Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This mission was going to go so smoothly.

Lance knew it in his bones. The planet they were on had no aliens or creatures that had an instinct for killing, the weather was frosty, and Lance’s spirits were skyrocketed high. This stress beacon was to help the native inhabitants collect a material which is dangerous for their kind to touch but was highly valuable for their economy and ecosystem in distribution. Allura, ever the benevolent leader, said the mission seemed painless enough; a few extra hands, and another alliance. Pidge worked on a system to collect said resource in natural increments, allowing the planet to function without assistance. So, Lance's job was to look handsome and pick things up. Easy peasy . 

The only thing between Lance and his good vibes was, well- this one creature they were told not to interact with. A bug, specifically. That Coran would not stop pestering them about it.

“Remember team,” Coran’s voice comes through the comm system, “you cannot take off your suits under any conditions here! The inhabitants here have evolved a thicker skin to reject bites from the bugs, notably Affective-Plecia ! Though the results of a bite vary, we cannot take any risks.”

“Yea yea, we know Coran.”

Lance, well- he did know. Coran talked about it on the castleship too. He knew what they looked like, at least. About the size of his thumb, pulsing a different color on their backs. Attracted to heat. Affected more by… something. That might have been the extent of his knowledge, but he would be fine. The technicalities of space bugs wasn’t his business to deal with. Following his team through the outskirts of the city towards an abundant foliage was his business, even if he was wiping his helmet from snowflakes repeatedly.

“Oh, man,” Hunk begins, “Is this planet reminding any of you of winter? On earth?”

“Oh yes. It's almost uncanny.” and, Pidge was right.

The planet was beautiful, everything covered in a layer of fresh snow. The snowflakes were large enough that each crystal formations were visible, then unifying with the surface it lands on and merging with other flakes. They fly in a graceful twirl, steady in their fall within the zephyr. The guide for the team releases puffs steam with each breath. As they exited the city towards less trafficked areas the snow piled up, now mixing with dirt and ice to a sludge quality and loud squelches with each step. 

Near the front closely behind the guide, Keith foot slides unsteadily. On one particularly unsteady step, his foot slips forward- his only stop from the fall down was a comical flailing of arms, hilariously atypical for the red paladin. Lance snickers, but his grip on Hunk’s arm for baLance only makes him a hypocrite. Truly though, the only ones doing a stable job, were Shiro and Pidge. Keith shot daggers towards Lance once standing upright, who responded with a taut shrug. A tease was on the tip of his tongue before Hunk took the speaking time.

“Man, it makes me want to see what it feels like on my face. Like, catching snowflakes. You guys remember that?” Hunk babbles, attempting to catch flakes on his hand. Keith sends a sharp comment over his shoulder, though his gaze is fixated on his steps.

“We need to keep our helmets on, Hunk.”

"We need to keep our helmets on Hunk. ” Lance mocks, and his smirk morphs into a grin at Hunk’s chortle in return. Keith just shakes his head. “C’mon man, don’t you want to feel it too? Aren’t you at least curious ?”

Keith doesn’t dignify this with a response. A small prick of annoyance flared in Lance at the rejection. If he were a weaker man, he would have continued to ask Keith questions like a nuisance of a grade schooler.

The comment of winter lingers in Lance’s thoughts, now noticing all the details that reflect the winter season here. The plants are thinner and bonier, the air emulates a frosty midday walk, and more lights are strung to compensate for lack of natural sunglow. This area of the planet is lit up by soft glowing lights under the surface of the ground, and a few lights are strewn within the trees. It fills Lance with a desire for a warm cup of hot chocolate and a scarf to bury his nose into, not this paladin armour. Under his skin he feels a sensation, strangely familiar, almost reminiscent, as if it worked like clockwork and was sprung back up.

While walking through the foliage, they moved into a clearing, opening to a pale-gravel footland, followed with a vast body of water that sucked all air from Lance.

It stretched so wide over the horizon, it was only comparable to a sea. It was a warmer shade than the Varadero beach Lance knew, it was rich in color, from a shaded mahogany and ochre, to a lavish copper and coral, and trailing so light it was peach at the shore. Moving with power and fluidity, persisting despite the wintry weather. It encaptured Lance’s attention entirely. The voices of the other’s were lost in the way the water moved, light flickering like a dance as the snowflakes fell in and swept into the lazy tide. Without having to take his helmet off, Lance could clearly- as clearly as the edge of the water- imagine the sound of the waves clashing against each other, flowing over rock formations, murmuring gently in tandem with the air current. Surges of homesickness racked up his torso and clenched his chest. He bit his cheek to alleviate the sensation.

If… if only I could just… feel it.  

The team slows to a stop as the leader informs the paladins the rest of the plan. Shiro is watching with enough rapt attention for the entirety of the team, so Lance continues to watch the scene he never thought he'd witness until back home, twisting his hands around each other. 

None of the other paladins could see the extent the scene was affecting Lance. And, yea, Lance knew why, but it only furthered his homesickness. He knew that even if the others enjoyed going to a beach, they didn’t- couldn’t- love it so encompassingly as he did. He cannot stop how, at home, the ocean smell that fills his lungs feels like fresh air, or the sand that used to get stuck in his hair, trunks, and socks, would cover the backseat of the car, or take Varadero beach out of most of his finest memories. He saw his niece laugh for the first time when the water lapped to her knees as a tiny toddler. He shared his soul with his sisters during quiet sunsets, their mocktail mojitos forgotten in the sand. He dove into the water when his mind was too loud, and the cruel thoughts choked him, crying his woes and frivolous, overambitious dreams. Varadero beach was there for him. It held him in its rocking embrace. 

His eyes flicker between the sea and his team. He knew how to. How to touch the water, that is, while still being in his paladin suit. The most that he would do is remove his hand and feel it on his skin. He bites harder on his cheek.

