Chapter Text
“Whats your favorite color?”
Keith sits with his back against the bed frame, if the metal holding whatever was inside of the alien-mattress up could be called a bedframe. He's staring at the oddly high ceiling of the room when he asks.
Lance rolls closer to Keith, his head falling off the side of the bed. He looks at Keith, really looks at him, like when they’re talking like two normal people, and not in the middle of a screaming match, or when one of them is on the verge of death, and especially not like how Lance looks at a pretty alien girl in a darkened ballroom. His eyes are notably softer, with a smile playing on his lips. He smiles a lot, and Keith can't tell if it's for him or not. Maybe he just hadn’t made it a point to look at Lance unless he had to. Brown hair falls out of Lance’s eyes as he hums, thinking.
“Probably blue. What about you?” It's a little on the nose, but not wrong. Lance knew the blue lion would pick him, if not for his incredible personality, for the aesthetics alone. The blue glint in his eyes, though not terribly bright, leaning closer to a green than anything, matches with the paint of his Lion well.
They've been stuck on this planet for a week so far, though it's hard to tell when their sleep schedule is attuned to space, not constant orbit. Their lions lay completely still outside, the dead grass creating a bed around their dormant figures. The first problem is that they're stuck, which would be a non-issue if the planet wasn't completely abandoned.
Their altean energy source had warbled when entering the atmosphere, or whatever. It was some space dust that covered the planet, making the planet appear almost invisible to the naked eye; that's the most either of them knew. That's why they had been sent here- to make contact with, and hopefully establish a diplomatic relationship with the citizens. Regretfully, Keith hadn't been paying attention to Allura when she spoke, and by the looks of it, neither had Lance. They exchanged a look of confusion after the pixelated glitchy call with the princess and Pidge blinked out. Both of them, still reeling that it would just be the two of them on this planet, stranded within the completely abandoned alien castle (while in rough shape- still livable).
At first, they thought it was a trap. The Galra lure them into some vulnerable position and attack Voltron. But even after the first sleepless night past, there were no soldiers tearing through the walls- or hiding behind each corner they turned. There weren't even aliens. Even after they took shifts sleeping, with Lance falling asleep during his shift anyways, (waking up to Keith wildly shaking him, with the morning light hitting him perfectly) no Galra soldiers held knives to their throat, threw them through windows, or fired at their heels with heat guns. Lance hadn’t cared about the threat of the Galra when he fell asleep sitting up next to Keith, exhaustion quickly pulling his brain underneath its waves, but only thoughts about long dark eyelashes and sharp white nails; trivial, abstract waking dreams he hardly recalled in the morning.
When Keith questioned him on it, Lance shrugged, summing it up to the fact that there was no real threat, or else Keith’s cat-like reflexes wouldn't have allowed him to sleep.
It didn't matter. They were stuck on a planet with aliens that had disappeared. Or invisible ones. Or dead ones. And the Galra weren't here. The only presence was (as it seemed) the red and blue paladin, and the whitish purple ivy that creeped onto every surface in the palace. It's origin is a far too overgrown royal garden, though in their collective effort of wandering around every day, neither of them have stumbled upon it.
“I don't have a favorite color.” Keith answered pointedly, and finally, spending less time humming and wondering than Lance. The typical filler of quiet for Keith was a sharp inhale, or dramatic exhale with a hair swoop. He didn't need the constant buzz like Lance did- something he had made apparent throughout their prolonged stay.
When they do separate from each other, which isn't often since the fear starts to set in after 5 minutes alone, Lance likes to whistle. He doesn't just whistle, but he sings loud, and yells for Keith when he finds something interesting. Often, it's not interesting, and often, he doesn't yell, since the silence that allows the echo to travel through the entire castle is so eerie it makes the hair on Lance’s neck stand.
In Keith’s eyes, somehow, the noise makes their situation worse. It magnifies the silence. He can never be on guard with too much of it overloading his senses on the castle with Lance, Hunk, and everyone else. Keith prays for silence sitting in the common room, or during training, or alone in his room pressing the pillow harder against his ears as he tucks his knees to his chest. Here, though, it’s the opposite. Even if it's all he prayed for, it's still horrible when it's dead silent, with their shaky breaths being the only indication of life within a 50 mile radius.
Neither of them can win. That's why they stay together, normally in rooms with two exits.
“Not red?” Lance turns to sit up, his palms holding up his face. There is a little bit or dark beneath his eyes, parting from his nightly facial regimen for so long taking its toll on his dewy skin. Lance kicks his feet in the air. The carefree look suits his face better, Keith thinks. He lets the thought linger for a moment, a moment of indulgence he allows only because of the monotony of their current daily life. Not because he actually believes it.
“Red is just the color of my jacket. Your jacket is brown and that's not your favorite color.”
“It's green- And that's not the point. Your lion is red too.”
“Shit green.” Keith is grinning, eyes crinkled.
Lance jerks to sit completely up, far enough away from the edge of the bed so Keith can't see him. His back presses against the relieving cool metal wall, the heat that had been building up in his neck retreating. Lance tries to pout, but he just looks stupid with his lip jutted out and arms crossed. Before Keith readjusts his position to watch Lance, he makes a noise of protest having to move from his comfortable position. That groan quickly turns into a stressed hum, as he has to stifle a bark of laughter.
“I'm your only friend here right now. And you're insulting me.” Lance looks away from Keith, heart too broken to bear. This is acting he's learned from sitting 5 inches away from the TV watching Grey's Anatomy and Tellenovelas turned on loud enough in the living room to be heard from the kitchen. His hair has grown the slightest bit longer while they've been here, just to where it's noticeable. When Lance turns away, it falls over his shoulder. Kind of like a mullet, and Keith is almost laughing again, the back of his hand over his mouth and hissing quietly. Lance, upset with Keith’s lack of response, takes his foot and pushes it against Keith’s chest gently, possibly the worst attempt at acting upset Keith has ever seen.
