Archive of Our Own ^beta

Keith leans on the porch railing with a sigh, the wood firm and cool underneath his forearms. Back inside the house the merry sound of festive songs somehow still unchanged after centuries, playing on the soundsystem installed throughout the house by Lance’s insistence.

Speaking of the devil… Keith tries and fails to muffle his grin at the succession of thumps and a bitten off squawk before the screen door creaks noisily and Lance galumphs onto the porch behind him. He watches from the periphery of his eye as Lance comes to a stop beside him, leaning back against the railing in the inverse of Keith. Maybe that’s how they always are, one coming and the other going, one pushing while the other pulls. But, a bit over a year now, and neither’s gone. It’s an oddity for them.

Lance is already yammering about something, and Keith pulls his attention away from the sweatered elbow verging on touching his. “--not believe!” Lance says, and Keith has no idea what he’s supposed to be believing but he nods anyway. He likes Lance like this, all boisterous limbs and flapping hand as he speaks, almost-overloud in the night air and just. So.

Yeah.

Lance’s cheeks are flushed underneath those marks on his cheeks, and he can smell the eggnog on the vapor-streamers of breath trailing up into the starlit sky. Underneath that Keith can smell the scent so quintessentially Lance even though he’s trying not to. He’s really not. Spicy, comforting, a dozen adjectives Keith’s really not going to get into right now. It’s post-war, Keith’s all about that mental health right?

Who knows, maybe it is something to do with Quintessence. Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing. Now that they’re older, now that the war’s a year in the past and he sees the way Lance changes day by day, its easy to lose track of how much he’s changed too. Whether a late-bloomer or finally not in a constant state of fight or flight, Keith’s Galra heritage is finally making itself known more now. Ergo, the smelling. The hypertuned awareness of Lance even more so than others, specifically. Not something to obsess over. Or anything.

Keith swallows. “Yeah. That’s something.” He finally manages, taking a guiltygratifying breath through his nose.

Lance’s head flops back, pinning him with a grin that’s all amusement. “Boy, you didn’t hear a word I said.” Once those words would’ve been in a tone all irritation, now it’s almost-- Lance clears his throat. “Put this on.” He says, seeming to finally remember the hand he hasn’t been flailing around as he talked and holding up a very familiar garment. “You’ll get cold out here.”

It’s a red robe, of a match for the red lion patterned sweater Keith is wearing, only far more silky. And, okay maybe that’s a bit incriminating, that there is a red robe picked out for him by Lance to match the red sweater (also via Lance…) but Keith has an excuse. And it’s a good one.

Ready for it?

That bunny soft moanworthy threadcount the color of his first lion is the first of the two garments, presented months ago by an oddly fidgety Lance way before the cooling weather. Yeah, airtight excuses all around.

Keith doesn’t wear it often, not because it’s a bad houserobe (it’s really, really not) but because he runs hot. Galra thing. Lance of course has the robe and sweater too, in blue of course, but he’s only in his blue sweater. But he’s out here on the porch with Keith’s red robe in hand, thinking about Keith out here in the cool night air when he knows Keith runs hot.

Yeah.

(if one were to ask, the fact that they are both wearing what can objectively be called ugly Christmas sweaters is entirely owed to Lance. And Keith… did not say no. Why didn’t he say no?)

Keith pins him with a look. “Not cold yet. Why don’t you wear it for me?” He honestly means it to come out snide, a joking throwback to the old days, but. That’s not how it comes out. Thank god his Galra half makes him less of a lightweight.

He gets a stare in return, a loading wheel all but popping up behind those pretty blues staring at him, before Lance nods. It’s a jerky movement, not at all like the languid grace he’s been exhibiting for hours. “Yeah, I’ll-yeah.”

Keith doesn’t watch the way Lance slides his arms into the robe sleeves, doesn’t watch the way he loops the belt with shaky hands, doesn’t watch the way he leans back against the railing like he belongs there by Keith’s side and snuggles into the robe-- Keith’s not a masochist, okay?

And. The Robe’s been washed recently, doesn’t even smell like Keith to a human nose like Lance’s. So there. Lance is just cold, and Keith’s red robe (that Lance picked out for him) is warm. That’s all there is to it. “Looks good on you.” Keith says, like an idiot.

They’ve both grown, might still grow a bit more, but right now Keith’s two inches taller. Somehow the shy smile Lance delivers makes him feel ten feet. “I guess red’s my color now anyway.” Lance muses softly; Keith can hear him perfectly, even over the music bleeding through the door.

“Red’s yours-- your color.”

Keith has got to stop drinking around Lance, because he might be less of a lightweight than in years past but being Galra only does so much and-- It’s like they’re playing a card game or something, right? Lance, his royal flushes close to the chest.