Lance doesn’t act out often. Honest. Especially while doing this whole space business. He knows his place is to listen and follow orders when he needs to. He might complain loudly about the choices, but rarely has be not done his duties as a paladin. Come to it, Lance will do what is told. So of course, every reminder Coran said regarding not be exposed here by any conditions was repeating in his mind. But… Lance also didn’t have anything so meaningful, so powerful in its affect presented to him before. 

Only for one moment. Just one moment . 

Lance was a weak man.

While each other paladin was distracted, Lance kneels near the shore, watching the conversation as it moves in one ear out the other. Carefully, he takes off one glove, deliberately tracking every inch of skin exposed to the air. While Shiro asks for clarification on logistics, Lance takes a deep breath, before lowering his hand into the water.

And it feels like heaven . 

It's the exact temperature he expected it to be, washing over his skin exactly as he knew it would. Gentle and smooth. The texture of the gravel under his fingertips, the water ebbing and flowing over his knuckles, the tactile feeling his hand delved into one corner of this ocean’s vast expanse. The breath he takes in releases with a full body sigh, and his lungs feel renewed. Lance allows his eyes to close as he sways his hand in the water. All sense of fear is melted as his homesickness is temporarily soothed by the ocean’s hand. He could get lost here. 

This was going to be it- Lance swore this would be it. He opened his eyes to the newfound and welcomed relief, bringing his hand out of the water intending to return back to the group. A simple indulgence where no one catches him, and then it passes; He might reminisce about home later, his head on Hunk’s lap as they share memories. But while lost in this trance, a bug landed on the underside of his wrist, feather light. It wasn’t until Lance was sliding his glove back on that he noticed it, pulsing a pink hue, before a dull pain in his inner wrist.

“Ouch! AH!”

Simultaneously, five heads turn towards Lance, a mixture of bewilderment, perturb, and wincing (presumably at the sound) meeting him. Fortunately, Lance’s experience in a large Mexican family rears its full head, as by instinct Lance is up, hand behind him, and a lie perfectly on his tongue.

“Sorry! My- my comms flared a bit, and the sound hurt. Nothing wrong here!” he feigns his best sheepish smile, tapping his helmet. There's a beat before each member either shrugs or nods before turning back to the previous topic, accepting the reasoning with ease. Lance’s heart still hammers in his chest as he yanks his glove on.

Shit. He can’t check it, not right now, not while he's acting out his perfected ‘ my hands weren’t in the cookie jar, I didn't even know we had one!’ shtick.

See, part of this act though that Lance didn't have the forethought of, is the way freaking-out takes over the brain, rendering any analyzing, listening, or processing of sensations completely out of the picture. Leaving only a jittery Lance, desperately concentrating on not appearing jittery while watching his team move, not knowing any of their instructions but just following. 

The removal, lifting, and carrying of the material distracts Lance's brain- it's a tangible task his brain latches onto, and his thoughts are quiet as he just moves. His head virtually turns off. Which is at least better than focusing on the heavy thump of anxiety in his chest, latent through his focus. This follows Lance through til the last task, where the team was told to rest in a compact “refugee house” that was specifically made to deter the Affective-Ple-whatever, while Pidge continued teching-around. Given the clear, the paladins removed their helmets, taking a welcomed breath of crisp, chilly air.

As inconspicuous as possible, Lance removes his gloves as well, intending to sneak a glance at his wrist. What he was not intending was getting distracted by the mulleted emo next to him huffing while scratching his cheek; Lance catches a glimpse of a small pimple, surrounded by red irritation. Without thinking he brushes Keith's hand away, knuckles grazing his cheek, with a reprimand for picking his skin on the tip of his tongue. But before he can form the words it's gone, fizzled away as an instantaneous wave of nausea with a swoop in his stomach comes about so suddenly he gasps. It's so intense he nearly misses the jolt in his fingers, searing at the points that contacted Keith’s whizzing through every nerve up his arm. It's so quick and sudden a shiver racks through his body and crashes all of his nerves.

Keith, oblivious to the unnerving sensation overtaking Lance, scowls, but stops picking his face, crossing his arms and looking off to the floor. Lance’s stomach lurches as cortisol, oxytocin, and - uh - ‘what the fuck’ overwhelms him. His stare is transfixed on Keith. He's stressed by this, yet feels an uncontrollable dopamine rush flood his brain.

Lance is feeling… hot . 

His suit is clinging to him too tight. His head feels overheated. Keith looks so pretty.

Keith becomes aware of the stare, looking over, and raises an expectant eyebrow. Which off kilters Lance’s already unsettled foundation further; Before he’s aware of it, Lance stumbles, slips, and flails to the floor, landing with a loud, painful WHUMP on his tailbone. Each face whips towards him. A wave of embarrassment burns him to his ears as the others throw confused looks to him, each other, then back to him.

“Lance, are you okay?” Keith’s bends next to him, “What- what happened?”

Lance looks and- Oh, jesus, fuck- has Keith’s face always had so many details to notice? The dark edge that frames his eyes, the crease in his forehead, how his cheekbones frame his face? The bow of his upper lip, the shape of his lower lip, and- a birthmark? Lance blinks. A faint spot, in the middle of Keith's lower lip. 

What would it be like to bite it?

The thought blazes through Lance's head and a fire roars inside of him. His fingers, his neck, his cheeks feel absolutely scorched . 

Lance picks up on a voice in his head, distant, but screaming ‘This is the time to mention you got bit! This is the time!!’ But his mouth is full of cotton and his chest is constricted with tightness and he feels overwhelmed with endorphins that terrify him. 

So, Lance doesn’t respond, which is a response in itself.

