Chapter Text
It had been less than thirty seconds since he had hung up the phone on his mother and already he had a missed call from Maria, and a text from his brother (“Firstly, this dude better be hot or else he doesn’t get the Joey seal of approval, and secondly, well done for finally bringing someone home for Christmas, I honestly don’t think I’ve ever heard Mama squeal louder”).
Lance decided to reply to the latter first, in order to save his ears from the scream he would almost undoubtedly be greeted with when he called his sister back. Also, it was a hell of a lot easier to lie over text than it was over the phone. He quickly tapped out a reply (“you rly think I would date someone who wasn’t a solid 10? srsly though, thanks man”), and took a deep breath before hitting the ‘call’ button. He waited less than two rings before the expected shrill voice met his ears.
“Lance McClain! You have no idea how proud I am of you, but I am so very disappointed that I wasn’t the first to be told about your boyfriend.”
Lance had a weird relationship with his sister, in that she was simultaneously his best friend (besides Keith and Joey), his annoying older sister, and his mother. Which is why he got that she was a tiny bit upset that she wasn’t the first to know.
“Okay, Ria, I’m sorry, but I wanted it to be a surprise, and how can trust that big ass mouth of yours with something like this? Ma would know in a freaking day.”
“Okay, point.
The line was silent for a moment before Lance heard a crackle from the other end of the phone. He guessed she had just laid down on her bed (her favourite phone conversation position), and was about to say something before he heard her take a breath.
“Tell me things. Dude, I wanna know all the things. How old is he? Is he tall? Where and when and why did you meet? Dios mío, please tell me it’s a cute story. Is he hot? Good in bed?’
“Right, first off I’m gonna stop you there before you start asking me what he’s into.”
“Give me some credit man, I wouldn’t ask – wait, no, I totally would. What is he into?”
“Yeah, I’m not telling you that.”
“At least answer my other questions then. I don’t even know his name yet, dude.”
“…Keith.” He could see the look Maria was giving the phone.
“Seriously? Keith? How old is –?”
“Do you want me to answer the rest of the questions or not?”
“Fine,” she whined, “go ahead.”
“Okay, like, firstly; he is fine as all hell. Like, a solid eleven out of ten. Taller than me, so like six foot six two, maybe? He’s twenty-one, and I’ll tell you how we met when we come see you; it’s a long story.”
And by that, Lance meant: “I seriously need to think of something before you meet him.”
The rest of the conversation flowed fairly smoothly, the only bump being when Maria asked him about their first kiss story, and he made up some bullshit about Fireworks Night. To which Maria had responded: “So you’ve been dating him a month and you’re already bringing him home?” Again, Lance was stumped, and stuttered that he had meant last Fireworks Night, which prompted a shrill “so you meant to tell me that you’ve been dating this guy for a year and I still haven’t met him? Dude.”
So, all in all, the conversation had been a success; his mother, brother and sister all believed he was dating this fine as hell, tall, nineteen year old called Keith.
One problem; he hadn’t actually asked Keith.
So that was the reason why he was so nervous right then, despite having spent roughly a quarter of his adolescent life in this very room. The red wall adjacent to the window was as familiar as the blue wall opposite the door in his own room. He was so accustomed to the Smiths posters that littered the walls, the ones opposite the window faded after years of direct sunlight, and the black clock that hung above the door, that this house was more of a home than his school dorm would ever be.
His hands were clammy because he had absolutely no idea what Keith would say to this idea, and definitely not because Keith had just entered the room wearing nothing but a grey towel slung low around his hips. The dryness of his mouth and the shortness of his breath definitely had nothing to do with those long fucking eyelashes, or the way his wet hair flopped over his eyes in a way that shouldn’t be legal.
This was a usual routine for them. Providing nether of them had to work an extra shift at the restaurant they both worked at (and incidentally, where they had met), Lance would head to Keith’s as soon as his last lecture on a Friday was over. Keith would pretty much always be in the shower when Lance unlocked the door to his best friend’s shared house with the key Keith had had cut last year, so the younger boy would flop onto Keith’s bed, facing the window so that he could avoid be greeted with the glorious sight that was Keith After A Shower when the latter entered the room. It wasn't that he wanted to miss the view, but he really couldn’t trust his reactions when it came to Keith. But this time, Lance had been so preoccupied with finding a way to word the question “yo Keith, my buddy, my man, how do you feel about coming to mine for Christmas, meeting my slightly overbearing family, and pretending to be my boyfriend for two weeks?” that he'd just sat on the bed, losing track of time.
When the subject of his thoughts entered the room to see Lance staring intently at the clock on the wall, before moving wide eyes to his best friend, Keith Kogane, genius that he was, thought that the best thing to do would be to whip off his towel, and throw the damp piece of material square at Lance’s face. It was at that moment that Lance stopped breathing for two reasons; firstly, Keith Kogane was standing a mere two metres from him wearing literally nothing; and secondly, the soggy towel was doing a very good job at covering his mouth and, therefore, constricting his breathing. He waited a moment before removing the towel, under the pretence of being unable to find the edge, in the hope that in the time it took, Keith would have at least put some damn pants on. His plan worked, and Lance was both relieved and disappointed at the sight of Keith in pants, albeit shirtless. Lance did what he usually did in any situation where his true feelings may be revealed, and succeeded in hiding how flustered he was by making some kind of joke, which, thankfully, Keith laughed at.
