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Lance found himself wandering the castle ship, as he often did. He knew where everyone else would be— They all had their places. Always the same spots. Hunk would be in the kitchen, cooking or eating something yummy. Pidge would be in her room, working on something I’ll never understand, and Coran and Allura would be controlling the ship. Shiro would probably be with them, planning, discussing, and doing other leader-y stuff.
And Keith would be training. Alone. As always. It sounded so edgy. And honestly, it sounded like the last place Lance wanted to go. Normally, he wouldn't even consider it. He would have gone and worked out anywhere else, or taken a nap, or gone with Hunk.
But this time, something was poking at the back of his mind. During the last battle, he'd been forced into hand-to-hand combat. It had not gone well. He was too used to hanging back and picking off enemies with his long-range bayard. He had been aware of the problem for a while, but he had been relying on the fact that he wasn't usually forced into close range. Not a sustainable strategy, but the alternative was training with a partner or the training robot that was almost always occupied.
Lance sighed. If he wanted to carry his own slack, he would have to bite the bullet and go train with Keith. Maybe he would get lucky, and the other man wouldn't be there.
He made it to the training deck. He was not lucky. He saw Keith through the window, and something made him pause. He was up against the training robot, each strike with his blade smooth and calculated. He had an air of confidence, ease, and his signature sheer force of will, emphasized by his signature black t-shirt.
Lance watched Keith deliver the "fatal blow," ending the simulation and causing the robot to sink back into the floor. Now or never. He steeled himself and opened the door, just as a noticably sweaty Keith was pulling the shirt off over his head. Lance froze awkwardly.
Oops. He thought. And then, Damn, where does he keep all those muscles?
The two made eye contact as Keith tossed the shirt to the side, and suddenly, he was frozen too, eyes wide in shock.
“What are you doing here?” He asks, shock sinking into a familiar scowl.
“Good to see you too. I was just going to ask if I could join you,” Lance replied.
“You mean like… one on one?” He lifts an eyebrow, then shrugs. "I guess."
Don't agree so easily!
"I just want to practice. You know, extra training. Because that's what paladins do."
"…Right. Well, you do need it." Keith raised his bayard. That was more like it.
"You're on," Lance challenged. His bayard took the unfamiliar form of a sword.
Keith did not wait for Lance to be ready, lunging at him as soon as he stepped onto the floor. He was quick, almost too quick, and Lance found himself doing everything in his power just to keep blocking his blows.
Eventually, Keith managed to land a strong hit at the base of Lance's sword, sending it clattering across the floor. In a fluid motion, he brought the blade back up to point at Lance's chest, signaling his victory. Lance raised his hands and stepped back.
"You got lucky that time," he insisted.
"If I were a Galra soldier, you'd be dead."
So serious.
Lance sighed, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and picked his weapon back up from the floor. The two of them went at it again, and then a third time, each time with the same outcome, until Lance became frustrated with the cycle and, instead of retrieving his weapon, he fell back against the wall to rest.
Keith, clearly annoyed, crossed his arms but said nothing.
"What?" Lance asked anyway.
"Nothing."
"Nuh uh. You have a pouty face." He pointed at Keith as if he'd somehow be able to see it.
"I do not have a pouty face," Keith retorted. "You have a stupid face."
"At least you can see my face behind my bangs," Lance replied with an eye roll. "You'd probably scare people away with yours."
"Whatever. Real battles don't have breaks. C'mon." Keith lifted his weapon again.
"Ugh," Lance grunted. The thought of continuing was more than he could bear, but one look at Keith's face told Lance that stopping would not be an option right now.
With a sigh, he pulled off his own sweat-soaked shirt. He felt exposed and more than a little self-conscious, but the freedom of movement and cool air on his skin gave him a small burst of energy.
He picked up his bayard and returned to his battle stance. This time, Lance lunged first. Keith parried easily, putting Lance back on the defensive, but the blue paladin was determined not to get stuck that way this time. He made an ambitious thrust, which was dodged. Keith's response was a swing from the left. Lance, acting on pure instinct, stepped back and brought his weapon straight down— which knocked Keith's weapon out of his hand, but also caused Lance to drop his.
Lance's eyes widened, and for a moment, he couldn't quite process what had happened. Keith, however, had already brought his fists up in front of his chest.
"Whoa—" Lance was cut off by Keith's first swing, which he luckily managed to dodge. "You're insane," he muttered, quickly forcing his mind back into the situation at hand.
Their bodies were suddenly much closer, and Lance was uncomfortably aware of this as he did his best to keep from being thrown off-balance. His height was just about the only advantage he had, and it was not enough.
Lance was able to catch Keith's fists, only for the force of the attack to send him slamming back into the wall. Thankfully, the wall was covered with soft mats, just like the floor, but it still forced the air out of his lungs. The only thought in his head was I can't lose now.
Keith tried to pull his hands back, but Lance refused to let him. He sensed Keith take a sharp breath in, and then suddenly the two of them were fighting for control, shoving each other along the wall and back out into the middle.
With an abrupt burst of force, Keith went from pulling away to pushing, sending Lance and himself tumbling to the floor. Keith managed to catch himself, propping his body above Lance's with his forearms. Their faces were so close that Keith's bangs were just barely brushing against Lance's nose, and he could see the sweat beading along his hairline.
They were both breathing heavily, and Keith, for once, seemed too exhausted to continue.
"You tripped," Lance managed between gasps, forcing a smirk onto his face.
"So did you," Keith responded.
"But I disarmed you."
"Yeah, and yourself."
Lance couldn't think of a witty remark. Keith's face was strangely soft, and it was distracting him.
Maybe he finally worked out all that anger, Lance thought to himself. But there was something else in his dark eyes. Something foreign, that didn't quite belong on his face, that Lance couldn't identify. It was something almost… hesitant? It was as if he were trying to decide whether or not to do something.
With a start, Lance noticed that Keith's eyes were wandering, taking in the sight of him sprawled out on the ground. He felt his cheeks get warm.
Shit. Was Keith thinking of making a move?
The thought should've made Lance shove the other man away, but he didn't. He took in Keith's flushed cheeks and toned shoulders, letting his mind fall back into the instinctive state it had been in during the spar.
When Keith's eyes finally met Lance's again, he could read the question in them as if he'd asked it out loud. Lance answered by grabbing Keith's upper arms and pulling him down onto him.
His lips were soft. Lance ran his hands up Keith's back and tangled them into his hair, wrapping his leg around his to force his hips lower. Keith responded by pushing his face against Lance's like he needed it to breathe.
When Keith finally pulled himself off of Lance, they were both somehow even more red-faced than when they had started.
"Lance, I—" Keith panted. "You— Sorry."
"Sorry?" Lance asked. "That was great." He was reeling.
The corners of Keith's mouth twitched upwards.
"Really?" He asked, his voice strikingly soft in a way that made Lance's chest surge with emotion.
"Yes," He said, before grabbing Keith's shoulders and pulling him back down.