Keith furrows his brows at this. “I don’t think Lance is doing well,” Keith tells the team, meeting the eyes of the other paladins now gazing at them with concern. The hard lines of Keith's face are highlighted by the light behind him, looking like he’s glowing above Lance. The strong arch of his nose, his lips, the curl of his eyelashes. Lance can’t breathe. Keith turns to face him again, and the scrutinization focused on Lance flashes boiling heat through his body. “Lance, are you okay?”

“Lance, did you get bit?” Allura’s voice cracks through the comms.

“N-no! I didn’t. I, I feel,” jesus, has Lance’s mouth done a mandatory factory reset while he was unaware? “Uh, just- tired. Exerted. Um, I’m fine. Just. need to… eat.”

He feels a rush from Keith's presence. The proximity is electric- the areas of their bodies that are centimeters from touching burn. He also has an encompassing need to fly away from Keith. Put miles between them. Like any nearer and all function in Lance would combust and halt working. Hell, he's barely functioning here. Keith’s face furrows in further focused contemplation.

“Do you want to head back to the castle, Lance?” Shiro asks.

Lance couldn’t take his eyes away from Keith. It was as if his vision was sewn on to Keith’s location. It felt like he was ripping his eyes out to look at Shiro, feeling the resistance physically. When he does meet Shiro's worried look, he gulps around the dryness in his mouth.

“Um. Yea. I think that would be best.”

Shiro nods and puts his helmet back on, “Pidge, how much longer would you say the set up will take for you?”

“I don't know, twenty minutes?” Pidge huffs, “you guys can head back now though. Are you okay, Lance?”

“Yea, yea- I'm fine, Pidge.” Lance's stare is now burning to the ground, feeling like a tether. “Thanks.”

“Okay. Let's head back guys," Shiro says, "Allura, we’re on our way back. I’ll have Lance dropped off and then come back for Pidge once she’s finished up.”

“Okay, Shiro.”

“C’mon,” Keith says. Despite the tether of the spot on the floor, something helpless in Lance abandons it at the sound of Keith’s voice. He's stood up, leaning above him now, with a hand reached out for Lance to grab. 

And, god, it was the most beautiful sight Lance can ever recall seeing. 

Trepidation climbed up his mind, puncturing with each dig of its nails.

--

Later, he would convince himself that he didn’t tell the team because he knew he messed up, not listening to the clear orders they were given. Because, that makes sense. The sensation of fear, clamming his mouth, of nerves racking down his arms and fingers, the tightness everywhere, being a result of worry from a Shiro- or Allura- reprimand, well, it just makes the most sense. 

Nothing else. When he looked at Keith and felt butterflies fly radically inside, only to be shot from the sharp bolt of panicked fear through his chest, so intense he wanted to cry , it- it can’t be for any reason besides a gnawing guilt of stepping out of line for his own selfish indulgences. Guilt of not being a good paladin. Not guilt for any other reason. He has too much to worry about to even consider what the tug of homesickness is doing here.

Still, Lance knows that he’ll go crazy if he doesn’t get away from this debrief, this room, this close to Keith. He’s on the other side of the room and Lance can practically feel the vibrations through the air of each movement, each inhale and exhale. And, fuck, he can’t stop his brain from turning these thoughts to untamed images of his hands on Keith’s chest, feeling the rise and fall, his breath fawning across his face, his lips, and if he doesn’t get to his room to recoup himself, he might- panic. 

He hasn’t panicked for a long, long time.

It feels like home. Homesickness. 

He all but bolted to his room the second he could.

Chapter Text

Lance doubles over in the refugee of his own room.

Fucking christ.

What- what was the bug Coran warned them about, again? What- it was, a, affect- um, something, - fuck. Lance is trying to remember the name, clinging to whatever words in his mind there, but his breathing is coming short and the anxiety pulls him further into himself. He heard it at least a dozen times over the course of an hour, he should know - he wants to- he can’t stop the frenzy of his heartbeat- if he could just think -

He’s panicking. Each inhale is becoming increasingly erratic. Clawing desperately at the floor, at his arms, his chest piece, anything, but nothing is grounding him. He can’t feel his hands through the suit and he’s gasping-

Next door, there's a swoosh and patterning of entering footsteps. A few clangs as, what's most likely armour, sets down piece by piece. A heavy sigh- a Keith heavy sigh- is heard through the wall between them. It's not instantaneous, but it's a sense Lance adheres to. He clings to the stable presence apart from him, focusing on the rustle of movement as a life force. He’s unsure how long. Each time he thinks he’s okay and tentatively lets go, he’s proven otherwise, and returns to the stabilizing sense of external stimuli. It's painful, it feels forever, and he can’t think.

A stretch of silence passes, and Lance peters out to shaky breaths and slow, deliberate movements. He still feels a deep sensation of fear in his core, lingering in his extremities and head, but- he can breathe. Uncurl himself from a fetal position on the floor and pry his eyes open in short blinks. It's still dark in his room. Not dark enough that he can’t see anything, but enough for shadows to be casted over.

He gives a sharp inhale through his teeth and winces as he diligently moves from his fetal position to his hands and knees, careful to not move too fast. His joints are tight, they ache with each small stretch. He’s tentatively standing when, as if Lance got super-hearing powers pinpointed to Keith, he picks up on faint grunts on the wall, sending sparks through his chest to his groin, pooling heat in his gut.

Um.

Mortifying is as good of a word as can be. Terrifying is a close contender. Another could make a point with shame.

Even though Lance tries to shove the sensation away as he rips the damp armour off, the sound stays ricocheting madly, spinning into a flustered arousal. The logical reasoning for the innocuous sound (like, I dont know recovering from a fucking mission -) battles futility against the forceful arousal Lance has got. The few minutes it takes to strip feels like agonizing eternity, but the buzz of silence after is arguably worse, now standing bare in a dark room half-erect. 

