Work Text:
Lance squats behind behind a barrel, careful to keep his elegant overcoat from drooping into the puddle near his feet (the saltwater would definitely ruin the fabric), as he listens to his crew talk about mutiny. Against him.
“C’mon, guys,” Hunk says. Blessed, beautiful Hunk. “He’s not that bad! Besides, what other captain pays you a wage?”
“Exactly,” Pidge counters. “There goes our incentive to actually pirate. Why should I risk my life killing and plundering when I’m gonna get paid either way?”
“For the fun of it?” Hunk suggests.
Several voices begin to overlap, which could easily lead to a brawl. So Lance steps in.
He straightens up from behind the barrel, fixes his coat, and crosses his arms. “How about we work this out with words? You know, instead of killing me?”
Allura, at least, looks ashamed. Pidge just glares harder, though they turn their head aside with a pout.
“Help me improve as a leader,” Lance suggests. “What am I doing wrong?”
“The crew’s small, for one thing,” Pidge says, gesturing at their gathered ranks. There’s Hunk, who Lance befriended and recruited at the dock when he bought his ship. Shiro, who they rescued from the Republic of Pirates after a jealous ex-boyfriend cut off his arm. Allura and Coran, who used to be fishermen but came aboard when Lance offered, tired of the monotonous fishing life. And Pidge, who stowed away unbeknownst to Lance but quickly became another loved member of the crew (once they were several days out at sea and unlikely to turn them into the law).
“I think that makes us an intimate crew,” Lance says.
“We haven’t been doing much pirating,” Shiro points out. He plants his single arm on his hip.
Lance flushes. That, at least, they’re not wrong about. “Well,” Lance says. He scratches his head. “We plundered that vessel yesterday.”
“It was a row boat,” Allura says.
“They were pretty vicious,” Lance argues.
“No one knows who we are,” Hunk says gently, standing up and laying a hand on Lance’s shoulder. “We want to make a name for ourselves. We want to do what we came aboard to do.”
“Right,” Lance sighs.
“And you can’t make a name for yourself by being a nice pirate,” Pidge insists. Lance winces.
Frankly, he has been trying to be a nice pirate. A gentleman pirate, even. He almost never draws the knife at his side, instead choosing to plunder with his demeanor and stab with his wit. It’s not like they’ve been unsuccessful so far. While they might not have attempted any truly big heists, they’ve managed to steal a few good bounties. And, most importantly, they’ve really bonded as a crew.
At least, Lance thought they’d really bonded. Maybe not, if his crew was debating killing him and taking over.
Lance is new to this, though. He became a pirate on a whim — not because he was an outlaw or out of options, like most pirates. But because he was trying to escape his life.
He was engaged to be married. His parents arranged it all. One day, he was a bachelor living his life with big dreams ahead of him, and the next, his parents were informing him that he was to be married to a stranger. As the wedding crept closer, it felt like a noose tightening around his neck. Tighter and tighter, lifting his feet of the ground inch by inch, until he could hardly breathe.
The day before his wedding, Lance ran away. He snuck out of the house with everything he could carry and all of his fortune. He bought the very ship he stands on now, set off to sea, and gathered his crew.
“All in favor of letting Captain live so he can learn the ropes?” Hunk says, his voice tentative. His fingers dig into Lance’s shoulder, the panic evident in them, as silence stretches before them.
“Aye,” Pidge huffs.
“Aye,” the rest echo.
Lance looses a breath, slouching in relief. “Oh, thank God,” he says. “You guys won’t regret this. I promise!”
—
The boat stops just a little ways from Lance’s ship, its passengers looking up at Lance impatiently.
Right. This was probably a bad idea.
They spotted the ship a few hours ago — a big one, a merchant one, Lance thought — and they changed course immediately to intercept them. Except as they got closer, the ship only proved to get bigger. Now, they’re well aware that the ship Lance wanted to attack is a part of the royal navy. Probably the worst ship Lance could’ve chosen to act against, especially considering their inexperience.
“Well?” James calls. He’s an unfortunate connection from Lance’s past. They went to the same boarding school. James was a part of the little clique that seemed unable to tolerate Lance, and he and all his friends probably ended up in the king’s navy. Lance, on the other hand, had enough fortune that he was able to return home and await a successful marriage. And look how that turned out.
“Yep,” Lance says. “One minute! Let me just — get the ladder.”
He glances behind him. His crew is scrambling, stashing weapons and hastily cleaning as they run around in various combinations of Lance’s wardrobe. Their own clothes were too telling — too pirate — and you don’t want to be caught dead being a pirate around the royal navy.
Lance grabs the rickety rope ladder and throws it over the side of the boat. The small entourage — the few that disembarked from the bigger vessel to visit — tie their boat to the side of Lance’s ship and climb aboard. Lance stands aside, feeling queasy, as the men clamber over the railing and scrutinize his ship.
“Huh,” James says, after getting an eye-full. Lance knows what he’s thinking. Private boaters are rarely this far out at sea, and the fact that Lance and his crew have yet to make a flag (yet another reason why his crew is displeased with him), distinguish them as a threat. They’re an unmarked entity.
But if James and his men were expecting to see a ship clearly belonging to pirates, swathed in blood and scattered with their bounties, then they’re sorely mistaken. Lance has his crew clean the ship every day, and he bought this ship especially for its beauty and spaciousness. It’s in pristine condition.
“This way,” Lance says. “We’ve prepared a meal.”
And God, dining with them… It’s atrocious.
Lance and his crew are able to eat without any fanfare, normally. Some of them might be standing, just passing through the dining area on their way from one task to another. They’re loud and chaotic, often talking over each other or having three different conversations at once.
But with the addition of the royal navy, they’re all stunted and silent. Conversation struggles to take hold, and as a result, much of it happens between Lance and James — Lance’s least likely conversational partner in all the world.
It’s all passive aggression. James jokes about their school days — funny to him, near-traumatizing to Lance — and Lance sits through it with gritted teeth, just praying for this conversation to be over. The rest of the crew appears to feel the same. Pidge doesn’t stop glaring at their guests the entire time, and even Shiro doesn’t bother to be polite, slouching in his chair and merely grunting at any questions directed toward him.
“McClain,” James says, jerking his head. “A word?”
