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“You’re up?”
Lance looks up at Keith from his half-eaten bowl of food. The time must be more than half past midnight and here Keith stands like there’s nothing unusual about them bumping into each other at such a ridiculous hour. The situation is all the more absurd with how Keith’s sweaty bangs cling to his damp face and his chest heaves from his late night training session. He’s always been stupidly dedicated like that.
Lance can only shrug, fiddling with sleeves of his pajamas. Of course he’s up. He’s sitting right here.
His mind reels through the vivid memories of Earth, the ocean, and his mother’s hugs. The memories infiltrate his dreams less and less, serving to only remind him that he’s forgetting. He buries the thought. “Woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep. Guess I shouldn’t have taken that nap yesterday.”
Keith slides into the empty seat across from him, taking a swig from his water bottle. “You should train more. It’ll help.”
Of course. The castle may be huge, full of activities, objects, and resources but it’s far too empty to feel like home. Somewhere along the way the void of space changed them. When you’re whole world is a family of humans, aliens, and space mice, feelings become a little a little muddled. That emptiness sits heavy on Lance’s chest now, the loneliness suffocating him. He never did well on his own.
“I like you,” Lance blurts out, keeping his eyes trained on his bowl as he nervously sloshes the goo around with his spoon. He doesn’t know why he says it just then, as though the words just shoved their own way from his chest, all the way up up his throat, and out past his teeth long before he could think to stop them. He swallows, thick and heavy as Keith stiffens in the seat across from him.
“I… what?” Keith furrows his brow, working his way through Lance’s outburst. “We get along fine now. I know you don’t hate me. We’re good.”
“No, no, no no. That’s not what I’m saying,” Lance groans, waving his spoon around in a vague gesture. “I like you. Like, you know. I think you’re, uh… you know. I’m attracted to you. Physically.”
Keith looks ready to disagree with Lance, to simply negate or deny him. He takes a deep breath, face etched with confusion. There couldn’t possibly be any ambiguity left there, Lance reasons, but then again this is Keith.
“Are you– Are you messing with me?”
“No!” Lance drops his spoon and rubs a hand over his reddened face. He takes a measured breath and meets Keith’s eyes, face twisting into a scowl as though the words are something foul. “No. No, I’m not messing with you. I just… yeah. I’m into you. I guess I just– I don’t know. I just thought you should know.”
“Oh.” Keith stops himself and swallows.
Lance knows the color drains from his own face because he also knows the look on Keith’s face, even if he wishes he didn’t. It’d been somewhere between the time he’d lost Allura to Shiro and the time when Keith returned from the Blade, that Lance realized the warm, uncomfortable swell in the pit of his stomach each time Keith looked at him wasn’t spurred entirely of envy.
What he ever hoped to come of that seems nothing but a far-off dream now, or something he never quite identified himself. He’d learned the hard way not to swallow the words before it was too late, but Lance was wrong to want anything from Keith.
“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say to that,” Keith finally finishes, hard words cutting a sharp line through the still air.
Lance looks back down at his food, forcing out a choked sound that might pass as a chuckle. Space does weird things to his perception of reality. “Yeah. Nothing. You’re not supposed to say anything. It was stupid, man. I don’t know why I said it. Must be pretty tired. Forget it, OK?”
Keith’s voice is quiet, subdued, and Lance doesn’t glance back up to see his face as he answers a cautious, uncharacteristically small “OK.”
The bottom falls out on a cool evening in a heavily populated quadrant, two years into their tenure as paladins. Keith and Lance are bartering for supplies on a bustling planet where the market greedily accepts Altean artifacts and jewels in exchange for more practical goods. Lance isn’t terrible at it, charming when he needs to be and too docile for his actions to ever be misinterpreted as malice. Even if he’s being an idiot.
“My good friend here is just bitter about his oily hair and general lack of social skills,” Lance smiles through his words, tossing a lazy arm around Keith’s shoulder, which is promptly shoved off. The slim, blonde shopkeeper giggles behind her long webbed fingers and Keith rolls his eyes.
Lance shrugs and winks at her. “Also missed his chance. I’m all yours.”