It's evident that Lance doesn’t know enough of what he’s dealing with. He’s sunk his teeth into the lie, so now he’ll have to chew through by himself and figure it out.

He contemplates reading on his tablet, or going to the archival room. After a mission, and an anxiety episode, he wants to stay here in his small four corners, but Keith is next door and these abnormal thoughts cannot stay here while he tries to read anything. His likelihood of running into anyone through the hundreds of empty corridors should be low. It's enough to carry his steps out of his room to the small room filled with tablets, all archiving different information. He grabs the first with the word ‘bug’ in the title.

He sits down back to the wall and rapidly skims through the paragraphs. Few words catch his eyes- species, biology, planets, etc- but it's frantic til he lands on a new page, laid out with nicely taken photos, easy-to-read paragraphs, and an unmistakable duplicate of the bug that bit Lance. He immediately zones in on the words.

“Affective-Plecia, native to Azuryle in the Zule galaxy. A small creature, about one-to-two inches in length, known for ranging from harmless to disastrous. Now, you may think it's just something like a beetle, but signs to look out for its black body with a glowing colored light on its back. Unlike other flying beetles, the Affective-Plecia carries a unique energy source on their backs that hold emotions. The dangers of this particularly lie in its bite, as its concentrated energy seeps through its teeth, and trades the emotion you were currently feeling for the one it's been carrying- this also triggers a change in color, which are believed to reflect the emotions. Though its bite never takes a notable amount of whichever emotion you’re currently having, the traded emotion will be very intense.

“Affective-Plecia are only effective on warm blooded species. Once bitten, the venom will stay dormant until in contact with another warm blooded individual. Once contact has been made, the effects will stay in the being’s system for two to three weeks. There is often a connection between the victim and the individual that triggered the venom, and the emotion transferred stays directed towards the individual; meaning that, if the victim is now experiencing concentrated joy, this joy will be directed towards whomever triggered the venom, and so on with other emotions, such as anger, guilt, content, or even complex emotions, such as love.

“Though inhabitants on planet Azuryle have evolved thicker skin to reject these bites, they still advise visitors to ensure proper measures to avoid receiving one, as there is no known antidote, and must pass through the body. As precautions, Azuryle provides whole body covers, and designated refugee houses to relax in. Furthermore, there are seasonal celebrations as a method to maintain resolve and positive emotions, increasing the likelihood that if bitten the victim will not experience a negative emotion... ”

Hmm. okay. 

Lance slumps against the supporting wall behind him and drops the tablet. The screen turns off.

Fuck.

---- 

Distraction. That is what Lance needs. Obviously. Time with Pidge and Hunk can be a wonderful distraction. Running thoughts of Keith, what the bug is exactly doing to him, Keith, regrets of not listening to Coran more attentively, wondering where’s Keith, the nervous jitter in his legs, Keith - Lance can just distract. Whatever's happening to him is just… he can’t tackle that.

So instead, he's in the control room, relishing in the blood flowing to his head as he sits upside down in his seat- the epitome of relaxed, with his ankles crossed and hands folded over his stomach. It's easy to not think when blood is pooling in his brain. Hunk and Pidge are nearby tapping on screens, absorbed in a world of… nerdy shit. It's a different nerdy shit than what got him a free ride to the garrison. He knows he would rather rip his hair out than listen to their explanation and attempts to help him understand.

So instead, he thinks about the past mission- ignoring the jolt in his system- and pictures the snowy scene. A question leaves the tip of his tongue before he can think.

“Hey, d’you think it's winter back home now?”

The conversation and tapping of keys peters out. Lance glances to Pidge to see her staring at him with a furrowed brow and thoughtful expression.

“... I don't know. I mean, maybe, it was nearly fall when we left and a few months have definitely passed by now.” her concentration moves to her tablet, moving the previous task to the side and delving into something else.

“Ooo, are you remembering the snowy planet, Lance?” Hunk gets a gleeful glimmer in his eyes. It's infectious and makes Lance return it. “Man, it was so beautiful there. I could barely believe it, I mean, how often does another planet have weather that's so similar to earth? There's thousands of planets- millions, gazillions!”

(Hunk shared with Lance, when they first met at the garrison, that his family would travel to Washington in the winter, where a majority of his Samoan relatives live. He and his moms would stay there for a few weeks during peak wintertime, including the holidays. Lance suspects Hunk’s enthusiasm is to some level connected to this.)

“Okay guys, I found earth’s location. I’m going to see if I can get calculations for where it's currently at in its rotation around the sun.”

Pidge continues mumbling information to herself as Hunk continues on about the likelihood of other planets having the same season pattern as earth. The words slide over Lance. Honestly, Lance doesn’t understand why calculations are involved by trying to see if it's winter or spring on earth- but that's outside of his interests. 

“Okay,” Pidge's voice cuts through, “so from what I'm seeing, it looks like it's approximately between… December second to the fourth. Most likely December second at the garrison.”

The thought that the Starbucks holiday drink menu is already out is what immediately pops in Lance’s head- November eighth, burned into his memory from his mother asking Veronica multiple times over the years when it starts. “The peppermint mocha is my favorite,” she’d recite, “I get sick of the pumpkin too fast.” Veronica would have to order for the family since she knew the menu, spoke english, and was the oldest. Lance remembers sitting in the backseat, smooshed against two other siblings, yelling menu items to Veronica as she leaned against the center consul- basically in her mama’s lap- to shout past the driver’s window, Spanish and English flying around. November eighth was the start of christmas celebrations, when each extra peso was saved and decorations were brought out and-

“Wait, are you guys thinking what I'm thinking,” Hunk breaks Lance’s train of thought. His glimmer morphed into a whole shine, a pause for dramatic effect. “We should have a holiday celebration. In space. Dude, in space!”

