luminous flower, the goddess brought it close to her nose in scrutiny. “So, really, what’s the story behind this? If it’s not cursed or corrupted, what did you do to it?”

Wrinkling his nose, Keith watched her with rapt attention, his stare flintly and narrowed, but the goddess’s touch was the epitome of gentle. He tried to convince himself to relax.

“I didn’t do anything to it. It’s really just a flower. A gift from someone.”

“Someone?” She looked up from her examination to fix him with a doubtful expression, to which Keith could only shrug.

“Just, another god. Melenor’s… son.”

“Melenor’s…” repeating the words quietly, Romelle tested her jaw, appearing like she was trying to chew the words before letting them fall from her lips. “I thought she had a daughter – oh, why can’t I remember her name?”

“I thought that too – Persephone. That’s just part of the human’s mythos about him, I guess. His name is Lance.”

This time, Romelle held the flower up and out, closing one eye and moving it back and forth from her face, like it might change form or shape if she looked at it differently.

“So what did this Lance do? Why is it so… glowy? You’re sure he wasn’t a forest sprite or something? Those creatures are known to tricksters, you know.”

Keith shook his head. “No, he was definitely a god. I mean, he didn’t have any reason to lie to me, he didn’t even know who I was when he introduced himself. I ran into him by accident on Earth and there were flowers everywhere, and he insisted that I keep one. It was nice. I guess this is just his thing – his domain. Flowers and plants and stuff. ”

Like a switch flickering on and off, Romelle’s curious, if not humorously, over-inquisitive expression, was wiped from her face and replaced by an accusatory sort of curiosity, as if Keith had done something wrong and was about to be punished.

“Wait a moment… that would mean, if this isn’t some sort of primal enchantment, then the reason it glows – this was an impression of his own essence?”

“Um, I think so? You’re the expert, why are you even asking –”

“I’m not, just thinking aloud,” Romelle interrupted, a hum behind the words. There was a tilt to her smirk that Keith did not trust, not one bit.

Standing, he crossed the room and took the flower from her, which she dropped into his open palm without protest.

Romelle’s grin only widened.

“What?”

“Mmm. Oh nothing,” she laughed, the sound so effervescent her toes left the ground, robes billowing around her as they did whenever she floated. “It just seems... hmm, surprising that a young, unsuspecting god gave you a flower, one that was imparted with energy from his own soul. That’s pretty significant for a gift.”

A bit surprised, Keith felt his face grow hot so he promptly turned away. “I – is it? I wouldn’t know.”

Romelle began to drift after him, so Keith made a beeline for the door and began to march down the hallway.

“Let me ask you something.”

Oh no. He did not like that tone, not one bit.

“No.”

“Do you –”

“No.”

She was insistent.

“Aw, c’mon Keith!”

Annoyingly so.

“One question!”

He had to stop moving because she flipped overtop him in midair, blocking his path. Hair slightly amess, her eyes were wide with knowing mischief, and Keith considered reminding her who was the one actually in charge around here – but, instead, he sighed in defeat. Romelle was a friend, which were few and far between for him, so he didn’t want to push her away.

Knowing full well he would regret it, Keith spoke between grit teeth. “Fine. One.”

Romelle clapped her hands together, touching down in the hallway as she fixed her expression into something more neutral.

She cleared her throat.

“Was he cute?”

“I’m leaving.”

Keith turned and began to head the other way. It was true he’d just come from this direction and the place he needed to go was the other way, but he’d find a way around.

“Keith wait!”

He’d jump out the window if he had to.

After successfully escaping Romelle and any of her subsequent questions, Keith managed to administer his talent in willful avoidance of the subject altogether. He had things to take care of after being away for so long, anyway – Kosmo whined and cried for his attention for nearly twenty minutes when he’d first shown up to the entrance (“Some guardian you are,” Keith had snorted, scratching behind the hellhound’s ears which led to the fearsome beast flopping on its side, belly bared for the world to scratch.); making stops at the Gate of Dawn and Elysium, as well as the Gate of Shade and the Stygian Marsh. Ulaz, ferryman of the dead, reported nothing unusual in his regular motions along the water.

These were no short journeys, taking up the majority of Keith’s remaining days below the surface world before he’d said he had to go back to Earth. He could have easily opened rifts and come out at any of the locations, but he preferred to peruse the lands, check for irregularities, ensure there were no spots where the realm thinned – if any of the bonds that held the hierarchical shape of the three realms in place were to wear down, the entire structure could collapse, and his own realm’s were weakest in the mountains.

Hypothetically, anyway. That was what Matt’s research suggested, but the more metaphysical shit things got, the less Keith was able to grasp. The bottom line was that there were pockets of weakness in all of the realms, and tears could occur, and that would be bad.

According to Matt, very, very bad.

He shuddered at the thought, and the motion dragged him effectively back to the present. Three days, and then-some, had passed, and now he could put it off no longer. The hour was later than he realized on Earth, and he just hoped Lance had some patience.

Keith stepped through the rift he created, focusing on that same field as before, unsure how he’d gotten stuck there but certain he wasn’t going to forget about it anytime soon.

He passed through the time-space shift, and Lance was there, hadn’t left before he had the chance to show up. Keith saw him first, for which he was grateful. It gave him the much-needed chance to gather the remaining shreds of his courage.