Jesus, to be summoned elsewhere on his own ship. Fucking asshole.
“Of course,” Lance says, and he leads James to his private quarters, shutting the door behind them. It’s a little living area, with armchairs and a settee, bookshelves, Lance’s closet, and his sleeping area. James takes it all in with a sneer, then seats himself in one of the armchairs.
“You know, I came aboard this ship expecting to find pirates,” James says.
Lance huffs out a laugh.
“Not especially scary pirates, mind you,” James says. “Nothing like The Blade.”
“I’m pretty sure The Blade is just a legend,” Lance says. He’s the scariest, most talented pirate to supposedly sail the seven seas. They say his skill is unmatched, that he can take out an entire ship and loot it within just ten minutes. So, yeah. Probably a myth.
“Anyway, I was surprised to find you. You know, there’s a rumor going around about you.”
“Oh yeah?”
“People are saying that you ran away before you could be married. To become a pirate, of all things!”
Panic grips Lance, somewhere in his chest or stomach. It tangles up inside of him, clenching and twisting. But then it loosens a bit, almost like relief. Yes, Lance did become a pirate. And he does want to be known. All his life, he imagined what it would be like to live on the sea. What it might be like to be a pirate — to fight and steal and have no one to answer to. To make and live by his own rules, the consequences be damned so long as he isn’t caught.
Unexpectedly, Lance finds himself smiling. “What if I told you the rumors were true?” he says. His hands are shaking, just barely. This is a dangerous game. Telling someone from the royal navy that he’s a pirate… It’s like asking to be hanged.
But Lance hates James. He’s hated him as long as he’s known him, and he wants James to be afraid. He wants him to look at Lance and feel anything less than superiority for once in his life.
He stands with baited breath, tense as he waits for James’ reaction, and then — laughter. James doubles over, wheezing. He smacks the arm of the chair, then his own leg. Every inch of him exudes mirth, and it enrages Lance.
At just that moment, a commotion explodes from the dining room. Shouting, slamming, cursing — telltale signs of a fight.
“The hell?” James says, sobering instantly. He stands, not even sparing a look for Lance. Not fearful in any way that he might be in the company of a true pirate, someone he shouldn’t dare turn his back on.
James takes a step toward the door. Lance acts before he’s even considered it.
The gun goes off — Lance’s aim impeccable, like always — and James jerks as if he’s tripped over a wire. And then he’s falling, splaying on the ground with a puddle of blood growing around his head.
Oh shit. Oh fuck.
Similar sounds issue from elsewhere, the rest of the crew apparently tiring of the company as well. Before the commotion’s even died down, the door to Lance’s private quarters flies open. It’s Hunk.
He takes one look at the body on the ground, glances at Lance with the gun in his hand, and sighs. “Oh, Lance.”
—
“This doesn’t seem appetizing,” Lance mutters, squinting at the booth serving… gruel?
“That’s because it’s chum,” Allura says.
Lance stares at her blankly.
“You know. For fishing,” Allura says. “It’s fish mush.”
“Oh, disgusting,” Lance says. “This isn’t on our list, is it?”
They’ve sailed The Blue Lion — Lance’s ship, aptly named for being blue in color and having a lion as the masthead — to a small merchant isle. While they’re paying for most of their goods, Lance gave everyone permission to steal at least one item, haggle as low as they want, and swindle someone if the opportunity presents itself. The crew seemed satisfied with that level of treachery, at least.
They’re a little low on food, which was the main excuse for this stop, but mostly Lance is pretty sure that everyone will have higher spirits after they have the chance to spend some of their wages. Plus, they tend to run into other vessels less often when they’re so far out at sea. By setting off again from shore, they’re more likely to run into ships at least every few days.
“How’s everything looking on the mutiny front?” Lance asks, lowering his voice. He pretends to be uncaring, unaffected, examining his nails as he whispers the question to Allura. So what if his crew wants to kill him? Psh! Lance doesn’t care.
“You’re fine,” Allura says. “There hasn’t been talk of mutiny since you killed that Captain. Honestly, I don’t think anyone was actually serious about killing you.”
“Really?” Lance says. “Not even Pidge?” He ignores the chill that sweeps through him, remembering the feeling of his finger on the trigger, the ringing in his ears. The body on his floor.
Allura cocks her head. “Maybe they were a little more serious,” she allows. “But they probably wouldn’t have gone through with it.”
They venture to the next stall — this one selling treasure maps and bonafide pirate trophies. The trophies are goods apparently won from pirates, stuff like fake eyes, polished hooks, knives, and guns.
“What can I get fer ya?” the woman behind the counter says, leaning forward and propping her elbows on the worn wood. “I have plenty o’ pirate spoils. Perfect fer takin’ home to yer wife an’ provin’ you were good enough to best a pirate!”
Lance frowns. “I don’t really approve of taking spoils,” he says. “Also, I am a pirate.”
The woman looks him up and down. “Okay,” she says.
“I am!” Lance insists. He puffs out his chest, tipping his head back. “I’m the Gentleman Pirate! Why kill with swords when you could kill with kindness?”
“Sure,” the woman says. “How’s ‘bout a treasure map, then? Fer a real pirate like yerself?”
That catches Lance’s attention. “They’re real, then?”
“Absolutely, 100% genu-ine,” the woman assures him. “Just 20 gold pieces.”
“Twenty?!”
“Lance,” Allura says, elbowing Lance in the side. “I don’t think you should waste your money on that.”
“But every real pirate hunts for treasure,” Lance says.
Behind them, someone scoffs. Lance whirls around, already offended.
“What are you laughing at?” he demands. There’s a girl standing there. Her hair’s short, her face twisted into a sneer, and she’s looking at Lance like he’s an imbecile, which he doesn’t take very kindly to.
“You’re definitely not a real pirate,” she says. Then huffs out a laugh. “Gentleman Pirate,” she mutters.
“What, and you are?” Lance says. “Why are you at this stall then, if it’s not for real pirates?”
She glares. “I’m just here to retrieve my captain’s knife. He lost it on this isle a few weeks ago.”
“Lost it how?”
The girl shrugs. “In someone’s spleen.”
“Buy something or move on,” the woman behind the counter snaps. “Yer holdin’ up business!”
Lance whirls back around, examining the shelf full of knives. “How much for all of those?” he says.