And Keith? He’s over here playing 52 card pickup. Or something.

The Blue Paladin (because Lance might have ended up in red, and Keith in black, but they would always be Blue and Red) gets an odd look on his face, entirely too contemplative for Keith’s comfort. “I always was faster on the uptake, eh my lil’ mango?”

It’s a nickname that doesn’t make sense to Keith, hasn’t for the last six months its made the rare appearance, but he scoffs. “Speeder rematch, any time sharpshooter.”

Lance squawks, slapping him on the side. “Keith! Were you raised in a barn? You can’t go racing on Christmas.” It’s two days before actually, but for Lance Christmas is apparently an entire week’s affair. He turns his nose up with a haughty sniff. “And besides, I was talking about our lions, not those hovercars where you cut your teeth on Garrison Daddy’s desert driving course.”

He squawks again when Keith’s hand slaps over his mouth, and Keith gives a pained grimace. “I should never told you about those-- and more importantly what?” Just then Lance licks his hand, and he withdraws it with a sound of disgust, “real mature, Lance.”

Lance cracks up, one hand grasping onto the railing as he doubles over. “Oh, your face.” He finally says, wiping at his eyes with a sleeve. “Heard it from ‘Ronnie, around the Garrison they got a lot of names for the Admiral these days.”

Yeah, Keith bet. After the war(and boy did his thoughts ever circle the drain there, something to tell his non-existent therapist maybe) they all stayed close, in thoughts if not in person.

Hunk is sending them daily recipes and videos from the work he does setting up a peacekeeping culinary force, breaking down cultural barriers at the dinner table. It’s really cool stuff, and god the food when Hunk has them tastetest…

Pidge and her brother are close by too, probably doing more for Earth’s science than the next hundred most cited historical scientists combined. Mostly it’s Matt who says that about Pidge, but Keith believes it.

Keith and Lance’s house actually isn’t that far from the Garrison. Yes, their house. But Keith doesn’t read into it. He knows this is… something for Lance, but it’s not… That. Yeah.

And Shiro, brother to him and Admiral Shirogane to humans and aliens, has become The example of cooperation, strength, a shining beacon… and apparently being classed as a starhaired fox to Keith’s dismay.

“—like Takeoff Shirogane.”

Keith blinks rapidly, “Takeoff? Why--”

“’cause when you see him, you wanna takeoff your--” Its his laughter that gets muffled behind Keith’s hand this time, and they wrestle for several minutes with Lance trying to give Keith nightmares and Keith desperately trying to shut him up. They are both laughing by the time it runs its course, and they turn to looking back up at the stars they spent so much time in. Lance’s breathing is heavier, for some reason, and the flush on his tanned cheeks darkened. The eggnog must be getting to him with the exertion.

Keith likes him like this. After the war, after Lance’s last relationship ended like… that (Keith has no opinions on the relationship, or her. None at all) the Blue Paladin dimmed. Maybe lost, maybe spiraling after so long fighting for the fate of literally everyone. Maybe Earth didn’t fit like it once had, no matter how it was kept as a precious talisman and drive to survive.

All of them making their way in this new status quo. Predictably Keith threw himself into work with the blades, cleaning up rogue elements after the fall of the Galra empire. Good work, important work. But… something missing. Isn’t that how it always goes?

And then….

Keith stays awake longer this time, and somehow… somehow Lance is there. Sitting at his bedside in the alien hospital. There aren’t really any severe wounds on Keith anymore, but the floating chart details just how close he came to not making it.

Lance stares at the chart for a long time, before looking down at Keith. He isn’t on any medication at the moment, so he knows as it happens that he’ll remember this look forever. “Keith.” Lance says. Drawn, hoarse. Inexplicably there when he should be happy and not looking at the aftereffects of war. Should be happy on a farm. Should be away from all this.
“’m here.” Keith mumbles, forcing himself not to look away. Not to miss any moment of this.

“I’m going to ask you this once. Would you give this up, for me?” Lance asks. Simply, no preamble, no prevarication. Putting his hand palm up on the crisp sheets of that alien bed and--

and god, Keith’s hand twitches because he is just so, so tired but what is he gonna do, look up into Lance’s face when he looks like that and say no? But he doesn’t say what he thinks either. Doesn’t say Anything you want, I’d do it for you. It’s like ripping an already overstrained and undertrained muscle, but he puts his hand in Lance’s and says…

“Yeah.”

And just like it was somehow nothing for Lance to travel galaxies just when Keith had a close call on a blade’s mission even though Keith hadn’t called him, it was somehow nothing for Lance to nod and take him back to Earth which had never felt like home.