Her eyes light up at that and Keith crosses his arms. She reaches for the set of jewels in Lance’s hands, ready to exchange for a box of orange fruit that Lance has very high hopes will taste like mango.
She stops herself, licking her bottom lip and tilting her head. She leans over the counter and Lance instinctively leans in to hear her. “I....” She glances up at Lance with hooded eyes, “Don’t worry about it. It’s on us today.”
Lance isn’t sure what sets Keith off. The way the woman makes a show of reaching out to touch Lance’s arm or if Keith just can’t stand the prospect of free foodstuffs. All Lance knows is before he can even offer a coy thank you Keith grabs his hand, yanking him back from the counter. He’s roughly dragged out the door, without his free pseudo-mangos.
“Keith. My man. Why do you do me like this? She was into me. Like, really into me!”
“Those kids we saw playing out front when we walked in?” Keith hisses. “Hers. She’s married, Lance. This isn’t a pleasure cruise and I’m pretty sure she was trying to swindle you.”
“You always say that!”
“It’s always true!”
“Did you not hear her, Keith?” Lance wrenches his hand free of Keith’s grip, waving his arms for emphasis. “She was going to give us the fruit. For free! That’s the opposite of swindling!”
“Something isn’t right,” Keith counters, grabbing Lance’s wrist to drag him further away from the shop stalls. Other market-goers are starting to stare. “We need to leave. Now.”
“Dude, are you jealous?”
Keith ignores him and pulls on his helmet, stopping Lance just before he pulls on his own. “Hey, hold still.”
He abruptly reaches out to angle Lance’s jaw to the side. The moment Lance tries to slap Keith’s hand away, he’s met with a thumb a forefinger digging into a pressure point on his wrist. Keith’s other hand deftly reaches to pluck something from beneath Lance’s ear. “What the heck, dude.”
Keith’s nose scrunches up, showing Lance the small silver insect with it’s legs squirming in the air.
Lance jerks his hand back to feel at the skin beneath his ear, which is strangely numb. “I didn’t feel anything…” His gloves come back smeared with blood. “So uh… what are the chances it’s poisonous?”
“I… I don’t know,” Keith is quick to lower his visor, doing a quick bio scan. “A Spotted Cylem? Doesn’t say much.”
“That’s... assuring.”
“Let’s just get out of here.” Keith frowns, tapping is comm to contact the castle. “You’re feeling OK, right?”
“Peachy.”
They’re climbing aboard Red when Allura responds to their call for early extraction. “Keith. There’s an electrical storm right above you. We’re not expecting you back here for another two Vargas. Just stay where you are. Iusciri is a peaceful planet. There’s no reason to risk any damage just to leave earlier than scheduled.”
“Lance was bitten by something called a Spotted Cylem, and we don’t know how dangerous it is,” Keith pushes. “We need to get back to the castle. I’m sure the Red Lion can handle it.”
“Keith, you don’t need to worry.”
“Ah, the Spotted Cylem!” Coran’s voice pipes in after Allura. “Fascinating little creatures, sometimes called the love bug. Their bite releases a toxin that deadens the skin but also releases a surge of pheromones. Affects certain species more than others but the Iuscirians are among the most sensitive. In fact, the venom is often harvested and used by the locals on Iusciri for its inherently aphrodisiac properties.”
“Ugh. That’s pretty gross, Coran,” Lance groans. “Rubbing something that came out of a blood-sucking insect all over yourself? Definitely not sexy.”
Keith gives lance a withering look. “Shouldn’t we be worried about finding an antidote for Lance? How do the toxins affect the host?”
“It’s completely harmless,” Allura cuts in. “There are no long-term side effects, mind-altering or hallucinogenic properties. It will wear off in a few hours regardless. Lance may just find a few… admirers… if you were to stay on Iusciri.”
“You don’t say,” Keith momentarily flicks his gaze toward Lance with a scowl, continuing to pace around the cockpit. “Can’t see how that could possibly go wrong. How long until we’re clear to head back?”
“Hey!”
“The storm should pass within a Varga,” Coran’s voice returns on the intercom. “You two should be perfectly fine so long as you stay put in the Lion. No need to panic.”