The woman glances at the shelf then back to him, appraising. “Thirty gold pieces.”
Lance’s eye twitches. He reaches for his money pouch. “I’ll take ‘em.”
“What?” The exclamation comes from both Allura and the random girl.
“You’ll regret that, boy,” the girl growls. Lance stares at her coldly, the woman behind the counter packaging his purchase.
“Sure I will.”
“Do you even know who my boss is?”
“Some loser like you?” Lance guesses, sticking his tongue out at her. “C’mon, Allura.” He glances at the stranger over his shoulder as he walks away. “Maybe you can get your boss a treasure map. Make it up to him.”
She stays behind, glaring daggers into Lance’s back as they walk away. What a bitch. Her boss must be even crankier and more annoying than her.
“I hope we don’t regret that,” Allura says, the two of them walking quickly in the direction of the ship. Lance may be a little ballsy, but he’s not an idiot. If her captain is nearby, it’s probably in their best interest to get back on the sea as soon as possible.
“Please,” Lance scoffs. “Everyone acts more intimidating than they really are. I bet she doesn’t even have a scary boss. The knife was probably for her.”
Allura doesn’t argue, and she doesn’t say anything when Lance gathers the rest of the crew more quickly than he would’ve done otherwise. Despite the fact that nobody got to steal or haggle as much as they would’ve preferred, they’re still in high spirits when Lance produces a shiny new knife for everyone.
—
Lance grips the gun, the metal warm from his grip. Despite his fast breathing, his body is steady, his aim true.
“Why do you hesitate?” James sneers. “A real pirate kills without a thought. They’re not afraid to be cold-blooded killers.”
“I’m a new kind of pirate,” Lance says, his voice low. “I- I don’t— I don’t kill unless I need to.”
James scoffs. “Then you’ll die a sad, useless death. No one will ever know who you are, Lance McClain. You’re no pirate.”
Rage. Lance’s finger twitches, and then the gun is going off. James remains standing, even as he dies. His eye is gone, the bullet having shot right through it, and his face is a mess of blood and brains and gore. There’s a gaping hold right through it.
“Oh, God,” Lance mumbles, stumbling back a step. He feels queasy. The boat seems to rock even harder, exacerbating the problem. And James stumbles around, dripping blood all over the floor. He tries to wipe his face, but his hand comes away with chunks of brain on it.
“What? You regret killing me now?” James demands. He spits. “Pathetic. You can’t even kill a person right. You’re no pirate, McClain. You never will be.”
Lance wakes in a sweat. The ship is rocking gently, the waters calm, and Lance can hear a few members of his crew having a quiet conversation above deck. He turns onto his side, struggling to catch his breath, and lets the quiet murmur of their voices lull him back to sleep.
—
“Well, it was nice knowing you,” Shiro says before he’s forced to the ground, his arm tied behind his back.
Shit. Fuck. Shitfuck.
They were tricked. And it’s probably-mostly Lance’s fault, sure, but Shiro and Coran fell for it too. They were at the Republic of Pirates, trying to sell off some of their stolen goods, when a barkeep tricked them into sailing to a ship docked nearby. He’d said that there was a group of people looking to join a pirate crew and — knowing that Lance’s crew had an issue with being on the smaller-side — he’d decided to go take a look.
And all this was after he had the unfortunate luck of running into that girl from the merchant isle again. She introduced herself as Acxa and insisted that her captain would like to meet him. Lance, a new pirate but decidedly not an idiot, told her that she and her captain could go fuck themselves. And then he sailed off to this ship and certain death.
It’s a ship full of the royal navy. Apparently, they caught wind that Lance and his crew butchered some of their men.
Coran’s forced to the ground, someone stepping on the back of his neck to keep him down. Lance is gaping, distraught at the brutality of it all, when another man shoves a knife into his gut. Lance coughs, doubling over and gripping his wound. His hands are immediately hot and slick with blood, and while he’s off-balance, someone kicks his legs out from under him.
Lance collapses on the ground, gasping and curling into himself. Jesus. Is this going to be what kills him? Or will they hang him before he has the chance to bleed out?
The ship is full of commotion, loud and angry. There’s the clashing of swords and knives, which — huh. Maybe Shiro managed to get out of his bindings. Make one last stand.
That’s how Lance would’ve preferred to go out. He knew being a pirate was a dangerous job — likely one that would end in death — but he’d imagined it coming to an end in a blaze of glory. Not being tricked onto a ship and stabbed before he even realized what was happening.
The world blurs, the edges going dark and fuzzy, and Lance’s eyes slip shut on their own accord. The fighting only grows louder, which really doesn’t make any sense at all, so Lance assumes that he’s dying. Or hallucinating. Or hallucinating as he dies.
“It’s The Blade!” someone yells. Definitely hallucinating, then.
Something shakes him back into consciousness — seconds or minutes later, he has no idea — and Lance blinks his eyes open to find a face hovering over his. Shaggy, black hair. Serious eyes, but a mouth just barely quirked up in amusement. When Lance’s eyes open, the man’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
“Good, you’re alive,” he says. His voice… Woah. That’s a Real Pirate’s voice, all right. Raspy. Objectively attractive. “You’re the Gentleman Pirate, I presume?”
Delight shoots through Lance like a lightning bolt. His stomach aches, throbbing around the knife that’s still embedded in his gut, but he manages a trembling smile, forcing his eyes to lock on this man’s. “You’ve heard of me,” he breathes. And promptly passes out.
—
When Lance wakes up, he’s back on his own ship, surprisingly enough. He’s in his very own bed, in fact. The sheets are tucked around him, the sun is filtering through the shades, and the bed is sinking by his hip, as if someone’s sitting there.
He turns his head to the side, sucking in a breath when he sees the man from before. He’s cleaning his nails with a knife, seemingly distracted and unaware of Lance being conscious.
Lance goes to sit up — barely moving half an inch — and is stopped by a hand on his chest, pressing him firmly into the bed. The man still isn’t looking at him, appearing for all the world like he’s distracted examining his nails, but he’s clearly more observant than he appears.
“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” he says. “You’ll just aggravate the wound.”
