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llllllllluuuu · 9 months

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“I know, buddy, I know.” Keith scratches behind his big dumb dog’s ears, pressing a million kisses to his forehead because he’s got Black to himself for the next day and there’s no one (Shiro) to clown him for it. Kosmo barks excitedly, wagging his floofy tail so fast it beats against the dashboard and system controls. Keith laughs, moving his scratching fingers down the wolf’s head and neck and to his back, where he likes to be scratched best.

“I know you’re hyper, huh?” he coos, blowing a raspberry. “But that’s what you get. You know you always get too excited when you hang out with Lance. You should have stayed with me.”

At the mention of the Red Paladin’s name, Kosmo starts howling, bounding out from Keith’s lap and tumbling to the floor, nails clacking against the metal as he flips around Black’s cockpit.

Keith huffs. “You raise a wolf from a pup, showering him in treats and affection, and you still fall second best to the first guy he meets who teaches him to fetch. Figures.”

It’s ridiculous, is what it is. Two straight years together on the space whale, but Kosmo lays eyes on Lance for one measly second and falls in love. He’s genuinely obsessed with the guy, and it doesn’t help that Lance is unbelievably smug about it, indulging Kosmo’s every whim and burst of affection just to grate on Keith. He has on twelve seperate occasions radioed the Black Lion to talk to Kosmo only, completely ignoring Keith.

“I can’t blame ya,” Keith says quietly. His voice is still a little teasing, still a little exasperated, but even he can hear the gooey fondness in it. “Lance is just that good, huh?”

Kosmo barks again, loud and fast, then flashes as he blips out of existence then back into existence right on Keith’s lap. Keith chokes as 200 pounds of floof is suddenly deposited on his person, but recovers quickly. (Kosmo will never remember that he is no longer a little puppy. Keith is just going to have to get used to having his lungs crushed.)

He starts to stroke Kosmo’s fur again, gently this time, calming him down.

“I should say something,” he says, more to himself than to his dog. “Ugh. I mean, it’s Lance, right? He’s my best friend. He’ll most definitely tease me, but he won’t, like, mock me or anything. He’s good like that. He knows exactly when to be serious, like during that last gala thing we had when we landed on a planet a while back. He just knew I was feeling off, just like that.”

Keith buried his face in Kosmo’s fur, hiding his smile. “He’s just…everything, you know? I’m always thinking about him. I have been for years. Hell, I talked about him so much on that stupid whale that you recognised him before you even met him, buddy. That’s objectively bonkers. But I can’t…” He sighs, leaning back in the pilot seat and staring unseeingly through the windshield. A red dot flashes gently at the bottom corner, but he pays it no mind.

“He’s sweet when no one’s looking. And even when people are looking, sometimes. And I’ll die before I even imply it in his direction, but he’s funny, too. And his fucking brain, dear God, that man could outwit anyone if he was under enough pressure. He saved our asses more than once when we were stumbling our way through this co-leading thing in the beginning. And anyone with eyes can tell that he’s hot.” Keith’s ears burn a little, thinking of the Coalition videos. “Seriously hot. And…leggy.”

He cracks up, embarrassed giggles bubbling up his throat. His next words are muffled by the hand he has pressed to his face. “God, I want him to fuck me up.”

Kosmo raises his head from where it was resting on Keith’s knee, staring at him in what Keith can only assume is judgment.

“Shut up,” Keith says hotly. “You once farted so loud you scared yourself and cried for ten minutes. You don’t get to judge me about being embarrassing.”

Keith is losing it. He is defending his character to a dog. He groans loudly, dragging his hand down his face.

“I should tell him, shouldn’t I,” he mutters. “Just — come out with it. ‘Leandro Esposita-McClain, I am in love with you.’ Straight to the point. Rip off the band-aid.”

Kosmo yips quietly. Keith snorts.