And just like Hunk’s smile, his enthusiasm is also infectious.

An uproar of ideas fill the room with the three shouting proposals of Christmas traditions, plans of how to obtain decorative staples, and requirements for the holidays. Logistics were bent in favor of creativity and unbridled joy. Just here, just for this moment, all stressors faded for Lance. Arguing about the correct date Navidad is supposed to be celebrated with Pidge was all he was concerned with. That, and stopping her from being the first to yell for the rest of the team to immediately get to the control room to settle this debate. Like hell Lance would lose this argument, even if it meant tackling Pidge halfway through her sentence and using his sibling wrestling skills. 

… This fell on Lance's face though, as the doors swooshed open to Keith standing at attention, sweeping the floor in search of danger. Like, Lance had the upper hand on Pidge, but it was swept out from him and gloriously given to her as she darted to harass Keith for his opinion. He couldn’t feel the sting of losing when he was engulfed in nerves. Shocks of endorphins zapped his skin. Zap, zap, zap.

“Keith! When is Christmas?!" Pidge demanded, grabbing Keith's arms with ferocity. The forcefulness of it has Keith stumbling, and Lance is fixed on the stuttered steps of Keith's feet, the taut tension in his shoulders, the widening of his eyes and parting of his lips. All the moisture in his mouth is gone. 

“Uh, um,” why would Keith know the answer?

“Lance thinks it's on the twenty-fourth. You need to tell him he’s wrong.”

Keith looks over to Lance and knocks every remaining molecule of oxygen straight from his chest. Keith’s eyes beg for explanation, but all Lance can give is his parched mouth.

“What's going on here?” Allura’s question is a demand for an answer, none of the sweeping analyses for danger Keith brought present in her. She stands firm. This doesn’t sway Pidge from attacking her, too.

“Allura!” Pidge shoves Keith away and launches herself at Allura, who seems to naturally take Pidge’s attack as if never perturbed by anything. “Tell Lance he’s wrong! Christmas eve is for preparing for Christmas, not the day it's celebrated!” She closes her eyes in a crazed passion, leaning her head back and tries to shake Allura, but just ends up shaking herself back and forth. “Jesus was born on the twenty-fifth! Mary was in excruciating labor on the twenty-fourth!!”

“Aren’t you an atheist, Pidge?” Hunk asks. She sends daggers to him.

“That's besides the point, Hunk, the point is to show I'm correct!”

“I’m sorry Pidge,” Allura awkwardly puts her hands on the others shoulders with a confused but friendly smile, “I believe I know what you are talking-.”

“Shiro!” And, just as quickly as Pidge disregards Keith, she tosses Allura aside, now leaping to a very unaware Shiro. She’s not strong enough to knock him off his feet, but he almost falls to the unforeseen attack. “Please, Shiro, you need to tell Lance he’s wrong. You’re our last hope.”

“Eh, don’t listen to her Shiro.” Hunk rises from his seat to the group, “you don’t have to agree with anything.”

“Uhh, what's going on guys?” Shiro asks.

“Oh nothing, just figuring out when to hold our Christmas celebration this year.”

“Wait, Christmas?”

“The twenty-fifth! How are none of you understanding this?!”

“Pidge, there's no wrong date to celebrate. In fact, there's no wrong way to celebrate.” His words were kind but the excitement in Shiro's eyes was undeniable. 

Keith catches the eyes boring into his skull. The full force of his gaze completely directed back to Lance was ground shaking enough to send him up, as if he were controlled by puppet strings and yanked to standing before consciously aware.

Yup, okay, bitten by a bug and has ties to Keith. Definitely what this is.

Conversation passes by him- he’s unable to defend his argument, but he’s also way, way more nervous than he should be; then he would ever picture himself being. Worse than Lance could ever remember being, surpassing waiting for his Garrison scholarship application to be received, which he swore was the most heightened emotion level he could get. But nope, a boy with pretty eyes and aloof arm-crossed-hip-lean posture was sending sweat bullets down Lance's neck.

Coran managed to get Keith’s attention- finally no longer looking at Lance- which granted him a moment to fucking breathe. Like some of the pink fog in his head cleared fractionally and gave his thoughts some free space. Like, how to get out of this room? Which- he couldn’t do. Or, at least couldn’t easily do, seeing as he’s on the complete opposite side of the room with the entire team between them.

Mother fucking quiznak. Of course.

“Ah! This is exactly like the blue paladin’s home tradition! Yes, I believe we are familiar with this practice!” Allura gleefully says with a small jump.

“Would you be okay with partaking in the celebration, princess?” Coran asks, smiling under his mustache.

“I'm sure we can find some of the former blue paladin’s decorations and such. I think it's a wonderful idea!”

“Hell yea! Christmas in space baby!” Hunk lifts Pidge in a sweeping hug before launching her onto his shoulder. A blabbing, enthusiastic conversation takes the team by storm. Keith’s lips tip towards a smile, and Lance. Lance is enamoured. Light fills his chest, it curls and rests. 

All he wants is to sit in his room far away from all of this, but the closest he can get here is closing his eyes. Will he need painkillers? For emotional whiplash Keith's causing him, by leaning on one leg and subsequently jutting his hip out, showing the curve of his legs into his torso? By making all trains of thoughts drift off their tracks into clouds? He’s quiet outwardly, but internally he couldn’t be any louder. 

“Lance, are you okay?”