As if to prove it, the man grabs the sheets and pulls them down to Lance’s hips. He realizes at that moment that he’s only wearing his underwear — definitely not what he was wearing before he ended up in this bed. Which means that someone took his clothes off him. And scrubbed him clean. And sewed him up, apparently.
“Eugh,” Lance says, examining the wound. It’s definitely the worst injury he’s ever had. He reaches out, tentative, and runs a finger along the stitches going across his stomach. He hisses through his teeth.
“Painful?” the man guesses, finally turning to look at him. His eyes are just as intense as before. So dark blue, they look purple. And despite the fact that no one should be able to pull off what is objectively a mullet, this man does. His hair looks purposefully disheveled, although Lance gets the feeling it’s like that naturally.
“Yeah,” Lance admits. “I’ve never been stabbed before.”
“You’ll be fine,” the guy assures him. He presses a finger against Lance’s stomach — gentle, still avoiding the wound — as he explains. “All the important stuff is on the other side. You took the knife in a good spot.”
“I think they just stabbed me in the wrong spot,” Lance admits. “I didn’t even realize I was about to get stabbed.”
The guy laughs, looking amused despite himself, and Lance frowns.
“Um. Who are you again?”
He brightens. “I’m Keith,” he says, shifting to sit and face Lance more fully.
“Lance,” Lance returns. A memory surfaces — the fighting from before, the shouting and swords clashing. “Hey, was that really The Blade’s crew that saved us?”
“Sure was,” Keith says, grinning. Lance swallows, immediately nervous. The Blade… He’s real, then. And he saved Lance and his crew, for whatever reason. That probably means that Lance is in his debt. Or maybe it means that The Blade is just going to kill them next.
Actually, that probably makes sense. Lance is back on his own ship, so… That means The Blade is likely here, too. He’s probably already enslaved Lance’s crew. Maybe he sent Keith to watch over Lance, wait for him to wake up, so that he can inform The Blade when Lance is conscious.
“So, you work for The Blade?” Lance concludes. Keith’s eyebrows shoot up. He cocks his head to the side.
“Huh,” he says. “Yeah… Yeah, I guess I do.”
“I should get dressed,” Lance decides. When The Blade comes to kill or enslave Lance, he’d prefer to be wearing clothes.
“Careful,” Keith warns. He ends up helping Lance stand, and then helps him limp to his closet. “I’ve never seen a pirate with such a large wardrobe.”
“I’m bringing all the things I love in life together,” Lance admits. “Clothing, humor, pirating — why should I have to give up one thing just to have another?”
“I… don’t know,” Keith admits. “Maybe you’re right.”
“I know I’m right,” Lance says. He chooses a white button up and a blood-red overcoat. He thinks he looks threatening in it. Keith seems to approve, at least, which Lance decides to take as the highest compliment. While Keith’s wardrobe doesn’t seem to be similar to Lance’s in any way, it’s obvious that he’s also wearing clothes that make him feel confident — and pulling them off.
Black leather from head to toe. Fingerless gloves, tall boots, and knives strapped to his thighs.
“He awake yet?” a voice calls from the hall. A sense of horror washes through Lance when he realizes he recognizes it.
“Oh God,” Lance whispers, staring at Keith fretfully.
“What?” Keith whispers back.
“I know her.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Lance says, unconsciously backing away from the door. “I bought a knife that she was trying to buy. And I told her that she and her captain could go fuck themselves. Jesus! I didn’t realize she worked for The Blade!”
Keith snorts.
“It’s not funny!” Lance insists.
Keith immediately wipes his expression blank, looking overly innocent. “I mean. It’s a little funny,” He hedges.
“It’s not!” Lance hisses. “She’s probably going to tell The Blade I’m awake and then he’s going to kill me!”
“Nah, he won’t kill you,” Keith says.
“How do you know?”
Keith grins. He looks wild. “Because,” he says, “I’m The Blade.”
—
Lance had heard stories about The Blade — some so exaggerated that he assumed The Blade himself was probably a myth — but they’d in no way prepared him for actually meeting the infamous pirate.
According to the stories, The Blade was a killing machine. In fact, he performed most of his bloodiest murders without the use of his hands at all. (Some say he uses his teeth, others say he can do it with just his mind).
He’s supposed to be wrathful and vengeful. He never lets anyone escape, lest they betray any of The Blade’s secrets to the world. They say he’s seven feet tall with thighs as thick as tree trunks. They say he keeps swords and knives strapped to every inch of his person. They say if you make eye contact with him, you’re already dead.
So when Keith revealed himself to be The Blade, Lance — understandably — thought he was about to die.
He didn’t think that Keith would become a very welcome presence aboard the Blue Lion. He didn’t think that he’d understand and appreciate his quiet, dry sense of humor. He didn’t think Keith would be socially awkward in an endearing way, or equally as curious about Lance as he is about Keith.
“You keep in contact with your family?” Keith says, frowning. He’s lounging on Lance’s chaise, flipping through his stack of mail. Lance glances in his direction, distracted from the (stolen) ledger he’s been examining in an attempt to figure out where they might next intercept a ship with a rewarding bounty.
“Yeah,” Lance says, turning in his chair and allowing himself to be distracted fully. Keith has kicked off his leather boots. His socked feet look small without them, especially when he digs them under a cushion in lieu of getting a blanket.
“I thought you were on bad terms with them?” Keith flips from one letter to the next. Normally, Lance would cringe at the thought of anyone reading his mail. It’s not that there’s anything specifically secretive in them — they’re just personal in odd, random ways. But for some reason, Lance stomach feels warm in a good way at the thought of Keith reading words he’s written or received from his family. Maybe because he likes the idea of Keith being interested in his life when his own life has been arguably much more exciting.
“Eh, we’re fine these days,” Lance says. “My mom apologized for trying to set me up without my permission. She tries to persuade me to come home in almost ever letter.”
Keith snorts, lowering the letters enough to eye Lance over the top of them. “She wants you back, even though you’ve become a pirate?”
“She’s sure I’ll come to my senses soon enough.”
Keith laughs again — that low, raspy chuckle that Lance prides himself in evoking — but falls silent when the door to Lance’s quarters bangs open, revealing Pidge.
“Oh good, you’re both here,” they say. Their eyes flick between them, narrowing when they land on Keith on the chaise, Lance’s letters in his hand. Inexplicably, Lance flushes.