It was like he’d stepped into the gossamery space of dreams, a place upon which he was intruding merely by arriving. Keith could not fathom such a place existing outside of the imagination, not even in the Overworld with its saturated, velveteen air and overstated vibrancy; this was a space of soft, muted tones, pale and pretty with green bursts of a pastoral backdrop accented by dewdrops of beautiful white wildflowers.

If Keith could have mistaken Lance for a figure from a painting before, his appearance accented by splashes of color and warm, tanned skin that absorbed the sunshine, then, by moonlight, he looked… almost seraphic. Superlunary, almost untouchably ethereal, the god of flowers was laid back in an overgrown valley of grass that was messy and imperfect, bell-shaped petals and convex leaves bowing to the earth all around him. Beneath the bright spill of silver moonlight, the baubles of petals seemed to glow, and Lance’s dark skin was pitched to sepian twilight, hair matching in the unkempt image of indifference.

It was so quiet.

Probably not by coincidence, Lance appeared to be asleep.

One arm rested on his chest, the other splayed out to the side, Keith watched as he breathed steadily and slowly with his mouth ever-so-slightly open. Aquamarine scales shimmered at the corners of his eyes, the pale blue dancing beneath the white basquing presence of the sky and stars overhead.

And Keith couldn’t even breathe, his ribs constricting, his heart going spectacularly haywire.

It felt almost criminal to interrupt such a sight, but as a quiet breeze drifted into the valley and shuffled hair and petals loosely, enough that they brushed against the god’s arm and bare calves, Keith thought it would be best to wake him intentionally. (Waking naturally to find someone staring at you was probably a little uncomfortable, and that was to say nothing about that someone being the god of the dead and King of the Underworld.)

Taking a few steps back, the chthonic god cleared his throat.

“Lance?” he spoke clearly, and it was loud enough to do as intended.

Blue eyes blearily parted, squinting at the sea of stars far above, light catching in the whites as he reoriented himself.

“Mmm… hmm?” hummed the other, stretching as he sat up and twisted around to face Keith. A small grin pulled at the corner of his mouth, the remnants of sleep making his expression open and relaxed. “Oh, hi. Sorry, I guess I fell asleep...”

“Hi.” Keith said, focusing on the tilt in Lance’s smile, trying to remember his own name. “And, uh, don’t apologize. It took me longer getting here than I planned. I hope you weren’t waiting for too long.”

Already waving a hand, Lance used his other to cover his mouth through a yawn. “Naaah, it’s no problem. I didn’t even really mean to sleep, just sort of happened.”

Lance paused, giving Keith a thorough once over – long enough to make the ruler of the Underworld wonder if he should have tried to do something with his appearance besides just show up – but, whatever he saw there must have been deemed good enough, because Lance continued to appear breezy and unbothered as a western wind.

Lance patted a spot on the ground beside him. “Well, come sit down! Don’t loom over there all awkward and broody.”

“Broody?” Keith rolled his eyes, though he accepted the invitation to sit without further complaint, doing his best to mind the beautiful mess of white flowers all around, trying to maneuver around rather than through their unbridled overgrowth.

Some of the flowers, Keith noticed, were no longer just the same curving bell-shaped blossoms, but had begun to crowd in with others, larger, flattened petals that were splayed skyward.Unlike their first encounter, however, these blossoms held no color; as such, they seemed unaffected by Keith’s presence, the inevitable drain of life from his own essence when impressed upon the earth, and were just as vibrantly white as they’d been before he approached.

“Does this happen every time?”Just as transfixed as he had been the first time in the wide open field, Keith was only halfway seated when he quietly asked, “Does this happen everywhere you go?”

“What?” Lance responded, confused, before realizing what Keith meant a few seconds later.

“Ooh, that. No, and yes? It… well, it’s only supposed to happen when I’m doing it on purpose, buuuuuut flowers are kind of… hard to control? They’re really weirdly... emotional. Sorta like my mother, how if she gets upsets, crops fail, except crops don’t do like extra good because she’s happy. They do, just, like, average? Hmm... it’s like, I have to make an active effort to not make any flowers rather than the reverse, which is how it should be… which is sort of frustrating, you know? I don’t always want them all over the place.”

Lance chuckled and scratched the back of his neck, looking away. “Ah, sorry, that was sort of a long answer to a simple question.”

“It’s fine,” Keith reassured, tentatively crossing his legs and leaning towards the nearest cluster of bell-shaped flowers. “I like them, it’s better than having a life-sucking cloud surrounding you at all times.”

He sounded a bit more bitter than intended, but Lance didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he bubbled with a laugh so bright it made the grass around them grow brighter green for a few seconds.

It was loud, and perhaps even a little obnoxious. Part of him – a large part of him – wanted to grit his teeth together and felt very exhausted just by the other god’s blinding brightness.

Another, smaller, defiant part of him, secluded to the base of his stomach squeezed and churned in a way that was strangely thrilling, and Keith found he had to look away in order to get his thoughts in order.

Once his laughter subsided, Lance repositioned himself in the grass so his legs were folded sideways, and he was facing Keith perpendicularly. “So, did you come straight here from the Underworld? Or did you need to take care of… uh, whatever you needed to come down here for?”

“It’s up,” Keith corrected. “For me, I mean. Down in the Underworld has a very different connotation than it does for you.”

Lance blinked. “O-Oh. Sure. My bad.”