The whiplash was enough to create knots in his neck, hearing Keith's voice right in front of him. Still with his arms crossed, but with a very slight furrow to his brow, meeting lance’s eyes head on. The lovely color of his eyes was all Lance could see- and all he wanted to see. Drinking in his finer details like a parched man in the desert, suddenly encompassed with everything he could take in about Keith. Inducing when his slight furrowed brow becomes a fully confused furrowed brow.

“... Lance?”

He yelps in reply. “Yea! I’m- I’m fine!” and then doesn’t stop his reply “I- I’m just thinking about all the christmas celebrations and plans we could do! Y’know, like sledding and tree decorating and- well, not sledding! B-because we can’t do that in space! But, but- we could still decorate together! AH, I mean, together- as a team! Not- !”

He has to slap his hands to his face to shut himself up- somehow the few seconds of talking managed to dig him a pitiful hole. He swears there's actual smoke coming out of him from how hot his skin is burning. The ramble horrified lance- where the fuck was his mind going with that?! There's no way it could have gone-

But, Keith laughs.

It bubbles out of him, uncharacteristically brazen and heartfelt; a belly laugh, ringing out from his open smile. It's beautiful enough to make the humiliation slip out of lance.

“Okay, point taken.” his laugh petters off to a chuckle, but the shine in his smile from a good laugh stays. Lance swears he’d make an idiot of himself time and time again to get this reaction. “Glad you’re excited.” 

The comment delights lance, and he can’t stop himself from preening under the words. 

“Mhm! I’m, I’m glad we, uh, can celebrate.”

His response is lame and his tongue feels too big in his own mouth.

Keith’s smile is small, but genuine after a full laugh, with a small head shake as he looks off and joins conversation with shiro. Lance stares at the back of Keith’s head with a heat on his face, and burning sensation. 

Fuck.

--

Is this what being in love with someone is like? This is fucking painful. Why did he ever romanticize this? If he’s speedrunning the process because of a stupid emotion-potent bug and getting the main course of love over the course of an hour where he felt the peak of human existence with the worst of it, he can surely take a step back.

Stupid fucking Keith. With his fucking hair and gloves and features Lance didn’t notice until now. Stupid Keith, for being the first to touch him. 

(Stupid Lance, for giving into his heart’s desires so frivolously for a shard of comfort. That thought makes his fingers curl.)

It's been a day since he’s gotten bit and forced to handle the weight of romantic feelings towards Keith, but it is catching up to him. He, again in the safety of his room, begrudgingly admits there's no amount of distraction or running that will deal with the situation. Keith will inevitably show up wherever he is. So, the plan to give himself unbothered, totally relaxing thinking time by carrying out his nighttime routine was an… attempt. A futile one, as the nagging knowledge that Keith was in the other room took all brain space, leaving only a sliver for habit to carry out the rest of his routine. It wasn’t until he unceremoniously flopped onto his bed and curled along the wall that the ball of feelings were able to be dealt with.

Love.

No, that's - he cringes at the intensity of the word. Like? Liking towards Keith? Not normal feelings towards Keith? Affection? A crush? Does it even matter?! Would naming the emotion negate the butterflies, the rush, the serotonin influx he’s had all day? He rubs a hand down his face. These feelings are intense and exhausting and dizzying and, and, admittedly in the quiet of his palms, exciting and euphoric. It makes him want to go back to him. Because despite how nerve wracking it is, Keith’s gravitational pull has Lance stuck in his orbit.

But- it’s, they’re not his feelings. No, Lance, he- he doesn’t actually like Keith, let alone a. crush. This is a result of a bug’s bite! It might feel nice but- but, Lance doesn’t like Keith, he doesn’t like boys.

He nods to himself. He’s never liked guys. There's no reason to be weirded out by something that’s not actually him! There's absolutely no reason to freak out.

He’s calm.

The laugh that escapes him sounds unconvincing, as it edges on hysterical. He’s not going to cry. 

…. He’s not.

…

He clenches on his inner cheek so hard the skin breaks. It hurts.

It’ll pass.

It's a bare solace of a thought that moves him under his sheets and laying down with a sigh. Its direction, at least.

Lance wishes he was a stronger man. Fought maybe just a bit harder to starve off the thoughts; But his head hits the pillow and the indulgent thoughts probe. He surrenders to the wash of feelings and curls protectively into himself, as warmth fills his chest to the thought of Keith's smile.

It's painful. It's euphoric and stabs.

He wishes he hated Keith right now, but even his agitated state can’t muster any reason to, let alone this weakened state. Everything he admires about Keith comes forward, ranging from his first perceptions of him at the garrison to who he’s become here with voltron. Admiration blurs with affection quickly. It's terrifying how his previously unremarkable observations of Keith now are rose colored and captivating.

And ridiculously, he misses Keith. it aches that Keith feels like comfort that's just out of Lance’s reach. Like the licks of flame bring a promised heat, but he’s not close enough to become warm. He’s in the next room and the longing Lance feels is palpital. 

Lance grabs his arm to find an unexpected pain in the shape of a bruise. It's tangible enough to take him away from the Keith-feelings as its swifty replaced with Pidge’s scrawny body tackling him to the ground and vehemently arguing against his Christmas celebrations. 

Cause oh, yea, they’re celebrating christmas now. No one on the team has smiled that unbridledly in months, the room glowed! Hunk was infectious!

He smiles, but it's sharp on its bittersweet edge. He misses his familia. He knows celebrating on the twenty-fifth instead of the fourth isn’t a big deal, but the sting that he isn’t with his family isn’t something he can easily ignore. He wants his mama’s hugs and their shitty childhood ornaments and all. He wants to talk to his sisters about everything he’s been going through and wrestle his brother over benign shit. Space bugs wouldn’t be there, war wouldn’t be there, and- maybe Keith would be there, but not like this. Maybe his mama would love him and, in exchange for coming, Lance would have to do his laundry for a month.