It had been over an hour since the Towel Incident, and Lance was lying on his front, reading some book from the 1800s that was so incredibly dull and long winded that after 20 minutes, he had read no more than a page, and if someone asked him what had happened in that one page, he would struggle to answer. A weight was on the small of his back, where Keith had his laptop balanced as he worked on his assignment. Every now and then he would huff loudly, and Lance would hear – and feel – the violent thumping of a finger on keyboard as Keith attacked the backspace key. He seemed to have given up a while ago, and was currently tracing patterns onto Lance’s side.
If he was being honest, the reason Lance hadn’t asked earlier was because he was afraid that if he spoke, the hitch in his voice would be so apparent that Keith would be able to read the truth immediately, like he had a tendency to (but only with Lance). But now was a good a time as any, so he pushed the laptop to the side carefully, and sat up so that he was facing Keith. He realised, as he did so, that the idea was a mistake. From this position, all he could focus on was the steely grey that was Keith’s eyes, and that stupid goddamn mullet that Lance secretly loved. Actually, that was a lie; he never even pretended to hate it. The pairs’ knees were touching, and Lance had another of those fleeting moments where he considered just kissing his best friend, but then Keith lifted a gloved hand to sweep that ridiculous fringe away from his face, and eye contact was lost, and the moment passed. He cleared his throat and moved a hand to tuck a stray curl behind Keith’s ear, before looking away, trying to hide his flustered face. It was getting harder and harder to hide this freaking crush, but he could do it.
“Do you happen to have plans for Christmas?” Lance really hoped that Keith couldn’t tell how his voice seemed to refuse to remain steady.
“Hmm, well, let’s see; both my parents are dead, and the Child Prodigy is off doing some fancy astrophysics course, so, no. No plans.” His face was completely deadpan, and Lance couldn’t tell if he’d actually upset his best friend.
“I’m sorry man, I –”
“Lance, it’s fine. I’d rather joke about it than wallow in my emo ass tears. But, to answer your question, no, I have no plans for Christmas, except maybe having eggnog rather than coffee while I write up this fucking novel on the structure of planets.’
“Well, that sounds lonely as hell.’
“Nah I’m used to it.” Keith shrugged, as if being lonely for Christmas of all holidays was normal.
“It’s just – I was just gonna ask, and feel free to say no if you’d feel like you’re letting down your eggnog, but do you wanna come to my parents’?”
Keith blinked, clearly not expecting this question, and ran a hand through his hair again, and, almost on instinct, Lance tucked the curl behind Keith’s ear again, like the lovestruck fool he was. Noticing the doubt in Keith’s eyes, he worried he’d overstepped some sort of invisible line, and he backtracked in order to relieve Keith’s clear discomfort.
“I mean, you don’t have to –”
“Dude are you kidding? That sounds sick! I mean, my eggnog might be a tiny but disappointed, but I’m sure she can come with us.”
Lance fidgeted, and shifted his line of sight from Keith’s face and focused on his own hands.
“Um, there’s kinda one other thing, which is a bit weird. So y’know my mom’s been going on at me for ages about bringing someone home?’
“Yeah? It’s literally all you ever go on about.”
“Okay shh…” He placed a finger to Keith’s lips, and the other boy’s eyes narrowed. A tussle ensued which ended up with Lance pinned underneath his best friend (and damn if that didn’t fulfil half of his nightly fantasies); Keith had always been the stronger one. He leaned down and smirked.
“I win.” He relaxed his grip, and Lance returned a grin of his own, before tickling his exposed stomach. Keith shrieked, and Lance burst out laughing, followed by Keith when he’d seen the funny side. Once their giggles calmed down, it would probably have been more logical for them to return to their previous sitting position, but neither moved, so the conversation continued as they were.
“So, what’s the catch?”
“How willing would you be to pretend you’re my boyfriend, around my slightly overbearing family for two weeks?”
Keith’s eyes widened again in the way that they always did when he was surprised, or just had an idea. His lips curved upwards into another smirk and he leaned forward towards Lance’s ear. If the latter didn’t know any better, he’d think Keith was leaning down for something else, but, unfortunately, he did know better. That didn’t stopped his heart from fluttering when he felt Keith’s breath against his neck, and Lance was trying to persuade his blood to return to his brain.
“Why the hell not?” Keith pulled back just in time to see Lance's face turn bright red, and his smile grew. It was funny how easily Lance got flustered by most things Keith did. It was also the most adorable thing he’d ever seen. Realising he was still sat on his best friend, he sat up, and crossed the room, under the pretence of grabbing his jumper from where it had been unceremoniously chucked across the chair. It was boiling in his room, but he needed a valid excuse to leave the bed.
“Seriously, I think most of my friends think we're dating anyway so it’s not like it’s a big thing.”
“Do they actually?”
Keith plonked back down on the bed, lying next to Lance, with his fingers somehow finding their way into Lance’s hair.