“No, no it’s – fine.” Keith sighed, pleading with his nerves relax, taking a moment to brush back his bangs and trailing a nervous hand over the slight curvature of his horns. “You wouldn’t have any way of knowing. Um, to answer your question, I didn’t get the chance to do what I wanted. But it’s fine, I can do it later, it was my fault for being late.”

“Mmm.” A frown bowed Lance’s lips, and Keith was overwhelmed with the sudden, very pretty, shape of them. He hadn’t noticed enough specific traits about Lance the first time, too taken aback with his… well, everything to give any of his finer features due appreciation. Indeed, Keith still wasn’t wholly convinced that Lance wasn’t a nymph with some sort of long-term agenda, because those creatures were fashioned to look far lovelier than anyone had the right, like a visual iterations of Poseidon's sirens, beauty crafted to ensnare the unsuspecting in their bewitching appearance instead of by song.

And, gods – Lance’s lips were moving, and Keith couldn’t even hear what words were being spoken, his heart rate rising to a fever pitch, his urge to sit and quietly talk driven over the stern because it was all he could do to not reach out and touch Lance. Not in any sort of intimate way, besides to just make sure he was really there.

A voice that sounded an awful lot like Romelle giggled in his ear.

Is he cute?

Shit.

Shit, he was much worse than cute.

Fingers snapped in front of his eyes, and the chthonic god flinched back. “Keith, hello? Geez, you’ve got this serious, like, I’m pissed look on your face. You should work on not looking like you want to murder people all of the time.”

“I – sorry, I was just – remembering something.” His tongue felt weighted by lead, uncoordinated and stupid and unable to make words and sentences. His face was definitely burning. “Um, a conversation with a friend, you just reminded me – forget it.”

Lance’s soft blue markings fluttered lightly, and if Keith’s imagination wasn’t getting out of hand, he thought the tan-skinned god appeared to be flushed.

“I, um, okay. It’s okay, just… are you sure you want to hang out right now? That you’re not, you know, mad? You kinda… look mad.”

“No, no, I want this, definitely – ” real smooth, idiot, he chastised internally and tried to turn the conversation towards something a little less embarrassing. “Shiro says I always look pissed about something. That’s just my face.”

Mercifully, Lance let it go, holding up the back of his hand to his mouth to stifle his own laughter. “I mean, he’s not wrong. I think the all-black eyes don’t help your case, no offense.”

“None taken,” Keith snorted. “My eyes aren’t always like this. I do it when I come up here, or, especially for the Overworld, it’s so bright – it’s to help block out some of the light, otherwise it can give me a headache.”

Without really thinking about it, Keith closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, feeling the restrictive blackness of his sclera withdraw behind his eyelids.

When he blinked back into focus, Lance’s own blue eyes widened, he and all the surrounding plains looking even brighter than before. Keith could, in a strange extrasensory sort of way, feel that his own pupils and irises were still pitched darkly, but that he’d returned to having whites to his eyes, which usually suited him best only below the surface.  

“Wow.” Lance leaned in a bit, eyes bright and sharp as they held his own, glancing back forth. “Can you do that with other things too?”

The sudden intensity of Lance’s attention had him want to simultaneously throw himself off the nearest cliff and lean forward and meet him in his nearness. Keith opted for neither, simply looking away.

Coughing, he said, “What were you saying?”

Lance took in a slow, deep inhale and turned his head down, focusing on a patch of grass directly in front of him, one finger extended as he traced out a complex bouquet of beautiful petals and vines that Keith could not for his life identify.

“Huh? Oh, I was just asking what’d you need to do up here, anyway?” Lance scratched his chin with a questioning furrow to his brow. “I feel like the Underworld must have pretty crazy digs, so what would you need to do on Earth?”

Keith looked at him wryly upon his emphasis of the word you, but decided not to comment on it.

“There’s a text I need to collect from the Library of Athens. I swear I didn’t plan for things to keep coming back to books.”

(I did, I planned this, I’m lying through my teeth.)

“Oh.” Lance seemed almost amused by that, but Keith was just glad to see him smiling again, more relaxed than before. “Well, okay. What’s the book?”

(I have no fucking idea. This was the only thing I could think of on short notice.)

“Nothing special, really. Just –” And as he was halfway through forming his answer, Keith instead tried for an ambiguous smirk as he began to collect himself and stand back up again.

Offering a hand to help Lance to his feet, he said, “I guess you’ll have to come with me and find out.”

For a half a second, Lance looked at Keith’s outstretched hand in surprise, but it was quickly replaced by a flicker of challenge, like he’d been dared to perform a dangerous task instead of just accompany Keith to the library.

“Alright, sounds like fun,” he replied, accepting the help to stand, and Keith swore he felt like the stars sparkled in reaction to the touch.

It was just a chaste brush of fingertips in the few seconds while Lance righted himself, but Keith felt his throat burning, skin tingling, that same inexorable temptation that he’d felt when he first settled into the grass field to touch Lance increasing tenfold. His hands were so soft. Fingers long, cold in the places where his gold plated jewelry touched but smooth and warm everywhere else.

Keith had met many men and women the realms over who were helpless to their vices. Whether they suffered at the avaricious hands of greed or gluttony, the hateful paths of wrath or envy, the self-entitled endowment of lust or pride, or the simple apathy of laziness, no mortal or immortal was immune to temptation, and many fell to their knees at the beck of any combination of their particular poison. It was the exploitation thereof that weighed into the ruling on how and where a life-ended would spend their death: at peace, in misery, or somewhere in between, depending on the exact nature and degree of their sins.

