Chapter Text
Lance’s shoulder blades hit hard against the cool tile of the training room; his breath momentarily knocked from him on impact. He hardly felt the bruising as he shoved Keith back, all teeth and talons.
—
(24 hours prior)
They’d been arguing for weeks. At first it was a small thing, like the just-audible ticking of a watch. But as the days stretched on in endless space with only each other for company, it became incessant. Lance would say something particularly vicious only for Keith to strike back with an equally mean-spirited attack. He would push and poke and prod, further and further each time Keith gave him a reaction. His presence got under Lance’s skin in a way that made him uncomfortable, like an itch he couldn’t reach. He wanted to tear at it until the sensation went away.
So when the paladins were tasked with a reconnaissance mission during which Lance and Keith were inconveniently paired, Lance could hardly contain it.
Keith trudged in front of him, wordlessly clearing a trail through the dark underbrush with his bayard. The air was thick with humidity and the jungle stubborn against Keith’s blade. Lance swiped at the back of his neck irritably; every drop of sweat felt like the crawl of an insect.
He regarded the red paladin stomping in front of him. Though Keith didn’t say anything, Lance could just feel the indignation radiating from him like heat off hot asphalt. It made Lance proactively defensive. With a forced smile, he stepped on the back of Keith’s heel.
Nothing.
Keith's shoulders tensed, but he continued forward, slicing through the unyielding overgrowth. Lanced scowled. Abandoning any last semblance of maturity, he stepped on his heels a second time.
“Lance,” Keith ground out in a cautionary tone. Lance just shrugged.
“An accident,” he replied noncommittally, right before stepping on Keith for a third time.
Keith rounded on him with the threat of violence in his eyes, but Lance could only grin. Ah, finally, the thrill of poking the bear. Keith was in his face now, dark hair sticking to his neck in the heat of the foreign planet.
“What is your deal?” he seethed. Lance felt like electricity, buzzing with the anticipation of a fight. He leaned forward, emphasizing his height. He could swear static crackled in the inches between them.
“It’s not my fault you’re moving too slow,” Lance sneered, “we’ll never reach the Galra base at this rate.” To be honest, he wasn’t sure how near or far they were, he’d been too preoccupied glaring holes into the back of Keith’s head to check their coordinates.
“Oh yeah?” Keith snapped, “Well where’s your sword that’s going to cut through all these vines?” He gripped the hilt of the blade fiercely, and Lance decided that Keith wouldn’t cut him. Probably.
“I could shoot through all this way faster than you could slice through it,” he remarked with confidence, though he wasn’t sure if what he said was true. Keith gave a callous laugh.
“No you couldn’t,” he stated doubtfully. His matter-of-fact tone had Lance bristling. Keith may not have meant it as a challenge, but Lance couldn’t help taking it as one.
Before he could think twice, Lance activated his bayard. A blue flash, and he was gripping the trigger of his alien rifle, aiming it forward. Keith watched.
Just as his finger squeezed, Keith grabbed his arm, as if belatedly remembering something.
“Wait, Lance-”
Too late, a gunshot rang out, reverberating between the trees and echoing in the distance. The thick greenery ahead of them was a smoking, ashy clearing.
“Ha!” He turned to Keith, about to declare his triumph, but the words died on his tongue. Keith looked panicked. His grip on Lance’s arm tightened and he yanked him hurriedly back the way they’d come. All he could do was follow Keith with his arm in a death grip, nearly tripping. He suddenly halted, pulling Lance’s arm with him and making his joint twist oddly. He was about to snap at Keith when the sound of a laser charging up stopped him.
Looking up, they were surrounded by Galra sentries, weapons trained on them. Lance wilted. They must’ve been a lot closer to the base than he’d counted on.
—
Lance and Keith sat in the med bay while Coran smudged the Altean equivalent of Neosporin over their cuts. Lance felt for all the world like an admonished child in time-out. Shiro and Allura spoke in hushed voices not far from them, unhelpfully adding to the illusion.
At least no one got seriously hurt, Lance figured. Sure, they were cut up here and there, and his shoulder socket was sore from where Keith pulled, but all in all not too much collateral damage. He frowned then. Unless you count the reconnaissance mission they’d single-handedly blown.
The robotic sentries had been easy to take down, but they’d had to call Hunk for an airlift once the foot soldiers had shown up. The sheer amount of them had outnumbered Lance and Keith substantially. Now, not only did the team have no intel, the Galra also knew they were in the galaxy (no doubt ramping up security).
But at least no one got hurt, Lance thought grimly.
He glanced at Keith, only to find him already staring. He shivered under Keith’s gaze.
“What?” Lance muttered sharply.
“If you hadn’t shot your weapon, we wouldn’t be in this mess,” Keith spoke in a hushed tone, but no less irate. His hair was in disarray and face blotchy from the exertion of fighting the sentries. A not-so-shallow laser wound scraped along his forearm. Lance’s stomach turned.
Blandly, he replied, “So you're blaming me.” Lance didn’t have any of the crackling energy he did before. He just felt a numb kind of resentment. Whether it was directed at Keith, himself, or both, he wasn’t sure.
Exasperated, Keith bit out, “It's your fault!”
Lance couldn’t stop himself. He grabbed the alcohol wash on the table next to them and sloshed it onto Keith’s arm, right where the not-so-shallow cut was.
Keith sucked in air through his teeth at the sting and lurched back. In the next second he was on Lance, grabbing him by the shirt collar and pinning him roughly to the floor. Lance locked eyes with him. Keith’s dark irises gleamed hatefully beneath his long eyelashes. For whatever bizarre reason, Lance’s resentment softened then.
Until Keith hit him square in the jaw.
The shock of pain caused him to blink. Keith reset his fist to hit him again, but by then Shiro was pulling him brusquely off Lance. He lightly touched his jaw, where surely a bruise would form.