But, damn it, if Lance didn’t feel determined to make the best of this holiday while he could. In space be damned.

Chapter Text

It's been a week. 

One week of feeling like he was losing his goddamn mind. Of catching himself searching for Keith every hour, or daydreaming conversations to enact only to flounder when presented with the opportunity. Thoughts getting away from him, a range from innocent curiosity of Keith's past, to a raging flurry of hormones he wills to calm down. A week of second guessing each action, feeling near no grasp on himself, and pushing away the feelings only to get run over by them again and again and again. Standing an inch too close and feeling heat radiating off of Keith, intoxicating and dizzying. Paying too much attention to Keith's words, but thinking about how his voice sounds a few hours later while plagued with daydreams. Reminiscing on a moment of ghosting closeness before slapping himself, saying ‘this isn’t real, stop getting hopes up over nothing!’ It's exhausting and a tiresome mental workout to continuously remind himself it's a temporary state.

In that week, preparations for a Christmas holiday celebration commenced. A flurry of group research on other planet celebrations which matched close enough, what traditions were necessary to include, and how to enact this plan. Lance managed to win the twenty-fourth hosting the christmas dinner and a few gift openings, but Pidge got Christmas morning (which Lance was completely fine with, even if only so because other things took more mental space). With these decisions solidified now, the work of creating the holiday was their next course of action.

Currently, Hunk was messing around the kitchen, tossing different baking-adjacent ingredients together in practice for The Feast. Pidge, Lance, and Keith were nearby, though they were all banned from helping, besides Pidge, who was allowed to pre measure ingredients and whip the whipped cream. The four of them just sort of gravitated towards the kitchen while discussing plans. Hunk took the first step, Pidge followed, then Lance and, awkwardly, Keith. Then, Hunk picked up a bowl and ingredients and, like, twirled around the kitchen, so the other three just fit into the picture where they could.

Lance has decided to himself that the best and only way he can function with his insistent need to be near Keith is to barricade the gravitational pull with other people. And- though in his bones the only thing Lance wants is Keith alone for reasons he can’t even comprehend, for his sanity he can't. There's absolutely no telling what this bug will do if he gets a shred of intimacy with this... Boy. Keith. Him. Even if he doesn’t quite know what that means.

Yet, this didn’t necessarily mean it was any easier being near Keith, nor that he would pay attention to anyone besides Keith without effort. There's about three feets distance between them. Keith’s leaning his hip onto the counter- the delicious shape of his chest is framed by his crossed arms, and his shirt hugs the taper down to his torso, settling nicely around his hips. The slight curve of his fingers where they rest on his arms is nothing short of captivating. Lance wields the thoughts of those fingers on his lips, his tongue, in his mouth as far away as possible, even as the phantom sensation burns him. Keith is so, so beautiful, it's scary. Lance wished it made sense.

His rapt attention on Keith meant any and all conversation would still fly completely over his head- unless Keith took attention to it, which then Lance was paying too much attention to. The fluttering nerves of catching glimpses of what Keith found interesting was hopeless, especially with his hopeless interest in Keith's facial features. There wasn’t a win, but Lance had already begrudgingly come to this conclusion already.

“What are you making anyways, Hunk?” Lance leans over Hunk’s shoulder.

“Gingerbread cookies,” Hunk says, “or at least, the closest thing to them I could make. We’ve got this leaf here, and it kinda tastes like ginger?? So I'm thinking about adding it with some of the makeshift ingredients I've got. Pidge, could you measure out this flour?”

“He’s already nailed the frosting,” Pidge replies while passing a pre-measured portion, “the buttercream tastes just like buttercream!”

“Aw, Pidge,” Hunk groans, looking over at Pidge's weak attempt at whipped cream in a bowl. “These peaks aren’t stiff enough!”

“Well what’d you expect me to do?!” She squawked, “if you wanted manpower to make whipped cream, you asked the wrong person.” Then, under her breath, “well, humanpower, I guess. Anyways.”

“She’s got a point, Hunk,” Keith said, voice smooth and perfect, “she can do the math well, but I don't think actually whipping the cream by hand is… effective.”

“Exactly. Thank you, Keith. Why didn’t you make one of them do it?”

Hunk grimace. “I dunno Pidge, I've worked with Lance before. By the time the whipped cream is good enough, there wouldn’t be any left with how much he sneaks.” Hunk looks at Lance with a sympathetic, albeit knowing look, while taking the bowl from Pidge. Which the taller decided to take offence to.

“Hey! I’m a perfect baking companion, thank you very much.”

“You even admitted to me in the Garrison that you were horrible at waiting at home for food to finish.”

“Well, yea, those are my mama’s tortillas, it's like eating heaven. Your argument has no merit. And you know it, too.”

Easy. Back and forth, conversation he can follow, taking up the forefront of his thoughts- no room for anything else. This time Pidge and Hunk are a wonderful, full, perfect distraction. Mindlessly conversing over homemade food and-

“Uh huh,” Hunk deadpans, “Keith, come help me, please.”

Wait, wait wait- “Keith? Why Keith?!”

“Because I can trust him to make me a full batch.”

Lance bristled at this. The assumption stung, like salt on a cut. And maybe he’s never really been taught how to treat a cut like that. “Well, I can make you a better tasting batch!”

“If you can stop yourself from eating it all, maybe.”

Nevertheless, Hunk passed the bowl of whipped cream to Keith, who stared dumbly at the whisk now in his hands. Hunk must have not noticed as he just readjusted his apron, turning around and talking over his shoulder.

“I’ll prepare a second bowl for you, Lance. I’m going to double the recipe too, so I’m probably going to need the extra portion, anyways.”