It was silly to pretend he was above base impulses for the same reasons, but this was the first time in a long time that he almost failed to fight back the urge. Gods. How badly he wanted to just take a few steps closer, to put himself into Lance’s space and be absorbed in the radiant warmth of it. Just brushing their hands together made his brain and heart short-circuit, moving off rhythm with each other.

But Keith couldn’t. Couldn’t couldn’t couldn’t. Keith couldn’t and he knew it from the moment he first laid eyes on Lance that he was going to have to resist this. It was the same reason he ran from Romelle when asked about Lance – Keith didn’t want to admit it, because that seemed easier, but if just one touch had left him reeling, what was he supposed to do? He just couldn’t take advantage of Lance’s naivete, no matter how badly he wanted to run the tips of his fingers down the delicate slope of his jaw, to brush a thumb over cheek marks to see if they would flicker beneath his touch, to trace the unheard words right from the subtle shape of Lance’s lips with his own tongue and teeth, to test the shape of syllables and shy smiles that were tucked privately between words.

All of this internal crisis elapsed in perhaps the three seconds it took Lance to brush any grass from sticking to his legs and untangle a small bramble of ivy that had snaked around his ankle. Ugh. It was even adorable that he couldn’t control his domain.

Yes, Keith was certain that this was a bad idea.

“Alright, how are we getting there?” Lance asked brightly, hands at his hips. “I’m not sure I trust you with portal coordinates after the first time you showed up here.”

Keith took a deep breath, praying to the night to grant him patience and the will of a saint, and forced his voice to turn flat.

“I’ll make a rift,” he answered, ignoring the teasing. “Wouldn’t want to leave a trail of vines all the way to the city, would we?”

“Hey, I told you that in confidence!” pouted Lance, his retort falling flat as he kicked off a creeping vine.

Keith let out a bereft snort and turned around, raising a hand and tracing a wire through the delicate web of the realms, plucking at a chord that would bring them from here to just inside the Athen’s library.

Once he’d found it, Keith readily unthreaded the stitching of reality and, with ease, opened a rift from one plane to the next.

Lance hummed, a decidedly unimpressed sound, and marched ahead without waiting for Keith to follow. The chthonic god rolled his eyes and quickly strode after him.

“You could have at least waited until I said it was clear,” he sighed, stepping into the dark, empty building. “What if there were humans around?”

“Then I’d have said a daemon was attacking me and cried for help, obviously.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And your hairs a total mess.” Lance cocked his head to the side in a way that could only be described as smug. “So if we’re done pointing out the obvious, I believe there was a book you needed?

In his ear, Keith could practically hear Shiro whisper, patience yields focus. He sighed and closed the rift behind them.

The library itself, where the books were housed, was actually rather small – but the surrounding building was in fact a sprawling structure, flat and wide rather than tall as far as Athenian buildings went. More than three-fifths of the building, the southern part that was attached to Athen’s streets, was a lecture space with amphitheater-style seating. That was of little interest to Keith for the occasion, and he’d opted to drop them right in the actual book repository in the back of the building.

The room was filled by books and scripture, all crowded on the towering shelves. Given the late hour, there were no torches lining the walls, the only source of light spilling in from the piercing oculus in the very center of the ceiling, pouring a stream of silver moonlight above their heads and faintly illuminating the lines of shelves around them. A faintly earthy scent had attached itself to the space, an echo of papyrus that had settled into the furnishings of the room like a mist. Behind them, in the direction of the front door, the double doors were closed that would lead out into the atrium and lecture spaces, and around them were a cluster of desks for scholars to use during the daytime.

On the left and right sides of the room, there was a small doorway that fed into larger reading rooms and an accompanying lecture space for more intimate speeches and discourse than the larger assembly space in the front half of the building.

Keith jerked his head to the left and urged Lance to follow him. He did, in fact, have a specific book in mind, but it was also one he’d left there about two hours ago from his own private collection in the Underworld. He wasn’t lying about needing to collect a book, and that it wasn’t important, but he might have been a bit misleading.

They were silent but for their hushed footfalls, and Keith opened the door and maneuvered around a row of desks, eyes scanning the shelves, leaving Lance to wander. Again, he knew exactly where he left the book, but he had to make this look convincing.

Eventually, Lance broke the silence, his voice little more than a hum.

“I’ve been to Athens a bunch, but it’s always so crowded during the day… it’s sort of amazing at night like this.” He spoke with hands folded behind his back, floating around and casting his gaze around the endless shelves.

Unable to resist, Keith retorted “I’m surprised your mother even allows you to read.”

“Hey,” Lance shot him a contemptful look. “She may be strict, but she’s still my mother. How about you not make comments like that?”

“Fine, fine,” Keith waved him off, turning drifting down the aisle, eyes searching for the subject of their visit. “This isn’t that impressive though. Have you seen –”

“Adam’s collection?” Lance finished, spinning in place and locking eyes with him, smiling. “Oh man, I’ve probably read everything there already! That book you, uh, stuck the note in –” he paused, clearing his throat. “That’s a favorite of mine, I borrow it from him all the time. Mostly because it’s silly how they mislabel stuff, like how humans think certain flowers mean certain things. They’re not wrong all the time, but it’s still iffy.”

