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"You really are an idiot. You know that, right?"
Despite his split lip, Keith winces more.
Lance is pissed.
Sure, Keith shouldn't have taken that puck to the knee. Especially after he'd fought fucking Lotor because he pushed Lance against the boards. And maybe his mouth would be hurting tomorrow, and he may have fucked himself and his knee for the playoffs, but…
But he was Voltron's enforcer. He had to protect their stars.
He had to protect Lance.
"Are you gonna bitch at me, or do you wanna look at this fat lip I got," Keith asks, ignoring Lance's original question as he unlaces his skates.
Keith can practically hear Lance roll his eyes, but the telltale sign of skate guards clack-clacking across the locker room floor means he's coming. Somehow, the locker room is empty except for them, and Keith counts his blessings. He looks up from his laces just as Lance stops in front of his stall.
Lance reaches out, and his cold fingers cup Keith’s jaw. It never fails that Lance's hands are inevitably cold after a game.
"That's quite a piece of work you got there. Lose any chiclets?" Lance asks.
Keith smiles, wide and fake.
"I'll take that as a no," Lance replies. He lets go of Keith's face and takes a seat in his stall next to Keith's. He starts unlacing his skates before kicking them off once they’re loose enough. "What were you thinking? You could get suspended with a hit like that. And it's two weeks out from play-offs."
Keith knows. He knows he could get a call from the Department of Player Safety tomorrow for his hit on Lotor, but damn it, he did what he had to.
Since the game ended, Keith kept replaying Lotor's hit on Lance. Voltron was winning by a goal with three minutes left to play in the game, and they were looking for that insurance goal. Lance had the puck and was skating along the boards, looking for someone open to make a pass, looking out and not to the side, where Lotor was rushing him. Keith had skated toward them, yelled out Lance's name…
But Lotor was too fast.
He'd crouched before springing up, shoulder making direct contact with Lance's head. Lance had gone down and hard.
And didn't get up.
And Keith…
Keith saw red.
His gloves were off the second that he'd seen the hit as he charged across the ice. Lotor was smiling over Lance's prone body, spitting something foul at Lance, and he didn't see Keith coming.
Keith grabbed a fistful of his jersey and promptly introduced his fist to Lotor's nose. He was pretty sure Lotor's teeth now resided in his sinus cavitity, but that's what he got for fucking with Lance McClain.
With a sigh, Keith shakes his head. Lotor had landed a couple hits on him, mainly to his mouth, but Hunk—Voltron's trainer—had ruled it as nothing serious. Nothing some ice and pain killers wouldn't fix.
"What about you?" Keith asks. "Did they put you through concussion protocol?"
"Yeah," Lance replies. "Hunk ruled out a concussion, but he wants to see how I feel in the morning."
Keith lets out a sigh of relief. He pulls the neck of his jersey up and off, ready to get undressed and showered and on the road home after this long night.
He's just pulled off his chest pads when Lance's cold hand lands on his knee.
"Sorry for yelling at you," Lance says, his thumb absently tracing patterns on his knee. "You had my back out there, and I appreciate it, bro."
Keith clears his throat as he feels his face flush. "It's what teammates are for, Lance," he says.
But somehow, Keith knows that they both know they're more than… teammates.
They're on the sharp blade of… something.
And Keith is scared of tipping off into the abyss.
"I was, uh, wondering," Lance says, breaking the silence. "If you wanna get dinner with me. Tonight. Maybe we can get burgers from that place on 5th? That place you like to go to after home games?"
But maybe, Keith isn't falling into the abyss alone.
Keith stands from his stall, causing Lance's hand to fall off his leg. He laments the loss of that steady presence, but quickly replaces it with the icy stare of Lance's eyes.
"Sure," he says. He leans forward and presses a sure kiss to Lance's cheek. "It's a date."
And Lance's smile in return is as bright as fresh ice.