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Lance smiles when he kisses.
Keith hates it.
“Do you have to do that?”
“Hmm?”
Keith angles his neck to accommodate Lance’s messy kisses. “Smile.” There aren’t a lot of opportunities to sneak away, and Keith doesn’t like wasting them trying to get Lance to stop smiling and fucking kiss him.
“Not everyone’s as grumpy as you.”
Keith rolls his eyes, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m not grumpy.”
“You’re right, Keith, you’re outright miserable.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re really annoying?”
Lance grins against Keith’s jaw. “Not while I was pushing them up against a wall.”
“If you leave a mark on my neck I’ll kill you,” is all he says.
Keith makes this noise.
It’s an exasperated noise that comes from the back of his throat, and it seems to come whenever Lance suggests something. And, okay, maybe disguising themselves as trees to spy on the enemy wasn’t his best plan, but no one else was suggesting anything.
“Do you have to do that?”
“What?”
“That noise.”
Keith looks genuinely confused. “What noise?”
“The bad-idea-Lance noise,” Pidge fills in.
“Oh,” Keith says. “I guess Lance has so many bad ideas I didn’t even notice I was doing it anymore.”
“No one else is coming up with ideas!”
“‘Pretend to be a tree’ is not an idea.”
“Yes it is, just because it’s not a good idea doesn’t mean it’s not an idea.”
“So you admit it’s a bad idea?”
“Enough.” Shiro’s voice cuts off whatever Lance had been about to say. Both he and Keith shut up, although they keep glaring at each other. Lance aims a kick under the table, and Keith kicks him back. Shiro’s glare tells them they’re being obvious, so the kicking subsides, although Lance does stick his tongue out at Keith behind Shiro’s back.
“It was a stupid idea,” he says later in Lance’s room. Lance flings his shirt across the room.
“It was still better than anything you came up with. Because you came up with nothing. Something is better than nothing.”
“Yes, I get it.”
Lance kisses him, then.
Neither of them are very good at this.
“Have I ever mentioned that you have stupid hair?”
Keith lets out a snort. “Stop playing with it then.”
Lance chooses not to hear that, continuing to run his fingers through Keith’s hair. “We’ve made it to space, Keith. Look at how much humanity has advanced. And you still have a mullet.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my hair.”
“Coran lived 10,000 years ago and he doesn’t even have a mullet. That’s how outdated your hair is.” He yanks lightly on it. Keith hisses.
“Watch it.”
Lance does it again, yanking Keith’s head to the side so he can move in and press kisses to his neck. “You have a neck fetish,” he growls out.
“You like it,” Lance says. Keith can’t exactly deny this. His fingers seek out Lance’s shirt and he grips it tightly. With his other hand he runs his fingers through Lance’s own hair.
“Your hair isn’t much better.”
“It’s still not a mullet.” Lance nips gently at his jaw, hand still tugging lightly on his hair. Keith barely suppresses a groan. “Although,” Lance continues, moving at far too leisurely a pace for Keith’s liking. “It is good for something.” He yanks it again, moving Keith’s head so he can attack the other side of his neck.
“You talk too much.”
Lance, for once, listens and shuts up.
Lance is so loud. This would have been annoying for Keith in normal circumstances, but when they’re trying to hide this, whatever this may be, from the rest of the ship, it’s a downright problem.
“Lance,” he mutters against his skin. “Shut up.”
Unsurprisingly, Lance doesn’t listen. Keith doesn’t know what he expected. Lance was loud in everything he did; this shouldn’t be any different.
“Do you want the ship to hear us?”
Lance lets out a noise of protest when Keith moves up from where he was perched between his legs to look him in the eye. “I’m serious. Do you want everyone else to know what we’re doing?”
“Keith –”
“Because they’re going to if you don’t shut up!”
Lance lets out a frustrated noise and sits up on his elbows. “Why can’t you just let yourself have fun for once? Will it kill you?” Keith rolls his eyes and moves off of Lance, who, like always, just doesn’t stop. “That was a serious question. Are you allergic to fun?”
Keith lies down and throws an arm over his face. “I really hate you sometimes.”
Lance seems to consider this. “Maybe you’re just not loud enough.”