“We’re friends?” Keith gasps softly. He lets Lance push him away, dragging himself a foot away after he's done with his fit of snickering. Instead of letting Lance’s foot retreat, Keith grabs his ankle. He brings one knee to his chest and rests his arm on it. “I thought you hated me.” As an accentuation to his point, Keith tugs on Lance’s ankle, catching him off guard and dragging Lance’s lower half off the bed. Keith laughs from his stomach again, while Lance scrambles to find his bearings.
“You're right. I must have misspoke.” Lance looks at Keith again, and something changes just so slightly in his expression. It's a fake glare, a flash, and then back to his downturned lip and pointed look. He sits back up, hugging his knees to his chest. It's while Lance is grounding himself to sit normally. What's there is only long enough for Keith to capture it at a glance, before Lance is back to normal, or as normal as he can look while brooding. Keith sums it up to having something on his face, wiping at his mouth subconsciously.
They've been acting so normal. If he doesn't think about it at all, it feels like they're actually teenagers fucking off in some abandoned home on earth, probably with asbestos. There isn't a galactic war, and they aren’t paladins, just friends.
Whenever Keith lays awake, insomnia pinning up the lids of his eyes, he wonders how different his life could have been. He’s lying awake, creating fantasies of different decisions that branch off from reality. This is the one where he notices Lance. No fighting, bickering, or fiery exchanges behind red hot faces and pointed fingers. Keith regrets it often, blankets gripped so tight over his head. And he wonders, maybe this is how it's supposed to be between them. This is what it's like when they don't have to worry about saving the universe.
Or maybe they just got the bickering out on the first day.
It's honestly a lot to take in, knowing you're stranded and next to no one can rescue you within the next two weeks. After the call with Allura, neither of them talk for the next hour. The silent panic they feel rushing around the castle trying to find food is the only thing stagnant in the air. In the end, all they had to live off was the weird food Lance dug up in what they guessed was the alien-equivalent of a pantry, and water Keith found in the alien-equivalent well.
The planet wasn't too dissimilar from Earth, so they weren't in obvious immediate danger. Maybe nausea, but that was it.
Despite the many things to complain about, the only thing Lance cared about was being stuck here with Keith. After that hour where they barely established they could live for the next month, all he did was whine. The only threat on this entire planet was Lance’s loud mouth. Somewhere deep, Keith wished Voltron training included how not to tackle someone who's really pissing you off even when he’s your teammate and kind-of your friend or maybe something else because you've never encountered flirting, and he's always really really confusing, so now you're just lost and angry and murderous.
Instead of attacking Lance, Keith tapped into his small reserve of patience, swallowed his snide replies and forced his energy into finding a way out. If Lance couldn't be productive, Keith didn't have a problem doing all the work. Though, he wasn't exactly sure what “the work” would look like, since the princess hadn't made too much sense behind her horrible quality video. Maybe a part in the lions they had yet to discover, a secret room in the castle, or, really, anywhere away from a whining Lance.
Keith hadn't considered the fact that maybe Lance wasn't intentionally annoying. He paced back and forth, boots crushing brown overgrown grass that tickled his calf, while Lance complained about Blue. His incessant voice-crack riddled whine had assaulted Keith’s ears for the past 30 minutes. They were outside of the palace, directly in front of the treeline, where they had crashed their lions hours prior. There was a path of destruction leading out of the forest, with broken trunks and upturned dirt where they lost power. The forest wasn't luscious by any means, probably because of the constant grey in the sky. Keith looks from the clouds over head, back to Red. She was on her side, her head resting against the ground, where Keith stopped pacing and placed a hand on her mechanical snout. What would normally be a purr vibrating the back of his cranium, was nothing. A silence that served to make Keith more upset looking at a dysfunctional Red.
Blue hadn't been so lucky, her back to the ground and stomach exposed. It was a struggle dragging a halfway unconscious Lance, fearing he had been concussed. Keith had his arms hooked underneath Lance’s armpits, pleading underneath his breath. Lance seemed perfectly fine now, later hugging the lion’s face, while complaining loudly. Keith wishes he hadn't woke Lance up at all, and he would enter permanent comatose.
Really, the thought that Lance couldn't control how annoying he was hadn't crossed Keith’s mind until he whipped around to face Lance, asking him to make himself useful and find something to do away from Keith. Far away, he repeated, hand extended to the entire castle they had yet to explore. Lance had wanted to say something, get the last word in, but Keith didn't respond to his incessant mumbling as Lance walked away, offended.
The rest of the daylight was spent far away from the other. Once the sun started to set, and Keith couldn't see inside the panel he had taken off of Red to try and fix her over long shadows cast by the trees just a little too tall to be considered from Earth, he headed inside.
There was some life on this planet, which Keith found relieving. Within the forest, the hum of bugs in the trees reached out to the clearing where the castle was built inside. It would have been much more soothing if the threat of the unfamiliar didn't loom so large. Keith picked up his pace to get inside, sorrowful to leave Red.
Lance sat against a pillar at the palace’s porch, watching Keith ascend the unnecessary amount of grey steps to the entrance. There might have been a flush in his face, like he had been yelling, or it might be the red setting sun, peaking out just slightly from the clouds, falling over Lance. Keith knows not to mention it as he pulls his shirt back over his head, careful not to trip over vines on the steps as he reaches the top of the staircase.
“Did you find anything, or did you mope here the entire day?” Keith couldn't help but poke first, especially when Lance hadn't immediately acknowledged Keith’s entrance.
Lance doesn't respond, sitting up with a grunt, and looking at Keith a little quieter than normal.
“Did you do anything besides flaunt your muscles for two hours?” Lance finally musters. It doesn't have the normal passion behind it, with Lance wiping away the sweat that had started to form from the heat on his temple.
