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“This,” Lance announced, pausing briefly to burp discreetly, “is fucking disgusting, what is it?” He gestured with the glass in his hand, sending some of the contents splashing onto the kitchen floor.
“It’s rosé, you uncultured swine,” replied Pidge with only the smallest of slurs, although they pulled a face when they, too, drank from their glass.
“Sorry, it was really cheap,” admitted Hunk’s sister, Dana, who was visiting them and had brought the aforementioned wine.
“I think,” Hunk started to say, “I think, the problem is-” Here he stopped to blink heavily and look into his own cup. “-is the shots of tequila that we had already done.”
“You’re so reasonable, Hunk,” said Lance in earnest. “And that is why I fucking love you.”
“You guys are lightweights,” mumbled Pidge.
“Shut up, Pidge,” said Lance, “look at you, you’re nearly under the table.”
“No, I’ve always been this short.”
Pidge had indeed slipped in their chair, so much so that their chin was pressed to their chest and the table was at eye level.
Before Lance could retort, wittily or otherwise, there was a sharp knock on the door. Everyone stared lazily at each other, before Dana stood with an attempt at an eye roll.
“I don’t even live here, you guys are so lazy.”
“You’re the best, Dana,” called Lance from his seat. “You and your ros-ah can visit anytime.”
“It’s pronounced rosè,” muttered Pidge to the table.
“Shut up, you nasty gremlin.”
“It’s a fella for Lance,” called Dana from the front door. The yelling was unnecessary as the door was not actually very far away and the door between the hallway and the kitchen was always propped open by a stray, unclaimed shoe. “He says Lance pays him to be his boyfriend.”
“Wha-what the fuck, is that Kieth?” yelled Lance, outraged.
Pidge laughed themselves fully to the floor.
Dana returned, Keith close behind her with a slant to his mouth that was almost a smirk.
“Hey Keith,” said Hunk, he was the nicest one, Lance always said so.
“Hello,” replied Keith. Lance forgot he was angry in a moment, smiling sloppily at the other boy. His boyfriend .
“Do you want some wine, Keith?” asked Dana, her wide smile not at all dissimilar to her brother’s.
“It’s a trap,” wheezed Pidge, hauling themselves up back onto their chair. “Don’t do it!”
“I actually agree with Pidge on that one,” said Lance, solemnly. “Come on, away from these idiots we shall go.”
With that, Lance rose from his seat, downed the last of his very full glass, and strode towards his room, clearly expecting Keith to follow.
Keith stood there for a moment, still in his coat and scarf, cheeks a little red from the outside chill. He took stock of the now silent room, eyes all on him, before giving a little shrug and turning to follow Lance.
“So that was Keith,” they could hear Pidge saying. “Him and Lance are boinking.” At this Lance pointedly slammed his bedroom door closed.
“I swear, they are the most annoying people I’ve ever met,” groaned Lance, dramatically slouching against the wall. “Apart from Dana, she’s lovely. Sorry I didn’t introduce you properly.”
“That’s fine,” said Keith softly, shrugging off his coat and slinging his scarf over Lance’s chair. “I came here to see you , anyway.”
“Ngk,” said Lance, his face was a little heated, but that may have been the rosè.
Keith walked over to where Lance was still slumped against the wall, not stopping until their toes nearly touched, and then he slipped his hands around Lance’s waist and leaned in just a little. Lance was suddenly very aware of his own breathing.
“You smell like...is that tequila?”
“You have a weirdly good sense of smell,” said Lance, a little dizzy from trying to focus on Keith’s face, so close to his own. “Like a dog.”
“You’re so drunk,” said Keith now, and Lance was rewarded with a rare full Keith smile.
Lance reached up to clumsily cup a hand under Keith’s jaw, thumb pulling at the corner of the boy’s mouth.
“Your smile is fucking beautiful,” mumbled Lance, all the words somehow slurring into one big word.
Keith wasted no time after that in pushing all into Lance’s personal space and pressing their mouths together. Lance was a little slow on the uptake, but made up for it in his eagerness, bringing his other hand up to clumsily mirror the first.
“Your mouth tastes foul,” said Keith, almost a whisper, mouth still very much pushed against Lance’s so their teeth nearly clacked together.