“No one’s panicking,” Keith mumbles, eyes shifting toward Lance again. He finally settles after rounding the cockpit a dozen times, slumping in the pilot’s chair and facing away from Lance. “Just ready to get back.”
“We’ll call when the sky clears,” Allura chimes in one last time.
“Got it,” Keith’s reply sounds oddly vacant before he switches off the radio feed.
“Hey, you know this isn’t your Lion anymore, right?”
Keith looks over his shoulder toward Lance again, face impassive. “Yeah, we’re not going anywhere.”
Keith withdraws enough that Lance can only see his shoulder and forearm on the other side of the chair. He’s sulking, rubbing his thumb and index finger together, probably glaring at the dust-filled window, streaks of lightning flashing across the horizon.
Lance is struck with a sudden memory of sitting beside Keith in the control room, a few weeks after Shiro had disappeared, and watching the way his hands were never still when he was worried. Keith fidgeted when he was anxious, stressed, or under pressure. It was the first weird thing -- other than the obvious stuff -- that Lance noticed. It was the first thing that’d made Keith look like someone to hold.
“Oh.” Lance tilts his head, realization dawning on him back in the present. He grins, a surge of satisfaction and amusement building in his chest. “It’s affecting you too, isn’t it?”
Keith flicks his eyes to Lance, frustration etched over his brow, and Lance knows he’s right. “It’s– fine. Just ignore it.”
“Oh, I would never, ever ignore something like this. You think it’s the Galra blood?” Keith turns to regard Lance over his shoulder again and Lance winks at him. He leans a shoulder heavy against the wall of cockpit, shooting Keith his most charming grin. (Not that it’d ever worked with Keith). “It’s these baby blues, isn’t it? The ladies say they’re irresistible.”
There’s no reply. Keith stands again to pace the cockpit and his mouth just draws tight, eyes dark beneath the crease of his brow. Lance realizes something isn’t quite right.
“I was just trying to have some fun with you,” Lance clarifies. “We can… not talk about it. If… you know.”
"No, come on Lance," Keith taunts. "Let's talk about it. You like talking right?"
He walks to Lance, face dead serious, and places a hand on either side of Lance’s face. He kisses Lance, lips a soft but desperate push against Lance’s own.
The kiss is strange, different than how he’d imagined it might be. Keith’s mouth is a little soft, dry, and feels somehow small. In his confusion Lance tilts his head to keep their noses from bumping together, but it only deepens the ill-advised kiss. Their timing is still off so Lance kisses back, licking along Keith’s bottom lip, desperate to set a better pace.
Not that he meant to kiss Keith back. That might just imply Lance wasn’t over him.
Though he’ll argue with himself later, it’s also indisputable fact that Lance the one who slips his tongue into Keith’s mouth. He tastes Keith’s vulnerability, senses it in the tiny breath between them, and Lance knows he should stop this.
Keith is right. This is dangerous.
A morbid curiosity. A limited-time opportunity.
Then Keith’s hand moves from the back of Lance’s neck, down his back and over his arms. The occasion tremble that rocks through the Red Lion’s frame makes Lance feel a little inverted. The wind outside is a distant hum and he’s light years from the empty vacuum of space. Keith is warm, real, and solid against him.
But no, Lance thinks. He knows Keith, and the regular Keith would never touch him like this.
Still, Lance says nothing when Keith’s hand snakes down his ribs and over his abdomen. He says nothing -- stubbornly -- when Keith’s wandering fingers brush between his legs. “You’re hard,” Keith notes, a tone of curiosity lingering in his words, all while pressing his palm more firmly against Lance’s groin.
“No kidding,” Lance grits out, voice clipped. “You can’t just rub up against me like this… and not expect me to react, dude. Do you… do you understand how this works?”
“Yeah,” Keith murmurs, the sound reverberating down Lance’s spine. “I’m familiar with the general mechanics. Pretty standard equipment.”
The blunt answer is less jarring to Lance than he’d like it to be. When Keith kisses the space just below his ear, that exposed section of sensitive flesh just above his collar, Lance thinks of a dozen fantasies he’d held under the pretext of military-training-induced stress. Despite the way his heart jumped into this throat the first time Keith held his hand, what feels like eons ago, nothing Keith does has any business feeling as good as this does.