They do spend a lot of time down here. But Keith is also a captain, even if this is Lance’s ship. It only feels right that he spends as much time here as Lance does.
“What’s up, Pidge?” Lance asks. Keith, ever the pretender when other people are around, immediately pretends to be uninterested.
“Hunk spotted a ship. Thought we’d mention it in case you wanted to attack?” Pidge’s voice is hopeful, and Lance can’t help feeling the same. It’s been a few weeks since Keith came aboard, and while their relationship started as more of a business relationship — Lance realized that he could learn a lot about pirating from Keith, and Keith decided that he could use a refresher (read: introductory) course on society and manners from Lance — it’s since developed into more of a friendship. Sure, Keith still teaches Lance about sparring and thinking like a pirate, and Lance points out how to act well-mannered, but there haven’t really been many opportunities for them to practice these newly acquired skills.
Lance glances at Keith, waiting for his input.
“How far away is it?” Keith asks.
“About two clicks,” Pidge says.
“Size?”
“Um, small? I think?”
Keith stops feigning disinterest — putting down his knife instead of picking at his nails with it — and levels his gaze at Pidge. “Ant-sized? Pea-sized? Nail-sized?”
“Ant.”
“Not too big. I think you’re up for it. If you think so, that is.” This, he directs at Lance.
“Yes!” Lance says. “Wait, will you be there? Um, to supervise?”
Keith grins. “Sure.”
—
The crew is in high spirits as they approach the vessel. Shiro stretches against the railing as Pidge sharpens her knives. Hunk vacillates between excitement and nervousness, peppering Keith with a hundred questions, and Allura and Coran lean against the opposite side of the ship, strategizing in low voices. Acxa stands near the cabin entrance, looking bored and pissed off as always.
“I’ll give them the chance to surrender first,” Lance says.
“Not always the best idea,” Keith argues. “It’s best to just go in swinging.”
“But what if they want to surrender? That’s not very gentlemanly of me.”
“But if you announce your presence like that, you lose the advantage of surprise.”
Lance frowns, worry gnawing at his gut. He wants to do more pirate-y things, that’s for certain, but he doesn’t want to feel too bad about it at the end of the day. Really, he would sleep better knowing his opponents had chosen to fight.
“Do what you want, though,” Keith says. “I’ll be there as back up. I’ll step in if you need it.”
Lance looses a breath. “That’s good to hear,” he says. “You really think it’s better to go for the stomach than elsewhere? I’d almost prefer it if they died immediately.”
Keith hums, leaning against the railing in front of Lance. His foot knocks against Lance’s, and neither of them move away from the contact.
“You’re pretty new at this,” Keith says. “The stomach’s a big target, which makes it easier to hit. And as long as you hit them in the right spot, they’ll be out of commission while you’re on the ship and will die before they get the chance to find a doctor. Arteries lead to quicker deaths, but they’re smaller targets and harder to hit.”
“Right. That makes sense. I wish I could just shoot them instead.”
“You’re a good shot, but reloading takes too long. You should never use your gun unless you have to — that way, you always have a last resort.”
“Right.”
“You ready?”
The ship looms, closer than ever. They don’t raise a white flag, despite the fact that the Blue Lion is flying their new pirate flag high and proud, which means that they’re prepared to fight. Maybe that’s why Keith doesn’t bother offering them the chance to surrender. If they really wanted to, they’d do it long before the enemy ship got within planking distance.
“As I’ll ever be,” Lance says.
The crew scrambles to get the plank ready, and as soon as they draw up beside the vessel, Hunk and Pidge use it to breach the distance between the ships. Pidge is the first to scramble across, and they secure the opposite end of the plank as the rest of them follow suit.
The deck is already in chaos. The enemy’s putting up a fight, weilding swords and shouting at them, so they dive in headfirst to attack. Metal clangs as swords meet, and the air is filled with screaming just seconds after they invade, Lance’s crew already bringing its passengers to their knees.
A sailor charges at Lance, red-faced and screaming, and Lance draws his sword and engages in the fight, doing his best to remember Keith’s advice. He parries, blocks, and searches for an opening, thrusting his sword forward and into the man’s gut at the first chance he gets. The guy crumples, groaning around his impalement, and Lance grins just for a moment before he feels wind and hears a clang from behind him.
“Always be aware of your surroundings,” Keith grunts, his back suddenly pressing into Lance’s. There’s another clang and then a groan, the attacker dispatched by Keith. “Your opponent was just a distraction for this guy.”
“Shit,” Lance breathes. “Thanks.”
Keith whirls around, patting Lance on the back before jumping into the fray. “Anytime!” he calls.
Lance charges his next opponent, flushed and wondering why he can still feel the pressure of Keith’s hand against his skin long after it occurred.
—
“A heist?” Hunk says. “Why do you want us to do that?”
“It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity!” Lance insists. “Masquerade balls are few and far in between. It’s the perfect chance for us to blend in with society and steal from the rich.”
“I’ve always wanted to go to a masquerade,” Allura admits.
Keith shifts in his seat, doing his best to look uninterested. “So… we’d dress up and stuff?”
Lance nods. “Our finest attire. Plus masks. I have plenty enough to share.”
Keith shifts again. “It does sound like a rare opportunity.”
“I hate balls,” Pidge mutters. “But, I do love heists.”
“It’s settled,” Lance decides. “We’ll arrive at the dock at sunset. Anyone who doesn’t have an outfit can borrow from me.”
The afternoon is spent dressing his crew. Shiro is the first to arrive, looking somewhat abashed, but Lance finds him a fine outfit and has Coran alter it to fit what’s left of Shiro’s arm. Then comes Pidge, scowling and surly, but Lance manages to find something small enough for their stature (and suitably not “ridiculous,” as Pidge insisted most of his clothes were). Then comes Hunk, somewhat shyly, but Lance has the perfect jacket for him, too.
And then, finally, Keith ducks into Lance’s closet.
“Hi,” he says.
“Keith! Ready to model some of my clothes?”
Keith blushes, inching further into the room. “Yeah,” he agrees.
Lance digs up something truly magnificent for him. No real reason. Just an outfit befitting a captain, probably.