“Yeah, you’re right. That’s crazy. He’s my friend, I don’t want to ruin things. I’ll just suffer in silence the next time he looks at me and the fuckin’ sun bleeds into his eyes and makes them look like golden honey or whatever. Jesus.” He reaches for his book and props it open, muttering to himself. “It’s always the fuckin’ pretty ones that get me, huh?”

Kosmo barks loudly in what can only be agreement, and Keith scoffs, flicking him on the shout. “Yeah, yeah, you lug. Bug off with the teasing and let me read in peace, alright? I’ll tell him someday. He doesn’t need to know now.”

(A beep echoes through the Red Lion’s cockpit as her paladin slams on the ‘call end’ button, eyes wide and chest heaving, having listened curiously when he’d been radioed out of nowhere mid-conversation between the Bladk Paladin and his dog. And then listened in shock as the Black Paladin had brought up him. Brought up being in love with him, with his heart and his eyes and his legs, apparently.

Red blooms on his cheeks.)

———

based on this post by @petricorah

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llllllllluuuu · 9 months

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“Well, that’s upsetting.”

Keith rubs his eyes in the vain hope that when he opens them again, the scene in front of him will change.

No luck.

Still a pile of ashes.

“So when you said you made reservations at the fanciest restaurant in town way in advance…” Lance starts.

“I did so before the building burnt to the ground, yes.”

Lance’s mouth twitches. “And you didn’t, like, call to confirm, or anything.”

“I didn’t think I had to! There was — in what world could I have predicted this?! It’s not like anyone did a news report on it!”

Lance says nothing for a second, tapping away at his phone. Keith turns his attention back to grand scene of disappointment in front of him, wondering if he can maybe get his deposit back.

Probably not.

“Says here it was burnt down two weeks ago by three former employees who were fired for attempting to form a union,” Lance says, flipping his phone over to show Keith the screen. “If that makes you feel better.”

Keith glances at the article. “…It does, actually. Good for them.”

Lance laughs, tucking his phone away and then leaning over to press a kiss to Keith’s cheek. He grabs their hands, twining them together and carefully pulling them away from the ruins of the restaurant. “It’s okay, babe. I appreciate the gesture. Let’s head to my apartment and watch movies; Hunk’s gone till late so we can bang on the couch if you want.”

“What?” Keith protests. “No!”

Lance pauses, frowning. “You love banging on the couch.”

“No, not that.” He squeezes their hands together so Lance doesn’t get the wrong idea. “That’s great. I just mean…I feel like we always just chill in your apartment. It’s great, and there’s no one I’d rather hang out with than you, but I wanted to do something. I had plans. I wanted to treat you.”

A close lipped smile appears on Lance’s face; small, like he’s trying to contain it, making his nose scrunch adorably. He glances down at his sneakers, kicking slightly at the concrete, and his ears are delightfully red. He looks embarrassed and pleased — maybe Keith’s favourite expression on him.

“Alright,” Lance says eventually. He squeezes back. “Let’s go somewhere. Got any other fancy-schmancy places that aren’t burned down? We’re dressed for it, at least.”

Keith frowns, trying to think. It’s true that they’re both decently dressed up — Keith is wearing the slacks that make his ass look fat as hell and Lance is wearing his least scruffy converse — but Keith genuinely can’t think of a single fancy place that will let them in on such short notice on a Friday evening. The best place he can think of is the particularly well-maintained Dairy Queen on the other end of town, and that won’t cut it. Not that Lance would mind (he likes to be treated but has made it abundantly clear that he just likes spending time with Keith), but they’ve just done that before. Keith wants to do something special.

He brightens as the idea dawns on him. It’s no high-dining, but he knows Lance will like it.

“C’mon. Get in the car, I’ve got an idea.”

Lance grins. “Aye-aye.”

He lets Keith open the door for him, although he does roll his eyes (Keith knows his goober romantic ass is preening on the inside), and messes up Keith’s pre-set radio stations the second he has his seatbelt on.

“You could just plug in the aux, you know,” Keith grumbles as he carefully pulls onto the street.

Lance waves a dismissive hand. “The music is more enjoyable when I know I’m inconveniencing you later.”