His first reaction was competitive. Defensive. A territory lance could function in, because if Hunk thought he couldn't make decent whipped cream, the best way to prove himself was to make a whipped cream so perfect- tall, stiff peaks, with a smooth, fluffy texture, exactly how Hunk wants- it’d come out on top of Keith's. Familiar, safe territory, even with a bug-altered state he could work in. An emotion deeper than the bite coming out, something more complex that he and his self-taught cut-treatment knew how to work with. But- ah, well, he wishes Hunk didn't add that last part.

“Pidge!” Coran yells from another room, “mind coming and helping an old chap? Shiro and I are trying to wrap those decoration lights on the tree!”

“Coming!” Pidge hops off the counter. “Later suckers. Good luck losing, Lance.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense!”

Pidge smiles back as she exits the room.

And, Lance wilts a bit. 

Its- its silly, being upset about this. Being hung up that he wasn’t even considered shouldn’t have such an… impact. In Lance's life, he’d never even made whipped cream, not when Cool Whipped was delicious and convenient (and, oftentimes, cheap, especially the weird tub versions). It felt childish to be emotionally affected by Pidge’s playful jab, but still, he hurt like her jab landed on a large, tender bruise, flaring his pain receptors. Maybe- maybe the bruise wailed that, even when Lance was right there, right there, it was never him that got the first chance. Second best. A… convenient option, even.

“Here you go, Lance.”

And he wasn’t good enough to be someone’s first choice. Even at making whipped cream. 

“Thanks, buddy.”

And, maybe the worst part, he wishes he was angry- at Keith, at Hunk, at anything, fucking anything at all, but. Lance was angry at himself. An ugly mixture of shame and disappointment holding him by his neck. He tries the motion of twisting his wrist holding the whisk around the cream and sugar, his competitive feeling dying as quick as it sparked. Even after months flying aimlessly in space with the crew practically down each other’s backs from proximity, he somehow hadn’t proven to his team that he was worth giving that first shot to. No- only a pity chance to. If they hadn’t noticed any capabilities in Lance, were they ever even there? The thought sends a drop of unsteadiness through his spine. 

“Uh, what am I supposed to do…?”

Keith’s words startled Lance out of his stupor, which was spiraling down faster than expected. The return to reality was a slap, but Keith's confusion written all over his face- slight bend of eyebrows, uncertain eyes, a pretty, pretty pout- was a cooling touch. He's so pretty, and so cute, and he doesn’t know how to make whipped cream?

“You- you don’t know how to make whipped cream?”

Keith scowls. “I got what Pidge was doing, but- I don’t know how to make the…” he gestures upward a few times. Ah, the peaks. Lance is so charmed by Keith's attempt at a defensive glower that fell very, very short and his embarrassed flush. How could he do anything besides fall to his beck and call?

“Here,” Lance says, coming over to Keith with his own bowl. He didn’t catch how Hunk had started towards him, halting with bug eyes once Lance volunteered his help instead. Lance guides Keith through the process, attentive to him even despite how simple the work. The closeness was dangerously easy to get distracted by, and Keith's face scrunched in concentration, maybe still a bit embarrassed but focused. All Lance wants to do is lift his hand and smooth out his brow and hold his jaw; any excuse to place even the simplest touches.

“Uh, Keith,” Lance leans over, “you’re missing this part- here, yea, scrape it with the whisk.” The whisk makes a faint screech against the bowl.

“That sounds horrible.” Keith scrunches his face in disdain. “How could you stand doing this?”

A quip is on Lance's tongue when Hunk steps in.

“Okay okay, stop guys, I'll take it from here.” Hunk looks bewildered as he takes the two bowls from their hands. “I don’t know what's going on here, but you guys are taking too long, and I need to get started on the piping now. Between finishing these two batches, adding color, and into the piping bags, these cookies are never getting done.”

“Hey! We were helping with that!”

“Yea, thanks guys, but” said in a very Hunk way, “I still need double this amount before the cookies are done cooling so they can melt into it a little.”

“I… doubt you could do that in time.”

“Well, I think I can!” Hunk haughty snaps back. 

“Fine!” Lance grabs Keith's arm, “we’ll go against you! Keith and Lance! Finishing the whipping cream first!”

Keith keeps looking at Lance. He knows because he’s practically resigned to the truth that he’s going to notice anything Keith does. There's no going away from it.

“Hey, that's not fair!” Hunk cries, “That's two against one!”

“Buddy, you’re basically a renowned chef in this castle. And weren’t you just complaining that we were taking too long?”

Hunk ignores Lance's point. “Keith, c'mon man, help me.“

Keith glances to Lance, and only hesitates a beat before smirking and leaning further to Lance, rippling heat through each point of contact along their torsos- and Lance is totally calm - “hmm… thanks, Hunk, but I think you’ll be fine. I’ll stick with Lance on this one.”

Sparks run along Lance’s skin. And, he doesn’t want to read too much into anything, but- Keith wanted to work with Lance.

“Ha! Take that, Hunk!”

Jesus. A competition like this shouldn’t be affecting Lance as much as it is. This is ridiculous. And… fun.

In the span of thirty minutes, the competition descended to madness. Now there's whipped cream in Hunk’s hair, Lance’s hands are sticky and there's loose sugar flying down. The gingerbread cookies are far past the cooled-temperature Hunk wanted them at, but they’re all too happy to pay attention. The force of laughter has Lance doubling over to clutch his chest, side splits running up and Lance hasn’t laughed this hard at anything in space. It feels like breathing, like flying, like... being the first choice.

And Keith, his eyes are kind, his smile is genuine and his joy radianent- even with dust on his nose- and he directs it to Lance with a smile, and he suddenly thinks…

Keith places a hand on his shoulder, with a beautiful voice, and says “good job, Lance.”

Maybe, just maybe, he is good enough.