“Stop talking, babe, I’m trying to make out,” said Lance, irritated but also never really breaking the kiss, eager to keep up some kind of rhythm.
Keith pulled back, ignoring Lance’s pitiful whine. “‘Babe’?” He had an eyebrow raised.
“Yeah,” said Lance, smacking his lips slightly, when did they get so dry? “If you’re going to be my boyfriend then I’m gonna call you shit like ‘babe’, because I like it and that’s something you jus-just have to deal with.”
“Is that so?”
“Mmhmm, yeah.” Lance would have potentially handled this in a far smoother fashion if he was in any way sober.
“I suppose I could live with that,” said Keith, amusement glistening in his eyes.
“Okay,” said Lance with a nod. “I need to sit down, I think.”
“Maybe you should lie down, and sleep off the copious amount of alcohol in your system.”
“Sleep?” grunted Lance, attempting to sound outraged. “Sleep is for nerds.”
“Exactly,” said Keith, pulling Lance towards his unmade bed.
Before Lance could object in any way to Keith’s slander , he was pushed onto his bed, bouncing slightly as he hit the mattress. The sudden change from vertical to horizontal made Lance’s head spin wildly, so he just lay there, dazed, as Keith kicked his boots off and climbed over him to lay parallel next to him.
“I feel sick,” said Lance, plainly, staring at the ceiling in displeasure.
Keith let out a small sigh, but didn’t say anything as he climbed back over Lance and crossed the room to pick up Lance’s bin and place it next to the bed. He paused for a moment before disappearing from the room.
Lance’s drunken, emotional brain thought that perhaps Keith had finally had enough and had left for good. This was the final straw and Keith had taken his opportunity to escape both the room and this new relationship he had accidentally stumbled into.
Before Lance could start crying, Keith was back, a glass of water in his hand.
Sheepishly, Lance blinked, willing the wetness to disappear from his eyes before Keith saw.
Keith placed the water next to Lance’s bed as well, pausing very briefly before shedding his jeans and hoodie. Lance had let his eyes close, the dizziness now just a little overwhelming, also still embarrassed from his little emotional moment just moments ago.
“Lance,” said Keith softly, his low croaky voice was just so nice. Keith’s fingers were suddenly on his jaw, gently tracing from his ear to his mouth. “Lance, you need to take your binder off.”
“Can’t,” said Lance, a little petulantly, humming in what he hoped was an encouraging way when Keith’s fingers began running through his hair instead.
“Come on, just sit up, it’ll only take a second,” mumbled Keith.
“Easy for you to say,” grumbled Lance, forcing his eyes open.
There was a small pocket of silence. “Do you want me to help?”
Lance’s stomach suddenly dropped in panic, and he very nearly made a lunge for the bin as bile and rosè threatened to bubble up into his throat. He breathed evenly, avoiding eye contact with Keith’s dark, sincere eyes.
Lance licked his lips, buying some time.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “But don’t...don’t look.”
“I promise.”
Lance sat up, struggling only a little with balance, and pulled his jumper off, flinging it across the room, before shrugging out of his t-shirt as well. Breathing a little heavier from the exertion Lance sat there in the lamp-lit room with just his binder on his top half.
“Tell me the best way,” said Keith, who was now sat opposite Lance on the bed, holding his hands out. Lance looked up and saw that Keith had closed his eyes, and Lance couldn’t help the fond little leap of his heart.
After only minimal struggling on both parts, they were both wriggling their way under the covers, Lance gulping down most of the glass of water before flopping his head down on the pillow.
“Cuddle me now,” said Lance into the dark room, pulling Keith closer under the covers.
“So fucking demanding,” mumbled Keith, although his arms very willingly circled Lance, bringing him closer.
“Thank you,” whispered Lance.
Keith just pulled him closer.
-
A pressing and resounding headache woke Lance earlier than his body wanted. His mouth was dry and his eyes were heavy. He felt incredibly unpleasant all round. He blinked heavily, and turned his body to a more comfortable position, willing it to drift off into slumber again.
Beside him Keith was still asleep.
It struck Lance in that moment that he had never woken up before Keith. Keith was an early-riser with a stupid job and Lance was a lazy student with no job and a reluctance to arrive to lectures on time.