“Flaunt my-” Keith gasps, covering his chest by crossing his arms, hands splayed across his pectorals. “I was trying to fix my lion!” Keith ignores the fact that Lance had been out for two hours watching him. The sweat from working is cooling his skin, goosebumps forming over his flesh, and the first stars are dotting in a dark green sky, barely visible through the overcast.
“Allura already told us we couldn't leave with the lions,” Lance leans against the pillar, with a smile forming on his lips. That bite is back in his voice. Maybe they're stranded, but that would never stop Lance from being a pain in Keith’s ass. It was what he was best at.
“Well I confirmed that. You're welcome.” Keith flounders over his words, pushing past Lance to enter the palace. Keith doesn't see it, but he knows Lance is following quickly behind him. While they both felt annoyance bubbling beneath their skin, they knew better than to stay out in the wide open, all while it's dark on an unfamiliar planet.
The castle doors were slightly ajar, a few yards taller than Keith’s head. The small crack leading inside is far, with no lighting inside of the castle besides the moon that illuminates through the many windows.
Lance’s loud footsteps echo against the marble, while Keith’s press lightly against the floor, hardly audible. There isn't anything to be sneaky about, but Keith feels like it's a necessity. They can't possibly clear every room of the castle for violent soldiers, and they still weren't sure exactly what they were dealing with. Though he couldn't make up for Lance’s comical lack of stealth.
The stench in what hits them first, with Keith faltering in his step, but after gathering his bearings beginning again, a little more nervous.
Lance is in the middle of a thought out rebuttal to Keith’s earlier argument, one Keith has tuned out, when he abruptly stops and audibly gags.
“Keith. What the fuck, man?” He's pinching his nose when Keith whips around, aggrieved.
“That's obviously not me,” he stresses.
“Buddy, there's only two us here. Who else could it be?”
Keith gives Lance a look, one he's practiced in the mirror when no one's around (For The Mission), where he lowers his brows and glances to the side, before back at Lance. His face dawns with realization, the blood leaving his head. Lance mouths a silent “oh” before crouching, mimicking Keith’s slow movements approaching the door.
There is no way to do this ceremoniously. Obviously, something was hiding behind the door; something that probably knows both Keith and Lance are on the other side, and that they're unarmed. Their bayards were rendered useless, and Keith stupidly left his knife in the palace. This, he had only realized after the crash, desperately searching through Red. He was too distracted after his talk with Hunk.
A smoke bomb is Lance’s best guess, he whispers, his breath tickling the outside of Keith’s ear. The only problem is there is no smoke coming out from where the door is cracked. A really smelly alien is his next, but before he can crack a joke, Keith summons Shiro’s scolding with only a glance. Lance shuts up.
Keith’s hand slowly grips onto the handle, feeling the freezing metal through his glove. He looks to Lance for confirmation that he’s ready. Something is sure in his eyes as he nods at Keith, a glint of blue in the dark. If a launch were attacked on them now, the ceiling came down on this palace, windows burst with hundreds of soldiers, Lance would have his 6.
Keith throws the door open, fists bared to a crowd of Galra soldiers, guns pointed at their heads.
Or… The empty foyer. The pounding of his heart is audible in the silence. The scent is the only thing greeting them, stronger with the door open. Keith's cool quickly fades, having to physically step away from the door frame into Lance. Somehow, Lance has seen it before him, his muscles relaxing in the face of a non-threat, grabbing the top of Keith’s head and directing it towards the source of the smell. Keith’s eyes scan the ground, only to find a carcass to be the first thing greeting them. Keith almost doesn't want to leave the arm wrapped around his back, hand placed carefully above his waist, but he doesn't have a choice when Lance steps forward, fingers pinching his nostrils together.
The unexpected want from before throws Keith off, confused by his own disdain from Lance leaving. Keith looks behind them, again to the lions, feeling his ears pinken.
Hesitantly, Keith gathers himself and follows, though not before grabbing the nearest stick.
“Gross. Keith, you can't just drag dead animals inside.” Inside, Lance steps carefully around the alien animal, making sure to keep his distance from it. It seems like it's been dead for awhile, some bones exposed, and melting into the ground with only the color of its fur and the huge tusks being an indicator of what it used to be. Vines span across the floor, growing over and around the dead creature, covering it in white and purple.
It's disgusting, to say the least.
“I didn't!-” Keith whips his head up, beginning to argue back before he catches the smile on Lance’s face. It takes a minute for him to respond, distracted by the revolting sight in front of him. Keith then scoffs, pointing at Lance’s chest.
“Did you do this?” Anger whirls in his chest as he accuses Lance, walking around the carcass towards him, “you think it's funny?”
“No! Jesus-” His hands go up in the air immediately, taking a half step away from Keith.
“No, I wouldn't do that. I couldn't! That's disgusting.” Lance sounds nasally while pinching his nose, so much so that Keith doesn't stay mad for too long. He knows Lance physically couldn't do this without gagging, crying, or both. And Keith would have seen him do it. It wasn't reasonable, and while Lance normally isn't, this is too far for him.
“Right. Sorry.” It's a word Keith isn't used to forming in his mouth, and he's only able to mutter it quietly enough for Lance to hear without it being embarrassing.
“Did you see anyone?” Keith questions further, moving on from his apology quickly. He hasn't gotten used to the smell, but approaches the animal wielding the stick. When he pokes it, nothing happens. He doesn't know why he is disappointed. Maybe a planet of zombies would have been better than a planet of nothing.
“No,” Lance has a defensive tone, taking a few more steps away from the carcass. He isn't looking at it, but instead to Keith. “Maybe it wandered in and died?” He suggests, unhelpfully.
“It's already rotting.” Keith replied, rolling his eyes to look at Lance. Lance shrugs, but his raised shoulders don't drop. That's as far as they're going to get into this investigation as partners.