“You’re such a brat.”

“You’re so in love with me that it’s embarrassing for you.”

Keith sticks out his tongue, but doesn’t argue, because he can’t. Instead he reaches over and grabs one of Lance’s hands again, listening idly as Lance hums along to the radio.

Twenty minutes later, Keith pulls into a massive parking lot, stopping a couple spots away from a silver minivan.

“Costco?” Lance questions, looking out the window like if he stares hard enough the building in front of him will change. “Why are we at —”

“Be right back,” Keith interrupts, leaning over and pecking his boyfriend on the lips. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Lance trails off, confused.

Keith dashes off without a backwards glance, ducking in through the exit doors so he doesn’t get asked for a membership card.

Twenty minutes later, he rushes back out of the building, getting to his car as quickly as he can. He taps the passenger door gently with his foot, hands full, making Lance jump.

“We you trying to hotwire my car again?” he asks as soon as he opens the door.

Lance shrugs unapologetically. “You took too long. I got bored.” He squints at Keith’s bounty. “Did you buy…six hot dogs?”

“And two drinks!“

Lance’s brows crease, torn between amused and exasperated. “That’s nearly a pound of hot dog meat each.”

“Yup.”

“We’re both gonna fuck up a bathroom tonight.”

“Most likely.”

“Those things cost less than a dollar. They’re probably made of possum.”

“And they’re delicious.” He waves a hotdog enticingly at Lance. “Come sit on the hood with me.”

Finally, a grin breaks out on Lance’s face, wide and toothy and fucking breathtaking. “Okay.”

He steps out of the car, following Keith over to the front of the vehicle and heaving himself up on it. Keith sets the food and drink beside him, then digs out his keys and steps back.

“Hold on a sec,” he says.

Lance picks up a hot dog and unwraps it. “Absolutely not waiting for you. Hurry up or I’m gonna eat your hotdogs, too.”

Completely aware that Lance is not kidding, Keith sprints to the trunk, unlocking it and digging out the supplies he needs. He slams it shut and sprints back, hopping on the hood next to Lance and fluffing the blanket he grabbed on top of them, making Lance nod approvingly.

“Nice touch.”

Keith sets the other item he got in front of them.

Lance squints at it for several moments.

“A…megaphone,” he says slowly.

Keith nods. “Yes.”

“That you just…have in your trunk.”

“From pride,” Keith explains. “Pidge likes to sit on my shoulders and make fart noises at protestors.”

“Ah, makes sense.” He pops the last bit of his first hot dog in his mouth, wasting no time to open the second. “And you have brought it out because…?”

Keith unwraps his own hotdog, using it to point at a guy in horrible (even by Keith’s standards) cargo shorts who is abandoning his shopping cart in the middle of the street. “Figured you might like to heckle some assholes as you devour your possum meat hot dogs.”

Lance lights up. He carefully sets down his hotdog on the blanket, then picks up the megaphone the way a mother might pick up her newborn baby.

“Keith,” he says seriously, “this might be the best date I have ever been on.”

Keith grins. “I’m glad.” He takes a long, obnoxious sip of his soda as Lance gleefully turns on the sparkly rainbow megaphone and holds it to his mouth.

“Excuse me, Cargo Shorts,” he shouts. Cargo Shorts jumps out of his skin. “You are being a massive jackass. Please return your cart to the cart area.”

Cargo Shorts scowls at him.

“There’s a big red sign that says ‘Cart Return Area’,” Lance continues, unbothered. “In case you’re having trouble reading that, it’s the big cage with other carts in it, to your left, good sir.”

Cargo Shorts looks like he’s debating stomping up to Lance and strangling him. He glances at Keith, who glares harshly at him, and then wisely reconsiders, stomping his way to the cart return and then stomping over to his obnoxiously massive pickup truck.

Lance turns to Keith, beaming. “Seriously. This is the best. I love you.” He leans over and places a smacking kiss to Keith’s cheek, making an exaggerated ‘mwah’ noise. Keith turns his head to catch him in a real kiss.