Keith paused, trying not to let his relief show that Lance hadn’t been offended by his choice of text as he let that information sink in, and then kept walking.

“It was the first book that jumped out to me that made me think of you. Flowers and all,” he explained. Lance remained silent, peering high over a shelf at some dust-lined spines. “Anyway, it’s just through here.”

That seemed to pique Lance’s interest again, and he hustled to catch up with Keith at the end of the aisle. They had nearly wandered all the way to the northwestern corner of the building, save for two small carts that were shoved into a corner.

Keith walked up to the cart, bending his knees to get to eye-level with the piles of texts available.

“What are you getting?” Lance asked after a few seconds. “Do you want me to help you find it?”

“Oh, that’s alright,” Keith shook his head, reaching between two thick volumes and extracting a small booklet, thin, about half the width of a regular piece of parchment with a brightly colored red cover. “I found it.”

“What is it?”

An excuse to see you, he wanted to confess, but found he wasn’t able to go through with it. Pulse thick in his throat, Keith answered carefully, not wanting to lie outright.

“It’s just something that was important to me. That’s all.”

“You said you’d tell me if I came with you,” Lance wrinkled his nose. “That’s hardly an answer.”

A smirk edged into his expression, and Keith turned around with a shrug. “That’s what you get for putting your trust in the god of the underworld. Tough shit.”

“Wow,” Lance remarked, voice practically dripping with sarcasm. “I’m so glad you’re living up to all my expectations.”

The wording of that sounded... odd, to Keith. He raised a brow and glanced at Lance over his shoulder.

“And what other expectations did you have of me?”

Instead of answering, Lance made an offended noise and marched right past him, back into the main repository – which, really, Keith found silly, because they could just go back to the field now that they’d gotten the book, but he was also finding that it was sort of fun to get under Lance’s skin.

The tan-skinned god was pushing open the doors to the main portion of the library, sighing meaningfully as Keith caught up to him, like he’d rather walk all the way back to Thebes than be in Keith’s company. It was –

“Hey!” A voice shouted suddenly, and they both jumped. Down the length of the atrium, two human with long robes and torches had spotted them, the lights of their eyes both flashing in the firelight. “What are you doing – this place is off-limit for – hey!”

“L-Lance, wait!” Keith hadn’t really cared about the prospect of being caught “trespassing,” because the worst that would happen is they would get a proper look at him and make a break for it, begging for their lives, and the best case scenario would be to just quickly open a rift and then leave.

What Keith had failed to account for was the possibility that Lance was about to book it upon being spotted. The eastern wall was lined with four balconies, all of which had open doors to welcome the cool night air, and he sprinted to the nearest one and flipped out it into the street below.

Keith gaped at him for all of one heartbeat, just long enough to think what the fuck, before he was thundering after him and following his lead into the mercifully empty street below.

The draining effect his presence had on the mortal world did not, after all, affect only plants; there was a reason Keith tended to avoided the cities. But he didn’t have the chance to think about that now, his instincts all twisted together in the same vertiginous whirl of what the fuck, where is he he turned at that alley I’m going to kill him – lungs burning on this stupid Earthen atmosphere –- running – running – almost there –

And he was catching up pretty easily, but Athenians had long legs and knew, evidently, how to use them.

“Get back here!” one of them cried out, and Keith very nearly thought to shout back, Yeah well if I do you’re both fucking dead the second you catch up with me so maybe I’d better not –

At the next corner, Lance glanced over his shoulder at Keith, a wicked glint in his eye that was somewhere between panic and thrill and please-don’t-kick-my-ass, and he turned sharply down the opening in the street.

This was so stupid. Keith couldn’t even marvel at the absurdity of running from humans who wanted to catch them because he was too busy running from humans so they wouldn’t fucking die and following Lance’s stupid path, turning left at the same corner to which he’d sprinted towards. Lance was stopped about halfway down the length of the, gesturing wildly with his arms.

“Portal! Rift! Now!” he demanded, and Keith wanted to punch him, but the sound of two stupid humans with a death wish was growing louder by the moment so he just raised his hand and repeated the familiar motion, dissolving the space behind Lance to reveal a swirling tear in realities.

Pushing himself forward with frightening force, Keith grabbed Lance by the shoulder and shoved him into the rift, only a breath behind him, closing it the instance he felt the crisp emptiness of the field outside of Thebes.

Keith landed face on his side, the holster for his knife digging into his pelvis, and Lance was splayed face down in the grass, already starting to shift in his company.

“You are so fucking stupid,” groaned the god of the dead, hauling himself up and gripping his forehead, disoriented. His lungs were burning and legs ached from the sudden burst of running only to abruptly stop again. “Why the fuck would you run?!”

“I – I panicked!” Lance said, voice muffled, turning his head to face Keith with cheeks aflame, marks shining with an almost-offensive shade of blue. “I just – I didn’t know what to do, I usually blend in during the day and I didn’t want to get in trouble and what if my – oh my god, I’m so fucking dumb, you’re right. AHH!”

Lance was laughing by the end, turning onto his back and covering his face with his hands. His shoulders were shaking and he was giggling, the sound soft melodic and swelling with euphoria.

