Chapter Text
Lance has always been an impatient child. So when the words ‘You're under arrest’ first showed up on his wrist on his fourteenth birthday, he did everything in his power to facilitate his first meeting with his soulmate as fast as he could - namely, he became a delinquent.
Never for anything serious, of course. He just grew more flippant about where he smoked weed, wandered off when intoxicated, maybe conducted a little more disorderly from time to time. But if it got him any closer to meeting The One, it was worth it.
Because of this, his teenage years were filled with the click of handcuffs straining his arms behind his back and rough hands slamming his money maker against the hood of a car, and like clockwork he'd hear those fated words hovering above his head, to which Lance would shift around until he could manage to murmur out with half his face mashed against the hard surface:
“At least buy me a drink first.”
Great first words, he thought. Easy to recognize, and with the help of that mysterious magnetic pull every soulmate seemed to feel within the other's vicinity, Lance eagerly awaited for the day a police officer paused reciting his rights and asked for his name before riding off with him into the sunset.
But when this went on for several years and he never got any closer to meeting them, it had a visible effect on his mood. He began to mope.
And his friends, bless them, decided to try cheering him up by taking him out for the night.
Which was how Lance found himself at a strip club, draping his head across the table he shared with Hunk and Pidge. He barely paid attention to his surroundings, save for whenever someone placed a beer by his side.
“Sorry guys. ‘M just not feelin’ it tonight,” he mumbled, cheek squished against the table and puckering his lips out. The position gave him a funny sense of deja vu.
“Will you quit being such a drama queen already,” Pidge groused from above the rim of her glass.
“Mmmmm nooooo.”
He felt a large hand pat him on the back, courtesy of Hunk. “C’mon, dude. Are you sure you didn't already meet them and it just hadn't clicked yet?”
“I would have known,” Lance moaned. At least, he hoped he would have. He'd read all sorts of books and articles over the years that described the feeling of two soulmates meeting. He liked to think he knew what to look out for.
“I still don't see why you'd even want one of them anyway,” Pidge said, frowning. “They treat you awfully rough just for your dumb minor offenses.”
“That won't matter when it comes to my soulmate!” Lance argued. “It's destiny, man. They'll be worth all the roughing up, I just know it. Besides,” he shrugged, “I may or may have not garnered a reputation in the precinct anyway.”
“Alright, well,” Hunk said, pausing to catch the attention of a passing waitstaff and speaking quietly to their ear, before turning back to the table. “Time to turn that frown upside down, ‘cause I just bought you a lap dance.”
Lance sat up straight immediately. “Wait what--”
A hand grasped the back of his chair and abruptly spun him around. Lance's head swam from the whiplash, then his eyes widened at the sight that greeted him.
A scantily dressed male dancer suddenly invaded his personal space, dark hair falling over half-lidded eyes and pink tongue running over his lips as the man gave Lance a once over. Something hooked itself behind Lance’s chest and tugged harshly, making his heart leap and catch his breath.
The stripper wore a vaguely familiar outfit, only much more obscenely tight and revealing than what Lance was used to. As the man threw a leg over his seat and straddled him, it finally dawned on Lance what he was supposed to be: a slutty cop.
The revelation gave him only about two seconds of preparation before the man finally spoke, leaning in with a seductive glint in his eye.
“You're under arrest,” he purred.
Lance’s jaw dropped.
Oh.
Ohhhhh.
That weird hook in chest feeling, yup, that would be the magnetic pull he'd read about so much. Lance gaped dumbly, brain short-circuiting as he processed the situation.
Then he blurted out: “I have a criminal record because of this?!” before he had the chance to collect himself and remember his well practiced pick-up line.
Not that it appeared to matter, because at those words the man froze as well, eyes widening in recognition. Tight leather cuffs concealed his wrists, but Lance could probably make a good guess as to what was written on them.
Well, it wouldn't be the first time Lance has had to reevaluate every action he made in his life because of the words on his own wrist.
For several seconds they stared at each other dumbly, Lance with his lap full of stripper and his friends absolutely losing their shit across the table.
“Oh my god.” Pidge wiped a tear from her eye. “I can't believe it, this is perfect. Hunk, did you plan this?!”
Hunk, struggling to breathe around his wheezing, shook his head.
Lance did his best to ignore them. Glancing back up at the man, he attempted a shrug and flirtatious smile, though it turned out more sheepish. “So, uh. Hey. Name’s Lance.”
The man returned his smile with a quip to his lips and oh, Lance could get used to that expression.
“Keith.”