“Well, yeah. I mean, you do spend like, all your time here, and I mean, if you walked in on two people doing what we are now, wouldn’t you think they were dating?’
Lance truly hadn’t thought about that. He knew that a lot of the time him and Keith acted like they were more than platonic, but he hadn’t considered that other people would notice. Thinking about it now, it was probably hard for them not to.
The pair spent the evening as they usually do, they caught up on episodes of TV shows they’d missed, or rewatched ones they’d already seen. They ordered in pineapple pizza, and climbed under the duvet only when they’d completed the brand new third season of Voltron: Legendary Defender, a guilty pleasure of them both. Keith sleep talked, as usual, and Lance probably had another nightmare, and by the time they woke up, Keith had, of course, stolen all the blanket.
The morning had passed in a blur of pancakes, tea, and arguments over who got the Moriartea mug, dubbed by Lance the best mug in existence. It was Saturday so neither had anything to get up for, and this meant that neither of them left the house (or in fact went anywhere except the kitchen, bathroom, or Keith’s room) until about three in the afternoon. Keith was sat on the floor, cross-legged and leaning against the wardrobe behind him. His head in his best friends lap, Lance was scrolling through something that held absolutely no meaning on his phone while Keith played with his hair absent-mindedly.
“Dude, are we actually gonna do anything today?” Keith muttered softly, and grabbed his phone from its place on the floor beside him to check the time. “It’s like, shit – it’s three already.”
Grunting with the effort, Lance got up, and spun around so he could face Keith. He had a look of amused shock on his face, and Keith tried not to laugh as he watched his best friend prance around the room pretending to be horrified that they’d done basically nothing all day.
“How dare we?” He grabbed a scarf from the back of the chair that sat in front of Keith’s desk (Lance had been in this room more times than he could count, and he could swear, hand on his heart that he’d never seen that chair without some form of clothing chucked unceremoniously over it), and stepped up onto Keith’s bed, spewing quotes from Sherlock in a truly awful British accent. It was the impression of Moriarty at the swimming pool that had Keith doubled over with laughter; the full body shake that never failed to make Lance laugh along with him; and crossing the room to join his best friend in surprisingly decent rendition of Stayin’ Alive.
Collapsing onto the bed and resuming the position they’d spent most of the night in – Keith on his back, and Lance cuddled up to his chest – they began to discuss everything they could feasibly do with the remaining hours of sunlight. They talked about swimming, but the pool was closed, there was nothing on at the cinema, and neither were in the mood to walk into town only to return with sweaty shirts – even though it was only early June, the weather was unseasonably warm – and slightly less money than they did when they left. It was the suggestion of going out to get food (“Look, Lance, we always order in, why not go out for an actual meal? God knows you need to lay off the McDonald’s”) that had Lance realising that for his plan to work, and for his mother to be convinced, the pair would actually need to act as if they were dating. Neither had thought it an issue; they held hands and hugged on a daily basis anyway, and the totally ironic nicknames they had for each other could probably be seen as romantic. So, they needed to practice.
It was Keith that came up with the idea of faking this relationship, not just to Lance’s family, but to their friends for a few days to see if they were a truly convincing couple. They hadn’t kissed before – although they had come very close once when Lance had turned up at Keith’s house after midnight, tipsy, but apparently not drunk enough to follow through when he’d leant forward to kiss his best friend – and, really, that was the only hurdle they had to overcome.
“So, are we gonna do this or…?” Keith trailed off. His hands rested on Lance’s knees, who sat cross-legged opposite him. Lance’s own hands lay relaxed at his sides, but as he nodded and began to lean in, one crept to grip Keith’s shoulder. Both had their eyes closed, and Lance really hoped the other couldn’t feel the tremor in his lips when they touched, or feel the shakiness of his breath, which he probably could because they were so damn close and that was making it a little hard for Lance to breathe properly. And maybe he hesitated for a moment too long because suddenly the warm hands left his knees, and he heard Keith’s soft voice, definitely huskier than it was five minutes ago.
“Hey, you know we don’t have to do this, right?”
Lance let out a soft chuckle and looked down. He knew they didn’t have to, but damn if he didn’t want to.
“I know dude. S’just, I haven’t really kissed anyone since I was, what, 15?” Repositioning himself on the bed, Lance laughed again, a breathy little giggle with a hint of self-deprecation. And that’s when Keith cupped Lance’s face with one hand, told him to stop being nervous, and promised to make the kiss a good one. This lightened the mood, and even though Lance had hardly imagined kissing anyone since three years ago, he was glad that it was Keith who was pressing soft lips to his own, rubbing a comforting thumb over his cheekbone. They pulled away for a short moment, and then Lance leant forward again, kissing Keith with a little more fervour. The kiss lasted less than twenty seconds, and yet it was already the best part of Lance’s entire year. He pulled away, though, after Keith had introduced tongue. If he was ready for that with anyone, it was his best friend, but he was worried that if the kiss didn’t end there, Lance wouldn’t have let it end at all.
Keith’s voice was breathless as he broke the silence.
“Yeah. I think they’ll probably be convinced.”