“I really don’t think that’s the problem.”
Lance rolls onto his side and flings an arm over Keith’s stomach. “Have you ever had fun in your life?”
“Do you want everyone to know? That’s a serious question,” he adds at Lance’s noise of exasperation.
“No,” Lance admits. “I just –” He stops abruptly.
“You just what?” He is surprised when Lance refuses to meet his eyes. “You just what?”
“You’re good at this!” He says, sounding annoyed but still refusing to meet Keith’s eyes. Keith can see a blush spreading down his body and has a sudden desire to follow it with his mouth.
“I’m what?” He says. Despite everything, Lance’s compliment makes him feel good.
“I’m not saying it again,” Lance says petulantly. “This is where you’re supposed to tell me that I’m good, too.”
Keith debates this. “Eh.”
Lance sputters. “Keith!”
“What?”
“I am just as good as you!”
Keith rolls his eyes. “Not everything has to be a competition.”
“Admit that I’m good in bed.”
“You’re being an idiot.”
“Admit it!”
Keith just raises his eyebrows. Lance is good, but Keith really likes teasing him. Lance looks like he’s going to yell again, but then a very dangerous look spreads across his face.
Keith doesn’t trust that look.
“Fine,” he says. “I guess I’ll just have to prove it.”
Any retort Keith had is quickly lost.
Keith leaves marks. And, like, don’t get him wrong, part of him loves it, but most of him hates it, because Keith does it on purpose.
“If you’re that cold, we can adjust the castle temperature,” Coran says. Lance pulls his sweater up higher and casts a glare at Keith, who is smirking down at his plate.
“No, I’m fine,” Lance mutters. “I just like this sweater.”
“It is a little cold,” Hunk says. Pidge looks up excitedly.
“Coran, how does the castle regulate temperature? Is it through ventilation or is it controlled by something else?”
“Pidge, no one normal ever gets this excited about air conditioning.”
Pidge ignores this.
“I can show you if you’d like,” Coran says. “You can see how it works and we can warm up the castle for Lance here.”
“Gee, thanks,” Lance says, although no one is paying any attention to him. Pidge stands up and follows Coran eagerly, babbling on about who the hell knew what.
In about twenty minutes, Lance was about ready to melt.
“You could just take the jacket off,” Keith says as he swings at Lance with his sword. Sure, training when he was this overheated was probably a bad idea, but he really, really wanted to hit Keith right now.
Lance lunges at him. Keith was, without a doubt, better at this than he was, but it was making Lance feel better. Kind of.
“You’re going to get heat exhaustion, Lance,” Keith says, stepping out of the way. He pushes his hair out of his face.
“Well what do you want me to do?” Lance grounds out. “This whole thing is your fault!” He shoves the neck of his jacket to the side to show Keith the bruise he had sucked into Lance’s skin last night. Keith looks annoyingly proud of himself. He reaches out and taps the hickey with a long finger.
Then he elbows Lance lightly in the neck.
“Ow! What the –”
“There. Now it’s a bruise from training.”
“What kind of flimsy excuse is that?”
“What do you think they’re more likely to believe? That I beat you in a fight or that I gave you a hickey?”
“Good point,” Lance says. “You didn’t have to actually hit me though.”
“It was hard to resist,” Keith says dryly.
“I hate you,” Lance mutters.
Lance snores.
It is pushing it, spending the night in the other’s room, but the longer they have been away from home the more they seem to need it. If they leave early enough, no one is the wiser.
But God, Lance is literally loud in everything he does, even sleeping. If Keith doesn’t fall asleep before him, he’s basically doomed to lie in bed and try and block out the noise.
“Lance,” he whispers, nudging him. “Lance.”
Lance wakes up with a groan and rolls onto his side facing Keith, eyes still closed. “What.”
“You’re snoring.”
Lance is already asleep again. Keith kicks him in the shin. “Lance!”
“What?”
“You’re snoring.”
Lance finally opens his eyes and gazes blearily at Keith. “I can’t control if I snore or not.”
“I can’t sleep when you’re so fucking loud.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to shut up.” To be fair, Keith has wanted Lance to shut up since the day he met him, but now that desire is doubled.