“You are dumb, fucking hell, I can’t believe – and you just jumped from a goddamn window!” Keith ran a hand through his hair, a habit he’d developed from stress. Glaring over at the sprawled out god beside him, bubbling with laughter that sounded of diaphanous bells, Keith wanted so badly to be angry. To be annoyed and pissed and to kick him in the shins or something for doing something so stupid.

Oh, but Keith was weak, weak, and he knew it.

It wasn’t going to be possible for him to stay upset, not when there were colorful blossoms popping up all around him, accompanied by the purity of uninhibited laughter. Keith was unpracticed when it came to the company of most living things, and even less so with someone so heartbreakingly beautiful, overcome with such blatant joy beside him.

Seeing Lance like that – blue eyed, face flushed, head turned sideways in the grass, arms folded over his stomach to fight off a cramp from laughing so hard – it was the loveliest thing Keith had ever seen, already cementing itself in his mind as one of his favorite memories, and it wasn’t even over yet.

And before he really realized, Keith was laughing too. Mostly at Lance for being so – so Lance, and maybe a little at himself for the ridiculousness of it all.

He’d set up a fake reason to go to the library, needing an excuse to spend time with Lance, only to proceed to get caught by humans, and then they fled the scene, taking to the streets? What were they, teenagers? It felt like so silly, but the adrenaline pumping in his blood was very real, and his heart was incredibly full, and the snickering that hit him so hard he landed flat on his back in the grass was all too present.

By the time they both stopped laughing, which was at least five whole minutes – each time one of them started to stop, the other started again, and it created this terrible cycle of snickering and snorting to the point where they were both practically in hysterics.

Sighing, Keith looked up at the stars. He felt a buzzing along the left-side of his body, where Lance had ended up in the grass – it was almost the same position they’d started the night in, except now Keith was laying beside him.

And it was… it was nice.

Divine only in its simplicity, not by their titles or responsibilities. His nerves didn’t feel pull taut by every looming decision and duty in the back of his mind – he didn’t think about Kolivan, or Kosmo, or Romelle, or Ulaz, or Thace. He didn’t think about Zarkon or Chaos or Tartarus or the Titans.

For just a few minutes, all of the attachments that had tethered him to an eternity of upholding a balance, from which he reaped no rewards, escaped him – or maybe he escaped it? – but the semantics were unimportant now. Now, Keith just lay in the grass beneath a full, brilliant moon, shoulder-to-shoulder with a boy that was much too pretty not to be deemed a public health hazard. Breathless, windswept, still burning with the final rush of adrenaline and euphoria that pistoned through their veins.

And then, Lance turned one of those blinding smiles on him, the kind Keith forgotten could exist beneath the surface world. And he knew that there was no going back for him after tonight.

“I’m sorry, about running and causing a big thing.” Lance eventually managed, his voice sheepish. “I guess I was all nervous because of this whole thing, like I was thinking about it for days and I just couldn’t figure out, like, what to expect – I know you couldn’t be all bad, but, you’re still like, the King of the Underworld.”

Lance made a wide gesture with his hands overhead, like stars bursting apart. “And I couldn’t decide if I should be scared or if you were messing with me or what, so I was just… on-edge. Trying to play it super cool, ya know? I hope I didn’t mess up anything, and I’m glad you got your book or whatever, and this probably isn’t like, a thing like I was making out – making it out – to be in my head. Um – sorry, I tend to ramble, just tell me to shut up if I’m talking too much. Like I am right now. I do that when I’m nervous, uh, anyway. Shutting up now.”

“Oh.” Blinking, Keith’s brain needed a second to unfurl all of that information – Lance spoke much faster than virtually anyone else he knew, but once he made sense of it, Keith failed to keep the smirk from his expression.

“I make you nervous?”

And, honestly, he didn’t even intend to sound teasing, considering the god of the dead himself felt like he was barely managing to keep his wits about him, but Keith was so genuinely relieved to know that Lance felt at least some amount of nerves over this that he genuinely couldn’t help but ask, the words spoken in disbelief instead of provocation.

“W-well,” Lance was now the one scowling, and he cleared his throat before pointing his chin out and looking determinedly away. “Of course! You’re Shiro’s brother and all, ya know, dark and mysterious,” he flapped a hand and brushed the edge of Keith’s cloak, a rich, obsidian-colored fabric that was lined around the collar by the fur of the first teumessian fox. “And you could probably destroy me with your crazy Underworld magic in, like, two seconds flat, so yeah. I’m a little nervous, alright?”

“Two seconds?” Keith raised a brow. “That’s a bit generous. I’d say five, maybe ten seconds.”

Lance huffed, evidently somewhere between amused and annoyed. “That’s not exactly reassuring.”

“It’s not meant to be,” the Underworld god agreed, a bit more seriously as he tilted his head. “Immortal or not, we aren’t endless. Anything can be worn thin enough can be unmade into fates that are much worse than death. You know that, don’t you?”

A flicker of doubt furrowed Lance’s brow, and he was silent for several seconds. Eventually, he managed to nod his head.

And, gods, all Keith could think of was how how this was a bad idea after all. It just took studying Lance’s gaze for mere seconds – eyes that were wide, and expressive, and so vulnerable – Keith almost couldn’t stand to look, like he’d stumbled upon something precious and was seconds from smashing it beneath his boots.

Lance was just so – so frighteningly open. Much more than he should be for the kinds of company Keith had to offer.

“And doesn’t that scare you?”

Don’t I scare you?

“I… don’t know how I’m supposed to answer that.”