Keith can't wrap his head around it. The animal certainly wasn't there when they got there, or when both of them went outside. Some creature would have had to have dragged here from outside to be now rotting inside. It didn't make sense.
“Woah- if you think about this any harder you're gonna tear something, Keith.” Lance supplies, carefully breaching the distance between them by taking a few steps around the corpse to pat Keith on the back. The gentle taps are not enough to rattle the thought out of Keith’s brain, as Lance had hoped.
“Let's just leave it. We can sleep in a part of the castle that doesn't smell like death.”
They do, eventually finding somewhere to sleep. It's a curved hallway where they're somewhat hidden, which has to be some kind of tactical advantage. If they were to be attacked (“which they would have already done if they wanted to,” Lance reasoned), they would have two exits and somewhere to hide. They're deeper in the castle, but it still slightly reeks of death. It's better than being close to the source.
In the dark, they lay with their heads opposite of eachother, their feet almost touching. The cold floor is not ideal, but it feels safe enough for Keith. Lance complains about his comfort level, before Keith shuts him up with a final, “night,” and tucks his head into his arms, for good measure. Keith doesn't try to close his eyes to sleep, though. His body is aching from the crash, the hard floor pressing deeper into dark bruises on his skin. Lance has been trying to sleep, Keith guesses, but based on how much he's moving, it's not a successful effort.
After an hour of silence, Keith hears Lance rustle around, and finally sit up. This puts him on guard, until Lance is whispering his name like they're still in the barracks at the Garrison and it's a minor violation if you're up past your bedtime.
Keith doesn't move, violently still and squeezing his eyes closer together like his silence could will Lance to go back to sleep. It doesn't work, and Lance throws his wadded up jacket/makeshift pillow at Keith.
“I know you're not asleep,” Lance whispers. Space is quiet. Desert shacks are quiet. Lance is not. y
Now that Keith is actually listening, it's less of a whisper and more of a breathy yell. It must be impossible to silence Lance.
“What?” Keith asks, without moving to look at Lance in the dark. Keith is projecting as much annoyance as he can. He can see Lance through his bottom lashes, better than Lance can see him apparently, since he's looking deeply at Keith’s shoulder like it's his face.
“I can't stop thinking about it,” He admits, knees pulling close to his chest and tucking his chin into them. Keith doesn't need a hint to know he means the carcass. To be honest, it lingers in the back of his mind, along with the smell that clings onto his coat. Lance was the one who told him to give it up, but it's kind of hard to not think about something so weird when the entire planet they're trapped on is infinitely weirder.
“It's not like I'm scared of it… It was just…”
“Peculiar.”
“I was gonna say fucking weird, but yeah,” Lance musters a half hearted laugh. His head tilts to the side in a way that can't be comfortable with Lance’s bony knees, though he seems content.
“We should probably stay together from now on.” Keith takes comfort in the sureness of his voice. It doesn't reflect the anxiety that's been slowly building up like an hourglass reaching its end.
Lance doesn't speak, for once, just nods in agreement immediately.
So, thinking back on it, there was just no room for bickering. That rotting smell which permeated through their clothes put both of them off of it. There wasn't a point. Maybe when they could pick it back up when they got back on the ship, and dead animal sightings lessened.
“Keith? Buddy? Your favorite color?”
“I'm thinking.”
“You're just staring off into space.” Lance lays back down on the bed, stretching out on his stomach like a cat. This bedroom was the first they found in the entire castle. It hadn't been one of a king, but maybe a prince, wealth and simplicity covering every part of the room. It appealed to aesthetics completely different from earth, since most of the items in the room were the same dull grey, resembling the dark sky outside.
“My favorite color isn't grey,” Keith leans back, using both of his hands for support. It's been the only color they've seen consistently throughout their trip. If they could find the castle garden, Keith would be overjoyed.
“It might as well be. That's the color of your aura.”
“Because I’m boring?”
“No.”
“Then why?” Keith stands up to come sit on the side of the bed, finding the floor to suddenly be incredibly uncomfortable. His muscles celebrate when he sits, not noticing how much he missed beds. He hears the greenish healing bruises across his body from the crash sigh in relief.
“Porque eres aburrido.” Lance answers, nudging Keith with his foot.
Keith’s smile drops, and confusion replaces it. He looks at Lance, expecting him to repeat in English, like he often does. When Lance’s grin only grows deeper, Keith’s brows furrow further.
“You don't know Spanish.” Lance guesses correctly, for once. From where he lays on the bed, he uses his elbow to lay on his side, with one leg hitched up, looking at Keith sideways. It makes him look more shit-eating.
“There are some gaps in my education.” He admits, careful to phrase his words correctly, lest Lance use them against him. And it wasn’t necessarily false. Keith had only one teacher that insisted he learn Spanish, and that it would be useful. Keith never learned. Between useless online lessons and workbooks, he got bored with the work. The language didn't click. And he didn't need another language at the Garrison, he just needed a pilot’s manual with pictures. Maybe that teacher was right that Spanish was useful, but she probably didn't predict that Keith would be using it in space.
“I'll teach you. It's a beautiful language.”
“I don't really want to learn.” And he doesn't. They don't need different languages, since it automatically translates through the headpieces in their helmets. While it's practical, it also can't pick up or send out emotion.
That's the part Keith could care less about, since he wouldn't be able to pick up on the intended tone anyways. Alien cultures vary in ways that give Keith whiplash. Not offending human rituals and ceremonies is hard enough, social cues are as big of a threat to Keith as the Galra are.
Lance is the opposite. On missions he hears Lance picking up words in different languages, spelling out altean words, and when he gets the time, practicing with Coran. Keith feels warmth envelop his chest when he hears Lance’s broken accent read out of a digital manual. When Allura does have the time for Lance’s antics, she teaches him words he doesn't know the meaning to, and hides her hysterical laughter when he repeats them with a polite smile. Keith can only use extra brain power for flying maneuvers and moves to pull in training. It's that version of Lance that Keith is being paired up with to ally with a planet shrouded in space clouds. To give Keith more practice with being understanding, and for Lance to finally put his charm to good use (outside the castle- far from Allura, who almost bit his head off the day before they left).
