#it's mostly just lance | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sundaynightlive · 10 months

Text

True Blue (Klance)

Live, laugh, stream Boygenius.

Disclaimer: I mention autism in this and that Keith might be on the spectrum. I'm not neurotypical but I don't believe I have autism, so if the way I did it was in any way insensitive, PLEASE lmk so I can rectify this. My roommate (and best friend) is autistic and while I don't necessarily know their experience I have spent a ton of time with them and have had long, in depth discussions about their experience which is why I felt comfortable writing it. It's a little in line with my own experience, which is why I think it might be slightly off? If it rubs you the wrong way, for sure drop a reply. Peace and love, sweetpeas <3

Also, can y'all tell I'm in a secret relationship? That obvious, huh.

It’s when everybody has dispersed back to their rooms, Shiro giving one last worried glance over his shoulder, that Keith finally walks up to the healing pod, pressing his forehead to the glass (or whatever clear, Altean material this thing's made of) and heaving a deep, shaky breath.

“Idiot,” he whispers.

Lance isn’t usually the kind of guy to be in the midst of the action. Keith’s sharpshooter tends to stick around the high ground and well-covered edges, but today has been an exception. The hallway of the ship had been tight, with little cover and little room to move. He found himself right there in it at Keith’s side, and for the most part he’d held his ground—blocking with his gun, tripping enemies, watching Keith’s back.

For a moment, a fleeting moment, Keith had actually felt incredible fighting at his boyfriend’s side.

And then that moment passed, and everything came to a screeching halt.

It’s a deep flesh wound in the meat of the shoulder, a puncture in the right thigh, and a broken rib. Not enough to kill, but enough to send Lance crashing into Keith’s side, out like a light—and more than enough to give Keith an absolute heart attack.

He sighs heavily, and crumples in on himself to the floor. He’s tired, bruised, and worried. Lance is going to be fine, he knows (he does), but that doesn’t stop the ache that crawls up and through his feet and hands and lungs.

He never wants to see Lance unconscious like that again.

A few hours later, Allura peeks in and tells him they’re having dinner. Keith isn’t the slightest bit hungry—actually, he’s rather comfortable, back pressed against the pod, drifting in and out of sleep and distant memory.

“I’m okay.”

She frowns.

“You should come eat, and change,” she says. Keith shakes his head. No way. Absolutely not. He’s not going anywhere until Lance can come with him, and if it gets too dire, there’s a bathroom a few feet away. A shower, even.

That’s good enough for him.

“He’s alright, Keith,” Allura tries, “Just a few days in there and he’ll be—”

“I know,” Keith interrupts. She regards him for a moment, a long look of concern and confusion, and then relents with a heavy sigh.

“Alright. If you need anything—”

“I know,” Keith repeats.

She hesitates a few moments, and then leaves. Keith closes his eyes, and rests his head back against the pod that contains his boyfriend.

8 months earlier Lance McClain had entered Keith’s room, unannounced, and miraculously ducked out of the way of a boot flying towards his head with worrying accuracy.

“If you’re here to gloat, get it over with,” Keith hissed in his direction, a wild, untamed anger alight in his eyes. He’s… frustratingly beautiful, Keith, with his mullet of dark hair, indigo eyes, and lean muscle. He’s half-dressed, the top part of his flight suit hanging from his waist. Lance tries not to look down at his chest, and fails miserably.

He swallowed that away.

“Keith—”

“Actually, you know what?” Keith basically charged at him, which was terrifying for the first few moments. A finger pressed firmly into Lance’s chest, and he took a deep breath to try and calm his nerves. He really didnt' want Keith to hit him—that would be a worst case scenario. “Fuck you. Every other mission you’re the fuck up, so I don’t want to hear—”

“I’m not here to gloat,” Lance said, shame and embarrassment burning something fierce in his gut at being called a fuck up. It was difficult, but he swallowed that away, too. “I wanted to see if you were okay.”

That's when Keith faltered.

The finger retracted, and so did the boy, stalking over to sit heavily on the edge of his bed, and then burrying his face in his hands. There was a few moments of silence, and then Lance followed, sitting gently down next to him, putting a warm hand on his back.

He wanted, then, to smooth his hand down porcelain skin, but he refrained.

“I… know what it’s like for someone you look up to to chew you out like that,” Lance explained softly, “And Shiro’s not really a big brother to me, or anything, but I know if Marco or Luis were that hard on me… especially for something so stupid—”

“It wasn’t stupid,” Keith argued, rubbing his face and then looking up at him. Lance swallowed again—Keith was so pretty it was fucking with Lance’s head. Damn this stupid crush he had—it was interfering with his ability to be an effective teammate. He wanted this to be more than that.