“I want a lot of things, Keith,” Lance mumbles, eyes closing again and an arm coming up to drape across Keith’s chest.
“Have you ever been quiet in your life?” Keith asks, but his hand comes up to rub absentmindedly over Lance’s arm.
“I got laryngitis in fourth grade.”
“I wish I could have seen that.”
“Aw, Keith, you wish you had known me longer? How romantic.”
“You are so fucking annoying,” Keith mutters. “And you’re too loud.”
Lance plants a sloppy kiss on Keith’s face. “If you hate sleeping with me this much, then go to your own room.”
Keith doesn’t answer this, because Keith doesn’t want that, and despite his words Lance’s fingers fist in the fabric of Keith’s shirt, holding him there.
Keith eventually falls asleep with Lance curled into his side, loud as always.
Lance uses pet names. And there is nothing Keith hates more than Lance calling him babe in private.
Okay, well, there are probably things he hates more, like the homicidal maniac holding the galaxy hostage and threatening to destroy his home planet, but Lance calling him dear is certainly up there.
“Do you have to do that?”
“Do what?”
“Call me that.”
“Call you what?”
“Babe.”
“Yes, dear?” Lance grins widely, and Keith realizes he was set up. He rolls his eyes. Sometimes he really fucking hates the idiot.
“Why do you have to call me anything?”
“I think hey you might get old eventually, darling.”
“Lance –”
“Yes honey?”
“Has anyone ever told you how annoying you are?”
“Not after sucking me off.”
Keith refuses to break eye contact, because he knows Lance said that just to get a reaction out of him.
“Why can’t you just call me by my name?”
“Does being a buzzkill ever get boring to you?”
“Not really,” Keith says with a small smile. Lance grins at him; Keith giving him a genuine smile seems to be Lance’s kryptonite.
“You’re lucky you’re cute, sugar pie honey bunch.”
Keith just groans.
Here’s what Lance hates the most about Keith – how hard it is to love him.
He tries, he does, but Keith makes it so difficult. Lance will press kisses into his skin, whisper sappy things in Spanish so Keith can’t understand, falls asleep as often as he can curled into Keith’s side, holds his hand under the table. They never talk about what this is, but Lance so often wants to. Keith is his rival in everything he does and he fights so hard to be better than him but he is also something else, something Lance doesn’t really understand. Keith has worked his way into Lance’s life, whether Lance liked it or not, and he doesn’t truly know what it is, but he knows that he wants him there.
And sometimes he thinks that maybe Keith is where he is, too, at night when the lights are off and they are alone and Keith is sucking marks into his skin, hands warm on Lance’s body. Keith doesn’t talk much, and he doesn’t make a lot of noise, not like Lance, so Lance revels in every hitch of Keith’s breath, every stutter, every break in control that shows that what Lance is doing is wrecking him, even if he tries his hardest not to act like it. There are times when a moan will escape Keith’s lips and it sends Lance almost insane.
There are times when Keith pushes him down and draws him out, smirking into his skin as Lance pleads, and he kisses Lance as he unravels, and it is almost tender, in a way he never though Keith could be. And he thinks, maybe, maybe Keith is feeling whatever the hell it is Lance is feeling, when he wraps an arm around him and clings to him in the darkness. When he gives him a genuine smile. When he holds Lance’s hand under the table, even for just a second, a squeeze to show Lance he’s being cautious, not cold.
But God, Keith is so secretive, so closed off, and for every wall that Lance breaks down another one is up to replace it, and Lance is there, getting nowhere. For every time Keith falls asleep beside him, there is another when he pushes him off and leaves.
For every smile, there is a glare. Lance says that he hates him, but the truth is far more complicated; he wants, more than anything, to hate him, to go back to that simpler time when Keith was an asshole rival and nothing else. He wants to be able to go to sleep without thinking about him.
This will never be simple because Keith will never be simple, and sometimes Lance craves a relationship that is actually a relationship, but then Keith will smile and kiss him softly and Lance is lost.
Here’s what Keith hates the most about Lance – how easy it is to love him.
Keith has never trusted anyone, because it’s dangerous, to trust, and Keith has too many issues and secrets to let in every person he met. Even now, with Voltron, he fights to keep his control, because he so hates feeling out of control. He trains and he fights and he keeps everyone at arm’s length because it is safer. It is easier. Keith is not a people person.