Keith, deadpan, suggested, “Honestly, I would hope?”

“No, no,” Lance shook his head, lips pressed tightly together. “I mean – I guess, I don’t really know you yet? Of course that’s something that could happen, but, so what? A lot of other gods or deities could probably all hurt me too if they wanted. I don’t want to sell myself short, cause I love my domain, but I realize that I’m not exactly the god of, like, weapons and badassery or hellfire and death.”

Keith sputtered a disbelieving laugh, which Lance acknowledged with a small grin.

“I mean, being afraid is the reason my mother doesn’t let me do anything, and I’m sort of tired of not doing anything because of what could happen. And so, what? Just because you’ve got horns and a resting bitch face, I’m supposed to be more afraid of you? Sorry, not happening.”

Dumfounded, Keith’s mouth had fallen open slightly. Who was this guy?

“Resting bitch face?”

A smile sat pretty on Lance’s lips, impermanent and light as a cirrus cloud.

“Yeah! That’s what they call it when you are all, grrr,” putting on an exaggerated scowl, he held up two hooked fingers by each of his pointed ears, mimicking what Keith could only guess was supposed to resemble his horns. “And who knows, maybe I should be more afraid because of who you are, but, like... honestly, that’s a pretty shit metric to go by judging people? You were nice to me a few days ago. A lot nicer than I thought you would be, so, I just figured, if my Mom is so convinced that I’m bound to be cursed or corrupted or trapped or kidnapped or something, that if it’s going to happen one way or another, I at least want to have a few good experiences before whatever happens, happens. I just want some amount of my life that’s been lived on my terms.”

“Oh.” Keith, surprised by the sincerity and thoughtfulness of Lance’s words, found he didn’t know quite what to say in response.

He could certainly see a valid point to Lance’s position. If Melenor was as protective as he made her out to be – which Keith had to believe, seeing as Lance must have existed for hundreds, if not thousands, of years by now, and they’d never even seen each other before a few days ago – then Lance could continue to exist under her watchful eye, but if he really wanted to live? At least in the capacity he was talking about – to take risks, experience the worlds and all three realms? It would never happen if he kept on with the lifestyle he’d been living.

...That said, taking up the god of the underworld as his first “risk” might have been a bit extreme, Keith mused, but considering his own position in the whole mess, it’s not like he was about to argue.

“So,” continued the god of flowers, a strangely smug grin for someone who had never met anyone from the Underworld as of three days ago. “If you have been planning something all along, I’d ask that you just get it over with and end my endless immortal coil already.”

Lance closed his eyes and sat up, held his head up high and gestured down his torso while spreading his arms wide, like he was offering himself as some kind of noble sacrifice.

“You’re really dramatic,” Keith said, doing his best to disguise his amusement as exasperation.

Lance opened one eye, grinning mischievously. “Thank you!”

“That wasn’t – nevermind.”

After running a hand down his face, the chthonic god continued, “But no, I’m not going to – what did you say when we met, torture your soul or something? Fuck, I’m not evil. I’m just… the bad that has to exist so that the good can exist, too.”

A thin brow raised, quizzical. “That doesn’t sound very fair.”

“It’s not –” Keith hesitated, only to shake his head and pluck up a resigned smile. He wasn’t really interested in unpacking all of that existentialism right this moment. Instead, he smiled and looked to Lance. “–a big deal. Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, okay.” Lance said, sounding unconvinced.

Not wanting him to push the subject, Keith glanced around briefly for something else to say, and he noticed that the field of green – grass grayed for his presence – was once again dotted by bell-shaped flowers, bowing to the earth with a pale, lustrous shine. The rays of moonlight reflected off their crisp blossoms, making the field almost glow with white light.

“These are beautiful,” he commented, running his hands up the stem of one and cradling the delicate bud in his palm. “What are they?”

“Oh, um. Well. Do you want the human answer, or the real one?”

Keith glanced sidelong, catching Lance smiling at the flower in his hands before meeting Keith’s gaze.

“Both?”

A laugh swelled in the air, and it settled back over them like early morning mist.

“Okay, fine. Humans call this one a snowdrop, which is, like, pretty unoriginal? But it’s a pretty name, way better than some of the lame ones they come up with, so that’s at least good. I’ve read that book you left me cover to cover so many times I know almost all of it – they think it means, like, hope, because in natural patterns or whatever they bloom first. It’s supposed to be like, hey look, finally things aren’t shitty, here’s a flower to prove it!”

Keith had to laugh at that, though the sound was cut short when Lance punctuated his statement by presenting him with the flower, acting out his hypothetical offer. After blinking at it doubtfully, Keith accepted, wordless.

“But in reality, they’re not nearly that poetic.” An edge of… of something tagged itself onto the other god’s voice, somewhere between sad and strangely… relaxed? Resignation, perhaps? “They come up when I’m tired, stressed, or... both, really. I’m not sure if I can put it into words super eloquently, but it’s like… you know, you’re happy that you finished something, even if you didn’t want to do it? It’s not like doing it really helped you feel better, but you’re at least glad that you finished? That’s sort of what these are… like. Doing something you’re not sure you can do, and being glad you managed to do it anyway.”

Once he’d finished speaking, Lance let out a long-suffering sigh, palms falling back into the grass and leaning back. He turned his head in Keith’s direction, tilting his chin slightly to tuck his own shoulder, almost shy.