Which was so not cool, at least not now.

“I fucked up. Big time.”

“That doesn’t mean he should yell at you like that in front of the whole team. Especially when the whole issue was communication.”

“I should’ve known better.”

“How?” Lance deadpanned. Keith’s eyebrows scrunched up, and he turned to study the wall, as if he was really contemplating. Here’s what had happened—

They planned to infiltrate from different points of the ship, and take it quietly so as to not alert any other nearby patrol ships or junkers. Then, with free range of the ship and a hostage situation, Keith and Pidge would be free to search through databases and stockpiles to see what tech or resources the Galra had been laundering through—a fairly simple endeavor.

What they had not accounted for, however, were the Galra mercenaries posted in certain sectors of the ship. When Shiro had gone to warn Keith of this over the comms, Keith had taken that as—the plan has changed, we’re pursuing action against these mercenaries, and upon following that mindset, had landed him and Pidge in the middle of combat they had not been prepared for, and alerted the ship’s staff before Shiro had gained full control of the hull. This made for a spiral of chaos that was swiftly quelled, but apparently got on Shiro’s nerves, even though the mission had been overall successful.

He was always so worried about unnecessary casualties. Fair, Lance supposes, but they are in the middle of literal war.

“I… don’t know,” Keith admitted finally, “I could have… hesitated?”

“And gotten you both killed?” Lance asked. Keith sighed. He flopped back and Lance followed suit, stretching a little bit. Keith was so close Lance could feel the body heat wafting off his torso. He tried not to think about it too much.

Too much was a relative term.

“Whatever, I’m over it. Let’s talk about something else—what are Marco and Luis like?”

And the rest is history.

They spent the next two months connected at the hip, or at least, sneaking into each other’s rooms late at night to talk about everything and nothing. If Keith needed to vent, he went to Lance, and vice versa. If they were bored, they found each other in an empty part of the castle and found something to entertain them. If Hunk or Pidge were being shitty, or Shiro was being too much, or Allura was being especially pushy, they would give each other matching looks, and go giggle about it elsewhere.

It was wildly beneficial, for Lance, at least. He stopped feeling lonely, and he stopped feeling useless. Not only did Keith convince him vocally he was a necessary addition to the team, but just being friends with him made Lance feel like if nothing else, Keith needed him. Keith liked having him around.

And that was more than enough.

Lance was Keith’s first real experience having a friend. He had a dad, he had a brother, but Lance was a friend. He chose.

Keith could never have avoided falling in love with him.

Being with Lance was easy in a way that’s hard to explain if you don’t already know what he means. Like the way breathing is easy. Keith didn’t even have to try to do it, he just did it.

That, for him, was love.

He’d never really been good with people, or at reading people, or at understanding arbitrary social rules and expectations. It just didn’t… click for him. But with Lance, it didn’t have to click.

“That… kind of upsets me,” Lance said.

Keith started. He looked up from where he was sprawled on the floor, perplexed.

“What?”

“What you just said,” Lance explained, “That I’m the “comic relief” or whatever.” Keith furrowed his brow. His first instinct was to defend himself, and explain why it didnt' make sense that Lance was offended by that, but he stopped himself. They’ve talked about that--getting defensive about other people’s feelings instead of listening to them.

Lance was looking at him expectantly.

“I’m… sorry,” Keith said, finally, “Why?” A distant cousin of a smile passed over Lance’s features for a moment, and then he shrugged.

“I don’t know. I guess it makes me feel like… a joke to you guys.” Keith’s eyes widened. That was not even remotely what he’d meant by it. He was fairly certain that’s not what anyone meant by it, but he supposed he can see that side.

Jeez, had Lance thought that the whole time?

“Of course you’re not a joke to me—us,” Keith corrected, feeling a bit of warmth creep into his cheeks, “I’m… sorry.”

“Getting better,” Lance praised, “What did you mean, then?”

“Well,” Keith said slowly, because what did he mean? “I thought we were just saying you’re good at lightening the mood, you know? It would be… really quiet and depressing without you.” Lance nodded, but he didn't look entirely convinced.

“Well… thanks, I guess.”

“I won’t say it again,” Keith said firmly, because how could he? Lance thinking he was a joke was just about the last thing Keith wanted—he felt bad enough about calling him a fuck up a few weeks ago, even worse now. Damn it, had they all been operating under the assumption Lance got that these were all jokes? Less than jokes, even.

Fuck.