Lance is a people person. Lance is everything Keith has never been and has never wanted to be, loud and flirtatious and open and trusting; he grins widely and laughs loudly and smiles when he kisses.
Keith hates him.
Keith thinks he might love him.
But Keith is not an idiot, and he knows that whatever this is, it’s a matter of convenience. Lance is here, in Keith’s bed, mouth wrapped around him, because there is not a lot of competition. Hunk is Lance’s best friend, Pidge is practically his sister, Shiro is the leader, the hero, not someone who you would just take to bed, and God knows Allura barely gives him the time of day. Lance is here because Keith is the only option, but eventually they will be home, and Lance will be a hero, and he will forget about Keith, because he will not need him anymore.
But for now Keith takes what he gets. He treasures every kiss, every smirk, every laugh loud in his ear, every stupid snore and every time Lance calls him some stupid name, because there is a very firm end date to whatever this is, and even though he doesn’t know what day, exactly, he knows it will be the minute they land on earth and Lance can find someone who treats him better than Keith ever could. And he tries to keep Lance at an arm’s distance, tries to keep his walls up, but Lance makes it so difficult.
Lance wears his heart on his sleeve. He whispers in Keith’s ear in what he thinks is Spanish, and though he doesn’t understand the words, the tone Lance says it in causes warmth to spread through him. Lance drags him down a hallway and kisses him recklessly, laughs into his mouth. He holds his hand under the table, climbs on top of him and breaks down every wall Keith has ever built with warm hands and soft kissing. He breaks down walls and Keith barely has time to put them back up again, and eventually he will fall behind.
He wakes up beside him, and Lance takes up most of the bed, but Keith can’t bring himself to hate him for it. Lance makes it so easy to hate him but he makes it so easy to love him, too, and Keith hates him for it, hates him for every smile and every kiss and every time he comes with Keith’s name falling from his lips.
And Keith is gone.
“I don’t actually hate you, you know.”
Keith rolls his eyes. “I know, idiot.”
“What makes you so sure?”
Keith gives him a look. They are lying beside each other on the bed; Keith is on his back, Lance on his side facing him.
“We make out an awful lot for someone who claims to hate me.”
“Maybe I hate all of you except your lips,” Lance says with a grin. Keith considers this, and then he makes a decision.
“All right,” he says, sitting up and moving Lance so he is hovering over his body. He is careful not to touch him. “Just my lips,” he says, kissing him gently, teasingly. Lance tries to arch up into him but Keith moves away from him, and when Lance tries to deepen the kiss, Keith pulls away. “Those are not my lips,” he says, and Lance lets out a frustrated groan.
“Asshole,” he says, and Keith can’t help but smile, because there is undeniable affection in Lance’s tone, and it causes something complicated to happen in his stomach. “Fine, you ass, maybe I like other parts of you, too.”
“Like?”
Lance flips them over easily, catching Keith by surprise.
“I like your hips,” he says, running his hands over them. “I like the way you bite your lip to stop yourself from moaning. I like the way you say my name when you come.” He says these words directly in Keith’s ear, a secret between them, and it makes him shudder. “I like when you do that,” Lance says, humour in his voice. Keith arches his hips up to try and gain some friction with Lance, who is tugging lightly at his ear.
I don’t hate you, either. Keith wants to say it, but every time he tries the words gets stuck in his throat. So instead he just kisses Lance hard, biting at his lip, trying to tell him in other ways, to write words on Lance’s skin with his lips. Lance kisses back just as hard.
They are both speaking a language that the other doesn’t understand, unable to recognize that the meaning is the same.
After, Lance curls around Keith’s back, hand drawing circles on Keith’s stomach, and he feels himself falling asleep, even though he knows, as he always does, that he shouldn’t, that he should leave. But the bed is too comfortable, and Lance is breathing on the back of his neck, nose buried in his hair.
“Hey Keith?” He says sleepily. Keith grunts to show he’s listening. “Have I ever told you how much I hate your hair?”
“Shut up, Lance,” he says, and Lance, for once, listens, arm tight around him, and when he starts to snore, Keith doesn’t even complain.