“And that probably sounds dumb, but from my perspective, this was a big deal. You’re – you, you know? King of the Underworld. Shiro’s brother! And I’m… me. I don’t really have anything to offer, so I was surprised when you invited me, that was all. So, there ya go. A personal lesson in flowers from the god of flowers himself! Probably not that cool considering you’ve got, like, a whole legion of undead or daemons or whatever. I’m… um – Keith?”

Lance stopped abruptly, voice cracking under the intensity of the other god’s stare.

In reality, Keith wasn’t even aware that he’d started to lean forward, had shifted a hand to rest just behind Lance’s in the grass. He was, in reality, trying to read Lance’s expression for any hint of deceit or doubt or tricks but – but Keith knew he wouldn’t find any. Not in this expression, blue eyes a pinion of light that drew him in like the moon drags in the tides.

Was Lance just an extremely nice person, or did he really not understand that most people saw Keith as a monster? The idea that he had to work up his nerve to come to the surface to meet him, not just because he was nervous of being killed, but because he didn’t have anything to offer Keith?

And, Lance – he was relieved to have gone through with it, even happy to have done so.

“Lance?” Keith said, looking from each of his eyes, and then to his lips. This was a bad, stupid idea, he knew it, should be doing something to –

“Yeah?”

But Lance just sounded so happy. So sure, so unafraid. Keith wanted this so badly. He’d known hundreds of gods in his lifetime, and not one of them brought out this – this feeling. Like he’d be left in the rain all day and was shivering but was now warming up in front of a fire; it was refreshing and strange and beautiful and he wanted more of it.

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

And before Lance had the chance to answer, Keith closed the little distance that remained between them, and Keith didn’t know that anything could feel like this – how does something both feel like its complete, and yet, not enough? He had so much selfish desire and couldn’t find the will to stop; Lance’s lips were petal-soft, unusually cold and fit softly, easily, against his own, slotting together only enough to make the kiss last longer without deepening it. His chest hurt from how frantically his heart raced, and every instinct he had was telling him not to draw back, to lean in further, to move his hands up to Lance’s chin and neck and shoulders, to take, because that’s what he did. He takes, and takes, and takes.

But he didn’t, not this time.

And he wouldn’t, not from Lance.

They parted after a few seconds, and Lance’s eye scales winked at him like a star overhead, blue and vibrant.

“Ahh, uh, that – and you – and me?” The tan-skinned boy floundered for words, and Keith thought it was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen – that, and the fact he could feel vines starting to wrap around his hand, refusing to let him move more than a few inches from Lance’s face.

“I – yeah. I just thought… I do think, you’re…” Keith swallowed, his throat drier than hell, which he could personally attest to. “Really special. I mean, you make yourself sound like you’re useless – I can’t do this. I can’t create anything, and you just,” he spread his non-restrained arm out, gesturing around them at the fact that they had taken refuge in and entire field of wildflowers, all at Lance’s will.

“And I think it’s nice. So I wanted to kiss you and–

“Bu-But you, and just – things aren’t that simple, and you can’t just go around saying things like that!” Lance hid his face in his hands, but made no move to deny it.

Keith tried not to sound too smug when he pointed, “But seeing as you’re not letting me go, I’m guessing you wanted to kiss me too?”

Lance’s head snapped up so fast it almost gave Keith whiplash just to watch, and an unrestrained flush of mortification flash over his expression

“Oh my god – oh my god you stupid vines let go!” They twisted more tightly, almost to the point of pain, and Keith watched while trying not to laugh. It was strange, the vines on which they both touched were neither vibrant green nor washed out gray, but sort of pale green, struggling against their joint presence.

Lance huffed and fell back slightly, giving up, and fixed Keith with an oddly determined, almost angry look.

“You know what? Fine – fuck you – I did want to kiss you, and now you’re trapped. Sucks to be you.”

“Does it, though?” Keith wondered. “I’m pretty okay like this.”

“Hnnnnngg – ” Lance threw a snowdrop at him, and Keith easily blocked it with one hand. That said, the flower managed to distract him and Lance caught him off-guard by suddenly pushing back into his face, closing the distance between them a second time with a fierce kiss.

This was much sharper, almost aggressive, and Lance had shifted to kneel rather than sit at some point during his assault. Keith was surprised, but entirely without complaint, to have Lance’s hands tipping his head back while the lithe god sat up and pressed their mouths together with bruising force.

(Coupled with the fact that Keith was at least partially restrained, it was becoming a little difficult not to focus on the sudden stab of heat that flashed white-hot in his belly. Keith found he had to consciously stop himself from letting the situation go any further or else – who fucking knows what could have happened.)

“Yes, I wanted to kiss you, but did you have to be such a dick about it?” Lance said, barely a breath away, one hand roughly intertwined with his hair and the other with fingers splayed out over his cheek. “God, stop looking at me like that, you pretty demonic bastard.”

“Pretty?” Keith asked, feigning innocence. He thought Lance had seemed tempting before, but that was before he’d stared up at a flustered, scowling Lance, face casted in shadow as he blocked out the moon – that was nothing compared to this.

Joking, mostly, Keith spoke to no one in particular, “I like this one. I think I’ll keep it.”

Lance smirked, teasing at both a promise and a challenge, and he dropped back into the grass, leaving Keith’s personal space much too soon.

“I’d like to see you try.”