Lance sat up on his elbows. In the commotion he just stared at Keith, held back by Shiro’s mechanical arm across his chest. Absently, he felt Allura’s grip on his shoulders, although he wasn’t planning on retaliating. None of the thrill of fighting with Keith coursed through him now, like it had in the alien jungle. A strange and unidentifiable emotion was lodged in his throat. Keith stared strangely back.
—
That was how Lance had ended up in a familiar and unfortunate position in the training room, back flush against the merciless tile. After the failed mission and the incident in the med bay, Shiro had demanded they “bond.” Well, if by bonding he meant beating the living shit out of each other, then they were doing spectacularly.
The two were meant to build trust by learning how the other moved - patterns, mannerisms, tells - the usual dismal business of training. Problem was, Lance already knew the ins and outs of Keith. He’d fought with him too often not to. And that meant Keith knew him just as well. Keith dodged when Lance attacked, Lance hardly flinched when Keith feinted.
But Lance was getting more frustrated with every blow he didn’t land. His breath came out in uneven puffs and his movements were getting reckless. Keith didn’t look like he was faring much better. Black hair swept back haphazardly. Sweat clinging to his neck. Eyes warily observing Lance.
Lance wanted to bite him. When he lunged, Keith swiped his leg, hitting the back of Lance’s knees, sending him unceremoniously to the ground. His jaw ticked.
“That was an illegal move!” Lance glared up at him from the floor. Keith only shrugged.
“No such thing as an illegal move in a real fight,” he returned. Lance hated the way he must be so satisfied with himself. I’ll give you a real fight, he thought hotly.
He dragged himself up, widened his stance, and waited for Keith to come to him. When he did, Lance sidestepped, placed his hands on Keith’s chest and shoved.
Surprised, Keith stumbled, and Lance shoved again, harder, until it was Keith on the floor.
Lance’s mouth quirked up at the corner in a mean smile.
“Real enough for you?”
Keith didn’t even bother standing. He crouched low and then sprung at Lance, shoulder hitting him in the ribs.
Lance’s shoulder blades hit hard against the cool tile of the training room; his breath momentarily knocked from him on impact. He hardly felt the bruising as he shoved Keith back, all teeth and talons.
The short distance Lance had put between them had lasted all but a few seconds. Keith grabbed his arm - the same arm that was still sore from when it was nearly yanked out of its socket - and twisted. Fuck. Lance bit his tongue, choking back the pain. The last thing he would do is give Keith the gratification of screaming. Feeling hot breath on the back of his neck, he jerked his head backwards, smashing his skull into Keith’s nose. He heard a sharp intake of breath and a wet cough before his arm was released.
Scrambling out of reach, Lance faced Keith. Blood leaked from his nose, the color of ruby. Lance almost felt bad, but mostly, he felt like red suited Keith. Their eyes met, and a surge of adrenaline spiked through Lance.
As he considered him, Lance’s chest tightened inexplicably.
He liked fighting with Keith, he realized in a horrifying moment of clarity. Liked the way he could rile him up, liked seeing how far he’d go, liked seeing his dark eyes ignite. If that made Lance collateral damage, so be it.
He wasn’t ready when Keith dove for him, distracted by his own twisted thinking. Too easily, he landed a hit Lance was unprepared to block. Keith’s calloused knuckles made contact with his mouth, and just like that, he could taste the blood on his teeth from a split lip. Ow, all his disoriented brain managed to think.
Keith seized Lance’s wrists, flattening them on either side of his head, preventing him from counterattacking. Keith’s body was all but flush against his own, pinning him effectively. Lance could feel the heave of his lungs with every burdened exhale, the effort of wrestling Lance down blatant as ever. His hair hung in his face, both their faces really, and he could smell the faint aroma of Altean shampoo and sweat. Keith’s eyes glittered darkly.
Lance slid his tongue across his bottom lip, tasting copper. Keith tracked the movement, breath hitching oddly. Lance resigned himself to the low blow, and spit in his face.
Keith gave a yelp, hands releasing Lance’s wrists to move instinctively to his eyes. Lance took the opportunity to grasp Keith’s shirt, then dragged him up harshly against the seamless wall.
Lance, panting with effort, held him there. Keith’s hands stayed at his sides, despite being unrestrained, and Lance suspected he was just as tired. Still, he looked defiantly at Lance, as if daring him to try something. That familiar nameless feeling constricted vengefully around his heart at Keith’s nearness. They were practically breathing the same air. If Lance tipped his head forward just barely…
Covered in blood, sweat, and Lance’s saliva, Keith looked disgusting and beautiful. Lance wanted to strangle him. And the exhilaration of a fight only served to bolster his worst impulses.
Keith startled when Lance pressed his lips to his. Lance momentarily wondered if he might actually die tonight. Then Keith’s lips parted slightly, and he pushed back. They kissed like they were still fighting. Lance bit his bottom lip, and Keith made a small noise. He released his shirt and slid his hands up Keith’s neck and into his hair. A pull, and Keith’s mouth obliged, opening further. Lance slid his tongue against Keith’s, wet and hot and tasting like blood. A shiver crawled up his spine at the sensation of Keith’s hands slipping underneath his shirt, blunt nails on his skin.
When they pulled apart, Lance took a gasp of air. He felt jittery and a bit unstable. He stared at Keith. Keith stared back, lips pressed together, a flush settling across his cheeks. Lance, for once in his life, was at an utter loss for words. A delirious laugh slipped out of him involuntarily.
Keith, ever the conversationalist, gave him one last incomprehensible look before pushing him aggressively back and stalking out of the training room.
Lance swallowed another weird laugh and tried to compose himself for the walk back to his own bedroom.
—