Keith looked so soft in the grey morning light, his brow smooth from frown lines, which was his default awake-face. Eyes closed and dark, dark hair messily spilling out around his face. Lance couldn’t help but stare.
Keith’s hand lay between them, where Lance had rolled away in the night. His skin was so pale, he almost looked fragile, thought Lance with a smirk. Keith was anything but fragile. Lance reached out to trace his fingers over the back of Keith’s hand, trailing up to lace their fingers together.
At the touch, Keith’s eyes opened.
“What are you staring at?” he mumbled, sleep making his voice husky and hushed.
“Your pretty face,” replied Lance, waggling his eyebrows, ignoring the fact that that was not helping his headache.
Keith maintained a steady eye contact as he raised an eyebrow. He turned away to lie on his back, but flipped his hand around under Lance’s to hold it properly.
“Do you have to go to work today?”
“No.”
“Okay, good,” said Lance, letting go of Keith’s hand to snuggle up closer, pressing his nose into the other boy’s neck and throwing an arm over his waist. “I’m going to go back to sleep then.”
“Okay,” murmured Keith, in a way that Lance chose to interpret as fond.
“My tutor-the guy that tutors me is coming round at 10 today,” said Lance into Keith’s shoulder. “He’s doing an MA in the same course and helps me out sometimes.”
“Is that a hint for me to leave before 10?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” said Keith through a smile, pressing his face into Lance’s hair.
-
The knock on the front door made Lance jump a little.
“That’s probably him,” he said, directing it vaguely in Keith’s direction who was lacing up his shoes. “He’s, honestly, the most punctual person I’ve ever met.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” said Keith, standing and pulling his jacket on.
Lance danced his way over to his door, smacking a kiss on Keith’s cheek as he passed.
“Hey, Shiro!” Lance greeted with his best smile. “Come in, come in.”
“Hey, Lance,” replied Shiro, also smiling. He was a tall guy, almost intimidating if you didn’t know him better, with broad shoulders and a pink scar across the bridge of his nose. Very handsome, Lance let himself admit secretly.
Lance led the way to his room, freshly cleaned and tidied that morning, much to Keith’s amusement. (“Stop laughing, Keith, I need to trick people into thinking I’m a put-together human adult.”)
He opened his mouth, ready to introduce Keith who was, as promised, ready to leave, when Shiro exclaimed in calm surprise: “Keith?”
Keith froze, looking up from his phone to stare at Shiro with something akin to sheepishness in his eyes.
“Do you two...know each other?” asked Lance, verbally slicing through the strange awkward silence that had fallen.
Keith stayed silent.
“Er, yeah,” said Shiro, clearing his throat a little. “Keith’s my brother.”
“Ah,” said Lance. “Right. Well, this is incredibly awkward.” Lance wasn’t sure how much Shiro knew about his brother’s love life, for all he knew, Shiro thought Keith was in his room for purely platonic reasons. At 10 am, having clearly stayed the night. Did they live together? Did Shiro know how often Keith didn’t sleep in his own bed? Lance was sweating a little bit.
“No, no,” Shiro hastened to say. “It’s, er, nice to meet you, I suppose. Officially, I mean.”
Keith groaned and flopped his head down into his hands. “Why did this happen to me.”
“Don’t be so melodramatic, Keith,” chastised Shiro.
“I’m leaving,” said Keith, raising his hands to shoo Shiro away from the door.
“Yes, excellent,” Lance said quickly, nodding a bit too much.
“I can look away if you want a moment to say goodbye?” suggested Shiro, but there was mirth sparkling in his eyes.
Keith mumbled something very rude and walked out, the door closing loudly behind him.
“I feel like that could have been worse,” said Lance, eyeing Shiro from the corner of his eye as they both stood looking at the closed door.
“This is going to be a lot of fun,” mumbled Shiro to himself through a small smirk.
“Has he talked about me? Did he say he was seeing someone? When was the first time he mentioned me?” Lance fired off his questions with absolutely no shame. This was far more important than his dignity.
“That,” said Shiro, turning to him with his smirk still firmly in place, “is a conversation for another time. For now, let’s study some biology terms.”
“I would press this further, but I really need some help after that last lecture,” admitted Lance with a heavy sigh. “I swear he was talking fucking German towards the end.”
-
“So his brother is your tutor,” clarified Pidge, barely audible through the huge amounts of popcorn shoved into their mouth.
