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They have never been good with words.
Lance abused them, used them at pleasure; with words he became what he wanted to be, a Lance that was perfect and loved by everyone. Words made him brave and smart and an adventurer and helped to hide all the insecurity inside him. Words made him a liar.
Keith was never interested in words. He used them because he needed to, because silence didn’t always work. He used them with moderation, with caution, because they always failed him somehow. Every time he spoke it seemed like he hurt somebody he loved. Words made him a monster.
Words, between them, were always a synonym for trouble.
“Why are you always trying to get us killed? Listen to us! Stop being an asshole!” when Lance meant you almost died. We were scared. I’m so scared.
“I didn’t ask you to come with me! I didn’t ask for your help! I was doing just fine on my own!” and Keith doesn’t know how to say I’m so used to being alone. I’m sorry. I don’t want to lose any of you.
“We are a team, Keith! And you’re our leader! Act like one!” be with us. Don’t leave us behind. Don’t leave me behind, don’t you ever let me behind. I’m supposed to help you. Let me.
“And what if I don’t want to be? I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t ask for any of it. I don’t want it,” I’m not good. I need to be alone. I don’t want to put you in danger.
They were alone. They always were alone when they were fighting. Lance and Keith were forces of nature, and only one of them could handle the other; they were like a forest burning and a hurricane landing, and no good thing could happen if they came close to each other. There was just destruction.
“But you are!” and we need you.
“Apparently, not a good one,” Keith stopped walking. His breathing was irregular now, his blood burning. He opened the door of his room and went inside, deciding it was the end of the discussion.
Lance decided otherwise, it seemed, because he didn’t let the door close. He followed him inside, frowning and with his hair made a mess. There was still blood on his face, an ugly cut in his lip. This made Keith angrier with himself.
“Stop this, Lance. Do you want to be the leader? Have my fucking blessing. I’m done,” please. Please, I don’t want this. I want Shiro back. You are better. You could do this.
“AGH. WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS LIKE THIS?” Lance screamed, pulled his hair and raised his arms, exasperated. Let me help.
“IF YOU DON’T WANT TO LISTEN YOU CAN GET OUT OF MY ROOM” I need to be alone.
That day, Lance was tired of everything, really: he was tired of being a paladin, tired of worrying about Keith, tired of Keith not worrying about himself. He was tired of being a liar. He was exhausted and hurt, and in love with an absolute idiot.
So he kissed him. A kiss could not lie.
Shut up. I want to be here.
There was no patience in that kiss. It was desperate, avid, and inexpert. It was risky, threatening, a collision of two disasters. There was no kindness in it. They both were mad at each other, they both had so much inside of them, and they both were hungry with want; there would be time for softness, but this was not it, it could not be.
Keith kissed him back, but there was no surprise on that. They had been playing this for too long, a battle that neither of them could win. Keith’s touch felt natural, an extension of everything they had had before this, a completely different kind of fight but a fight nonetheless.
They didn’t need words, and maybe it was only that what made it work; words took the best out of them. But this? This was them. They were lips and tongue and teeth, fingers too desperate for something to hold, for something to call their own. They were water and fire and evaporated when they touched, two forces that were not supposed to be together, to want each other with the violence they did.
Nevertheless, they were Keith and Lance, neck and neck, always rivals and always pulling each other closer. They fought and loved in the same terms -and they didn't need words for the things that burned inside them.