He tastes like hotdogs. Keith is sure he does, too. It’s nasty.

He doesn’t care.

“Can’t take credit for it,” he says, polishing off his second sandwich (are hotdogs sandwiches??). Lance winces at his full mouth, but doesn’t say anything. “Shiro took Adam to do this very same thing many years ago. It’s where he proposed, actually.”

Lance looks at him in disbelief. “And that worked for him?”

Keith snorts. “He’ll never admit it, but Adam is down bad. He always has been. He likes to say his proposal had that small town charm that made him say yes, but everyone knows it’s just because it was Shiro who did the asking.”

Lance opens his mouth to say something, then he notices a woman who’s trying to leave her cart in the middle of a disabled parking space. The megaphone is on and wailing faster than Keith can blink.

“Absolutely not, lady! Keep ‘er moving! Yep! That’s it! Cart goes to the cart return area! Just like a matching game! There you go!”

He sets the megaphone back down as the lady huffily returns the cart — as if she has been so wronged — and turns back to his meal, poking his straw into his soda cup.

“You better not have a ring in your pocket, Kogane,” he warns. “It might have worked for your brother, but I’ll tell you right now I’m gonna say no. Absolutely not.”

Keith blinks at the subject change, then laughs a little too loudly, unable to hide the slight hurt bleeding through his voice. They haven’t talked about marriage yet, sure, but that seems a little…final. A little like the mere idea is ludicrous.

They’ve been dating for two years now. Keith has been subtly looking for a way to get Lance’s ring size. Is it really so strange for them to want to make things official in the eyes of the law?

“‘Cause I want the whole nine yards,” Lance continues, oblivious to Keith’s crisis. “The secretive bullshit, the talking to my parents, the cheesy speech. I know you have it in you. I am hereby forbidding the small town charm. I love you, and I also love being treated like I’m hot shit.”

“You are hot shit,” Keith says reflexively. Then the rest of Lance’s rant finally clicks, and he grins, wider than he knew he was capable of, turning to his boyfriend. “You want to get married?”

“Obviously,” Lance scoffs, rolling his eyes, but he’s avoiding Keith’s gaze and his cheeks are just slightly red. “Doofus.”

“Hey. Lance. Sweetheart. Look at me.”

Keith wipes his hand on a napkin the reaches out and rests two fingers under Lance’s chin, gently turning his head so they’re facing each other. “Look at me, my love.” He waits a second, heat pouring off his boyfriend’s face, for those brown eyes to flick up and meet his own. “I want to marry you too, you know.”

Lance rolls his eyes. His mouth twitches. “I know. I borrowed your laptop the other day and you had a tab open for a jewellry store. Coincidentally, my grandmother’s ring has gone missing, and I know I didn’t lose it, so.” He clears his throat. “I’m a size six. I’m rings. In case you were wondering, for no particular reason.”

Keith grins. “Noted.”

“This doesn’t count as a proposal. Or as me saying yes.”

“Noted.”

“I want you to kiss me now.”

“Noted.”

“If you say ‘noted’ one more time I am going to fucking say no when you ask me for real.”

Keith hesitates.

“Do not,” Lance orders.

He bites his lip.

“Keith, I fucking swear to God.”

“Noted,” he says, laughter bubbling out of him, and Lance is whacking him repeatedly before he can even finish.

“Okay! Okay! Stop! I’m sorry! Stop!” He grabs Lance’s hands, pushing him back and pinning his wrists against the window.

“Cut it out,” he murmurs, leaning in close.

“Make me,” Lance whispers back.

Keith does. Or he tries to. He closes the gap between them, pressing their lips together, but both of them are smiling too widely to kiss properly, giggling nonstop, chest shaking and bumping with the effort, skin covering in goose flesh.

Keith hates giving his brother credit for anything, but Lance is right — this is the best date they’ve ever had. Not-proposal and all.

———

based on this post (seventh slide)

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