Like whenever anyone tells him no, Lance starts with his Spanish lesson anyways, with a grin. “Eres un cabrón. It means: you are very beautiful.”
“I've heard you say that to the Galra while you shoot them. You think they're beautiful?”
“While they're getting shot, yes. Their cries of agony bring me much joy.” His hand is to his chest as he swears to it.
Lance laughs lightly at his own joke, and yawns. Rolling over onto his back, he stretches with a long groan. He tucks one of the pillows underneath his head, the back of his forearm resting across his forehead.
“I think I’m going to sleep-”
“Can I lay here too?” Keith blurts.
He had been building up the courage to ask, ever since feeling just how comfortable the mattress was. The tone of his voice was awkward, forced. He couldn't look at Lance when he asked, grateful for his long back hair covering the pink building at the tops of his ears. The request is reasonable- considering the fact that there is no other bed. Keith would normally be content with the floor, but the bed was massive. And comfortable. And maybe Keith wants to indulge a little longer.
And maybe it was the stress of their situation, but as soon as Keith had taken a seat, sleep began to tug his eyes back from insomnia, trying not to doze off during the end of his conversation with Lance. Keith hated to admit it, but Lance had become a sort of a comforting presence while stuck on this weird, horrid planet. A comforting presence that annoyed him to no end, but it was better than being alone. He had been alone in a house too big for him before. It drove him crazy, even without the imminent threat of the Galra. By himself, Keith would have gone crazy from the paranoia. He knows Lance would have too.
When Keith does look up, Lance has that flash of something across his face again. It's in the corners of his mouth, the creases of his eyes, and the press of his lips. That is, until he is inching backwards and offering a space to Keith with a pat pat on top of the comforter. It's a big bed, made for two, he can't deny that. There's room to share.
“Yeah, sure. I don't care.” Lance tries to sound cool about it, but there was no way he was capable of that feat. He cared, actually, a lot. It's like he's talking to a startled horse he's standing directly behind. It is weird.
Lance was touchy, sure, but never with Keith. On Hunk, he would lay across his chest while reading an intergalactic novel. For Pidge, Lance would punch her across the arm, or bump her while she was working, running away quickly before she could hit him back.
With Keith? There really wasn't much touch, they hardly ever got near each other. Some spur of the moment grabs where Keith needs to pull Lance out of the way while Keith runs and Lance shoots deadly enemies, during sparring (which really shouldn't count), or when Lance presses his finger to Keith’s chest during a heated argument, right before it gets broken up.
Keith didn't touch anyone, very often. Not willingly. That's why when he breaks the personal space bubble between the two, it fights valiantly against what Keith knows is better for him.
When he lays down next to Lance, it's like he's trying to evenly distribute his weight throughout the entire bed, so as to not break the eggs underneath the mattress. It's a test run of comfort, in which his mouth relays the message to the rest of his body through a contented sigh. The most comfortable he's felt in his life, without exaggeration. This bed would ruin his back forever- he could never sleep on stuffy and springy barrack beds after this. Keith don't think he would even be able to fall asleep at the breakfast table either, forever longing for the soft alien down enveloping the knots and cramps throughout his entire body. When his head lands on the pillow, dark hair splayed against possibly the coolest and softest thing in the world, he's facing Lance. Lance’s eyes are wide, watching Keith like a kid who has just come across a fawn in the woods.
“What is it?” Keith questions, raising a brow. He's never seen such thinly veiled excitement from Lance, who has made it crystal clear concealing his loud emotions is never an option. Hell, even if he could, he does a horrible job at it. Far quieter, and far darker ones he hardly hides through hinting (and depressing) jokes. Lance’s eyes widen even further, with a look of surprise morphing on his face. Keith catches the blush dusting his cheeks and nose. He ignores it.
“You look fucking stupid, man,” Lance spits out when he gathers himself, after a moment Keith allows him. It's breathy and fond and so tender Keith is going to explode. Lance hadn't expected Keith would pick up the thinly veiled emotional rollercoaster Lance was still riding, headed through the loops of his vocal cords and flipping his stomach over. Keith hardly picks up on most emotion, but Lance is starting to seriously doubt his preconceived notions on Keith’s social abilities. Maybe they had just been so close this week; Keith has tuned into Lance like a captain listening close to his radio for weather reports as the sky darkens over his small ship in the ocean. Obviously, in this crisis, the only option was reverting to the only thing he knew with Keith- verbal insults: the most comfortable, and the most certain. The definitely-not-a-blush red on Lance’s face sinks to cover his shoulders as well as his cheeks, as he tries not to think about how relaxed Keith looks next to him.
Keith feigns anger, flipping over, but not before smacking a pillow between him and Lance. He hears the creak in the mattress when Lance sits up, and the cogs working in the boy’s head.
“What's this?” Lance asks, pointing to the pillow, and looking at the back of Keith’s head. He is in a lazy fetal position, with his black hair spayed across the grey pillow.
“Lesbian protection guard.”
Lance barks out a laugh, falling back into the bed with a fit of snickering. It crescendos, before flickering out, and Lance is trying to wish Keith a goodnight through his giggles.
Keith thinks it's the best thing he's heard this week, though it doesn't have much competition at all. Maybe Keith has always felt this way about Lance’s laugh. It doesn't follow a pattern, besides the fact that he's always loud. It's intoxicating and contagious, his stupid laugh and the way he throws his head back, body wracking with it. Now that he thinks about it, maybe it's the best thing he's heard in his life. Keith quickly shuts his thoughts down with that, and decides not to think about it anymore, and tries to fall asleep.
It's only been a few minutes, but Lance is whispering his name in the dark. Keith knows better than to pretend to sleep.