Keith looks stunning — and totally unlike himself — in Lance’s clothes. He wears a red so dark it’s practically black, accented with gold, which Lance pairs with a golden cat-like mask. Keith runs his hands along the fabric repeatedly, reverent, and then insists on choosing Lance’s outfit for him. Lance ends up in a blue waistcoat and wearing a matching cat mask, only silver instead of gold.
“There,” Keith says. “Now we’re matching.”
“Like partners,” Lance says. “Like a team, I mean.”
Keith grins, his mouth the only part of his face not obscured by his mask. “Like co-captains.”
Getting into the party is easy. They lower their pirate flag, dock at the port, and make their way to the address on the invitation that Lance swiped from the last ship they plundered. Dressed as nice as they are, it’s easy work getting admitted to the party, especially since no one else is going to show up claiming to be “Elliot Thornson.”
The rest… Well. It’s a bit more difficult.
Lance is the only one of his crew who grew up in society like this. Not for any particular reason, of course. He just happened to be born lucky, to a family of wealth and prosperity. But his friends have faced adversity all their lives, and unlike Lance, they didn’t choose to live like this.
So, understandably, they’re immediately taken in by the extravagances of the ball. They’re liberal with their alcohol consumption, rude with the sheer amount of times they stop the caterers to take food off their platters, and severely lacking in manners in most of their interactions with the other guests.
Only Keith makes a passable attempt at acting like he belongs here, and that’s mostly because he sticks to Lance’s side like a leech.
"How do you do?” he mutters on at least three separate occasions, turning to grin at Lance in excitement after each interaction.
“Have you done a heist before?” Lance asks sometime later, handing a glass of champagne to Keith and taking one for himself.
“Oh, yeah,” Keith says. “Only a million times.”
Lance breathes a sigh of relief. “When is the best time to do it?” he asks.
“The closer to the beginning, the better,” Keith says, distracted as he watches couples begin to flood the dance floor. The orchestra just started playing slower tunes, inviting people to dance. “That way, when they notice what’s amiss at the end of the night, you’re already long gone.”
Lance hums, examining the doorway at the back of the hall. From Pidge’s calculations, that’s where the hosts have their trophy room, which is one of the main events of the evening. In showing off their acquired goods, they’ll garner the respect of everyone in this social circle.
“Makes sense,” Lance says. “Should I gather the crew? If we slip in as groups of twos and threes, I think we could go unnoticed.”
Keith whips around to look at him.
“Oh,” he says. “Um. Right. But, I think it’s probably different with a ball, right? I mean, a lot of people are going back there to look at the goods, so our best bet would probably be at the end of the night.” He groans, rolling his eyes. “I guess we’ll have to suffer through the whole event before we can steal anything.”
Lance nods, raising his cup toward Keith in acknowledgement. “You’re right,” he says. “Good thinking. We wouldn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to ourselves.”
Keith grins. “I guess we should blend in until then, huh?” he says. “How should we do that?”
Lance looks around the room. There are the people lingering near the tables of food — rude guests, as well as a few members of Lance’s crew. Then there are the people standing in groups and talking — they’re either gossiping or networking, Lance knows from experience. Servants flit between the guests, skillfully avoiding the dancers. Shiro’s out there with a random bachelor, looking the most comfortable of all of Lance’s crew.
“I have an idea,” Lance says. He grabs Keith by the wrist, dragging him out to the dance floor despite Keith’s dragging heels.
“Wait,” he says. “Lance — I don’t know how to dance.”
“You’ll be fine,” Lance assures him. “Just follow my lead.” He stops by the edge of the crowd — the center is reserved for those truly good enough to be admired by the rest of the guests — and pulls Keith into his arms. He ignores the weird feeling in his stomach that accompanies the proximity, probably a result of too much champagne, and guides Keith’s hands to his shoulders. “Step. Step. Turn,” Lance instructs.
Keith is stiff, his expression somewhere between a glower and a blush, but he follows Lance’s instructions and slowly relaxes in his arms. Lance twirls him, and Keith returns looser. Grinning.
“Being a gentleman isn’t too bad,” he admits.
“Neither is being a pirate,” Lance says, only just defying the urge to dip Keith.
They finish the dance — and the next two — in one another’s arms.
—
A week later, Lance sits in the crow’s nest, his eyes on the horizon. His excuse was that he would be on the lookout for ships to plunder, but in reality, he’s trying to get a sense of his body. His emotions. Figure out if he’s horrifically, mysteriously sick.
Recently, his body’s been acting rather… odd. More times than he can count, he’s experienced an alarmingly racing heart. It’ll beat so hard, so fast, that he can feel it in his throat. That he can feel its thuds against the palm of his hand when he presses it against his chest. And he could excuse that as something else — fear, excitement, maybe even indigestion — if it didn’t so often occur in tandem with other symptoms.
Like, for example, the inability to breathe. His lungs will constrict, making him breathless and anxious. As a result, he’ll end up stuttering over his words, seemingly unable to produce a logical sentence.
And he keeps having what he can only explain as flash-fevers and nausea. His face will grow so hot — despite the fact that he isn’t suffering from embarrassment — that he can only explain the reaction as a micro, momentary fever. And at the same time, his stomach will twist into vicious knots, making his knees tremble with its severity.
All of this, combined at once, is reason enough for Lance’s concern. Especially because he only seems to experience them in Keith’s presence.
He’s felt some of these symptoms before, of course. Only, they made sense back then. When Lance was in school and developing crushes on girls, he often felt combinations of these symptoms, which led Lance to realizing he was attracted to them. But he can’t make sense of these reactions in this setting.
It’s driving him insane, which is why Lance is in the crow’s nest. Pondering. Definitely not hiding.
“You hiding?”
Lance shouts, twisting around to find Keith at the edge of the crow’s nest, climbing up the ladder.
“Shit, you scared me.”
“Oh, so that wasn’t a shout of joy?”
Lance laughs, scooting to make room for Keith. The symptoms start up again. He feels warm and nauseous. He can feel his heart beating in his throat.
Keith clambers up, accepting the space Lance made for him, and he leans back against the mast beside Lance, their shoulders pressing together.
“Is everything okay?” Keith asks, more serious now.
“Yeah,” Lance says. “I think so.” His heart calms, even if the heat doesn’t entirely leave his face. There is one way to make sense of his symptoms… He just. Didn’t ever think of it as being an option for him.