Lance nodded glumly, pressing a button on his controller to start the next race on the screen that was definitely too close to their faces. On the screen, Princess Peach was ready to go.
“This might be a good thing, Lance,” said Hunk. There was something that really brought the three of them together, emotionally, mentally, geographically. That thing was MarioKart.
“Maybe,” conceded Lance. “But also maybe it’ll backfire stupendously in my face.”
“Just like this fuckin’ BLUE SHELL, MOTHERFUCKER!”
“Pidge! What the shit!” screamed Lance. “I’m emotionally vulnerable right now, let me win!”
Pidge just laughed, clearly not even a little bit remorseful.
“I’m just trying to remember if I said any stupid shit about Keith to Shiro,” mumbled Lance, trying to veer Princess Peach back on course.
“You do say a lot of stupid shit about that boy,” agreed Pidge.
“Like, did I mention the sex to him?” said Lance, an edge of panic to his voice now. “Did I talk about the amazing sex I had with his little brother?”
“Again,” said Pidge, somehow managing to continue playing while simultaneously shovel more popcorn into her gob. “That does sound like something you would do.”
“Why do I have no filter?” whined Lance, accepting third place as Hunk smoothly passed him to the finish line.
“I wouldn’t worry,” said Hunk, calmly over Pidge’s triumphant whoops. “He seems like a chill dude, and you’ve known him for a while now, right?”
“Yeah,” agreed Lance, flinging his controller to one side. “He started tutoring me at the start of this year.”
“Exactly, you’re probably on friendly enough terms that this won’t be weird, right, Pidge?” said Hunk, elbowing Pidge subtly.
“Absolutely, Lance,” said Pidge with a nod. “But, also he’s made of pure muscle, so if you hurt his little brother I feel like you might die.”
“Oh man, you’re right!” wailed Lance, throwing his body backwards onto Pidge’s floor.
-
Come over
Lance sent the text and then tossed his phone to the side, continuing to stare up at his ceiling. Maybe he should get some glow in the dark stars or something. He chewed on his lip, feeling restless. He should probably get a start on the mountain of coursework he still needed to do before Monday.
But also he wanted to see Keith, and maybe get a kiss or two.
Lance’s phone pinged.
can’t
Lance pouted. He knew Keith was a little curt over text, hell, he was a little curt in real life too, but surely Lance deserved more than this. However, before he could send a whiney reply, he received a picture.
It was a fairly badly framed photo of a cat, large and fluffy and completely black. Lance smiled, still a little confused, before he realised the surface the cat was sitting on was definitely Keith’s red jumper.
im being held hostage
Lance grinned, this was so goddamn cute.
wtf since when did you have a cat
its shiro’s
this is so fucking cute i’m going to print this picture out and put it inside my locker
we dont have lockers
Lance ignored this, returning to his initial purpose.
bring the cat, then
just come here instead
Lance stared at his phone for a bit. He had never gone to Keith’s, the other boy had always come here. It was only fair, Lance’s supposed, grimacing as he craned his neck to watch the light rain pattering down on his window. With a heavy sigh, Lance sat himself up and pulled out his shoes from under the bed, sending off a quick ‘ okay’ to Keith.
Lance paused, realised what Keith had implied. Shiro’s cat. So Shiro did live with Keith. Lance breathed, continuing lacing up his shoes. This was fine, he told himself, he knew Shiro, they got on. Shiro might not even be there, in fact, he really hoped that would be the case to avoid any more awkward moments.
Another ping from his phone indicated that Keith had sent his address. It wasn’t in halls, mused Lance, opening up Google Maps. How fancy.
-
Lance knocked on the door, quickly pulling his hand back to smooth his hair a bit and then pulling at his sleeves to give his restless fingers something to do.
The door opened to a deliciously rumpled Keith. His hair was falling out of his little pony tail and there were little clumps of cat fur on his hoodie. He leant against the door frame, crossing his legs and smirking a little. Lance noticed the little R2-D2s on his socks.
“Glad you survived the long and arduous journey.” Keith’s voice was croaky, like this was the first thing he’d said all day, which, knowing Keith, was entirely likely.
“Don’t give me that sass,” said Lance, disgruntled but also so very fond. “It’s your fault for being so secretive and mysterious.”