And then they were looking for homes, and then moving in, and they never talked about it but at every step Lance was there. Somehow, he didn’t know how he hadn’t realized it before, but the day he and Lance moves into their new house is the first time Lance smiles since the war ends and it’s not just for show.

So, yeah. The following months sees Lance smile more, smiles real, and Keith likes it. Likes when Lance is like this, no dark storm clouds no life or death. Just them, in this home they own together.

The funny thing is, Lance had said he was looking for a house for Keith to live in. Keith knew it just to be a way for the Blue Paladin to tie him down to Earth. Just an excuse so he wouldn’t run, because he’s a misfit who runs like the wind.

He lets Lance bottle the wind.

Lance found the house, Keith remembers expecting him to go back to his family farm of sunshine and fields… Lance moved in with him. They never talked about it. It just. Was. Is.

(Keith can’t be the only one to find that odd, right? Right?? That none of the other Paladins ever blinked an eye makes Keith feel like something has gone so tilted somewhere)

It’s safe to say Keith has it bad. Before he commanded Space Ninjas as Lance is fond of calling them. And now his victories are a smile. Feels infinitely better.

And Keith, he… wants. First Christmas in their house and Keith wouldn’t have even considered decorating. Lance doesn’t know how to not go all out, so for the first time since that fire and his dad he lives in a place with a baubled tree and Christmas lights he’s hung from every eave (“You got like, cat reflexes man! Catflexes!”)

And there’s gingerbread houses, which he tries to assemble over and over and it just won’t work but Lance only laughs at him a little and then painstakingly shows him how. Soft rugs, drinks spiced with cinnamon and vanilla. Hot cocoa.

Oh yeah, and mistletoe hanging from every door. Both sides. Keith tries not to read into it--

Because all of this? The matching slippers and the Christmas presents and the bedrooms side by side where on really quiet nights he can hear Lance mumbling in his sleep, the house that borders the desert and also green spaces and just hours from the ocean?

Staying here with Keith and just videocalling his family instead of spending the holidays with them? Living here like he belongs, like he never plans on leaving?

All of this means something different to Keith than it does to Lance. Maybe it makes him a stray who wants moremoremore when he gets the slightest taste of home, but he’s not going to be selfish and ruin a good thing.

Because…

In that way. In every way. Probably in ways his affection-stunted mind hasn’t whipped up. The problem is, Lance doesn’t want him.

Just like always, like throwing himself in front of Coran when he barely knew the man, like a hundred other times when Lance saw a sacrifice to be made and decided he was the square peg for the square hole and nevermind the hole it leaves in the lives of anyone else right?

Keith’s aware that is some prime hypocrisy considering he does (did) the same, but. It hurts, to know Lance cares so much that he lives away from his family just so Keith won’t be alone. Just so Keith has a reason to stay out of danger.

Yeah it hurts a little that he wants more. But here, Lance smiles. So here he stays. Keith knows it would be a lie to say that close call changed him, maybe even that the war’s end changed him all that much. Lance asking did that.

Maybe it is so pathetic and humiliating that Keith would combust if literally anyone else knew what goes on in Keith’s head. But he’s been the wind, the rush of speed and the ferocity of violence. They still bicker more often than not, but on nights like this there’s an indescribable… stillness between them, an acceptance. Keith thinks its because Lance has changed, mellowed in some ways that break Keith’s heart and mend it in others, and turned himself into a calm pool-- and boy does Keith wanna dive in.

Oh god. Keith clears his throat. “Gettin’ chilled, we should head in.” He lies. Lance’s eyes flick down to meet his, and those blue eyes shift closed as he nods.

“Yeaah.” Lance draws out, stepping away from the railing and nearly faceplanting. Only fast reflexes let Keith catch him before he falls. “Whoa. My knight in grumpy armor. Carry meeeee.” His words trail off into a whine that should be unattractive on a guy in his mid twenties. But Lance bucks the trend on lots of things, Keith has discovered.

Keith rolls his eyes, getting a hand around Lance’s waist that he carefully does not think about, and the other man happily slings an arm about Keith’s shoulders.

It’s only a few steps to the doorway. Lance happily humming along and Keith trying to empty his mind, Lance opens the door and stops so abruptly its nearly Keith who trips this time. “Wow, what a coincidence.” Lance says, not even trying to sound surprised and pats Keith’s chest and then points upwards.

The warmth of Lance’s hand all but sliding up his chest is a little distracting, so it takes Keith a moment. They’re standing in the doorway, one inside and one out ( no prizes for guessing who is where) and above their heads on either side is mistletoe. He pins Lance with the flattest look he can manage. “Just how much did you drink?”