“Are you awake?” Lance presses, hesitantly.
“No.” Keith responds into the pillow. How soft Lance is being- it does unfair things to his heart. Keith flips over to face Lance, seeing his expression over the meek pillow wall, a weak fortress between them.
“I can't sleep,” Lance admits. Keith raises an eyebrow at him, completely lost.
“Do you want me to read you a bedtime story?” Keith questions, completely serious. If Lance continued to toss and turn in the night, neither of them would get sleep.
“No,” Lance pouts, but ignores the teasing. “I'm just worried…about my relationships,” he's looking at Keith like Keith would know what to say.
Keith doesn't.
He stares at anywhere but Lance, hoping that the near distance holds some wisdom for Lance.
It doesn't.
Keith is stuck floundering. He wants to sink through the bed. He wants to pretend to fall back asleep. Luckily, Lance hasn't noticed his abrupt comical silence, and continues.
“I think I'm just stuck in a weird place, right now. With people.” Lance is looking to Keith again, frowning. He looks like he has more to say, like this is the vaguest explanation he can give. Lance is expecting Keith to question him further on this new line of thinking, so they can delve into some deep emotional conversation where they reveal their feelings while sharing a bed in the dark.
“Uh-huh,” is the most Lance is going to get out of him. Keith wishes he could help, he really does, but he's not the person Lance should be asking. Keith is absolutely the worst pick.
Seeing this, he lets out a disappointed sigh, falling back against the bed, exhausted.
“Goodnight, Keith.”
Keith nods like an idiot, as if Lance can see him in the dark.
He dreams of beaches he's never been to, and tan skin that he will never touch. It becomes all too much for his subconscious to deal with by itself, and with a crash of a wave against Keith’s back, and a smile from above the water, the ocean drags him under, back into the dark of the bedroom.
For a moment, it's nice forgetting he’s stranded on a planet with the last person he would have chosen, and for that moment right before he wakes, Keith can still feel the night breeze from the ocean on his face.
That is, until he realizes the night breeze is Lance exhaling directly onto his face. Keith’s first reaction is to freeze, and take in his surroundings. Months of training have him leveling his breathing and relaxing tense muscles, as if this were a survival situation. He struggles to find the fake pillow wall for a moment, until he realizes he was the one who had moved it, and now he grips it tightly close to his chest. During the night, he must have flipped and found it as the nearest thing to squeeze. Maybe the pillow was a saving grace, a blessing in disguise, or else his arms would be wrapped tightly around Lance’s exposed midriff.
In fact, Keith is lucky the pillow created distance between their sleeping bodies. It would have been a much more awkward detangling without it. Where their legs intertwine, Lance’s skin is sticky, sweaty, and warm. Lance is a furnace in the night. It's not unpleasant, Keith lets him fantasize about not moving. Instead, Keith carefully moves his ankle from underneath Lance, his knee from the top of Lance’s thigh, and his face as far back as he can propel himself silently. He doesn't want to wake Lance with the movement, freezing up when he stirs in the dark. Lance is quickly pulled back to sleep with the comfort of the bed, and Keith relaxes, rolling onto his back. Their distance does nothing for the pitter-patter of Keith's heart.
This is exactly what he should have been avoiding. That is the clarity he had after his conversation with Hunk- that Lance was the worst decision that Keith could ever make, he would regret it, his life would burst into flames, and then they would both die.
That's not exactly what Hunk had said, but that's how Keith wants to take it.
Keith is suiting up in his room, the residual frustration, and, as he has come to accept (but hates), excitement from getting paired up with Lance for the mission. The development happened so quickly, Keith didn't realize he maybe-kind of found Lance attractive until Lance was on top of Keith during their hand to hand combat training, and celebrating his first win. Keith didn't even have the heart to tell Lance it was his 1 to Keith’s 12. He stood up wobbly, staring at Lance while panting like a wild dog.
Keith brought a hand to his lip, touching where his canine cut at soft delicate skin, confirming the trail of warmth from his bottom lip to chin was blood. His eyes meet with Lance’s back, who is giving two big thumbs up to the reflective console, where the rest of the team stands, probably taking notes. Keith finds himself following the curve of Lance’s muscle, and the intricacies of his ligaments. Keith spits the blood pooling in his mouth on the ground, and storms out.
It's difficult getting into the spandex-like material with his heart beating out of his chest, and Keith can't stop huffing. Alone, in his room, completely solitary, is where he allows moments like this. It's the most he can express, a blush and maybe a smile, though it's more like a grimace since his suit is sticking to his skin unpleasantly. The equivalent of jumping around and scribbling away in his diary. He tugs the material harder up on his leg, almost ripping it in his frustration. The material sticks to his dampening skin tightly, merging with his skin underneath. The material stretches as Keith unfolds his leg out, flexing his calf.
Keith almost jumps out of his skin with the sudden, loud knock on his door. He hurriedly pulls the rest of the suit up his bare leg, rushing to finish a routine he hasn't exactly polished. A closed fist against metal isn't exactly the gentlest sound, and he's not sure he will ever get used to how it rattles his head and makes his ears ring. If he wasn't stressed about the mission before, he is now.
Getting used to the privacy of a single room has taken some time too, especially the elaborate rules that come with it, including letting people in. Before this, Keith spent his time in crowded bunks, or a one room dusty house without any visitors in the middle of the desert, comfortable living is more alien to Keith than this galactic war. After a long gaze exchanged with the door, expecting the visitor to just come in, Keith remembers his line.
“Oh- come in.” He says, rushed, and not quite loud enough to be heard from the outside. He repeats it again, but by the time it's leaving his lips, the door is opening anyways, as Keith stands in the middle of his room awkwardly.