“Wanna talk about it?”
Lance can’t help it. His mouth quirks up into a tiny, slightly mystified smile. The Lance from just a few months ago would never be able to comprehend this situation. That Lance had just set out on his pirate journey. He was struggling to get his crew to listen to him and was still mostly convinced that The Blade was some sort of pirate legend.
If he did decide to entertain the idea that The Blade existed, he pictured the same terrifying monster the stories depicted. And now, Lance doesn’t just know that The Blade exists, doesn’t just know that he’s actually kind, but he’s actively being comforted by him. Sought out by him when Lance has hidden himself away, worked up about his confusing emotions.
“There’s not much to talk about,” Lance admits. “It’s just… recently, I’ve — well, I’ve kind of realized that I might be into guys. Like, romantically.” He picks an invisible piece of dust off his overcoat, flushing. “Or at least one guy,” he adds, his voice much lower.
“Oh,” Keith says. “So nothing too dramatic then?” He’s grinning, and he elbows Lance in the side when Lance finally looks at him. “I was afraid you were regretting becoming a pirate, or something. You know. Something actually life-changing.”
Lance snorts. “How could I regret this?” he says, waving his hand vaguely. He thinks he probably could regret this, if things had turned out differently. He definitely would’ve regretted it, if he hadn’t shaped up and his crew had actually resorted to murdering him.
“If it makes you feel better, I’m into guys, too,” Keith says. “Only guys.”
“Really?”
“Honestly? Most pirates are,” Keith says.
“Because we rarely have girls on our ships?”
Keith snorts. “Because we’re outsiders. We’re the people society has rejected. Or the people who have rejected society. It just so happens that a lot of queer people fall into those categories.”
Lance hums. He’s not sure if that should come as a relief, but it does. Where he came from, at least, it was unheard of for a dude to get with another guy. At least openly.
The panic ebbs out of Lance, and even though he doesn’t really need to be hiding away anymore, he remains where he is, not ready to rejoin the rest of his crew yet. Keith doesn’t leave either. They sit in silence, mostly, admiring the view and the easy companionship, only occasionally breaking it with random stories.
That is, until Keith clears his throat. Looks at Lance, then the horizon, then Lance again. “Hey,” he says, his voice low and careful. “Random question. How does a gentleman tell someone they like them?”
Lance flushes, gaping a bit as he stares at Keith. This time, Keith doesn’t look away.
“How does a pirate?” Lance counters.
Keith cocks his head. Purses his lips. “Well, I think a pirate would do it like this.” He leans over, pressing a hand to Lance’s chest, and shoves him backward. The motion has Lance sliding away from the mast, resulting in him laying across the crow’s nest, his feet dangling over the edge. At the same time, Keith clambers on top of him, pinning him there as his face hovers just inches away, their breath mingling.
He doesn’t close the distance between them, though. Lance wishes he would.
“I think a gentleman does it like this,” Lance whispers. He reaches up, resting his hand against the side of Keith’s face. Keith’s breath hitches, then silences entirely when Lance’s fingers inch into his hair, getting buried between the strands. “Can I kiss you?”
Keith’s eyes go wide. And then he’s kissing Lance, gasping against his mouth as he holds him even tighter, his fingers digging into fabric and flesh and skin. Lance arches beneath him, feeling like the world is spinning end over end. Aligning in some new, finally sensible way.
“Just to be clear,” Keith gasps, his hand now cupping the back of Lance’s head, “that was us confessing our feelings to each other, right?”
Lance nods. “Definitely.”
“Good,” Keith gasps, and then they’re kissing again, swaying through the air as the ship rocks gently on the sea.
—
Just a few days later, everything goes to shit.
Lance is no pessimist, but he entertained thoughts about this happening. Well, not this, specifically, but he’s lived long enough to recognize that when everything seems to be going well, it’s only a matter of time before something comes along and messes it up. Which, yeah — maybe that makes him a little bit of a pessimist.
But the kinds of things he was imagining were to a smaller scale, he can admit. In between the moments when he and Keith were making out passionately, cuddling on Lance’s chaise lounge, or glaring at Pidge until they stopped squinting at them analytically, Lance fretted about what might happen to interrupt his happiness.
Like whether Keith would grow bored of this. He was used to bigger, badder adventures. He’d spent years at sea, voyaging and killing and plundering. Lance’s pirate lifestyle is much more laid back, completely different from what Keith is used to. How long would it be before Keith realized he wanted some of the excitement of his old life back?
And then there were the darker thoughts. They’re pirates, after all. And a pirate life often ends in death, right? So what if Lance finally figured out what he wanted in life — finally found someone that he liked the way people tend to like each other in romance novels — only to lose him prematurely? He’s seen the way Keith fights, and despite Keith’s skill, there’s no denying that he’s self-sacrificing, too. He’s admitted to being stabbed on several different occasions — sometimes on purpose, he said — and Lance can’t help but acknowledge that he’s much less skilled at this sort of thing than Keith is. If Lance got himself in a sticky situation, only for Keith to try to jump in…
God, the thought was almost too much to entertain.
Case in point, though. Lance couldn’t help imagining all sorts of ways that everything could go to shit.
What he didn’t imagine was the royal navy hunting them down and demanding Lance’s head in retribution for killing a Navy Captain — James. It was a horrible day, for a multitude of reasons. First, Lance thought he was going to die. They’d blindfolded him and loaded the guns and everything. But then Keith jumped in, reminding the executioners about The Act of Grace, a law made to excuse pirates of their crimes in exchange for 10 years of military service to the king. Lance agreed to it, but the officers wouldn’t let him sign unless the infamous Blade signed as well. Lance swallowed down his arguments as Keith signed his name.
So. That’s how they ended up back on land — back in their country — issued uniforms and given bunks to sleep in. It was absurd. Lance could see something like this happening to him, of course, but Keith? The Blade? He belonged out on the sea, where he was renowned and doing what he loved.
Lance mentioned as much, which is how their escape plan was formed. Keith would get what they needed, some sort of boat small enough to slip off into the distance unnoticed, and Lance would take on the both of their chores, making sure Keith’s absense wasn’t discovered.
It was perfect. All Lance had to do was wake up at the designated time and make his way to the beach. To his partner. His co-captain.