Keith raised an eyebrow before taking a step back and gesturing for Lance to follow. Lance was only a little bit nervous, so he swallowed the excess saliva in his mouth and stepped into Keith’s flat.
It was a small open plan area consisting of a living room that had far too many bookshelves, a sofa with far too many pillows and a tiny kitchen separated by a breakfast bar covered in textbooks and an open laptop.
“Your place is so nice!” said Lance, earnestly, turning to take it all in. “Why the fuck are we always in my shitty little dorm room?”
“Because I live with my brother,” replied Keith, tone close to monotony, but Lance could hear the amusement laced in his voice.
“Is he...here?”
“No,” said Keith with a smirk. “You’re safe.”
“Hey! I’m not scared of him, he’s been my tutor for months now, I know him,” exclaimed Lance, disgruntled. “Now show me the cat.”
Keith laughed a little bit, which sent warm feelings through Lance’s chest, and turned to disappear into one of the doors leading off the living room. He returned with a large lump of sleepy fluff in his arms, one of his hands was scratching behind the cat’s ear and the purring was intense in its rumbling. Keith had nice hands.
“Oh fuck, they’re glorious.” Lance moved quickly to Keith, offering a hand for the cat to sniff. “Can I stroke them?”
Keith nodded. “She’s called Jet.”
“As in plane?”
“As in black.”
“Oh,” said Lance, sheepishly. “Yeah, that makes sense.” He used the back of his fingers to stroke the cat’s head, scratching behind her ears where Keith’s hand had previously been. The cat decided she had had enough and stretched a little, pushing her paws into Keith’s chest before Keith gently let her hop onto the sofa.
“Do you want a coffee?” asked Keith, “Or a...er, tea?”
“Did you just forget the word for tea?” said Lance with a small snort.
“What? No,” protested Keith with a frown, making his way to the little kitchen area. “Answer the question or you’re not getting anything.”
“What kind of tea do you have?” asked Lance, following Keith to peer over his shoulder into the cupboard at the tea selection. Keith gestured to the boxes instead of replying. “That’s a lot of tea,” said Lance. “I’m overwhelmed with choice.”
“They’re all Shiro’s,” mumbled Keith with a little shrug. “But the peppermint one is nice?”
“Ew, gross, no. Can I have the raspberry one?”
Keith rolled his eyes a little but complied, pulling the box down from the cupboard.
“Can you reach?” teased Lance.
“I will stab you,” replied Keith solemnly, not looking at him as he prepared their drinks (a coffee for himself, of course). “And I would feel no remorse.”
“You’re weird.”
“Let’s watch TV.”
“Okay.”
-
It was a couple of hours later that Lance heard the distinct jangling sound of keys in the door. He looked over at Keith who was fast asleep with his arms crossed across his chest and his legs thrown over Lance’s lap. Lance started sweating a little bit and tried to jostle Keith awake, but before anything could be done the front door swung open.
“Oh, hello, Lance,” said Shiro, an easy smile on his face.
“Shiro!” Lance squeaked. “Hi!”
Lance suddenly felt very much like an intruder. This was Shiro’s flat, this was his sofa he was sitting on. And Keith wasn’t even conscious to ease the situation. Although, reasoned Lance to himself, he may have actually just made it worse.
“How’s studying going?” asked Shiro with an eyebrow raised, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it up by the door. “I trust you’ve prepared all your coursework for Monday?”
“Er, yeah, of course,” lied Lance.
“Fuck off, Takashi,” mumbled Keith, his voice low and croaky and beautiful.
“Oh, he lives,” said Shiro, amusement dancing in his eyes. “It’s always such a pleasure coming home to you, dearest brother.”
Keith cracked an eye open to glower at Shiro, not moving an inch from his current position.
“Do you want to stay for dinner, Lance?”
Lance didn't think he did.
“Of course he doesn’t, leave him alone,” said Keith, stifling a yawn and snuggling down even further into the couch cushions.
“Don’t be silly, I’m making spaghetti, and my spaghetti is delicious.”
So Lance stayed for dinner.
It was surprisingly not very awkward. It was true, Lance did know Shiro, and they had had plenty of conversations in the past, and he was clearly very chill with the whole dating his little brother thing.
And the spaghetti was delicious.
-