Keith expects it to be Shiro, or Alurra based on the way they knocked, confident and short. They mean business, and in Keith's mind version of Allura wishes him luck, and Keith’s mind version of Shiro gives him unnecessary boy trouble tips that stress him out even more thinking about being alone with Lance.
What Keith doesn't expect is Hunk outside of his door. He looks uncomfortable, shifting his weight from foot to foot in the doorframe. He stares for a few seconds too long, this is, until Keith remembers to wave him in and shut the door behind him.
Hunk has never been in Keith’s room before, taking in the blankness of the walls for just a moment before snapping back. By his set jaw, Keith thinks he means to tell Keith something serious. But it's hard to tell if it's that, or Hunk is going to ask him his opinion on something inconsequential before he takes off.
Finding nowhere else in Keith’s bedroom, Hunk takes a seat on the floor with his legs crossed over each other. Keith is grateful, recalling the few times Shiro had sat on his bed, not only without permission, but with his outside clothes on, when both of them know there is a distinction between the two. Following Hunk’s lead, Keith pulls the suit top over his head, with practiced ease now that he has company, and, not as gracefully as Hunk had, falls to the floor to sit in front of him. Keith leans back on both of his arms, with his legs bent and feet flat on the floor. Hunk evidently has something in his mind with the way he fidgets, and stares at his lap. He picks at a nail cut short, one Keith knows he had been biting earlier during the meeting. The silence creates lots of room for Keith to invite him to speak, which he takes.
“So…Did you want to tal-”
“Listen, Keith. Before you go on this mission, I had to brief you about some things in private.” Hunk doesn't wait for Keith to finish his sentence, now looking determined. Keith stares back, back straighten, hands in his lap, and eyes wide.
“It would have been really embarrassing for Lance if I said this infront of everyone else, so I had to reach out to you in your own quarters.” Hunk’s using words he's picked up from far more serious conversations to make this seem far, far more important.
“Number one, in a hostage situation, Lance is the least reliable,”
“Wh-”
“I love Lance, I really do, he just breaks too easily! I'm scared for what he will do when I'm not there to protect him. If they start taking him in for questioning, sacrifice yourself. He’ll die. He talks too much” Hunk has been worried about this since he heard that they would be completing duo missions. He whispers the last part, like it was a sin to admit. From the way he talks, this is a nightmare turned into a reality for Hunk. Keith imagines him, clutching his blanket closer to his chest and watching his friends in grave danger during boring diplomatic dinners and completing even more boring alien cultural ceremonies.
“Number two,” Hunk continues, counting his reasons on his fingers, “he's very passionate and fast about everything. You already know this, I'm sure.” Keith does. Lance’s flirtatious mouth has gotten him in trouble more than once. It also makes Keith incredibly angry, sharp nails imprinting crescent moons in his palm when he makes eye contact with Lance during the banquets with an alien girl at his side. He recalls Lance’s grin growing deeper, sending a wink Keith’s way across the sea of Aliens, and disappearing for 30 minutes. By the time Lance came back from his endeavor, Keith was outside downing an unfamiliar drink that would hopefully leave him numb the rest of the night.
“You shouldn't let him sneak off with the royal advisor, because they have a plan to poison him and take over Voltron’s right leg.” Hunk’s eyes are closed as he lists off his reasonings, verbatim how he practiced. Keith doesn't question him further on his anxieties, he knows better at this point. And it's not like Hunk is exactly wrong, either. He knows Lance best after all. Everything he lists is possible, though Keith doubts that it will happen during their mission.
There wasn't much known about the planet, just that the people who lived there were peaceful until their planet was shrouded in mysterious space dust, and since then they had lost all contact.
On second thought, maybe Keith should have been brainstorming possibilities with Hunk.
“And three, if you don't know what to do in a potentially dangerous situation, and Lance is possibly making it worse, just ask yourself-”
“Actually!.. Hunk…” Keith cuts in abruptly enough to throw Hunk off his script, looking away nervously. He hadn't thought this through before asking. For a moment he meets Hunk’s intense gaze, and has to bare his eyes into the ground. Now that Hunk is paying attention to him, Keith isn't sure he has the courage to ask what he's been meaning to. There are a lot of ways this could go wrong, but he decided to take a piece of advice from one of Shiro’s pep talks. Just go for it. The motivation doesn't help clear up every horrible possibility from this interaction, and they're all piling behind the lump in Keith’s throat as he scratches the back of his head.
“Do you know if…Not for me but…” Keith can’t make eye contact with Hunk, not with the heat in his ears that make him feel like he's about to pass out. Keith should have said never mind as soon as he asked. He should have kicked Hunk out immediately.
“Well do you know if…well….if Lance has ever been interested…I don't know… in a guy. Or if he is interested at all. In men, I mean…” Keith finally mutters, all of it barely audible, and quickly pushed from his vocal cords like an exorcism of his thoughts.
He can't believe he's asking, floundering over his words lamely. Keith isn't sure how these things are supposed to go, but he knows it's not this. Hunk is so going to tell Lance.
“Huh? I’dunno,” Is the the best answer Keith gets from Hunk. “I've never actually seen him date…anyone. I don't think he would be good at the whole deal. Oh! But you didn't hear this from me. Pidge told you that.”
He shrugs, but then his eyes narrow, leaning close to Keith.
“Why?” Hunk has his hands placed on his thighs, watching as Keith sinks away from him.
That's the farthest the conversation gets, and Keith decides he's spoken too much today. Hunk almost pulls Keith into a hug, before giving it a second thought, and pats Keith’s shoulder instead. He reminds Keith that Lance really cannot be trusted with the royal advisor, or any alien for that matter, before he leaves.
“And keep a close eye on him. I don't want you two getting in trouble.”
Keith doesn't stand to wave Hunk goodbye, but instead falls backwards against the floor. Great. Good talk, Hunk. Keith takes a deep breath and holds it in, until his lungs find it too painful and his body’s natural breathing rhythm flows smoothly again. He wants to writhe around on the floor and slam the connected wall between him and Lance’s room in agony.