And Lance did wake up. He even made it to the road, could see the beach in the distance. But that road… He recognized it. He hadn’t realized where he was until the moment. Hadn’t known how close they were to his home.
In that instant, all those letters Lance had received from his mother forced their way back into his brain. He recalled her pleas for him to come home, her insistances that his nieces and nephews missed their Uncle Lance desperately, and… Well. Lance doesn’t know entirely what happened. Other than the fact that he turned left, not right, and walked a familiar path into town, away from the beach and away from Keith.
That’s how Lance ended up back at home, knocking sheepishly on the front door just as dawn broke. That’s how everything went to shit.
—
“Tío!” The shriek startles Lance, making him drop the shears he’d been using to garden, as his niece comes barreling around the side house and hides behind Lance’s legs.
“Get back here!” his nephew shouts, laughing breathlessly as he chases her. They traipse around Lance, using him as a way to hide from one another, until Lance finally scoops up his nephew and puts an end to their game.
“Don’t worry, I got him,” Lance says.
Eleanora collapses on the grass, an arm flung dramatically over her eyes. “Oh, thank God,” she says.
“Put me down!” Theo demands.
“What’s the magic word?”
“Avast, ye!”
Lance snorts, swinging Theo back to the ground and giving him a gentle shove, away from his sister.
“Do you miss being a pirate?” Eleanora says suddenly, sitting up to look at Lance. The very careful curtain Lance had created in his mind, designed solely for the purpose of shutting out his thoughts of longing, mistake, what have I done?, this isn’t what my life should be, is swished aside. It’s like pouring sunlight on a room that desperately needs to remain hidden.
“Yes,” Lance admits. Probably because he can’t bear to admit it to anyone else in his family. His mother is just overjoyed to see him, and he knows that his father is already trying to size him up, figure out when he might be prepared for marriage again.
“Why’d you leave, then?” Theo asks.
Lance drops into a squat, picking up the shears and playing with them petulantly. “I don’t know,” he says. “I thought I was doing the right thing. But… I think I was just scared. I think I was trying to ruin my happiness before someone else could do it for me.”
“That’s stupid,” Eleanora says, with all the elegance of a seven year old.
“I know.”
Lance can’t help but imagine what Keith must be up to these days. It’s only been a few days, but that doesn’t change the fact that he showed up to that beach alone. He probably waited there for Lance. Probably waited until the very last minute, before he finally sailed away, back to the Blue Lion.
If Lance were him, he’d be pissed.
“Can’t you just be a pirate again?” Theo says.
Lance blinks. Cocks his head. “Huh,” he says. “I hadn’t really thought of that.”
—
The voyage is brutal.
Lance set out on a rowboat, praying that his crew would stick to their previous sailing plan despite likely being under Keith’s leadership, and set his course to intercept the Blue Lion out at sea. This was difficult, of course, because it relied on a lot of factors, like whether Lance could actually maintain sailing the same distance each day and banking on the hope that the Blue Lion wouldn’t run into any trouble that would interrupt its course.
And then there was the fact that the sun beat down on Lance every day, that his arms ached after hours and days of rowing. The choppy seas, the difficulty sleeping, the terror that Keith wouldn’t even want to see him again.
It took a week. Lance was sure his arms would fall off by the end of it. But he found his ship, saw it rise up in the distance, and once he got close enough to be noticeable to them, the ship stopped moving. So. That’s a good sign, right?
Pidge drops the ladder over the side, though they don’t say anything. They just glare down at Lance, then retreat out of view. Lance pulls himself up with shaking arms. Idly wonders whether Keith will be waiting for him up there, sword in hand. You’ll pay for what you put me through.
But when Lance clambers over the railing, Pidge is the only one in sight. “About fucking time,” they mutter, arms crossed. “You fucked up. Big time.”
“I know,” Lance says.
“He attacked three different ships in one day. He’s pissed.”
Lance winces. “I figured.”
“He doesn’t come out of his room — your room — otherwise. He’s kind of a mess, actually.”
“I’ll go talk to him.”
“Good,” Pidge says.
Walking through his own ship is like walking through the gallows. It’s dark and depressing. Books, decorations, and clothes are scattered about, obvious signs of a tantrum.
Lance stops outside his own quarters. He knocks softly.
Something crashes inside the room. A cup, if Lance had to guess, thrown at the door. “What did I say about disturbing me?” Keith barks.
“To have a good reason?” Lance says.
Silence. And then frantic, loud scrambling — the sound of chairs and tables being shoved around — before the door flies open. Keith’s a mess. His hair is greasy and tangled, obvious even from the bun it’s been pulled into, and his eyes are dark with shadows. He’s wearing Lance’s robe.
“You’re here,” Keith blurts.
“I’m sorry.”
Keith’s eye twitches. “I— I had this whole list of things I would do to you. If you ever showed up here.”
“Stab me?” Lance guesses.
Keith nods sharply. “Among other things,” he mutters.
Lance swallows. He debates taking a step back, just in case Keith still feels inclined to stab him, but remains where he is. Whatever Keith wants to do to him, he probably deserves it. “Right,” Lance says. “Is stabbing me still on the table?”
Keith’s pouting. There’s no other way to describe his expression. He shrugs. “Haven’t decided yet.”
“I’m really sorry,” Lance insists. “And I’m not just saying that so you decide not to go through that list.”
That, at least, gets a smile out of Keith. A small one. “There were other things on the list.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
Keith sniffs. He takes a step forward, leaning into Lance’s chest, and Lance brings his arms up around him, holding him close. “Like this,” Keith mumbles, pressing his face into Lance’s shoulder. “You reek, by the way.”
“I rowed here,” Lance says. “For a week.”
“And who’s fault is that?”
“Noted,” Lance says. And then, tentatively, “Does this mean I’m forgiven?”
“You’re getting there.”
“I really missed you,” Lance says.
“I missed you, too,” Keith says. Lance fights back a smile. He figured as much, seeing Keith in his robe.
“What do you say to setting a course for somewhere fun?” Lance suggests. “And while you do that, I’ll take a bath and work on my groveling.”
Keith hums. “Or,” he says, “we could both take a bath, and you could practice your groveling immediately.”
Lance laughs, pulling back just far enough to kiss Keith. “Deal,” he says.