Lance huffs. “Okay, so we’re both liars, Mullet.” He says, now without a hint of a slur in his words. Notably, his arm is still around Keith’s shoulders. And that’s… that’s interesting. Sure they touch, more than they used to for sure. But combined with the mistletoe Lance’s robed body pressed against his is incredibly distracting. “So since you’re not cold and I’m not blasted what do ya say we get into the Christmas spirit...” He points up again at the mistletoe. Like Keith could have missed it.

“Lance…” It’s meant to be a warning, but it comes out a hiss. “I just. This isn’t…” How can he explain? Lance might want to fool around-- he hasn’t seen him do it postwar but Loverboy Lance didn’t just evaporate right? Yeah, this would be fooling around. And Keith can’t. Because Keith might be able to live with yearning, but getting a taste? Just a taste?

He’d rather go through the blade trials again. Every day for the rest of his life.

Lance’s lips purse. “If you’re not ready yet, I get it, but its been months so… y’know, it would be nice if you at least told me what the hangup is?” His hand flaps in a gesture so typically Lance that Keith almost laughs, but he doesn’t because--

“What?” Keith shakes his head like that might clear some things up. It most definitely does not. “You-- what?”

“Wow, sometimes I forgot how good you were at those diplomatic summits--”

Keith growls, and yes it is one of those Galra things and no he never stops being horribly embarrassed every time it happens but this-- This is. “Shut up and explain what you mean by months.”

“Kinda hard to do both buddy--”
“Lance!”
“Sheesh. Got it, fangboy.” Lance says. And then just stares at him. Keith nudges him until he comes back to himself rapidly. “Right, well, you know I’m so good at being patient and everything…”

“You don’t want this.” Keith tells him with certainty. And yes, this is an incredibly revealing conversation because no one has protracted arguments pressed together under mistletoe and doesn’t have feelings about just a kiss. As mentioned before, Keith’s cards are on the ground. Blowing in the wind.

“Uh, I think I know what I feel man.” Lance says with a growing frown, combative, and a look in his eyes like he is starting to put all the puzzle pieces together.

Keith feels his desperation rising. “No you don’t. This is just a--”

“Bup bup bup.” Lance interrupts, and its another one of those things that is just so him that Keith lapses into stunned silence. “Shiro was not kidding when he said you needed it explained out in bullet point. I live with you, I got a house with you! I cook you breakfast every morning and you give me shoulder rubs every night. We take care of the largest dog Earth has ever seen, together! Did I need to get you a Valentines cake that said Yes Homo?”

Keith’s stomach clenched. “Please tell me you did not go to Shiro about this.”

Lance winked. “Just kidding, it was Hunk-- but the point stands.”

He really feels like he needs to sit down, but he is loathe to leave the radius of this mistletoe. Just in case. “So wait. You-- we.”

“Yeah, we. I mean, that is if you want--”
“Yeah, yeah, I want. But you never kissed me before or did anything or, or…” Keith trailed off, bereft of words and also maybe imagining some choice ‘or’s to go along with it. No, don’t think of words starting with O.

Lance’s eyeroll was a full body experience. “Way to give a guy a complex for letting you get acclimated to affection like a feral cat! My bad.” He blew out a deep breath. “Dios. Now, we can talk later but I’ve been waiting months so Keith, my man, my mulleted savior of the universe… Mistletoe, eh, eh?”

Keith happily scheduled any and all breakdowns and brain explosions for a time that isn’t now. “You only had to ask, Lance. For anything.” The vulnerability scourges his insides, but it feels so… right.

“Anything, really?” Lance asks, jaw flexing like he sees to the soft underbelly of Keith’s words and his feelings. Mouth dry, Keith nods. “Okay then. Keith Kogane, Paladin of Voltron, will you…. Gimme keees,” for some reason Lance puckers up like a fish--

And Keith can’t help it, it’s relief and its assurance that they’re still them and haven’t changed and its a hundred other things-- So he laughs, he collapses against Lance’s chest and all but pins him to the doorframe doing it. “Why couldn’t you make it so much easier not to love you before now?”

Lance grins, happy and true. “Ah see, that’s all part of my plan. Lure you in, now you’ll never leave.”

That stops Keith’s laughter, but not because he’s filled with any less joy, but because for once he’s filled with words he just has to say. “No, I won’t.”

Somehow (inevitably) they’re kissing under the mistletoe of their house, because Keith is so tired and he can’t not, on their first Christmas after the war ends. It’s soft, dry and wet and fire and water and so them and--

“Ooh, sharp. Did I mention how hot it is when you get all overwhelmed and go Galra fangy--”
“Lance!”
“Right, sorry, kissing.”

Yeah, he loves Lance like this.