Lance bites down on his bottom lip and squirms hopelessly beneath Keith’s body. His voice trembles along with his hands, not knowing who he’s trying to convince. “Keith, buddy. You don’t... We can’t. You don’t want this. It’s–it’s just the poison.”
“Is it?” Keith’s voice stretches thin, wet mouth curving against Lance’s jaw before dragging down his neck. Fingers dig stubbornly into the seam of Lance’s flight suit. “I know what I’m doing. Just let me–”
And Lance could. He considers it.
Because once upon a time he was so mad at Keith, so frustrated with him when he -- the infallible Keith -- first piloted the Black Lion and messed up so spectacularly, that Lance fell in love with him just a little bit. Keith unlatches his breastplate and Lance remembers him doing the same on the return from a a Galra ambush when Lance had cracked three ribs.
Lance lets out another shaky breath, trying again to ground himself. “Keith...” his own voice is soft, strange. “Stop.”
Keith lays his forehead into the crook of Lance’s neck and makes a soft, desperate noise. “I won’t. If you don’t want me to. I won’t.”
“Keith, it’s not that I don’t want this,” Lance takes another breath to steady himself, voice trailing to a sad laugh. “Trust me. I do. Just not like this.”
“Lance,” Keith’s voice is remains laced with apprehension, his fingers still tracing lines along Lance’s ribcage. “I really didn’t know what I was supposed to do.”
“What?” Lance tries to catch up with Keith’s words.
“When you told me how you feel,” Keith murmurs against him. “I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. We’re at war, Lance. How would we…?”
Lance nods, awkwardly wrapping his arms around Keith’s back, rubbing his palm over the small of his back. “Yeah,” he breathes, loving each of Keith’s imperfections better than the last. “I got it. I got you.”
“So… when did you know?”
Lance looks toward Keith where he leans against the glass window of the control room. They’ve landed on the surface of a sunny planet, where the light dances through Keith’s hair. The others are out enjoy a local festival, eating good food and exchanging lighthearted stories.
Lance looks down at his hands where they’re folded over his knees. Three weeks have passed since Keith kissed Lance -- under duress -- in the cabin of the Red Lion. He shouldn’t have been surprised when Keith asked him to stay back and talk, but his heart rate surges all the same. He wonders if Keith can see all the answers written on his face even before he speaks. “I... I don’t know. It’s not like it happened overnight, man.”
Keith’s face suggests he doesn’t believe that answer and he’s right to distrust it. Lance supposes he’d wanted Keith long before he knew he wanted Keith. It was a progression… of sorts. A progression from jealousy (or was it admiration?) to respect… to whatever. Lance got confused too.
But the moment he’d known was the moment he saw Keith cry over losing Shiro. A stupid memory and one that makes Lance hate himself just a little. He feels like a child being scolded.
“Look, I know it’s stupid,” Lance says in a rush. “We have bigger problems and priorities and this isn’t the time to worry about who’s holding who’s hand. I just… I’m sorry you ended up stuck with me.”
A moment passes in silence. Keith is fidgeting again, fingers twitching and digging into his arms. His face shifts from discomfort to an emotion almost unfamiliar on his features.
Lance frowns. “Hey. Are you just scared?” Keith’s gaze flashes to meet Lance’s and anger flashes there, for only a brief second, like the accusation of being afraid of something threatens him more than anything. “... of being with me?”
Keith’s eyes dart toward the door behind them and Lance knows he’s right. A lot can change in the span of three years but even more can change in just a few minutes.
Keith groans, a hand shuffling through his hair to tug absently at his bangs.”I liked kissing you,” he admits, eyes averted. “I liked it a lot.”
Lance sits and stares at him for a few minutes, dumbfounded. He makes a frustrated noise, throwing his hands up in the air before standing, walking toward Keith and placing a hand on each of his shoulders. He looks Keith straight in the eye, studying the way the confused line draws between his brows.”You are so, so stupid and I hate you just a little bit.”
This time, Lance kisses Keith with his palm warm against the base of Keith's neck. He kisses Keith full of purpose, praise, promises, and without influence. He kisses Keith like this may be his only real opportunity, which is stupid.
Because Keith kisses him back.