Keith lets the thoughts of violent outrage sputter out and die in the back of his head, like a jet that's run out of gas, and instead finishes getting ready.
This little crush was stupid. If not even Hunk knew where Lance’s affection lay, it would be impossible to navigate with his complete lack of experience. With their combined complete lack of experience. Maybe it was for the best.
When the intercom system kicks up in his room, alerting Keith that he needs to be in the hangar soon, he (gently) bangs his head against the wall.
“I hate my life,” Keith says, to no one in particular.
Now, as Keith shoves his head into the soft pillow he's holding, pressing his eyes together tight, enveloping his face into soft darkness. He's on the opposite side of the bed, a few feet away from Lance. He knows this because he can't feel the heat of another person pressed close to his back, or the dip of the mattress underneath Lance’s weight. Keith isn't sure why they were so close in the first place. Maybe Lance’s natural warmth attracted Keith in his sleep, because now, he shivers, even with the blanket pulled over his shoulders. There really isn't too much time to question it, since he would prefer to fall asleep sooner, rather than later.
Keith eventually strangles the pillow hard enough to fall back asleep, he pretends like he's strangling himself, so that his mind vault could let him rest, instead of making him feel worse about the current sleeping situation. Once his eyes are heavy enough to fall, it's nice, quiet, and a few hours of deep sleep.
When he wakes up, the room is bright with midday sun; at least as bright as this planet’s midday sun could be, with the whole space dust situation. Keith’s hair sticks up from where his hair pressed against the bed during the night, grease beginning to coat his bangs. His first thought of the day is longing for a shower. It's not like they hadn't bathed the entire time here. There were a few bathrooms, like most castles had, but they hadn't functioned like human ones. Some were empty rooms filled with tile, with only a hole in the ground in the middle of the room. Those were the workers' bathrooms, Lance recalls from his many times witnessing them. Keith looks at him disgusted, and then Lance plants his hand on Keith’s cheek and shoves him away.
Then, there was a spa they had stumbled across two days ago. Both of them were kind of desperate for a shower. Far more desperate than Keith was Lance, though Keith was beginning to reach the threshold of disgust towards his own stale clothing. Occasionally, he would get a whiff of death on himself, and his motivation for bathroom hunting was revitalized.
The spa was at the end of a long, long decorative hallway. They thought it would be a bedroom- or some “sacrifice room,” said Lance. When they were finally able to push the doors open, in the middle of the room, instead of a bed, there was a huge shallow tub. A high ceiling above had a hole in the middle that lined up with the bath, water falling from the hole in a small water fountain. The water was steaming, filling the room with thick steam.
On shelves lining the walls were mysterious alien hygiene products, all which smelled amazing. Lance didn't hesitate to drop every oil, soap, and fizzy substance into the bath, strip, and emerge himself in it.
Keith takes his time, not exactly used to being purposely naked in front of…anyone, and emerges himself into the tub slowly, hissing when the hot water hits his flesh.
They had showered together after missions, but it was strictly professional, with a lack of shower curtains and more averted gazes, backs to each other, and silence to make up for it.
Keith hadn't actually realized his and Lance’s shared situation until Hunk hits hard enough against Lance’s back for him to drop his towel, and then Lance’s insistence to get the Defenders of the Galaxy their personal bathrooms makes a lot more sense. Keith wants to talk to Lance about it, pat him on his back and share his understanding, but doesn't. Instead, he holds his towel tighter over his chest, and speeds out of the Altean shower room.
He tried not to look at Lance too much in the spa, tried to treat it like the showers, with a quiet nod of compassion, but Lance just looks at Keith weird.
“What? You want some soap? God knows you need it.” Lance teases, scrubbing some exfoliant into his elbows.
The spa was nice. They should probably go back again.
Keith reaches over to feel for Lance, wanting to wake him up, but forgets the distance he put between them the night before. Painfully rolling over, the stiffness of his muscles releasing, Keith expects to face Lance still asleep. Where he would have some time to look over the features of Lance's face while he's asleep, without being weird.
The big bed is completely empty when Keith finishes his roll. Noticing Lance’s jacket discarded by the corner of the bed, Keith sits up abruptly.
That's the only sign of him sleeping in the bed the night before, besides the wrinkled covers that fall off Keith’s shoulders as he climbs quickly off the bed, standing.
His initial reaction is to panic, which he does for the first five seconds. He reasons that Lance couldn't just leave him like that- especially when he left his jacket. The second thought that crosses his mind is that Lance has been kidnapped. It would have been impossible for him to keep quiet though, and Keith definitely would have woken up if he sensed even a hint of danger.
Keith tugs on his boots, calming himself, before deciding he needs to find Lance. He couldn't be too far. Wandering around the castle was like Lance, but he was never out of earshot. When there was nothing better to do, which was most of the time, Keith followed Lance around the palace begrudgingly. He’d drag his feet against the floor, eventually losing sight of Lance’s brown hair in the twists and turns of the palace. He would only be able to follow Lance through the edges of his coat behind him whipping around a corner, or the sound of Lance's heavy steps.
Sometimes, when he would fall too far behind, Lance would immediately answer and stop walking, waiting for Keith to catch up,
Keith grabs Lance’s jacket, tucking it safely under his arm, before parting ways with the off-grey room. In the hallway, Keith shuts the door quietly behind him, still somewhat worried Lance has been kidnapped. He takes a deep breath, cupping his hand around his mouth in hopes to amplify his yell for Lance.
His voice is straining and quiet, a sign he probably needs to drink water before he continues trying to yell. Ignoring his body’s signals, Keith yells again for Lance, this time much louder.
Somewhere far down the hallway, there's a response. It's an easily identifiable Lance calling back for him.
“Follow my voice! This is cool!” Keith doubts it is, but picks up a slight jog in Lance’s direction.