“Thanks, man. That means… a lot.” Keith laid back down, flat on his back, staring up at Lance’s ceiling. The glow in the dark star stickers weren't glowing because it wasn't dark, but he still felt a little warmth at seeing them there. Ironic that Lance could just go to the hull and stare at a hundred-billion real ones, but incredibly endearing besides.

His insides twisted up.

Fuck number two.

“Hey, Lance?”

“Mmhmm?”

“Thanks for telling me.”

“Telling you what?”

“That what I said upset you,” Keith explained softly, staring up at those stars, hoping Lance wasn't looking at him. He was pink—very pink. “I don’t really… get when I’ve said something shitty. And most people just get offended and stop talking to me.” Lance laughed a little at that.

“My niece, Nadia, is on the spectrum. You know, autism? She’s just like that—she struggles with social cues, so we walk her through it just like I did with you. It’s really no problem—actually, it’s the least I can do.”

Keith tried to work out what he meant by that, but he couldn't, so he just stared up at the ceiling for a few quiet moments, contemplating. He wanted to live in Lance’s space forever. He wanted to stay in this room with him, silently existing near each other, no words necessary. Nothing necessary.

God, what did that mean?

“Do you think I could be on the spectrum?”

He heard Lance’s shrug against the mattress.

“Maybe.”

And nothing more was said about it.

Lance kissed Keith for the first time two months after that day in his room, and when Keith melted headfirst into it, he nearly broke away to jump for joy. He didn’t read the signs wrong—this was happening. He and Keith were happening.

“I like you,” Lance said when the kiss broke, “I like you so much.”

“Got that,” Keith replied, pressing his forehead into Lance’s. Lance felt giddy and warm and buzzed all over. He felt like he could fly—like he could launch Blue a thousand feet in the air and jump off and soar. He dragged his fingers over Keith’s neck and through his hair and across his cheeks, almost like he was checking to make sure this was real.

It was real.

“Kiss me again,” Keith breathed, and so Lance obliged him. He’d do anything the boy asked. Forever.

“Did I say stop?”

“No, sir.”

Keith stays in the infirmary for the next 72 hours. Shiro worriedly brings him a change of clothes and Hunk drops by with the occasional meal. They keep insisting that he leave, that Lance is fine, that it wasn’t his fault—he knows that. He didn’t stab Lance, that’s obvious.

They don’t understand when he tells them no.

At first, keeping their relationship a secret was just a means of making sure when they did tell everyone, they’d have a few months under their belt as proof that this was serious, and not a terrible, Voltron-ending fling.

Then it became second nature.

Just as their friendship had been, it became familiar and meaningful to keep their personal relationship to themselves. They were each other’s safe space, and as such, it didn’t feel right to go around announcing to the world that they found comfort in each other. Hell, it felt invasive to even think about.

It feels invasive even now. That’s why he doesn’t explain himself—he just let’s the team think he’s gone completely nuts, and makes himself comfortable at the base of the cryopod, occasionally gazing up at his beautiful boyfriend, looking so peaceful.

In the 74th hour, Lance wakes up.

“I seriously think that shit is bad for humans,” is the first thing he grumbles as Keith helps him out and down onto solid ground, “God, it feels like I have the worst hangover.” Keith can’t help but laugh a little, and Lance grins over at him. “Let me guess—you slept in here on the floor like a dumbass.”

Keith’s smile turns sheepish.

“I couldn’t leave you,” he explains softly, and Lance sighs, shaking his head.

“I’m okay. You, on the other hand, should’ve been sleeping in bed.”

“You were really hurt,” Keith argues as long tan arms slip loosely around his waist, “I was worried about you.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy,” Lance replies. Keith melts. He wraps his arms around his boyfriend and holds him close, careful to keep his face above Lance’s shoulder, no matter how badly he’d like to press his nose in it. Lance’s hands smooth over his back softly, and he almost shudders at how nice it feels. It’s so good to be back in Lance’s arms after the past three days of watching him in that pod, so close and yet impossibly far.

Lance presses a kiss to the side of his head. He feels at home.

They stay like that for a while, safely inside each others’ embrace, breath intermingling, and bodies coming loose—Lance from the stiffness that comes with being inside that stupid tube for many hours, Keith from stress.

“Hey, Lance?”

“Mmm?”

“I love you.”

Lance presses another kiss to the side of Keith’s head. He had said it long before this, absolutely ages ago. Not even two months into their relationship—

I love you. Don’t say it back—I wanna watch you fall.

And here Keith is, at the bottom, resting safely in Lance's arms.

“I know, mi amor. I know.”

35 notes · View notes